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Prince Sweyn’s Ten Times Witness Statute In Occupied Norway

Using military posturing and diplomatic negotiations with Norwegian vassals, King Canute (or Knut) the Great—ruler of England since 1016 and Denmark since 1019—was able to oust King Olaf II of Norway (r. 1015-1028) from his throne and usurp power over the Norwegian kingdom. When King Olaf II, also known as Saint Olaf, was subsequently killed in battle while attempting to reclaim his realm in 1030, Canute the Great remained in control of Norway, leaving its day-to-day administration to trusted officials, such as his son, Sweyn (also spelled Svein). With the threat of Saint Olaf out of the way, Prince Sweyn went on a law-making spree, enacting statutes on topics such as outlawry, taxation and military readiness. He also reportedly put into effect occupation measures to give the outnumbered Danes in Norway an advantage in Norway’s legal system. As the story goes, he decreed that a single Dane’s testimony as a witness would outweigh ten testimonies given by Norwegian witnesses in legal proceedings. Understandably, such measures caused outrage and unrest in Norway. This was mentioned by the Icelandic scholar, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), who wrote, “Among these statutes was also this one that Danes were to have such weight in Norway that one Danish witness was to outweigh the witnesses of ten Norwegians. Now when these laws were made known to the people there was immediate opposition and there arose grumbling as they met together” (Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 239). Although Sweyn managed to hold onto power in Norway for several years under such unrestful circumstances, he was ultimately forced to flee to Denmark in 1035, when the Norwegian lords threw in their lot with Saint Olaf’s son, King Magnus the Good (r. 1035-1047).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped image labeled “Ill til Harald Haarfagres saga, by Snorre Sturlason,” artwork by Erik Werenskiold (dated 1899), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Norway).

 

Sources:

Diana and Endymion, By Johann Michael Rottmayr (c. 1654-1730)

This painting, by the Austrian artist Johann Michael Rottmayr (c. 1654-1730), was inspired by the story of the mythological figure, Endymion. His tale is a hybrid of separate Eleian and Carian myths, 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 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, Johann Michael Rottmayr 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. Johann Michael Rottmayr did the same, for his Diana can be seen wearing a small crescent moon as jewelry on top of her head.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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The Malleus Maleficarum

The Malleus Maleficarum (published in 1487 by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger)

“There are some things in nature which have certain hidden powers, the reason for which man does not know.”

  • From The Malleus Maleficarum (Part I, Question 2) by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).

The Myth Of Lycurgus’ Brief Victory Over Dionysus

Dionysus (also spelled Dionysos) was an ancient Greek earth deity with a specialty for vegetation, wine, festivities and madness. As portrayed in his myths, he was a wide-traveling god who was said to have interacted with many cultures. During these travels, he encountered a Thracian king named Lycurgus (or Lycourgos), who ruled the Kingdom of the Edonians. This Lycurgus, by all accounts, was a formidable individual whose abilities—when used in the right way and at the opportune time—could rival or even overpower the talents of the gods. Unfortunately, King Lycurgus’ abilities were not clearly described in the ancient stories, and therefore the identities of the special talents or powers that allowed the king to be able to compete against the gods sadly remain unknown. Whatever the case, King Lycurgus did indeed have the ability to clash with gods, and he used that ability to impressive results. Unfortunately for the aforementioned Dionysus, he was the one who suffered the brunt of King Lycurgus’ talents.

Dionysus, it should be said, was not a weak god. He was a son of the high-god, Zeus, and had a wide variety of divine skills that he could use in battle. In addition to his natural affinity for the earth, animals and vegetation (and everything that derives from them), Dionysus had a masterful ability to control the minds of humans, easily making them inebriated, delusional, or violently insane. Like many other gods, Dionysus also had the ability to shapeshift, allowing him to change his appearance or form, and this power could additionally be used by the god to completely change his enemies. For example, in one prominent tale, Dionysus magically turned a crew of hostile pirates into dolphins. Also, he was known to control and move at will rope-like vines as a way to attack or restrain his foes. Such was the figure with whom Lycurgus would confidently clash. And Dionysus was not alone at the time—the god had with him an army of his zealous followers, consisting of Satyrs and Bacchai or Maenads (deadly female followers of Dionysus who were sometimes granted a share of Dionysus’ powers). Lycurgus, to win the day, would have to overpower or outwit not only mighty Dionysus, but also the god’s large band of powerful followers. Against all odds, he succeeded in his opening clash against the mighty god.

