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Abduction Of The Sabine Women, Painted By Johann Heinrich Schönfeld (c. 1609–1684)

This painting, by the German artist Johann Heinrich Schönfeld (c. 1609–1684), was inspired by an infamous legend involving the ancient Romans and their unlucky neighbors, the Sabines. In particular, the legendary tale being re-created here was said to have occurred during the time of Rome’s founder, Romulus, whose mythical reign was traditionally dated to about 753-717 BCE. Romulus, according to the narrative told by the Roman historian Livy (59 BCE-17 CE), came to the conclusion that primitive Rome’s greatest existential threat was that “There were not enough women,” and that without boosting the female population of the fledgling city-state, Roman “greatness seemed likely to last only for a single generation” (Livy, Roman History, 1.9). In true ancient tribal warfare fashion, Romulus decided that the best way for Rome to increase its female population was to capture women from the nearby Sabine settlements. Therefore, the Romans concocted a plot to orchestrate a mass-abduction of Sabine women.

In order to lure women to Rome, Romulus and his people were said to have notified their Sabine neighbors that Rome would be hosting a religious festival. Unfortunately, curiosity was indeed piqued in nearby communities by the deceitful news of Rome’s upcoming festivities. Whole families visited Rome on the appointed day to partake in the religious worship and the accompanying entertainments that had been promised. The hoped-for day of family fun, however, turned into an infamous incident of chaos and trauma. As narrated by the historian Livy, “at a given signal all the able-bodied [Roman] men burst through the crowd and seized the young women. Most of the girls were the prize of whoever got hold of them, but a few conspicuously handsome ones had been previously marked down for leading senators, and these were brought to their houses by special gangs” (Roman History, 1.9). Such is the scene that can be seen unfolding in Johann Heinrich Schönfeld’s chaotic painting.

As can be expected, the actions of Romulus and his Romans enraged the Sabines, and war quickly erupted between the two peoples. Nevertheless, the Sabine women, who had already begun to accept life in Rome after the initial shock of abduction, were conflicted by the war. According to legend, the Sabine women rushed out onto the battlefield, and putting themselves between the two armies, they forced the Romans and the Sabines to make peace and unite.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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Giovanni Boccaccio

Giovanni Boccaccio (c. 1313-1375)

“There is a popular proverb which runs as follows: ‘He who is wicked and held to be good, can cheat because no one images he would.'”

  • The Decameron (Fourth Day, Second Story) by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by G. H. McWilliam. New York: Penguin Classics, 2003.

The Funeral Gladiator Games For Maximus Of Verona’s Wife

A certain Maximus was a prominent ancient Roman man who held significant wealth and influence in the region of Verona. While Maximus held impressive status, his reputation was rivaled by that of his wife, who evidently received equivalent or greater respect and love from the populace of Verona. This woman, whose name unfortunately is lost to time, was apparently so respected in the city that when she died before her husband, the mourning people of Verona were said to have demanded that Maximus use his wealth to fund public shows, memorials or monuments in honor of his late wife.

In order to pay tribute to his wife’s memory and placate the crowd, Maximus decided to hold gladiatorial games as part of a funeral send-off for his deceased spouse. He spent a great deal of money on the games, going so far as to order exotic animals, such as panthers, for the festivities. Yet, Maximus of Verona may have begun to question his decision to organize the gladiatorial games. Perhaps he thought people might look askance at the decision to hold games and festivities in connection to a funeral, or maybe he wondered if he spent too much or too little than was proper for a funeral service. In his worry, Maximus evidently reached out to his friend, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113)—a wealthy Roman lawyer, official and statesman—in order to see if Pliny thought that the gladiator show adequately met the expectations of Roman society. Pliny the Younger responded in a curious letter, writing:

“You did well to put on a show of gladiators for our people of Verona, who have long shown their affection and admiration for you and have voted you many honours. Verona was also the home town of the excellent wife you loved so dearly, whose memory you owe some public building or show, and this kind of spectacle is particularly suitable for a funeral tribute. Moreover the request came from so many people that a refusal would have been judged churlish rather than strong-minded on your part. You have also done admirably in giving the show so readily and on such a lavish scale, for this indicates a true spirit of generosity” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 6.34).

