Introduction

Abstract

According to Greek mythology, Jupiter and Mnemosyne gave birth to nine daughters, each with a special responsibility to promote learning and song and, in the case of Clio, memory. Jupiter was ultimately deposed as ruler of the earth, but the muse of history enjoyed a happier fate. Through the ages, Clio was honored in poetry and prose, paintings, and public art. Often she was depicted with a scroll and books, the historian’s armament. An American poet in the early nineteenth century was moved to write:

Majestic Clio touched her silver wire, And through time’s lengthened vista moved a train, In dignity sublime;—the patriot’s fire Kindled its torch in heaven’s resplendent ray, And ’mid contention rose to Heaven again. ¹

The muse still lights the way. “What is Past is Prologue,” reads the inscription on the imposing Muse of History that greets visitors at the entrance to the National Archives in Washington, DC. Historians have replaced scrolls with computers and can read books on-line, but the impulse to remember the past, whether in our thoughts or on paper, remains ever powerful in all societies.²