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Fotis Sees Her Lover Lucius Transformed Into An Ass. Motif From Apuleius’ The Golden Ass, by Nicolai Abildgaard (c. 1743 – 1809)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Danish artist Nicolai Abildgaard (c. 1743 – 1809), was inspired by the peculiar ancient Roman tale of Fotis and Lucius, which was penned by the Roman writer, Apuleius (c. 125-170/180). As the title of the artwork gives away, Apuleius’ book was titled The Golden Ass, but it was also given a less crude title of Metamorphoses. The book, which reads like a comedic adventure novel, follows the odd life of a man named Lucius, who was cursed by an insatiable curiosity of the occult. His nosiness fatefully caused him to be magically transformed into a donkey—hence the titles of the book. It is this scene of Lucius’ transformation that is re-created in Nicolai Abildgaard’s painting.

Lucius, as the painting portrays, had come in contact with a woman named Fotis (or, Photis, as she is usually called) prior to the peculiar transformation seen above. Lucius gravitated to Photis because she was the maid of a suspected witch named Pamphile. Desperate to see the witch perform a magic spell, Lucius employed charm, charisma and seduction to begin an intimate relationship with Photis, hoping to eventually pressure her to let him witness Pamphile’s powers. Lucius had his wish, and he allegedly saw this scene that Apuleius described:

“Pamphile completely stripped herself; then she opened a chest and took out a small number of boxes. From one of these she removed the lid and scooped out some ointment, which she rubbed between her hands for a long time before smearing herself with it all over from head to foot. Then there was a long muttered address to the lamp during which she shook her arms with a fluttering motion. As they gently flapped up and down there appeared on them a soft fluff, then a growth of strong feathers; her nose hardened into a hooked beak, her feet contracted into talons—and Pamphile was an owl” (Apuleius, The Golden Ass, 3.21).

Lucius, understandably, was amazed and excited about the feat of shapeshifting that he had witnessed. Yet, Lucius’ overabundance of curiosity and interest in magic not only made him want to see magic—he also wanted to try it out for himself. Lucius, after some frantic pleas and encouragement, was able to convince Photis to fetch some of the ointment that had been used in the transformation spell. She successfully found some of it in Pamphile’s nearby stash, and brought it to her reckless lover. Even though Lucius did not have any instructions on how to use the ointment and did not know exactly what needed to be done or muttered during the spell, he decided, anyway, to make his own attempt of transforming into an owl by copying what he had seen. Lucius’ imitation of the ritual, nevertheless, did not go well. Apuleius (narrating from the viewpoint of Lucius) described the comical scene of the transformation that ensued:

“[T]hen very apprehensively she [Photis] slipped into the room and took the box out of the chest. I seized it and kissed it, praying that it would grant me good luck on the wing; then I tore off my clothes, and plunging my hands into it scooped out a generous portion of the ointment and rubbed it all over myself; then I flapped my arms up and down in imitation of a bird. But no down or feathers appeared; instead my hair became coarse and shaggy, my soft skin hardened into hide, my fingers and toes lost their separate identity and coalesced into hooves, and from the end of my spine there protruded a long tail. My face became enormous and my mouth widened; my nostrils dilated and my lips hung down; and my ears became monstrously long and hairy. The only redeeming feature of this catastrophic transformation was that my natural endowment had grown too—but how could I embrace Photis like this? In this hapless state I looked myself over and saw that I was now no bird, but an ass” (Apuleius, The Golden Ass, 3.24-25).

Such is the bizarre scene from the ancient tale that inspired Nicolai Abildgaard’s painting. Lucius’ accomplice, Photis, as a maid of a witch, quickly ran off to try to pull together ingredients that would hopefully cure Lucius from his unfortunate transformation. Yet, in a plot-driving turn of events, the transformed man (now completely a donkey) was stolen from the stables before he could be re-transformed back into a man. As a result, Lucius was stuck as a donkey for much of the remainder of Apuleius’ peculiar book. In the comedic chapters that followed, the donkey with a human mind was handed over from owner to owner, and was dragged from town to town in the Roman Empire due to each transaction. Poor Lucius, all the while, continued to desperately look for a cure to turn himself back into his human form as he was transported around the Mediterranean during his donkey odyssey.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

 

Sources:

Aristotle

By
thehistorianshut
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Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE)

“Freedom to do exactly what one likes cannot do anything to keep in check that element of badness which exists in each and all of us.”