In his letter, Pliny appears quite reassuring and full of praise for Maximus’ gladiatorial games. On the other hand, it could possibly also be argued that Pliny was suggesting that an additional public-use memorial building or structure (a favorite kind of project for Pliny) would be a fine, if not “owed,” addition alongside the gladiatorial games. Whatever the case, as Pliny the Younger wrote in his letter that the gladiator games were “suitable” on their own for honoring the memory of Maximus’ wife.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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  • The Letters of Pliny the Younger, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1963, 1969.

Brennus, By Adam Brenner (c. 1800-1891)

This illustration, attributed to Adam Brenner (c. 1800-1891), re-creates one of the legends surrounding the Gallic sack of Rome, which occurred sometime between 390-386 BCE. As the traditional story goes, a rampaging army of Gauls, apparently led by a Senones chieftain named Brennus, ventured further south into Italy than the Gauls were known to usually roam. The Gallic army first attacked the city of Clusium, where Roman envoys were present. Since Rome had prior warning about the incoming Gallic force, they attempted to quickly mobilize an army and cut off the Gauls at the Allia river, yet the attack failed and the bulk of the defeated Roman army fled toward Veii. Brennus and his Gallic army, after their victory, pushed on to the vulnerable city of Rome. They easily stormed inside the walls, and were able to loot much of the city without contest, for the Romans had hunkered down in defensive positions on the Capitol for a final stand. Brennus besieged the Capitol and reportedly forced the Romans to begin negotiating. The Gallic chief asked for a heavy price. His demand for ending the siege was that Rome pay him 1,000 pounds of gold (not including what he had already looted), and the scale that he produced to measure this gold was in no way a fair standard for the Romans. When Rome protested the measuring device, Brennus responded with his famous line, “Woe to the vanquished!” (Livy, History of Rome, 5.48) and told them to keep bringing out the gold. It is this scene of Brennus demanding for more money to be relinquished that is brought to life in the illustration.

Brennus, nevertheless, had limited time. As the story goes, the legendary Roman general Marcus Furius Camillus returned from exile with a new army to save the day. According to Livy, “The argument about the weights had unduly protracted the weighing-out of the gold, and it so happened that before it was finished and the infamous bargain completed, Camillus himself appeared upon the scene. He ordered the gold to be removed and the Gauls to leave…” (History of Rome, 5.49). Of course, the events surrounding the Gallic sack of Rome are still hotly debated by scholars. There is no question that Rome was truly pillaged by a Gallic army between 390-386 BCE, and it left a permanent ugly stain on the communal memory of the proud Roman people, yet other questions about this obscure time period remain vague because of the conflicting and embellished ancient sources. Whether or not the Romans did or didn’t pay the 1,000 pounds of gold is one of those fiercely debated points in the narrative.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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Arrian

Arrian (c. 90-173+)

“If anyone should wonder why I should have wished to write this history when so many other men have done the same, I would ask him to reserve judgment until he has first read my predecessors’ work and then become acquainted with my own.”

  • From Arrian’s The Campaigns of Alexander (Book 1, chapter 1), translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt and revised by J. Hamilton. New York; Penguin Classics, 1971.

Religious Tolerance In The Reign of Hákon The Good Of Norway

Harald Finehair, the first king to unite Norway, is believed to have retired or died around the year 940, ending his momentous reign. His ruthless son, Eirik Bloodaxe, succeeded to the throne and killed several of his brothers while trying to press his claim as the next ruler of all Norway. During his short, but bloody, reign, Eirik lost not only the support of the average Norwegian farmer, but also of the nobility, who were the backbone of the king’s power.

Hákon was the name of Eirik’s youngest brother. Harald Finehair had arranged for this son to be raised by the powerful King Athelstan (r. 925-939), the first true king of all England. The young Norwegian prince was well-received by King Athelstan and he must also have gained the respect of Athelstan’s brother, King Edmund I (r. 939-946), for Hákon received aid from England when he decided to challenge Eirik Bloodaxe for the throne of Norway around 945.

According to the sagas, Hákon’s first step in usurping power in Norway was to gain the support of Jarl Sigurd (or Sigurth) in Hlathir, the dominant figure of the Trondheim region. As Eirik Bloodaxe had not won many friends among the Norwegian nobility, it was not difficult for Hákon to bring Jarl Sigurd over to his side, but the jarl was more than just a bribed official—he would go on to be one of Hákon’s most trusted lieutenants.

