Context<hr>
       After Artemisia II enlisted the most talented architects of her time to<hr>
construct the magnificent tomb for her husband, the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus which later<hr>
became one of the seven wonders of the world, her love for her beloved Mausolus was still not<hr>
entirely fulfilled. She brought from Greece the orators Isocrates and Theopompus, true<hr>
legends of Antiquity. She commissioned these great men to apply their eloquence in favor<hr>
of her late husband, immortalizing his memory. To earn this favor, the inconsolable woman<hr>
thus addressed them, after momentarily forgetting in the intensity of her love that she was standing before the famous Isocrates.<hr>
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                                         Artemisia to Isocrates<hr>
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        It is through you, orator, that I hope for immortality for Mausolus. It is you<hr>
who are tasked with giving a soul to all the statues that I raise for him. It is you who<hr>
should build him an everlasting tomb, defying the upheavals of the centuries, and will<hr>
immortalize Mausolus, Isocrates, and Artemisia forever. I do not believe that time and chance<hr>
will respect the gold, marble, jewels, stone, and other precious materials that I use to<hr>
erect this sumptuous monument. No, I know that these three hundred columns, whose order is<hr>
carefully observed, whose bases are solidly anchored, whose ornaments are<hr>
magnificent and where art surpasses matter, will one day be pitiful ruins. Soon after, nothing will remain. All these bas-reliefs decorating the four sides of this<hr>
burial site will be effaced by the insults of the seasons, and we will scarcely discern<hr>
a few imperfect figures among those we admire today. These obelisks, which<hr>
seem to defy the storm, might be toppled by lightning and reduced to ashes. These<hr>
smoking vases, these extinguished torches, these weapon trophies, and all the ornaments that<hr>
architecture can offer will not prevent the destruction of this work. Even though I have<hr>
used all my wealth for this tomb and made it, through the expert hands of<hr>
Scopas, Bryaxis, Timothy, and Leochares, one of the wonders of the world, if no one<hr>
takes care to preserve its memory in writing, the statues I had erected, the gold, marble,<hr>
jewels, stone, precious materials, columns, bas-reliefs, obelisks, the<hr>
smoking bowls, the extinguished torches, and all the architectural ornaments appearing<hr>
in this work, will not prevent Mausolus, his tomb, its architects, its sculptors<hr>
and Artemisia herself from being buried in oblivion. They will be unknown to the centuries<hr>
far distant from ours as if they had never existed.<hr>
       Therefore, it is you, Isocrates, it is you, Theopompus, who must give more solid foundations to this edifice, animate all these marbles with grandiose inscriptions, resurrect Mausolus, make me live forever even though I feel my death is imminent. Isocrates, I do not ask you to praise Helen or Bucephalus, as you once did.<hr>
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