  • From Aristotle’s Politics (Bekker page 1318bb), translated by T. A. Sinclair and revised by T. J. Saunders (Penguin Classics, 1962, 1981, 1992).

(Video) The Absolute Cheesiest Tale About Charlemagne

By
thehistorianshut
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In this narrated video essay, we present the absolute cheesiest tale about Charlemagne (r. 768-814) that was recorded by the medieval monk and historian, Notker the Stammerer (c. 840-912). With direct quotations from the medieval text and historical artworks to help illustrate the scene, prepare to be regaled about Charlemagne’s peculiar cheesy experience with one of the bishops of his realm.

[Video Timestamps]
00:00 Notker the Stammerer
01:10 Charlemagne, the Bishop, and Cheese
03:15 Notker Quote
04:34 Cheesy Logistics
05:48 Bishop Epilogue
06:05 Outro

All of the artworks and stock clips used in the video were labeled as Public Domain or free use at the time of the video’s creation.

Video Music
Free To Use Gregorian Chant Music Royalty Free “Camelot Monastery”
By Darren Curtis (https://www.youtube.com/@DarrenCurtisMusic, https://www.darrencurtismusic.com)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4Vgb8UC07I

Medieval: The Old Tower Inn (CC0) Full Track + Loop
By Random Mind (https://www.youtube.com/@randommynd)
https://youtu.be/zFO3Jyr-mZ4?si=RK3fcM5BKiLg0dGc
License: Creative Commons CC0 https://creativecommons.org/public-domain/cc0/

[Free Medieval Tavern Music] “Ale and Anecdotes” Royalty Free Fantasy RPG Theme
By Darren Curtis (https://www.youtube.com/@DarrenCurtisMusic, https://www.darrencurtismusic.com)
https://youtu.be/y6v8TbhMWDE?si=oDkPZ-iAQ5I_Gxh-

[Video Transcript]
In the 880s, a monk named Notker the Stammerer decided to write about the life of Charlemagne, the famous king of the Franks who took power in 768 and died in 814. Notker’s only major biographical predecessor on the subject was Einhard, who wrote his Life of Charlemagne in the 820s. Notker the Stammerer, as a monk, felt that Einhard neglected the subjects of religion and the church in his coverage of Charlemagne’s life. Therefore, Notker, in his own work, The Deeds of Charlemagne, pointedly filled nearly the entire first book of his project with numerous bizarre stories involving prominent clergymen in Charlemagne’s empire. These tales, told to Notker by an enigmatic cleric named Werinbert, were unfortunately often left devoid of names, locations and dates, so it is difficult to assign any concrete historical validity to the tales. Even so, the strange stories are immensely entertaining and can give a window into the mind of a 9th-century audience.

One of Notker’s stories told of an anonymous bishop who managed property along an inland route that Charlemagne used frequently for his travels. While the king of the Franks was there, the unnamed bishop offered the king his hospitality, supplying food and drink from his own stores. The local church estates had plenty of supplies to feed the monarch, but a problem occurred on one particular trip. For one, in that specific incident in question, the king’s journey through the land had been provoked by unexpected circumstances, so the bishop had little time to prepare. Secondly, adding further complexity to the mix, the king arrived in the bishop’s territory on the day of a Friday Fast and, as a devout Christian, Charlemagne refused any dish made with meat from land animals or birds. Fish was an acceptable meal for the fast, but as the king was in an inland bishopric, Charlemagne would have been long gone before any fresh seafood could be carted into town. Unfortunately for Charlemagne, all that the bishop could provide on that Friday was cheese.