Jarl Sigurd was reportedly a charismatic speaker, and he successfully convinced the farmers of Trondheim and Uppland to hear Hákon speak. The people were evidently won over by Hákon’s promises of restoring land rights to the farmers, and in return, they promptly declared him to be their king. With jarls and commoners alike both defecting to Hákon, Eirik Bloodaxe decided to flee Norway and start a new life in England. As a result, King Hákon took control of Norway around the year 946 in a virtually bloodless coup.

King Hákon would have a decently lengthy reign in Norway, ruling until his death in 961. The support he received from the Norwegian population was an impressive feat considering the key difference that separated him from his countrymen—he was a Christian ruling over a kingdom that worshipped Norse gods.

During his stay in England, Hákon had converted to Christianity and he still professed this faith when he became king of Norway. In contrast, most of the Norwegians that he ruled, including Jarl Sigurd, retained their traditional belief in the old gods and were not receptive to the idea of an evangelist king. Sensing the weary, if not hostile, attitude toward his religion, Hákon began his reign by practicing his Christian beliefs in secret, while simultaneously doing nothing to impede the traditional religious ceremonies of his people.

When King Hákon had ousted Eirik Bloodaxe and believed that he had obtained the support of the Norwegian people, the king decided to practice his religion more openly. As the stories go, he requested for a bishop and priests to come over from Britain to organize the construction of churches. Yet, the Norwegian Jarls and chieftains were hostile toward these new arrivals and allegedly murdered the priests and burned down the foundations that had been constructed for three planned churches.

Instead of mustering an army and creating a civil war over the wrongful deaths of the priests, King Hákon was said to have allowed the people of Norway to debate in local assemblies about whether they wanted to adopt or tolerate Christianity in their respective regions. When the assemblies ultimately refused to convert, Hákon apparently did not press the issue. Instead, he tried to find a way forward that would allow him to practice his own Christian beliefs, while also being able to participate in his kingdom’s traditional Norse ceremonies.

As portrayed in the sagas and skaldic poems, King Hákon was never a man to flee from a battle, even when greatly outnumbered. Yet, when it came to religion, the king was incredibly lenient and diplomatic. For the sake of national unity, King Hákon worked with his friend, Jarl Sigurd, to find ways he could participate in Norse religious ceremonies, such as sacrificial feasts. The Icelandic historian and saga writer, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), wrote about a few such supposed ploys, including Hákon making the sign of the cross over a horn of ale before drinking a ceremonial toast to Odin, and, on another occasion, breathing in fumes from a sacrificial meal as a substitute of actually partaking of any sacrificed meat. On the other hand, if his people were particularly grumbly during a sacrificial feast, it was not unheard of for King Hákon to take a small sip from a ceremonial horn or to eat a sliver of sacrificed meat in order to placate his people.

According to the sagas and poems, King Hákon was surprised in 961 by an invasion launched by the sons of Eirik Bloodaxe. These sons had been living in exile ever since Hákon usurped the throne of Norway, and the refugee brothers used nearby safe havens, such as Denmark, for launching attacks and raids against their father’s former kingdom. In the 961 invasion, the sons of Eirik Bloodaxe reportedly caught King Hákon off-guard and heavily outnumbered in the vicinity of Fitjar, Norway. In adherence to his heroic flaw, Hákon decided to attack instead of flee—he was said to have won the resulting battle, but suffered a mortal wound during the fight. Knowing he was dying and cognizant of the fact that he had no sons, King Hákon reportedly gave his kingdom willingly to his defeated killers, the sons of Eirik Bloodaxe.

Despite his differences with his countrymen, Hákon was a greatly loved figure and he eventually became known by the title, King Hákon the Good. The respect that the king received from his people is palpable in the poem, Hákonarmál (Lay of Hákon), written by Eyvind Skáldaspillir, who was one of King Hákon’s Norse vassals. In it, the poet mentions Hákon’s religious toleration:

“Then it was seen     how that sea-king had
honored the ancient altars
since that Hákon     hailed and welcomed,
all gods and heavenly hosts.”
(Hákonarmál, stanza 18, trans. Lee M. Hollander)

In the final stanzas of the poem, Eyvind Skáldaspillir went on to write of his belief that no other king would surpass Hákon in benevolence before the apocalypse of Ragnarok:

“On a good day is born     that great-souled lord
who hath a heart like his.
His time will aye     be told of on earth,
As good and glorious.