Due to Lycurgus’ maneuvers, Dionysus was thwarted and forced to flee. Whatever happened that day evidently occurred in such a way that the satyrs, Bacchai and Maenads that had been following Dionysus all ended up falling into the hands of King Lycurgus. Shocked Dionysus, meanwhile, fled to the sea and found sanctuary with the influential nymph, Thetis, and stayed with her while recovering from the astounding defeat. Yet, just because King Lycurgus had won the battle (and he did it overwhelmingly), it did not mean he would win the war. Dionysus would recover and, either with help or on his own, the god brought ruthless revenge on Lycurgus.

Although all the major ancient sources agreed that King Lycurgus initially managed to force Dionysus into retreating, the authors disagreed about how Lycurgus was ultimately destroyed by divine vengeance. The famous poet, Homer (flourished c. 700 BCE), envisioned the event happening when Dionysus was a still a child, and in this version of the tale it was Dionysus’ father, Zeus, who avenged his son by striking Lycurgus with a bolt of lightning. In The Iliad, Homer wrote:

“Why, not even powerful Lycurgus, Dryas’ son, survived his quarrel with the gods of the skies for very long. This murderous Lycurgus chased the nurses of the wild god Dionysus down from the holy hills of Nysa, and they all scattered the god’s emblems to the ground as he struck them with his ox-goad. Dionysus fled and found sanctuary under the salt sea waves where the Sea-nymph Thetis took him to her bosom, terrified and shaking violently from Lycurgus’ threats. But the immortals who live at ease resented what Lycurgus had done—and Zeus struck him blind. He did not live long after that…” (Homer, The Iliad, Book 6, approximately between lines 130-140).

Such is the account and explanation of Homer. In his account, Lycurgus was able to initially defeat Dionysus because the god was a child and his followers at that time were his nurses. Young and crying Dionysus ran off to the comforting embrace of motherly Thetis, and as the godling was recovering from the encounter with the scary king, Zeus fatally punished Lycurgus with a deadly lightning bolt. While this account by Homer was one of the earliest versions of the story, other variants of the tale (especially those recorded by later authors and mythographers) set the incident in Dionysus’ adulthood and they also removed Zeus from the drama, meaning that Dionysus, himself, would be the one to ultimately mete out revenge against Lycurgus. A scholar known as Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) summarized the non-Homer accounts of the myth:

“Lycourgos, son of Dryas, the ruler of the Edonians, who live by the River Strymon, was the first to insult and expel him. Dionysos sought refuge in the sea with Thetis, daughter of Nereus, while the Bacchai were taken prisoner along with the crowd of Satyrs who followed in his train. But later the Bacchai were suddenly set free, and Lycourgos was driven mad by Dionysos. During his madness, Lycourgos, believing that he was pruning a vine branch, killed his son Dyras with blows from his axe and had cut off his limbs by the time he recovered his senses. When the land remained barren, the god declared in an oracle that it would become fruitful again if Lycourgos were put to death…he died through the will of Dionysos, killed by horses” (Apollodorus, Library, 3.5.1).

This account, vastly different from Homer’s, makes it seem as if Dionysus was initially caught off guard, ambushed, or somehow attacked in such a way that he could not defend himself or his followers. After recovering in the home of Thetis, Dionysus planned and executed a multi-faceted campaign of revenge against King Lycurgus and the Edonians. He directed this scheme of vengeance from afar, without ever directly confronting Lycurgus, which perhaps suggests that the king’s god-defeating abilities could only be used in close combat. Dionysus employed his divine and magical powers to free his imprisoned followers and cover their escape from their Edonian captors. He also used his power to manipulate the human mind, driving King Lycurgus into a homicidal madness, resulting in the king killing his own family. Finally, Dionysus used his control over nature and vegetation to drain fertility and fruitfulness from King Lycurgus’ lands. As the king grieved after his madness, and while the kingdom starved from its inability to feed itself, a message eventually arrived from Dionysus that proclaimed he would not lift his curses from the land until King Lycurgus was executed. Broken King Lycurgus did not stop his people from complying, and he was executed by the grisly method of being pulled apart by horses.

Although King Lycurgus had the rare privilege of being able to claim that he bested a major god of Dionysus’ caliber, it was a short-lived glory that came at a steep and deadly price. Lycurgus discovered that, despite being able to physically compete with the gods, he could not ultimately defeat or outlast his divine foes in a prolonged struggle. In the end, his dramatic death (either by a blinding lightning bolt or by Dionysus’ ruthless campaign of revenge) outshined his momentary early victory in his showdown with the wine-god.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Ancient Greek Krater depicting a scene with Dionysus, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Warsaw).