Surrounded by his attendants and the bishop, Charlemagne prepared for his meal. As the bishop blushed with embarrassment, a wheel of cheese was brought before the king. It was the best cheese that the region had to offer, but it must have looked unappetizing, especially the rough, dry edges of the wheel. According to the tale, Charlemagne withheld any comment and silently cut away the edges, intending to eat only the smooth and creamy center. When the bishop realized what the king was doing, he hesitantly approached and lightly commented that Charlemagne had cut away the best part. As the tale goes, Charlemagne trusted the bishop and looked for the choicest section of the unseemly hardened ends of the cheese. He cautiously ate a selected piece, slowly but methodically devouring the specimen. When the king finally swallowed the cheese, he enthusiastically turned to the bishop and agreed that the ends were delicious. On this curious scene of Charlemagne and his feast of cheese, Notker the Stammerer wrote:

“On that same journey he came unexpectantly to a bishop who lived in a place through which he had to pass. Now on that day, being the sixth day of the week, he was not willing to eat the flesh of beast or bird; and the bishop, being by reason of the nature of the place unable to procure fish quickly, ordered some excellent cheese, rich and creamy, to be placed before him. And the most moderate Charles, with the readiness which he showed everywhere and on all occasions, spared the blushes of the bishop and required nothing else; but taking up his knife cut off the skin, which he thought unsavoury, and fell to on the white of the cheese. Thereupon the bishop, who was standing near like a servant, drew closer and said: ‘Why do you do that, lord emperor? You are throwing away the very best part.’ Then Charles, who deceived no one, and did not believe that anyone would deceive him, on the persuasion of the bishop put a piece of the skin in his mouth, and slowly ate it and swallowed it like butter. Then approving of the advice of the bishop, he said: ‘Very true, my good host…’” (Notker the Stammerer, The Deeds of Charlemagne, 1.15)

Charlemagne was so delighted with the taste of the cheese that he demanded two full carts of the stuff to be shipped to his capital at Aachen on an annual basis. The king even specified how the cheese should be shipped: The cheese wheels were to be cut in half, with the best halves going to the king and the lesser sections staying behind with the bishop. The king’s cheese selections would then be skewered together and placed in a barrel, which, in turn, would be placed in the two carts that would carry the cheese to Aachen.

For three years the bishop meticulously carried out Charlemagne’s orders, slicing, selecting, skewering, barreling and shipping the two cart loads of the excellent cheese to Aachen each year. The burden of finding enough pristine cheese to meet the king’s demands was no easy task, yet the bishop always met his quota and, on the third year, he even drove the carts to Aachen himself. After the third annual shipment was received at Aachen, Charlemagne released the dutiful bishop from the job of being the king’s supplier of cheese. Perhaps, Charlemagne recognized the effort it took for the bishop to collect the cheeses, or the king could have simply grown tired of cheese after three years. Whatever the case, Charlemagne rewarded the clergyman for his three years of service by presenting the bishop with new tracts of fertile lands, which were pristine for the cultivation of grain and wine vineyards. So ended the Absolute Cheesiest Tale About Charlemagne.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Written Sources:

  • Two Lives of Charlemagne, by Einhard and Notker the Stammer, translated by David Ganz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.
  • Carolingian Chronicles: Royal Frankish Annals and Nithard’s Histories, translated by Bernhard Scholz and Barbara Rogers. Ann Arbor Paperbacks / University of Michigan Press, 1972.

Art sources:

Video stock footage sources

Ovid

By
thehistorianshut
-

Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE)

“A celibate life is something I’d only wish
On my very worst enemies.”

  • From The Amores (2.10.16-17) by Ovid, translated by Peter Green in The Erotic Poems (Penguin Classics, 1982).

Pythagoras’ Revolutionary Olympic Boxing Revenge

By
thehistorianshut
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In the 6th century BCE, a curious fighter named Pythagoras emerged from the island of Samos and challenged the preconceived notions and norms of the sport of boxing. Not to be confused with the famous philosopher, mathematician and theologian of the same name and land, the boxer in question here was likely born a few decades before his famed fellow countryman. When the time came for the Olympic Games of the 48th ancient Olympiad (588 BCE), the boxer, Pythagoras, was evidently at a young age that allowed him to arguably qualify for both the main Olympic competition, as well as a youth tournament that was held in conjunction with the Games. His intention was to compete in the boys’ event, but his Olympic journey would take complicated and unexpected turns.

