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Hippodamus of Miletus—A Flamboyant Agent Of Order

A 5th-century BCE polymath known as Hippodamus of Miletus was one of the most, if not the most, famous figures among the urban planners who operated in the ancient Greek world. More so than anyone before him in Greece and its colonies, he championed and reimagined the use of grid patterns and site allocation in his designs for towns and cities. After beginning his career in his home city of Miletus, on the Ionian coast of Anatolia, word of Hippodamus’ talents began to spread abroad. Other Greek communities liked what they heard, and the burgeoning urban planner soon had contract proposals coming in from mainland Greece, and as far away as from the Greek colonies in southern Italy. Hippodamus accepted several of these jobs and traveled widely to oversee the projects. He became quite wealthy from his craft and apparently used his ample spending money to develop a unique style of wardrobe that left a mixed impression on the people he met. In particular, his dress and behavior intrigued the intellectuals of Athens, who observed Hippodamus with interest as he designed the layout of the Athenian port city, Piraeus. The famous philosopher, Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE), recorded what older Greeks remembered of Hippodamus’ quirky dress and character:

“Hippodamus, son of Euryphon, came from Miletus. It was he who invented the division of cities into precincts, and he also laid out the street-plans of the Piraeus. His ambition always to be different from other people made his life also peculiar in a variety of ways; and some thought that he was carrying his oddities too far with his long hair and expensive ornaments, wearing at the same time clothing that was cheap but warm, in summer and winter alike. He wished to be considered an expert in the whole range of natural science too; and he was the first person not actually taking part in the workings of a constitution to attempt some description of the ideal one” (Aristotle, The Politics, Bekker page 1267b).

Unfortunately, this short but valuable passage from Aristotle is about all that exists from ancient times that provides some humanity and personality to the memory of the enigmatic architect. Little else is known about Hippodamus’ life, and even the chronological dating of his urban planning projects is vague. Nevertheless, the long-haired and bauble-decorated urban planner did indeed leave a long-lasting legacy with his grid designs and allocated zones. Then and today, Hippodamus is best known for his projects in his Anatolian homeland of Miletus, the Piraeus of Athens, and the colonial city of Thurii in Italy.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Induction of a New Member into the Band of Northern Painters in Rome, painted anonymously, c. 1660, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Rijksmuseum).

 

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Diana And Endymion, Painted By An Anonymous Flemish Painter (c. 18th century)

This painting, by an unidentified 18th-century Flemish artist, was inspired by the story of the mythological figure, Endymion. His tale is a hybrid of Eleian and Carian myth, combining to form a narrative about a beautiful prince or king who was granted eternal sleep, and whose never-waking body became the object of obsession for a goddess. A scholar known as the Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) summarized the myths of Endymion:

“Calyce and Aethlios had a son, Endymion, who led the Aeolians out of Thessaly and founded Elis. It is said by some, however, that Endymion was a son of Zeus. Because of his exceptional beauty the Moon fell in love with him; and when Zeus allowed him the choice of whatever he wished, he chose to sleep for ever and so remain untouched by either age or death” (Apollodorus, Library, I.7.5).

Curiously, the anonymous artist behind this painting labeled the goddess on his canvas as Diana instead of Selene (or Luna to the Romans)—she was the moon goddess most often associated with Endymion in ancient accounts. Yet, this painting was not alone in featuring the goddess of the hunt instead of Selene, who was the moon incarnate; almost every other famous artwork about Endymion does the same thing. Perhaps this was done for name recognition. Nevertheless, the artists often alluded to the original role played in the story by the lunar deity, Selene, by adding symbols of the moon around their representations of Diana. Our anonymous painter, here, did the same, for his Diana can be seen flying atop a crescent moon.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Legend Of Thorir Dove-Nose And His Unbeatable Race Horse

As told by the Icelandic Book of Settlements (the Landnámabók), a man named Thorir Dove-Nose was among the first waves of Nordic settlers to inhabit Iceland during the so-called Age of Settlement (approximately c. 860-930). He settled down in northern Iceland, setting up an inland homestead called Flugumyri, which was situated along the river systems that eventually fed into Skagafjord.

Thorir Dove-Nose reportedly was an unassuming and peaceful man. No records or stories ever place him in any violent situations—he never went on Viking raids, he did not feud with any of his neighbors, and he apparently never ran afoul of the law. Whereas too many other Icelandic settlers became embroiled in the violent frontier lifestyle of the Age of Settlement, Thorir Dove-Nose instead calmly saw to his businesses. In particular, Thorir comes across in the records as an accomplished horse breeder, cultivating at least two horses that would become legends.