 

Sources:

  • Apollodorus, The Library of Greek Mythology, translated by Robin Hard. New York, Oxford University Press, 1997.
  • The Iliad by Homer, translated by E. V. Rieu and edited/introduced by Peter Jones. New York: Penguin Classics, 2014.
  • https://www.theoi.com/Heros/Lykourgos.html

“The Columbiad”–Ceasar Passing the Rubicon, by Robert Hartley Cromek (c. 1770 – 1812) after Robert Smirke (c. 1752 – 1845)

This illustration, by Robert Hartley Cromek (c. 1770 – 1812) after Robert Smirke (c. 1752 – 1845), depicts Julius Caesar’s famous crossing of the Rubicon—a small stream that, in Caesar’s day, marked the boundary between Cisalpine Gaul and Italy. The crossing of the Rubicon occurred in 49 BCE, after negotiations broke down between the soon-to-be dictator and his political and military rivals in Rome. Caesar, whose appointment in Gaul was about to expire, wanted to stay with his loyal army while his agents in Rome orchestrated a political campaign to elect Caesar to high office. The Senate thwarted the general’s plans, however, by refusing to allow Caesar to run for office in absentia. Caesar was uncomfortable with this decision, as he knew that he would be vulnerable to legal and physical attacks from his political enemies during that brief period of time between relinquishing his military command and successfully winning his next election bid in Rome. Furthermore, Caesar questioned the good faith of his opponents, for they had already declared their intention to prosecute him, and they also propped up Caesar’s rival, Pompey, as a champion of Rome who would defend the state. Caesar, unwilling to make himself powerless before his rivals, marched troops across the Rubicon in 49 BCE—as a result, Julius Caesar broke Roman law and defied the Senate by leading his forces out of his assigned province. It was an iconic point-of-no-return moment that marked the beginning of the civil war that transitioned Rome from a republic into an authoritarian empire.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

  • War Commentaries by Gaius Julius Caesar and Aulus Hirtius, translated by W. A. McDevitte and W. S. Bohn, 2014.
  • The Twelve Caesars by Suetonius, translated by Robert Graves and edited by James B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.
  • Plutarch’s Lives edited by Charles W. Eliot in the Harvard Classics series. New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1909, 1937.
  • https://www.si.edu/object/columbiad-ceasar-passing-rubicon:npg_AD_NPG.79.19.f

Euripides

Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE)

“O mankind, how much you miss your aim and come to nothing! Why do you teach countless skills? There is nothing you cannot devise or discover, and yet there is one thing that you do not understand and have so far failed to hunt down—how to teach those who have no sense to think aright.”

  • From Euripides’ Hippolytus (approximately line 920), translated by James Morwood in Medea and Other Plays (Oxford University Press, 1997, 1998, 2008).

The Tale Of The Road Rage Treason Trial Of Publius Claudius Pulcher’s Sister

Around 249 BCE, a man named Publius Claudius Pulcher (not to be confused with the much later Publius Clodius Pulcher associated with Julius Caesar) led a Roman fleet against Carthaginian forces anchored at Drepanum during the First Punic War (264-241 BCE). Reportedly commanding 123 ships, Publius Claudius succeeded in cornering the opposing Carthaginian fleet, leaving the Roman commander with the decision of choosing between settling in for a slow blockade or, contrastingly, risking a full-out assault against the enemy. He opted for the second course of action, but this, unfortunately, turned out to be a horrific mistake. Of all the ships under Publius Claudius’ command, only 30 survived the disastrous assault, including the admiral’s own flagship. When Publius Claudius returned to Rome, he was promptly slapped with a huge fine and was even accused of treason. He evidently survived the trial, for he is known to have lived for a few more years after the notorious incident. Curiously, he would not be the last member of his immediate family to cause a scandal and be charged with treason.

Sometime after Publius Claudius Pulcher’s death, an incident occurred that would unfortunately make the sister of the late admiral become the talk of the Roman Republic. As told by the Roman scholar, Suetonius (c. 70-130+), Publius Claudius’ sister was one day traveling in a carriage through the streets of Rome when she became thoroughly annoyed at the slow traffic in the city. In a fit of ancient road rage aimed at the citizens clogging the roadway, she allegedly shouted, “If only my brother were alive to lose another fleet! That would thin out the population a little” (The Twelve Caesars, Tiberius, sec. 2). Her comments were loud enough to be overheard by nearby pedestrians, and as a result, angry gossip soon swept the city about the rude and untimely exclamation. According to Suetonius, the sister was consequently tried for treason because of what she shouted. The result of the trial, however, was not mentioned.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Head Vestal Passes, by Henri Motte in 1885, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the NYPL Collections).