Our young protagonist, the boxer, was an innovative prodigy in his sport, and he was reported to have exhibited a unique, flamboyant personality that has become stereotypical for young geniuses. He grew out his hair to be unusually long, he wore robes dyed with expensive pigments, and he also kept his physique much slimmer than the average boxer of that time. His hair and dress were simply his style, but the slim build was part of a carefully-crafted new training regimen that the young athlete had been developing. In short, Pythagoras the Boxer was pioneering a training program that focused on nutrition, dieting, and a more scientific approach to athletic efficiency. Nevertheless, by the time of the Olympics, Pythagoras had not yet been able to test out his training and capabilities against any fighters of real renown. Therefore, when it came time for the Olympics, he was an unknown entity and was not a favorite to win by any stretch, even in the youth tournament he wanted to join. The scholar, Diogenes Laertius (3rd century CE), cited an epigram about the boxer, stating:

“Gone to box with other lads
Is the lad Pythagoras,
Gone to the games Olympian
Crates’ son the Samian.”
(Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, 8.1.49.  The epigram is also in the Anthologia Planudea, iii.16).

Unfortunately for Pythagoras, he was not given a respectful or welcoming reception at the Olympics. His long hair, flamboyant fashion, and unusual slim physique became the subject of ridicule and mockery, both by fellow competitors and certain Olympic authorities. At the heart of the lampooning was an insinuation that the boxer had a womanly or girlish appearance. The critics and quibblers were so persistent and ferocious in their bullying that they successfully managed to have Pythagoras barred from the boys’ event at the Olympics. Pythagoras, however, was determined to compete, and since he was in that transitionary age between youth and young adulthood, he took that opportunity to sidestep the youth event and instead campaigned to get a spot in the adult boxing competition of the Olympic Games. Pythagoras convinced the Olympic authorities and was given the opportunity to compete. With that chance, the boxer entered the competition and made Olympic history. The historian, Eusebius (c. 260-339 CE), described the outcome of the Olympic boxing tournament of the 48th Olympiad: “Pythagoras of Samos was excluded from the boys’ boxing contest and was mocked for being effeminate, but he went on to the men’s contest and defeated all his opponents” (Eusebius, Chronicle, Book II, The Greek Olympiads, entry for 48th Olympiad/588 BCE). Disproving all the criticism and mockery, the slim and long-haired Pythagoras showcased his prowess and the effectiveness of his dietary program by becoming the Olympic boxing champion.

With an Olympic championship under his belt, proving that he was a magnificent boxer with a winning training routine, Pythagoras went on to have a successful post-Olympics career. He evidently became a professional trainer, instructor, or coach, teaching the sport of boxing and sharing his knowledge on nutrition and dietary plans for athletes. Diogenes Laertius mentioned this, differentiating between Pythagoras the trainer and Pythagoras the philosopher and mathematician, who both advocated for degrees of vegetarianism. Diogenes wrote, “Some say it was a certain trainer named Pythagoras who instituted this diet, and not our Pythagoras…” (Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, 8.1.13). The boxer also had interests outside of athletics, and reportedly went on to write a historical text. This was mentioned by Diogenes in a paragraph that listed the many different people named Pythagoras who all lived in the 6th century BCE. After mentioning the great philosopher, as well as tyrants, sculptors, orators and doctors, Diogenes went on to describe Pythagoras the Boxer. He wrote, “and yet another who, so we are told by Dionysius, wrote a history of the Dorian race. Eratosthenes says, according to what we learn from Favorinus in the eighth book of his Miscellaneous History, that the last-named was the first to box scientifically, in the 48th Olympiad, keeping his hair long and wearing a purple robe; and that when he was excluded with ridicule from the boys’ contest, he went at once to the men’s and won that” (Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, 8.1.47). Unfortunately, little else is known about Pythagoras the Boxer. Few records have survived the erosion of time, leaving unanswered questions such as if the Olympic champion fought again, who he might have coached, what other books he may have written, and when he died. Nevertheless, his vision of a science-based and nutrition-oriented approach to athletics remains very much alive to this day.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Terracotta lekythos (perfume flask), attributed to the Sabouroff Painter, ca. 460 BCE, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

Sources:

Erasistratus Discovers The Love Of Antiochus For Stratonice, By Edward Francis Burney (c. 1760–1848)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This drawing, by the British artist Edward Francis Burney (c. 1760–1848), re-creates the ancient tale of King Antiochus I Soter (r. 281 to 261 BCE) and Queen Stratonice of the Seleucid Empire. Theirs is a love story, albeit an awkward one. At the time of the scene in question, Antiochus was not yet king, and Stratonice was the stepmother of the young man. She was married to Antiochus’ father, King Seleucus I Nicator (r. 305-281 BCE), who married her after Antiochus’ mother was no longer in the picture. Unbeknownst to King Seleucus, the woman he chose to marry was also a woman that his son, Antiochus, was madly in love with. Therefore, when Stratonice became Seleucus’ wife, it caused Antiochus to fall into deep and melancholic depression. During the worst of the oppressive gloom, Antiochus became bedridden and his state of mind and body deteriorated to such an extent that King Seleucus called in a physician to examine the ailing young man. Fortunately for the royal family, the physician, named Erasistratus, quickly discovered the cause of the prince’s illness. As the story goes, it was a classic case of lovesickness. In the scene above, Erasistratus is seen in the act of proving his hypothesis, and his discovery would lead to both a divorce and a marriage. The ancient Greek-Roman biographer, Plutarch (c. 50-120), narrated the tale of what allegedly occurred in that room:

“[Erasistratus] perceived quite easily that he was in love, and wishing to discover who was the object of his passion (a matter not so easy to decide), he would spend day after day in the young man’s chamber, and if any of the beauties of the court came in, male or female, he would study the countenance of Antiochus, and watch those parts and movements of his person which nature has made to sympathize most with the inclinations of the soul. Accordingly, when any one else came in, Antiochus showed no change; but whenever Stratonicé came to see him, as she often did, either alone, or with Seleucus, lo, those tell-tale signs of which Sappho sings were all there in him, — stammering speech, fiery flushes, darkened vision, sudden sweats, irregular palpitations of the heart, and finally, as his soul was taken by storm, helplessness, stupor, and pallor” (Plutarch, Parallel Lives, Life of Demetrius, chapter 38).

Edward Francis Burney re-creates this scene in his drawing. In it, the physician, Erasistratus, can be seen checking Antiochus’ pulse as Stratonice stands nearby. After this awkward incident, King Seleucus amicably divorced himself from Stratonice in 294 BCE, and let her become the wife of Antiochus. Whether or not this is how their relationship truly began, the historical figures of Antiochus and Stratonice indeed married and had at least five children together.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Sophocles

By
thehistorianshut
-

Sophocles (c. 496-406/405 BCE)

“All men make mistakes, it is only human.
But once the wrong is done, a man
can turn his back on folly, misfortune too,
if he tries to make amends, however low he’s fallen,
and stops his bullnecked ways. Stubbornness
brands you for stupidity—pride is a crime.”

  • From Sophocles’ Antigone, approximately between lines 1020-1030, translated by Robert Fagles (Penguin Classics, 1982, 1984, 2018).

The Curious Origin Controversy Over The Word, Easter

By
thehistorianshut
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Easter, Ostern, and the Passover Connection
Easter, and its German equivalent Ostern, are peculiar words. They are the English and German language designations for the Christian celebratory day to honor and commemorate Jesus’ resurrection after crucifixion. The day is called by many names, varying from language to language, but the labels of Easter and Ostern are particularly anomalous. This is because the vast majority of other languages designate the celebratory day of Jesus’ resurrection with a name that derives from the Greek and Latin word for Passover, Pascha. For example, Easter is known as Pâques in French, Pasqua in Italian, Pascua de Resurrección in Spanish, Påsk in Swedish, and Påske in Danish and Norwegian, to name a few. This links back to the belief that Jesus was crucified around the beginning of Passover, and resurrected three days later, still in the Passover week. Instead of following the overtly Passover-themed trend, the German and English language communities opted to take a vastly different approach in how they named the celebratory day, resulting in confusion, controversy and debate that still rages on to this day.