Thorir reportedly came across the matriarch of his prize-winning breed of horses by chance. As the story goes, a cargo ship carrying livestock had an accident in the region, and due to the crew’s ungraceful sailing and herding abilities, a mare managed to escape from the cargo ship and fled into a nearby forest. Thorir Dove-Nose heard about this runaway steed, tracked down the ship, and purchased the rights to the runaway horse from them, presumably at a discount price, as the animal was still missing. On this business gamble, the Book of Settlements stated, “Thorir Dove-Nose bought the chance of finding the mare, and find her he did. She was an exceptionally fast horse and her name was Fluga” (Landnámabók, Stulubók manuscript, chapter 202). Fluga thrived under Thorir’s care, and he conditioned the mare to be the speediest racehorse Iceland had ever seen.

A legend emerged about Fluga, which insinuated that not even a magic-wielding sorcerer with his own supernaturally-enhanced horse could beat Thorir and Fluga in a race. According to the legend, this sorcerer’s name was Orn, and he was so confident in his enchanted steed that he bet a hundred marks of silver on the race. This was the old Norse/Germanic sense of the ‘hundred,’ so it was really 120 marks that he put on the line. As each ‘mark’ of silver was eight ounces of the precious metal, that means he was betting 960 ounces (about 60 modern pounds in weight) of silver on the race. Thorir Dove-Nose, for his part, accepted the pricy bet and agreed to the race. Both horses were talented, but only one was a living legend. Fluga beat her magical opponent by a landslide, winning the bet for Thorir. The race and its unfortunate aftermath was recorded in the Book of Settlements:

“They rode together south across Kjol until they came to the level stretch of land known nowadays as Dufunefsskeid. Orn was only half way up the course by the time Thorir met him on his way back, so great was the difference between the two horses. Orn took the loss of his money so badly he just didn’t want to live any more. He went up to the mountain known nowadays as Arnarfell, and there he killed himself” (Landnámabók, Stulubók manuscript, chapter 202).

When Fluga’s racing days were over, she was eventually paired up with a grey stallion with a black mane, and from this equine couple came Thorir Dove-Nose’s most prized line of animals. Unfortunately, Fluga did not oversee this dynasty of horses for long, as she reportedly somehow lost her life in a nearby swamp. Yet, Thorir Dove-Nose continued to cultivate her descendants, and eventually another legendary horse was born from Fluga’s special stock. This later horse’s name was Eidfaxi, and he became famous for going on a man-killing rampage. This bizarre incident, too, was recorded in the Book of Settlements, which stated, “[from the line of Fluga and the grey stallion] sprang the horse Eidfaxi, the one that was taken abroad and killed seven men at Mjors in a single day before he was killed himself” (Landnámabók, Stulubók manuscript, chapter 202). Thorir Dove-Nose seemed to have some unique horses, indeed.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration for an 1899 edition of Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla, artwork designed by Christian Krohg (c. 1852–1925), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons.jpg).

 

Sources:

  • The Book of Settlements (Sturlubók version) translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1972, 2006.

Wounded Eurydice, Painted By Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (c. 1796-1875)

This painting, by the French artist Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (c. 1796-1875), may seem calm and restful at first glance, but the deceptively tranquil image actually alludes to a much darker tale of tragedy. As the title of the artwork discloses, the woman featured in this painting is Eurydice. According to ancient Greek mythology, she was a nymph who fell in love with the legendary musician and theologian, Orpheus. Theirs was true love, and the scene depicted above was said to have occurred not long after their wedding day. In fact, in some accounts of the myth, the particular incident shown here is hinted to have happened on the very day of the nuptials. Regardless on which day the scene occurred, it would prove to be a tragic turning point in the ill-fated love story of Eurydice and Orpheus. Eurydice, as the title reveals, was wounded in the moments prior to the image freezing in its current frame. All of this impending misfortune faced by Eurydice was caused by a snake, which bit the foot that the nymph can be seen inspecting in the painting. The bite, and the poisonous venom that came with it, would prove fatal. Ovid (c. 43 BCE-17 CE), a Roman poet, described this mythical death scene:

“The outcome was even worse than foreshadowed: the newly-wed bride,
while taking a stroll through the grass with her band of attendant naiads,
suddenly fell down dead with the fangs of a snake in her ankle.
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 10.8-10)

This sad event, no matter how tragic it was on its own, was actually just the prelude to a much more elaborate myth—the story of Orpheus journeying into the underworld in an attempt to bring Eurydice back from the dead. It was a myth masterfully retold in separate works by the aforementioned Ovid and his older contemporary poet, Virgil (c. 70-19 BCE). For the sake of brevity, however, the concise summary written by the scholar known as Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) will be provided here:

“[Calliope, the muse of poetry, bore] Orpheus, who practised the art of singing to the lyre, and set rocks and trees in motion by his singing. When his wife, Eurydice, died from a snake-bite, he went down to Hades in the hope of bringing her up, and persuaded Pluto to send her back to earth. Pluto promised to do so, provided that on the way up Orpheus never looked round until he had arrived back at his house. But Orpheus failed to obey him, and turning round, he caught sight of his wife, and she had to return below” (Apollodorus, Library, I.3.2).