Unfettered will fare     the Fenris Wolf
And ravage the realm of men,
Ere that cometh     a kingly prince
As good, to stand in his stead.”
(Hákonarmál, stanzas 19 and 20, trans. Lee M. Hollander)

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section of an artwork labeled Håkon Jarl og Kark, made by Adolph Tidemand in 1845, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum of Norway).

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Apollo Pursuing Daphne, By An Unknown 17th Century Artist

This painting, by an unknown 17th-century artist, depicts the sad mythological tale of Apollo and Daphne, encapsulated in a wooded scene with an ornate palatial structure in the background. Daphne and Apollo can be seen running between the trees of the painting’s foreground, startling a nearby cluster of goats. Daphne, dressed with blue and white cloth wrapped around her waist, was a Naiad nymph fathered by a minor river god. According to myth, Daphne had the misfortune of being near the powerful gods, Apollo and Cupid, while the two archer-gods insulted each other in an argument over which of them had a better claim to their favorite weapon—the bow. Apollo won the verbal debate, but Cupid was eager to seek revenge through a palpable display of his power over desire. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE) described the event:

“[Cupid] beat his wings and cut a path through the atmosphere,
nimbly alighting upon the heights of shady Parnassus.
Once there he drew from his quiver two arrows of contrary purpose:
one is for rousing passion, the other is meant to repel it.
The former is made of gold, and its head has a sharp, bright point,
while the latter is blunt and weighted with lead [on] one side of the reed shaft.
That was the arrow which Cupid implanted in Daphne’s bosom;
the other was aimed at Apollo and smote to the core of his being.
Phoebus [Apollo] at once was filled with desire, but Daphne fled
from the very thought of a lover”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.466-475)

In the painting above, Cupid/Eros can be seen hovering among the clouds, watching from afar as his victims continue their battle of escape and pursuit. According to the myth, Apollo was faster than Daphne, and he was steadily gaining ground on her. Yet, although Daphne’s physical strength and endurance was lacking, her adamant resolve to stay free of Apollo’s clutches remained unwavering. Daphne’s determination to get away, however, did not damper Apollo’s aroused mood. Ovid skillfully continued the tale:

“Flight made her all the more lovely; but now the god in his youthful
ardour was ready no longer to squander his breath on wheedling
pleas. Spurred on by desire, he followed the trail with new vigour.
Imagine a greyhound, imagine a hare it has sighted in open
country: one running to capture his prey, the other for safety.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.530-534)

In the end, the Naiad nymph had to take drastic action to escape her pursuer. As the story goes, Daphne thwarted Apollo’s desires by transforming herself into a laurel tree. Although Apollo could not fulfill his Cupid-inspired passions, his devotion to Daphne was said to have continued after her transformation through a newfound platonic affection for laurels.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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Old Chief Joseph

Old Chief Joseph (Nez Percé/Nimiipuu leader, c. 1785/1790-1871)

“They have their eyes on this land. My son, never forget my dying words. This country holds your father’s body. Never sell the bones of your father and your mother.”

  • A quote from Old Chief Joseph, recorded by his son, Chief Joseph
    (aka Young Joseph, c. 1840-1904) in Chief Joseph’s Own Story (paragraph 16), originally published in 1879; republished with an introduction by Bishop W. H. Hare and General Howard’s Comment in The North American Review (1879). Reprinted by Kessinger Publishing, 2010.

The Married Affairs Of Julius Caesar

Throughout his life, Julius Caesar had a reputation for being something of a home wrecker. Even though he divorced his second wife, Pompeia, because she was suspected of having an affair, he personally had no issue with seducing married women. The ancient scholar and biographer, Suetonius (c. 70-130+), wrote freely about such personal topics, unfortunately garnering him a reputation as something of a gossip. He delved through songs, lampoons and letters from the 1st century BCE and made a list of seven married noblewomen whose alleged affairs with Julius Caesar he believed were the most plausible.

