Home Blog Page 156

Hesiod and the Muse painted by Gustave Moreau (c. 1826–1898)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This colorful painting, created by the French artist Gustave Moreau (c. 1826–1898), features the ancient Greek poet, Hesiod (c. 8th century BCE), and his muse. This muse of his is much more literal than the so-called muses of other artists. The muses of Hesiod, so the ancient poet claimed, were the divine Muses—goddesses of arts, sciences and creativity. He claimed to have met the Muses on Mount Helicon in Boeotia, Greece, where generous goddesses gave him wisdom about the gods and infused him with a great talent for poetry. Speaking of himself, Hesiod, poetically wrote:

“And once they taught Hesiod fine singing, as he tended his lambs below holy Helicon…and they gave me a branch of springing bay to pluck for a staff, a handsome one, and they breathed into me wondrous voice, so that I should celebrate things of the future and things that were aforetime. And they told me to sing of the family of blessed ones who are for ever, and first and last always to sing of themselves” (Theogony, approximately line 29).

So said Hesiod, depicted above in the painting as the figure precariously balanced at the edge of the cliff, dressed in red clothing and a green hood. At his side is one of the Muses he met, given an angelic form by Gustave Moreau. The scene painted by the artist apparently is set some time after Hesiod’s first encounter with the Muses, as the poet already has in his possession the gods-given staff, which he uses to support himself as he looks out over the seascape.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Buddha

By
thehistorianshut
-

The Buddha (6th-5th centuries BCE)

“Health is the finest possession.
Contentment is the ultimate wealth.
Trustworthy people are the best relatives.
Unbinding is the supreme ease.”

  • The Dhammapada (Verses on the Way, Chapter 15), recorded in the 3rd century BCE. Translation by Glenn Wallis, 2004.

The Costly Aggression Of Labici

By
thehistorianshut
-

In the year 418 BCE, the Roman Republic was in a bit of a slump. As told by the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), the Roman military had not won a victory since about 422 BCE, and in the meantime the republic was embroiled in escalating political strife and waves of unrest that verged on revolts. A nearby city called Labici, populated by people who were in no way friendly to the expanding republic, watched all of Rome’s recent troubles with interest. Although Labici had stayed out of decades of ongoing struggles between Rome and its rivals, such as the Volscians, Aequians, and the Etruscan city of Veii, all of the problems that were facing Rome in 418 BCE were enticing news for the leaders of Labici. In particular, reports of a near-successful slave revolt in Rome around that time might have enticed the hesitant city to become a more active participant in the wars against the Romans.

Once Labici had committed to the idea of going to war, they reached out to one of Rome’s aforementioned rivals, the Aequians, who eagerly accepted the alliance. The allied forces then raided the territory of Tusculum, an ally of Rome. When this aggression was reported to Rome, the republic declared war on Labici, and two Roman generals, Lucius Sergius Fidenas and Marcus Papirius Mugilanus, were selected to lead the campaign against Labici and the Aequians.

If the people of Labici had assumed the Roman military would be rusty and unprepared, their assumptions proved to be quite correct. This first army dispatched by Rome turned out to be a poorly led force that eventually bumbled their way into a trap. As the story goes, the Aequian-Labici army was able to lure the Romans into a steep gulley, where the forces of Sergius and Papirius were dealt an embarrassing defeat. After suffering this blow, the Roman generals rounded up what was left of their troops and retreated to the friendly city of Tusculum.

In Rome, news of their army’s defeat caused a sense of panic to take hold of the city. The republic, as it habitually did in times of trouble, was said to have appointed a dictator to do what needed to be done in order to win the war. The Roman Senate handed power to a certain Quintus Servilius Priscus, who, aided by his son, Gaius Servilius, was able to quickly mobilize another Roman army to resume the war in record time. According to the legends, folklore and records available to the aforementioned Roman historian, Livy, the revamped Roman military was able to bring the war against the Aequians and Labici to an incredibly quick conclusion. In mere days, Quintus Servilius Priscus allegedly defeated his foes in battle and swiftly pivoted to launch a direct assault on the city of Labici. Livy described the final phase of this war, writing, “the Dictator ordered an advance to Labici which was promptly surrounded, entered by scaling-ladders and sacked. Thus a week after his appointment the dictator brought his victorious army back to Rome, and resigned” (History of Rome, 4.47). In that way, the short and inglorious attempt by Labici to wage war against Rome ended. In their ill-fated hopes of weakening the Roman Republic during a time of trouble, the people of Labici only brought about their own destruction.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Battle Against the Inhabitants of Veii and Fidenae, produced in the workshop of Giuseppe Cesari (1568–1640), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

Sources:

Ynglinga Saga Illustration, Produced For An 1899 Edition Of The Heimskringla

By
thehistorianshut
-

This artwork is one of many illustrations made for an 1899 reprint of the Heimskringla, a medieval collection of sagas, composed by Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), that tells the story of Norwegian rulers from mythical times up to the reign of King Magnus Erlingsson (r. 1162-1184). Artists such as Erik Werenskiold, Christian Krohg, Halfdan Egedius, Gerhard Munthe, Eilif Peterssen and Wilhelm Wetlesen were commissioned to produce around seventy images to accompany the bulky text. Although the signature at the bottom right section of the illustration is obscure, it may be that of Erik Werenskiold (c. 1855-1938).