Such, then, is the myth that inspired this painting. In Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot’s artwork, Eurydice is shown in the moments before her death. Unlike in the quick, instantaneous collapse described by Ovid, the Eurydice of this painting was given time to reflect and contemplate on her fate.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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Lucan

Lucan (c. 39-65)

“Who weighs the claims of causes?
Men favor the side they stand on. Like public shows,
the fatal arena’s contenders don’t clash together
to settle old grudges. They hate whoever appears.”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book 4, between approximately lines 704-734), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

The Aromatic Greco-Roman Impression Of Arabia

To the ancient Greeks and Romans, the Arabian Peninsula was a mysterious place. The eastern Mediterranean coastal regions had been exposed to Greek influence since before the days of Alexander the Great’s conquests in the 4th century BCE, followed by the Roman Empire’s encirclement of the Mediterranean Sea centuries later, but neither of these expansionist powers had penetrated deep into the Arabian Peninsula for a prolonged period of time. Rome made attempts to conquer Arabia (Aelius Gallus’ unsuccessful expedition in the 20s BCE comes to mind) but Rome’s lack of local geographical knowledge about the Arabian interior made such forays ineffective. In the end, the ancient Greco-Roman scholars were left with impressions and gossip about Arabia, some of it realistic, but much of what was recorded was also fantastical. Yet, if there was one thing on which the ancient geographers and historians from antiquity agreed about Arabia, it was the pleasant smell. In almost any ancient account of Arabia—such as that of Strabo (c. 64 BCE-24 CE) or Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE)—one is bound to find talk of Arabia being an aromatic place, filled with incenses, spices and sweet-smelling flora.

A more detailed and realistic view of Arabia can be found in the Geography of Strabo, who interestingly was a friend of the aforementioned Roman governor, Aelius Gallus. Strabo’s account of Arabia (book sixteen of his text) reflected the perceptions that the Greco-Roman world had of the Arabian Peninsula’s geography and political landscape at the time of Augustus’ rule in Rome (r. 32/27 BCE-14 CE). According to Strabo, two Arabian peoples known to him as the Sabaei (or Sabaeans) and the Gerrhaei had become extremely rich off of a booming aromatics trade, involving incenses, spices, perfumes, and other fragrant items. Focusing on the Sabaeans, Strabo wrote:

“The country of the Sabaei, a very populous nation, is contiguous, and is the most fertile of all, producing myrrh, frankincense, and cinnamon. On the coast is found balsamum and another kind of herb of a very fragrant smell, but which is soon dissipated. There are also sweet-smelling palms and the calamus…The people cultivate the ground, or follow the trade of dealing in aromatics, both the indigenous sort and those brought from Ethiopia; in order to procure them, they sail through the straits in vessels covered with skins. There is such an abundance of these aromatics, that cinnamon, cassia, and other spices are used by them instead of sticks and firewood. In the country of the Sabaeans is found the larimnun, a most fragrant perfume. By trade [in these aromatics] both the Sabaeans and the Gerrhaei have become the richest of all the tribes, and possess a great quantity of wrought articles in gold and silver…” (Strabo, Geography, 16.4.19).

These rumors of a lucrative aromatics market and tales of rich treasure-laden tribes were reportedly what led Strabo’s friend, Aelius Gallus, to invade the Arabian Peninsula. As the geographer commented, “He hoped to acquire either opulent friends, or to overcome opulent enemies” (Strabo, Geography, 16.4.22). Gallus’ golden and fragrant dreams, however, did not come to fruition.

As for Diodorus Siculus’ account of Arabia, his presentation of the peninsula was much more generalized and fantastical. Like Strabo, this second scholar described the Arabian Peninsula as a land of aromatics, but Diodorus was more exaggerated on the variety and amount of spices, incenses, and perfumes that could be found in the region. Diodorus Siculus wrote:

“[In Arabia] the reed and the rush [ginger grass] and every other growth that has a spicy scent are produced in great abundance, as is also, speaking generally, every kind of fragrant substance which is derived from leaves, and the land is distinguished in its several parts by the varied odours of the gums which drip from them; for myrrh and that frankincense which is most dear to the gods and is exported throughout the entire inhabited world are produced in the farthest parts of this land” (Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, 2.49).

