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One of the most famous lighthouses of antiquity, as I have already pointed out, was the pharos of Alexandria, which ancient writers included among the Seven Wonders of the World. It might naturally be supposed that the founder of so remarkable a monument of architectural skill would be well known; yet while Strabo and Pliny, Eusebius, Suidas, and Lucian ascribe its erection to Ptolemæus Philadelphus, the wisest and most benevolent of the Ptolemean kings of Egypt, by Tzetzes and Ammianus Marcellinus the honour is given to Cleopatra; and other authorities even attribute it to Alexander the Great.

All that can with certainty be affirmed is, that the architect was named Sostrates. Montfaucon, in his great work, endeavours to explain how it is that while we are thus informed as to the architect, we are so doubtful as to the founder, whom, for his part, he believes to have been Ptolemæus. Our ignorance, he says, is owing to the knavery of Sostrates. He wished to immortalize his name; a blameless wish, if at the same time he had not sought to suppress that of the founder, whose glory it was to have suggested the erection. For this purpose Sostrates devised a stratagem which proved successful; deep in the wall of the tower he cut the following inscription: “Sostrates of Cnidos, son of Dexiphanes, to the gods who Protect those who are upon the Sea.” But, mistrustful that King Ptolemæus would scarcely be satisfied with an inscription in which he was wholly ignored, he covered it with a light coat of cement, which he knew would not long endure the action of the atmosphere, and carved thereon the name of Ptolemæus. After a few years the cement and the name of the king disappeared, and revealed the inscription which gave all the glory to Sostrates.

Montfaucon, with genial credulity, adopts this anecdote as authentic, and adds: Pliny pretends that Ptolemæus, out of the modesty and greatness of his soul, desired the architect’s name to be engraved upon the tower, and no reference to himself to be made. But this statement is very dubious; it would have passed as incredible in those times, and even to-day would be regarded as an ill-understood act of magnanimity. We have never heard of any prince prohibiting the perpetuation of his name upon magnificent works designed for the public utility, or being content that the architect should usurp the entire honour.

To solve the difficulty, Champollion represents the pharos as constructed by Ptolemæus Soter. But, as Edrisi solemnly remarks, “God alone knows what is the truth.”

Much etymological erudition has been expended on the derivation of the word Pharos. As far as the Alexandrian light-tower is concerned, there can be no doubt that it was named from the islet on which it stood; yet Isidore asserts that the word came from φὼς, “light,” and ὁρἀν, “to see.” To quote again from Montfaucon: That numerous persons, who have not read the Greek authors, should exercise their ingenuity to no avail in the extraction of these etymologies, is far less surprising than that so good a scholar as Isaac Vossius should seek the origin of Pharos in the Greek language. From ϕαἰνειν, “to shine,” he says, comes ϕανερός, and from ϕανερός, ϕάρος.... But the island was called Pharos seven or eight hundred years before it possessed either tower or beacon-light.

The most reasonable conjecture seems to be that the word is a Hellenic form of Phrah, the Egyptian name of the sun, to whom the Alexandrian lighthouse would naturally be compared by wondering spectators, or dedicated by a devout prince.

At a later date we find the word applied to very different objects, though always retaining the signification of light or brilliancy. A pharos of fire—i.e., a ball or meteor—was seen, says Gregory of Tours, to issue from the church of St. Hilaire, and descend upon King Clovis. The same historian uses the word to describe a conflagration:—“They (the barbarians) set fire to the church of St. Hilaire, kindled a great pharos, and while the church was burning, pillaged the monastery.” The old French historian frequently employs the word in this sense, which leads us to suppose that in his time an incendiary was probably designated “a maker of pharoses” (un faiseur de phares). Still later, the term pharos was applied to certain machines in which a number of lamps or tapers were placed, as in a candelabrum. A modern French writer quotes from Anastasius the Librarian, that Pope Sylvester caused “a pharos of pure gold” to be constructed; and that Pope Adrian I. made one, “in the form of a cross,” capable of receiving one hundred and seventy candles or tapers. And Leon of Ostia, in his “Chronicle of Monte Cassino,” says, that the Abbot Didier had a pharos, or great silver crown, weighing one hundred pounds, constructed, which was surmounted by twelve little turrets, and from which were suspended six and thirty lamps.

Excerpt from “Lighthouses and Lightships”