Easter and Ostern have a complicated and contested origin history. On one side, a faction of scholars believe the words were derived from the Latin word, alba (meaning white, and could describe dawn), and the phrase, in albis (in white). Proponents of this position believe German and Anglo-Saxon communities latched on to the white and dawn imagery and symbolism, favoring those descriptions over the Passover references used by other Christians. In time, as the white and dawn allusions changed through the etymological evolution of language changes, translations, or mistranslations, the peculiar titles of Ostern and Eastern came to be. Encyclopedia Britannica summarizes this train of thought, stating, “There is now widespread consensus that the word derives from the Christian designation of Easter week as in albis, a Latin phrase that was understood as the plural of alba (‘dawn’) and became eostarum in Old High German, the precursor of the modern German and English term” (Encyclopedia Britannica, entry for Easter). On the other hand, other scholars, including prominent medieval historical figures, believed that Easter and Ostern were named after the archaic name of the month in which Passover occurred—the Paschal month. April, the Roman month in which Passover takes place, was known as Eosturmonath to the Anglo-Saxons and as Ostarmanoth or Ostaramonath to the Franks. In this line of thought, the English word, Easter, and the German parallel, Ostern, derived not from the phrase, in albis (in white) or eostarum, but from those ancient month names that were eventually supplanted by Roman-based calendars.


Eosturmonath and Ostaramonath
Eosturmonath and Ostaramonath can be found in historical records. Eosturmonath was preserved for posterity by a Northumbrian monk and historian named Bede (c. 673-735). Often called the Father of English History, he was the author of the acclaimed Ecclesiastical History of the English People and began the tradition of labeling dates before the birth of Jesus Christ as BC. On the topics of the months and Easter, Bede wrote:

“In olden time the English people—for it did not seem fitting to me that I should speak of other people’s observance of the year and yet be silent about my own nation’s—calculated their months according to the course of the moon.  Hence, after the manner of the Greeks and the Romans (the months) take their name from the Moon, for the Moon is called mona and the month monath. The first month, which the Latins call January, is Giuli; February is called Solmonath; March Hrethmonath; April, Eosturmonath… Eosturmonath has a name which is now translated ‘Paschal month’, and which was once called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month.  Now they designate that Paschal season by her name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance” (Bede, De temporum ratione (The Reckoning of Time), chapter 15 / §§329-331).

Historical use of Ostaramonath or Ostarmanoth can be found in the writing of Einhard (c. 770-840), who joined the court of Charlemagne sometime during the early 790s, and became a highly respected member of Charlemagne’s scholarly circle by 796. He composed a biographical Life of Charlemagne sometime between 817-827, in which he described how Charlemagne (r. 768-814) imposed the Frankish names of months on the subjects of the Carolingian Empire. Einhard wrote, “He gave names to the months in his native language, since before that time the Franks had given partly German and partly Latin names…And he called January Wintarmanoth, February Hornung, March Lentzinmanoth, April Ostarmanoth…” (Einhard, The Life of Charlemagne, chapter 29). Einhard, unfortunately, did not plainly explain the meaning of the month names, but they can nevertheless be inferred in a self-explanatory way. Wintarmanoth can be reckoned as Winter Month, Lentzinmanoth as Lent Month, and Ostarmanoth or Ostaramonath as Ostern or Easter Month.


Eostra, Ostrara, and Eos
The ironic and controversial nature the names, Easter and Ostern, come from their connection to Eosturmonath and Ostaramanoth, and how those archaic monthly titles came to be coined. As Bede reported, he believed that the Anglo-Saxon Eostre Month was “called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month. Now they designate that Paschal season by her name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance” (De temporum ratione (The Reckoning of Time), chapter 15 / §331). This Eaostre or Eostrae figure that Bede wrote of was an ancient Saxon protective goddess with connections to dawn, fertility, and possibly the season of spring. She was honored by her worshippers at the time of the spring equinox. Similarly, the Frankish Ostern (or Ostara) Month was, and is, believed by many to have been named after a Germanic equivalent to Eostre, named Ostara. It is also believed that Eostre and Ostara may be parallels of, or connected to, the Greek goddess of Dawn, Eos.

Despite the aforementioned Encyclopedia Britannica insistence that there is “widespread consensus” that Easter was named after a Latin phrase referencing dawn or white, many authoritative sources still directly link the name of Easter to a Saxon goddess. An article attributed to Professor Carole Cusack at the University of Sydney states, “The English word for Easter is derived from the name of a minor Anglo-Saxon goddess, Eostre, a goddess of the dawn or spring. Feasts in her honour were often celebrated in April. In German, the word for Easter is ‘Ostern’ and is derived from the German version of Eostre, called Ostara. In both these names the linguistic element meaning ‘east’ (eost, ost) reinforces the connection with the dawn” (read Here). Similarly, an article from the University of Chicago states, “In a Germanic language such as English, the festival of Easter (Ostern in German) derives from Eostre, a pagan goddess of the dawn and spring” (read Here). Additionally, the Oxford Companion to the Bible begins its entry on Easter with the statement, “Easter. From Eostre, a Saxon goddess celebrated at the spring Equinox” (Oxford Companion to the Bible, entry for Easter (written by A.R.C. Leaney), pg. 404).