Besides claiming that Arabia was a land that produced fragrant flora and aromatic plant by-products, Diodorus Siculus also curiously reported that the Arabian land, literally in itself, was also fragrant in nature. In a curious passage of his text, Diodorus claimed that luxurious aromatic materials could seemingly be mined or quarried straight from the earth in Arabia. He wrote, “Indeed the very earth itself is by its nature full of a vapor which is like sweet incense. Consequently, in certain regions of Arabia, when the earth is dug up, there are discovered veins of sweet odour, in the working of which quarries of extraordinary magnitude are formed” (Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, 2.49). The Greco-Roman world thought Arabia was a fragrant land, indeed.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Fruit and Vegetable Market with a Young Fruit Seller, Painted by Jan van Kessel, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Statens Museum for Kunst).

 

Sources:

  • Strabo’s Geography, translated by H.C. Hamilton and W. Falconer (1903 edition), republished in The Complete Works of Strabo (Delphi Classics, 2016).
  • The Library of History, by Diodorus Siculus, edited by Giles Laurén (Sophron Editor, 2014).

Telemachus And Calypso, Painted By Benjamin West (c. 1738 – 1820)

This painting was created by Benjamin West (c. 1738 – 1820), an artist who was born and raised in Britain’s North American colonies, but relocated to live in England before and after the American Revolution. West’s artwork here features beings from ancient Greek mythology. On the left, the young man dressed in red and green is Telemachus, son of the famous Greek hero, Odysseus (or the Roman Ulysses), whose adventures were told in Homer’s epic poem, The Odyssey. Beside him is a character known by the alias, Mentor, yet this figure is actually the goddess Athena (or the Roman Minerva) in a magical disguise. Opposite them stand a troupe of nymphs, led by the sea deity Calypso, seen with her hand extended to Telemachus and the incognito Athena. Curiously, despite the ancient Greek characters involved in this scene, the particular story that inspired Benjamin West’s painting was anything but ancient. The painting was not inspired by a scene from Homer’s ancient epics, nor did it recreate any other ancient Greek or Roman myths about Telemachus, Athena/Minerva, and Calypso. Instead, the painting re-creates a scene from a book called The Adventures of Telemachus, published in 1699 by Archbishop François de Salignac de La Mothe-Fénelon of Cambrai (or simply François Fénelon). In this intriguing Odyssey spinoff, François Fénelon expanded on and added to the escapades and experiences that Telemachus underwent while he waited for his father to return home from the Trojan War, including the encounter with Calypso seen above. François Fénelon’s prose narration of the scene shown above was as follows:

“On a sudden she [Calypso] perceived the fragments of a vessel that had just been wrecked, rowers benches broken in pieces, oars scattered here and there on the sand, a rudder, a mast and cordage floating on the shore. Then she descried two men at a distance; one of them seemed [along] in years, the other, though young, resembled Ulysses. He had his sweet and noble aspect, with his stature and majestic pose. The Goddess knew him to be Telemachus, the son of that hero: but though the Gods far surpass all men in knowledge, she could not discover who the venerable person was by whom Telemachus was attended; because the superior Gods conceal from the inferior whatever they please; and Minerva, who accompanied Telemachus in the shape of Mentor, would not be known by Calypso” (François Fénelon, The Adventures of Telemachus, Book 1).

Such, then, was the text and passage that inspired Benjamin West’s painting. It shows Telemachus and Athena/Mentor freshly shipwrecked on the shores of the island. Calypso, in turn, is seen going to meet these visitors on her island, accompanied by her entourage of nymphs. Benjamin West froze the image at just about the moment when Calypso recognized Telemachus to be the son of Odysseus (or Ulysses), who had also visited her island during his Odyssey.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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A Palace Portrait of Lombard Fashion

Queen Theudelinda was a Bavarian noblewoman who married into Lombard high society at the turn of the 6th and 7th century. She wed King Authari of the Lombards (r. 584-590), who fought off many coordinated invasions by the Frankish kings and the emperor of Constantinople during his reign. His service to the defense of the realm was poorly repaid, however, as his life came to an end through the means of poisoning. Authari died without an heir, so the throne was seized by the most able and ambitious of the Lombard dukes—Agilulf, who had been previously ruling the dukedom of Turin. Widowed Queen Theudelinda married this King Agilulf (r. 590-616) and together they crushed any dissident nobles or rival claimants to the throne that emerged. Theudelinda and Agilulf had a son named Adaloald, who was quickly proclaimed to be the heir, so as to reduce the risk of another succession crisis. Suffice it to say, Queen Theudelinda was a powerful woman who had a personal hand in government for decades. Her descendants would continue to rule the Lombard kingdom until a new dynasty emerged in the 8th century.

