Evil Eye

Circa 200 BCE, Rome, Italy

Marius was a notorious boxer. Spectators gazed upon him as if he were a god, some admiring his height, some his girth, but all in agreement that the rippling beneath his skin—a product of a bulging musculature—was a fantastical sight to behold. Still, his record was not without blemish. When matches were fought with cestuses—ox-hide gloves loaded with iron knots and nails—strength mattered less than a methodical swing. On one calamitous day, as Marius was bringing his fist around to bear on his opponents cheek, his arm was met with the torrential blow of a cestus that snapped his humerus bone clear in half.

With a damaged arm hanging limp at his side, Marius was unable to console his pregnant wife, Tullia, with a warm embrace as she cried hysterically for his pain, and their loss of income. A physician set Marius’ bones back into their correct position with a bone lever, and all would have been well by the birth of their first child, except the bones were improperly set, leaving Marius’ arm mangled, darting sideways in a disgusting manner. That was the end of Marius’ boxing career, and the beginning of a life of anger, resentment, and envy.

The day his son was born was to be one of great jubilation, but instead, Tullia forbade Marius from looking upon his child. For it was said that Marius possessed an evil eye.

“The glance of your eye may have an injurious effect, and this we cannot risk!” she insisted, hiding her newborn in a throng of blankets. She feared her son’s physical perfection would stir jealousy within her husband. “You know well that his young being—yet of weak and tender constitution—can be easily harmed by an invidious glance.”

It was well known, in Rome and throughout the civilized world, that when a man looks at what is excellent with an envious eye, a malignant influence darts out from his pupils and infects the air. The infected air penetrates the victim, being drawn in through the nose and mouth, and pollutes his body, causing potent injury or death.

“But we have strung a dozen amulets around his neck!” Marius pleaded. “The head of Jupiter, an eye, crocodile, swan, serpent, thunderbolt, phallus, lion—each one possessing its own protective quality. These will shield him in case envy is stirred within the inner recesses of my being,” he petitioned, but Tullia would not allow him a single look at his son.

Driven temporarily mad by his predicament, Marius rushed into their bedroom and rummaged though his wife’s jewelry box until he held two beautiful brooches in either hand. Unclasping their pins, he thrust one in each eye, feeling neither pain nor regret as the pins pierced his pupils—only relief. Rendering himself blind, Marius grinned, knowing he would soon be able to hold his newborn son.



The Truth of the Matter: The earliest known reference to the evil eye occurs on Sumerian clay tablets dating to the third millennium BCE. The evil eye was feared by numerous cultures in antiquity, including the Assyrians, Jews, Egyptians, and Muslims. During the Hellenistic and Roman periods, belief in the evil eye was widespread, and was cited by such authors as Aristophanes, Plutarch, and Plato. Within this story, the characters are fictional, but the information related regarding the evil eye is factual.