The artist re-created a scene from the Ynglinga saga, which is the first section of Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla. The saga traces the legends and tales of folklore about the Yngling Dynasty, starting from the age of myth and ending in the more historically-grounded days of the 9th-century kings of Norway. The figures depicted in this illustration allegedly lived in the earlier days of the Yngling Dynasty, and therefore their story is more legend and folktale than a true historical record. As the story goes, the two men standing on the right side of the image are Gísl and Ondur, disgruntled sons of a certain King Vísbur. The cause of the brothers’ anger was that their father had divorced their mother to marry another woman. Gísl and Ondur left their father’s court along with their mother, and with her, conspired to seek revenge against King Vísbur. In the end, they were said to have gone to a seeress or sorceress named Huld, who helped them in their quest for revenge. Snorri Sturluson told the tale, writing, “Then another incantation was chanted to enable them to kill their father. Then Huld, the sorceress, told them she would bring it about…Then they gathered a host and fell upon Vísbur unawares at night and burned him in his hall” (Heimskringla, Ynglinga saga, chapter 14).

Such is the scene that is depicted in the illustration above. It shows Gísl and Ondur visiting Huld to gain a magical advantage against their father. After the assassination of Vísbur, the vengeful brothers disappear from the narrative. Vísbur was succeeded by Dómaldi, a son produced from his second marriage. Dómaldi was not harassed by his half-brothers, but that did not save the poor king from a gruesome end. As the story goes, Dómaldi was sacrificed by his people in an effort to bring about a better crop yield.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.

Mark Twain

By
thehistorianshut
-

Mark Twain (c. 1835-1910)

“To promise not to do a thing is the surest way to make a body want to go and do that very thing.”

  • From The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (Chapter 22), by Mark Tain (originally published 1876).

The Sad Origin Story Of King Liu Chang Of Huainan

By
thehistorianshut
-

King Liu Chang of Huainan was reportedly born under tragic circumstances in a prison. His mother was a concubine sent to Emperor Gaozu (r. 202-195 BCE) by the vassal king, Zhang Ao of Zhao. Unfortunately for the concubine (whose name has been lost to history), the kingdom of Zhao became embroiled in a conspiracy soon after she was sent to join the emperor. In 198 BCE, King Zhang Ao of Zhao was stripped of his kingly title, and officials such as the Prime Minister Guan Gao of Zhao were executed after a plot to assassinate the emperor was discovered. After the discovery of the conspiracy, the concubine from Zhao was arrested and imprisoned because of suspicions that she might have been involved in the plot. The unfortunate concubine had not been with the emperor for long before her imprisonment, but it was long enough for her to become pregnant.

During her pregnancy and imprisonment, the concubine pleaded for mercy, trying to use as leverage the fact that her unborn child had been fathered by the emperor. Her petitions, however, could not dissipate the suspicions that Emperor Gaozu had toward the concubine after the plot in Zhao was discovered. Therefore, she remained in prison and it was there that she gave birth to a son—Liu Chang. What happened next is vague. Perhaps it was a difficult birth, or maybe she lost the will to live. There is also the possibility the concubine was executed after she gave birth. Whatever the case, the unnamed concubine died shortly after Liu Chang was born. Thankfully, the newborn was not left alone for long. Emperor Gaozu quickly recognized the boy as his son and he gave his wife, Empress Lü, the task of raising the infant as her own child. A few years later, in 196 BCE, Liu Chang was appointed as the child-king of Huainan by Emperor Gaozu.