While Theudelinda was flourishing as a queen and matriarch, she reportedly built for herself a great palace near Milan. A variety of craftsmen and artists were hired to adorn and decorate the luxurious home. In particular, the palace was known to have featured elaborate paintings that depicted scenes of Lombard history and achievements. These artworks were reportedly quite detailed, portraying a fairly accurate depiction of Lombard fashion from Theudelinda’s heyday in the 6th and 7th centuries. These painted portals to the past were of special interest to later Lombard historians, who wished to know how their ancestors dressed decades or centuries in the past. One such interested scholar was Paul the Deacon (c.  720-799), who eagerly took down notes on what gear and clothing the painted Lombard (or Langobard) figures were wearing. He wrote:

“In this painting it is clearly shown in what way the Langobards at that time cut their hair, and what was their dress and what their appearance [was like]. They shaved the neck, and left it bare up to the back of the head, having their hair hanging down on the face as far as the mouth and parting it on either side by a part in the forehead. Their garments were loose and mostly linen, such as the Anglo-Saxons are wont to wear, ornamented with broad borders woven various colors. Their shoes, indeed, were open almost to the tip of the great toe, and were held on by shoe latches interlacing alternately. But later they began to wear trousers, over which they put leggings of shaggy woolen cloth” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, 4.22).

Queen Theudelinda’s palace, as well as a specially commissioned church, were built at the city of Monza, just to the northeast of Milan. Although artifacts from the queen’s reign remain in the region, the painting has apparently been lost. Yet, its memory is preserved by the brief, but valuable, description it was given in Paul the Deacon’s History of the Lombards.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Merovingian and Lombard costume design, created by Friedrich Hottenroth in 1894, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Smithsonian Institute Digital Library).

 

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Alexander The Great Threatened By His Father, Painted By Donato Creti (c. 1671 – 1749)

In this painting, the Bolognese artist Donato Creti (c. 1671 – 1749) re-creates a tale of courtly drama between King Philip II of Macedonia (r. 359-336 BCE) and his famous son and heir, Alexander the Great (r. 336-322 BCE). The historical event that inspired this scene can be dated to around 338 or 337 BCE, when Philip II married a Macedonian noblewoman named Cleopatra, adding her to his preexisting harem of wives. Polygamy was an accepted practice for Macedonian kings, but this did not stop teenage Alexander and his mother, Olympias, from feeling slighted. And any further children that Philip fathered could pose a problem to Alexander’s claim to the throne. As the wedding date neared, the marriage became a powder-keg of emotion for all involved, and the volatile situation finally erupted once Alexander, Philip, and the father of the bride were brought together for the alcohol-inundated wedding banquet. The Greek-Roman biographer, Plutarch (c. 50-120) described the awkward scene that unfolded during the festivities:

“Their quarrel was brought to a head on the occasion of the wedding of Cleopatra, a girl with whom Philip had fallen in love and whom he had decided to marry, although she was far too young for him. Cleopatra’s uncle Attalus, who had drunk too much at the banquet, called upon the Macedonians to pray to the gods that the union of Philip and Cleopatra might bring forth a legitimate heir to the throne. Alexander flew into a rage at these words, shouted at him, ‘Villain, do you take me for a bastard, then?’ and hurled a drinking-cup at his head. At this Philip lurched to his feet, and drew his sword against his son, but fortunately for them both he was so overcome with drink and with rage that he tripped and fell headlong” (Plutarch, Parallel Lives, Life of Alexander, chapter 9).

Plutarch’s quote describes what is occurring in Donato Creti’s painting. The artwork features the precise moment when King Philip drew his sword against his own son. Yet, as was written above, Philip was too drunk to do any real harm that night, and therefore Alexander escaped unharmed. In protest and self-preservation, Alexander and his mother, Olympias, withdrew from Macedonia. To King Philip’s credit, he did regret threatening his son once the anger and drunken haze subsided. Alexander soon returned to Philip’s court and a working relationship resumed between the strained father and son.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Dante Alighieri

Dante Alighieri (c. 1265-1321)

“Heaven calls,
And, round about you wheeling, courts your gaze
With everlasting beauties. Yet your eye
Turns with fond doting still upon the earth.
Therefore He smites you who discerneth all.”

  • Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy (Purgatory, Canto XIV), translated by Henry F. Cary in the Harvard Classics series, edited by Charles W. Eliot, and published by P. F. Collier & Son (1909, 1937).