1-Postumia—She was the wife of Servius Sulpicius Rufus, a prolific writer of law treatises, none of which survive today. He sided with Julius Caesar during the Civil War and was made proconsul of Achaea in the year 46.

2-Lollia—She was the wife of Aulus Gabinius, a savvy politician who was a known associate of Pompey the Great. He aided Caesar during the time of the First Triumvirate (c. 60-53 BCE), but he was generally more loyal to Pompey’s interests. Nevertheless, Aulus Gabinius was exiled in 54 BCE because of a charge of extortion, and, after the civil war began, Julius Caesar interestingly convinced him to join his army.

3-Eunoë—She was the wife of King Bogud, who ruled the kingdom of Mauretania jointly with his brother, King Bocchus II. King Bogud aided Julius Caesar in his campaigns in North Africa and Spain. Bogud would later be removed from power and killed in battle after he unfortunately decided to support Mark Antony against Octavian, the future Augustus.

4-Tertulla—She was the wife of Caesar’s triumvirate partner, Marcus Crassus. He was not a military genius like Caesar or Pompey, but he played his part by skillfully utilizing his immense wealth to further his political goals. He was a staunch rival of Pompey, but Julius Caesar managed to get the two men to work together and dominate Rome.  Crassus’ death at the hands of the Parthians in 53 BCE, at the Battle of Carrhae, was one of the major events leading to the showdown between Caesar and Pompey.

5-Mucia—She was the wife of Gnaeus Pompey, the gifted military leader who, at first, worked with Caesar in the First Triumvirate, but ultimately sided with the Senate against Julius Caesar. In the great clash between the masterful tacticians, Caesar proved the more adaptable and imaginative of the two, finally dealing Pompey a crushing blow at the Battle of Pharsalus in 48 BCE. After the defeat, Pompey fled to Alexandria, where he was assassinated by agents of King Ptolemy XIII.

6-Cleopatra—This remarkable queen is arguably the most famous woman from the ancient world. Everyone knows that when Julius Caesar arrived in Egypt, he quickly began a romantic relationship with Cleopatra. Fewer people know, however, that she was a married woman, with her younger brother, Ptolemy XIII, as her husband. After Ptolemy XIII died fighting against Julius Caesar in 47 BCE, she married another one of her young brothers, Ptolemy XIV, who died of mysterious causes in 44 BCE. Of course, Cleopatra’s true partner at the time was Julius Caesar, and they had a son named Ptolemy Caesar (Caesarion). The boy was assassinated not long after the suicides of Mark Antony and Cleopatra in 30 BCE.

7-Servilia—She was the mother of one of the lead conspirators that would assassinate Julius Caesar—Marcus Brutus. She supposedly was Caesar’s favorite affair, although there were rumors that he may have also struck up a romantic relationship with Servilia’s daughter, Tertia. Brutus sided with Pompey against Caesar and was captured during the Battle of Pharsalus. Caesar showed him mercy and even helped him attain promotions in the priesthood and politics. Yet, Brutus was disillusioned by Julius Caesar’s monarchal behavior and played a leading role in the dictator’s assassination on March 15, 44 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Julius Caesar in his horse-drawn chariot, from The Triumph of Julius Caesar, by Andrea Andreani after Andrea Mantegna, c. 1599, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET.jpg).

 

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Aeneas And The Cumaean Sibyl In The Underworld, By Jan Brueghel the Elder (c. 1568–1625)

This painting, by Jan Brueghel the Elder (c. 1568–1625), was inspired by the story of the Trojan hero, Aeneas, being led through the underworld by a mystic woman known as the Cumaean Sibyl. As for the mythical cast of characters in this artwork, Aeneas was a survivor of the Trojan war who moved to Italy and founded a lineage that would eventually produce Romulus and Remus, the legendary founders of Rome. The Cumaean Sibyl, one of several sibyls from ancient Italian myth and legend, was a kind prophetess who could receive and express heavenly messages, similar in nature to the mystic women who plied their trade at Delphi. In the case of the ancient Italian sibyls, their prophecies and messages were long recorded in Rome’s mysterious Sibylline Books. Like the priestesses in Delphi, sibyls were often particularly erratic and flamboyant in their behavior, sure to shock visitors with exaggerated body gestures and barrages of cryptic messages from the beyond. The Cumaean Sibyl was no different, but Aeneas was willing to put up with her strange behavior in order to employ her as a guide to the underworld so that he could speak one last time to his recently deceased father. Although meeting with his father was the ultimate goal, the trip turned into a general tour of the Roman underworld. This chthonic expedition was masterfully described in book six of the Aeneid, an epic poem by the Roman poet, Virgil (70-19 BCE). Virgil’s description of Aeneas’ journey with the Cumean Sibyl produced some of the most vivid and elaborately-written illustrations of the ancient Greco-Roman underworld, and undoubtedly served as an inspiration for Dante Alighieri’s much later conception of Hell in his famous work, The Divine Comedy.