Fortunately for the young king, Empress Lü apparently developed a motherly bond with him. It was quite a feat for the child, as after the death of Emperor Gaozu in 195 BCE, Empress Lü became quite hostile to the sons that her husband had fathered with other women—the empress even had several of these sons executed. Liu Chang’s anomalously-warm relationship with Empress Lü allowed him to survive the empress’ complicated reign until her death in 180 BCE. By then, only one other son of Emperor Gaozu survived: Liu Chang’s older half-brother, King Liu Heng of Dai, who succeeded to the throne as Emperor Wen (r.180-157 BCE).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Palace Children Playing, painted during the Song Dynasty (960–1279), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

Sources:

The Salutation of Beatrice, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882)

By
thehistorianshut
-

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882), an English artist and scholar, painted these scenes of an encounter between the famous poet, Dante Alighieri (c. 1265-1321), and his muse, Beatrice Portinari. The paintings were inspired by a passage from Dante Alighieri’s La Vita Nuova (The New Life), which describes the poet’s early interactions with the woman who would leave a great impact on his literature. In particular, the painted scenes re-create the first time that the two spoke to each other—an occurrence that allegedly happened when both were eighteen years old. Dante emotionally described the event:

“[Beatrice] appeared to me dressed all in pure white, between two gentle ladies elder than she. And passing through a street, she turned her eyes thither where I stood sorely abashed: and by her unspeakable courtesy, which is now guerdoned in the Great Cycle, she saluted me with so virtuous a bearing that I seemed then and there to behold the very limits of blessedness. The hour of her most sweet salutation was exactly the ninth of that day; and because it was the first time that any words from her reached mine ears, I came into such sweetness that I parted thence as one intoxicated” (La Vita Nuova, fourth paragraph).

Curiously, despite Dante Alighieri’s obsession with Beatrice, he had little physical interaction with her, especially in the way of courtship. In fact, at the time of the scene quoted above, Dante was already engaged to his future bride, Gemma Donati, with whom he had been betrothed since 1277. Regardless of the distance between Dante and his muse, the beauty of Beatrice and her tragic young death in 1290 (at the age of 24) became a life-long font of artistic inspiration for the poet. The name of Beatrice, likely to the chagrin of Gemma Donati, made many appearances in the decades-long literary career of Dante. Beatrice’s most famous cameo in the poet’s writings was her role in The Divine Comedy, where the ghost of Beatrice leads Dante through purgatory and into paradise.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Diodorus Siculus

By
thehistorianshut
-

Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE)

“History is guardian of the high achievements of illustrious men, the witness which testifies to the evil deeds of the wicked, and thus the benefactor of mankind.”

  • The Library of History (Book 1, Chapter 2), by Diodorus Siculus, edited by Giles Laurén (Sophron Editor, 2014).

The Tale Of Thor Turning A Suitor Of His Daughter Into Stone

By
thehistorianshut
-

A curious tale about the Norse god, Thor, can be found in a poem called Alvissmal, or All-Wise’s Sayings, which was preserved along with other old anonymously-written Icelandic poems in a 13th-century collection, called the Poetic Edda. Alvissmal begins with an encounter between Thor and a jolly dwarf named All-Wise, the namesake of the poem. As the name suggests, All-Wise was a dwarf with encyclopedic knowledge, but he unfortunately and ironically lacked the comprehension to apply his learning in any self-preserving way.

Thor and All-Wise meet on the road one night under very strange circumstances. The dwarf was giddy with happiness, telling everyone he met on his journey that he was soon to be married to a goddess. This marriage contract—formed under vague terms by a mysterious trickster of a figure—seemed perfectly fine to All-Wise, and he continued to portray an aura of happiness and calm as he traveled closer and closer to the abode of his would-be wife. Yet, there was a glaring problem with All-Wise’s hopes; his supposed fiancé and her father both did not know that any such marriage negotiations existed. Unfortunately for the dwarf, it seems that someone played a trick on him, or wanted him dead. As it was, he was marching joyfully to take Thor’s daughter as his wife, on the authority of a marriage contract that did not exist.

All-Wise was musing out loud about his future wife, his wedding, and his predicted happy future when he had the misfortune of bumping into his prospective father-in-law on the road during the night. Thor, the mighty giant-slaying god, was not known for kindness or patience, but the deity decided to play it slow with the curious dwarf. Thor could not hold himself back, however, from commenting that he did not think that the dwarf was the marriageable sort. This verbal jab did not perturb All-Wise, but instead caused the dwarf to strike up a conversation with his fellow traveler. Not knowing to whom he was talking, the dwarf said:

“All-Wise is my name, I live below the earth,
my dwelling is under a rock;
to the lord of the wagons I’ve come on a visit,
let no man break people’s sworn pledges!”
(Alvissmal, stanza 3)

As the conversation between the dwarf and the god continued, Thor became more and more aware that it was his own daughter that All-Wise intended to marry.  Now that he knew of the dwarf’s mistaken assumptions, Thor revealed his identity. Referencing All-Wise’s aforementioned insistence that pledges should not be broken, Thor retorted:

“I shall break them, since I’ve most authority
over the bride as her father;
I wasn’t at home when she was promised to you,
the only one among the gods who can give this gift.”
(Alvissmal, stanza 4)

Thor was acting with restraint at this point, but All-Wise, unfortunately, did not desist in his insistence that the marriage should go forward, causing Thor to become angry. The dwarf, who literally and figuratively lived under a rock, did not know how much danger he was in by testing Thor’s patience. Instead of dropping the subject and promptly leaving, All-Wise boldly opted for the route of pressing Thor to approve the marriage.  Still maintaining his cheerful and calm demeanor, All-Wise begged:

“Your consent I’d quickly like to gain
and to get a bridal agreement;
I had rather have her than go without
the snow-white girl.”
(Alvissmal, stanza 7)

By this point in the conversation, Thor’s patience had been completely depleted and replaced by anger and annoyance. Earlier, the god might have let the dwarf go home to find a new bride, but now Thor had lost all good-will toward the unwanted suitor. In fact, the god was by now quite murderous in his intentions.

During their long discourse, Thor had quickly learned that All-Wise had a wide breadth of knowledge, and the god now decided to use this against the dwarf. For this purpose, Thor began to ask All-Wise about random trivia regarding the lands of gods, giants, elves, dwarves, and humans. All-Wise eagerly answered every question asked, thinking that if he impressed the god with his knowledge, then he might indeed be allowed to marry his promised bride. This bout of questions and answers continued long into the night, and Thor had no shortage of questions to ask. All-Wise’s encyclopedic knowledge, however, was inexhaustible, and he answered truthfully the random subjects he was told to explain, such as the different ways that giants, elves, humans, and gods referred to basic things like clouds, fire, wood and water. Yet, with all this knowledge, one important piece of information escaped the dwarf, and by the time the sun began to rise over Thor and All-Wise, it was already too late. Norse dwarves, so myth and legend claimed, were sometimes known to turn to stone when exposed to sunlight. Unfortunately, All-Wise, who had been intentionally travelling at night, was susceptible to this odd condition. Declaring victory, Thor exclaimed:

“In one breast I’ve never seen
more ancient knowledge;
with much guile I declare I’ve beguiled you;
day dawns on you now, dwarf,
now sun shines into the hall.”
(Alvissmal, stanza 35)

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration inspired by Alvissmal (All-Wise’s Sayings), created by W.G. Collingwood (1854 – 1932), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

Sources:

  • Alvissmal, an old poem which was preserved in the 13th-century Poetic Edda which was produced anonymously in Iceland. Translation by Carolyne Larrington (Oxford University Press, 2014).
  • The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson, translated by Jesse Byock. New York: Penguin Classics, 2005.

Alexander Cuts The Gordian Knot, by Jean-Simon Berthélemy (1743–1811)

By
thehistorianshut
-

In this painting, artist Jean-Simon Berthélemy (c. 1743–1811) re-creates a famous tale from the life of Alexander the Great (r. 336-323 BCE). The scene occurred at Gordium, the capital city of ancient Phrygia, where Alexander passed through around the time of the winter season connecting 334 and 333 BCE. In that city of Gordium, there was an item of legend and prophecy that was too enticing for Alexander the Great to ignore. The object in question was the Gordian knot, a binding that—along with the remnants of the yoke and wagon it was attached to—was said to have dated back to the legendary namesake of the city, Gordius, who fathered the line that produced King Midas. The Greek-Roman historian, Arrian (c. 90-173+), described the prophecy that cropped up around the Gordian knot, and Alexander the Great’s actions regarding this artifact upon his entrance into the city:

“There was also another traditional belief about the wagon: according to this, the man who undid the knot which fixed its yoke was destined to be the lord of Asia. The cord was made from the bark of the cornel tree, and so cunningly was the knot tied that no one could see where it began or where it ended…Accounts of what followed differ: some say that Alexander cut the knot with a stroke of his sword and exclaimed, ‘I have undone it!’, but Aristobulus thinks he took out the pin—a sort of wooden peg which was driven right through the shaft of the wagon and held the knot together—and thus pulled the yoke away from the shaft” (Anabasis of Alexander, 2.3).

Jean-Simon Berthélemy opted for the first version of the story in his painting. As depicted in the artwork above, Alexander brandishes his dagger high while he contemplates where to chop the legendary cord. In the background, some of the locals understandably look distressed, for the impending destruction of a much-beloved ancient artifact undoubtedly cause some mixed opinions. Nevertheless, Alexander the Great’s defeat of the formidable Gordian knot was a great PR victory, which helped cultivate his own burgeoning legend.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • The Campaigns of Alexander by Arrian, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
1...155156157...369Page 156 of 369

RECENT POSTS

POPULAR