Even if one presumes that Easter, Ostern, Eosturmonath and Ostaramonath were named after Latin phrases about dawn or white, debate can still lead back to pagan goddesses, as Eostre, Ostara, and Eos were all deities linked to dawn. Furthermore, Eos (also spelled Aos) was also associated with the color white. The Lyric poet, Ibycus (c. 6th century BCE), called her “white-cheeked Aos” (Ibycus, Fragment 284 (trans. Campbell, Vol. Greek Lyric III)) and the poet, Bacchylides (c. 510-452+ BCE), similarly called her “White-horsed Aos” (Bacchylides, Fragment 20C, (trans. Campbell, Vol. Greek Lyric IV)). Whatever the case, the debate about the origin of the word, Easter, still remains heated and ongoing.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Last Chapter (The Venerable Bede Translates John) by James Doyle Penrose (1862-1932), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Bible-Researcher, and Wikimedia Commons).

 Sources:

Pomona And Vertumnus, By Suzanne de Court (c. 1575–1625)

By
thehistorianshut
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This artwork, by the French artist Suzanne de Court (c. 1575–1625), is a watchcase cover decorated with enamel on metal. Suzanne’s artwork draws inspiration from an ancient mythological tale involving the god Vertumnus—an Etruscan deity of seasons and vegetation—and Pomona, a Roman goddess of orchards and fruits. Although the watchcase cover seems to depict what looks like two women in conversation, one of the two figures is Vertumnus in disguise.

Due to Pomona and Vertumnus being both deities of plant life and nature, they naturally had a lot in common. In particular, Vertumnus was so enthralled with his counterpart, Pomona, that he fell in love at first sight. Pomona, on the other hand, was totally absorbed in her agricultural duties, living in a walled-off orchard and rejecting any and all advances from male deities who sought her company. This did not deter patient and persistent Vertumnus. Instead, the god decided to use all of the magical skills and tools at his godly disposal to catch Pomona’s attention and court the goddess.

Vertumnus, a masterful shapeshifter, approached Pomona’s garden again and again in the guise of all sorts of masculine physiques and appearances in hopes of winning the goddess’ approval. He took on the appearance of a reaper, a haymaker, a plowman, a vineyard worker and an apple picker, only to be turned away or ignored each time. After Pomona rejected all of these personas, Vertumnus had an epiphany; if he adopted a disguise as a woman, maybe Pomona would let down her guard enough to talk. The Roman poet Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE) described these transformations:

“All these forms he adopted again and again to get close
to Pomona and so to enjoy the sight of her beautiful person.
One day he even put on a grey wig with a bright-coloured headscarf,
crouched down over a stick and pretended to be an old woman.”
(Ovid, Metamorphosis, 14.651-655).

Vertumnus’ elderly woman disguise worked to great effect, and he achieved his long-awaited audience with Pomona. It is this achievement that Suzanne de Court brings to life on the watchcase cover. As the story goes, Vertumnus’ conversation with Pomona went more than well. The incognito god began telling the goddess that she had a godly admirer, and he went on to flatteringly describe his real self for her. After Vertumnus caught Pomona’s attention with the self-lauding gossip, he removed his shapeshifting illusion and switched back to his real form, pleasantly surprising the goddess. Pomona reportedly did not hold a grudge against Vertumnus’ deceptive icebreaker tactics, and to the contrary, the two were said to have ended up living together happily ever after.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Cicero

By
thehistorianshut
-

Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 BCE)

“Nothing can be sweeter than liberty. Yet if it isn’t equal throughout, it isn’t liberty at all.”

  • From The Republic by Cicero (Book 1, chapter 47), translated by Niall Rudd (Oxford University Press, 1998).
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