As Virgil told the tale, Aeneas and the Cumean Sibyl prepared for their underworld journey by first traveling to a Stygian marsh, where they obtained a special golden bough that would be a key to the realm of the dead. With bough in hand, the sibyl led Aeneas to a cave that served as an access point to the underworld. The cave was guarded by illusory monsters, meant to keep curious wanderers away from the nearby ferryman of the dead, Charon. The ferryman, intrigued by the golden bough, was convinced to carry Aeneas and the Cumean Sibyl across the river Styx. After this success, the Trojan hero and the prophetess soon encountered the famous the three-headed hound, Cerberus, which was easily neutralized with a drugged treat. From there, they witnessed Minos judging the dead. Next, they came across a swamp holding the souls of people who had taken their own lives, and they also wandered into the Fields of Mourning, the residence of souls that tragically suffered because of love.

After that elaborate tour of the entrance of the underworld, Aeneas and the Sibyl finally found a forked road. One path led to Tartarus, a place where (according to Virgil) souls received punishment for their crimes committed during life. The other road led to Elysium, a place that Vigil described as being a land of lush greenery, where valiant and noble souls lived in angelic clothes and splendorous accommodations. Aeneas found many of his dead comrades from the Trojan War residing in the Fields of Elysium, all curiously wearing white headbands. It was there, in the paradise of Elysium, that Aeneas finally found the spirit of his father.

While father and son had their reunion, Aeneas saw a horde of souls gathered around a nearby river. Aeneas’ father noticed his son’s curiosity, and began to explain a system of reincarnation that the souls inhabiting the Fields of Elysium could undergo if they so wished. Anchises said that the river was the River Lethe. The waters of Lethe, if a soul drank it, would erase memory, preparing the dead to return to the living. Of the people crowding around the river, Anchises said: “They are the spirits owed a second body by the Fates” (The Aeneid, Book Six, line 823). Anchises went on to say that many of the souls that wanted a rebirth had lived unfulfilling lives, or had been barred from living a full life by disease or disability. Aeneas’ father admitted that many souls would linger in Elysium for a long time, but most would eventually drink from the waters of the Lethe to be reborn into the world of the living. Anchises stated to Aeneas:

“Each of us must suffer his own demanding ghost.
Then we are sent to Elysium’s broad expanse,
A few of us even hold these fields of joy
Till the long days, a circle of time seen through,
Cleanse our hard, inveterate stains and leave us clear
Ethereal sense, the eternal breath of fire purged and pure.
But all the rest, once they have turned the wheel of time
For a thousand years: God calls them forth to the Lethe,
Great armies of souls, their memories blank so that
They may revisit the overarching world once more
And begin to long to return to bodies yet again.”
(The Aeneid, Book Six, Line 859)

After that deep theological statement, Anchises brought Aeneas to the crowd around the river and named some of the prominent Roman souls that would be reborn. Among them were Romulus, King Numa of Rome, Julius Caesar and Augustus. With those revelations complete, Anchises ushered his son out of the underworld so that Aeneas could continue on his fated journey to Italy.

Such is the fascinating tale that inspired the painting by Jan Brueghel the Elder. The artwork shows Aeneas and the Cumean Sibyl as they wander through the underworld with their golden bough. Unfortunately for the pair, they seem far from the picturesque Fields of Elysium. Instead, Aeneas and the sibyl are surrounded by grotesquely-depicted souls and monsters that seem to better match Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy than Virgil’s Aeneid. As for the wide river seen in the painting, with the crowds of souls gathering around the river banks, perhaps it is the waters of the Lethe, which drew a horde of spirits that desired its powers of forgetfulness.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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