 

Sources:

  • The Twelve Caesars by Suetonius, translated by Robert Graves and edited by James B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.

Sacrifice Of Iphigenia, By An Unknown 18th-Century Artist

This painting, by an unidentified 18th-century artist, re-creates a myth from an early part of the Trojan War saga. In terms of chronology, the scene took place after the abduction of Helen, but before the Greek fleet set sail to wage war against the Trojans. As the story goes, King Agamemnon of Mycenae (commander-in-chief of the Greek allies) had called together the forces of the Greeks at the port town of Aulis. The coalition was ready to depart on their long campaign across the Aegean, but the gods—especially Artemis—refused to grant the Greeks a favorable wind until a sacrifice was performed. She did not want an offering of wine, grain, or livestock, but instead requested a human sacrifice, and according to Agamemnon’s seer Calchas, the goddess would only be appeased by the sacrifice of King Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigeneia.

Although Agamemnon was conflicted and disturbed by Calchas’ advice, he ultimately decided to go through with the sacrifice. It was a choice that was bitterly opposed by Agamemnon’s wife, Clytemnestra, yet she was powerless to stop her husband from allowing the seer to do his gruesome work. Aeschylus (c. 525-456 BCE), an Eleusinian playwright, described the sacrifice of Iphigeneia in a play called Agamemnon:

“Her father called his henchmen on,
on with a prayer,
‘Hoist her over the altar
like a yearling, give it all your strength!
She’s fainting—lift her,
sweep her robes around her,
but slip the strap in her gentle curving lips…
here, gag her hard, a sound will curse the house’—
and the bridle chokes her voice…her saffron robes
pouring over the sand
her glance like arrows showering
wounding every murderer through with pity
clear as a picture, live,
she strains to call their names…

What comes next? I cannot see it, cannot say.
The strong techniques of Calchas do their work.”
(Aeschylus, Agamemnon, approximately lines 230-250)

Special attention should be given to Aeschylus’ line about not being able to see or say how Iphigeneia’s sacrifice concluded. The question of ‘What comes next?’ was very real, for there were two ancient versions of the story. Aeschylus’ preferred tradition assumed that Iphigeneia was indeed killed during the sacrificial ceremony. In contrast, Euripides (c. 484-406 BCE), a junior contemporary of Aeschylus, followed an alternative narrative that claimed that Artemis swooped in to save Iphigeneia at the last moment, exchanging the young girl for a deer. Euripides wrote:

“Each one of us distinctly heard the sound of a blow, but none saw the spot where the maiden vanished. The priest cried out, and all the army took up the cry at the sight of a marvel all unlooked for, due to some god’s agency, and passing all belief, although it was seen; for there upon the ground lay a deer of immense size, magnificent to see, gasping out her life, with whose blood the altar of the goddess was thoroughly bedewed“ (Euripides, Iphigeneia at Aulis, approximately lines 1580-1590).

Such, then, are the stories that inspired the painting. It seems to follow Euripides’ version, as Artemis can be seen hovering in the sky, waiting to whisk Iphigeneia away and leave behind a substitute sacrifice in her place. Whatever the case, regardless of if the Greek princess was sacrificed or saved, Iphigeneia’s parents never saw their daughter again.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Jean-Jacques Rousseau (c. 1712-1778)

“O man, of whatever country you are, and whatever your opinions may be, behold your history, such as I have thought to read it, not in books written by your fellow-creatures, who are liars, but in nature, which never lies.”

  • From the introduction before the First Part of On the Origin of Inequality by Jean-Jacques Rousseau (c. 1712-1778). The quoted edition was translated and published by the Great Books Foundation (Chicago, Illinois, 1949).

The Curious Tale Of Charlemagne’s Son, Pippin the Hunchback

Prior to marrying his first wife, Desiderata, in the year 770, Charlemagne was known to have been in a relationship with a concubine known as Himiltrude. Not much information is known about Himiltrude and her background, but she bore Charlemagne a son named Pippin (or Pepin). This Pippin (not to be confused with a later son of Charlemagne by the same name) was reportedly the king’s oldest son, but his likelihood of inheritance was low, as, for one, he was born out of wedlock, and additionally, young Pippin had a physical abnormality that may have dissuaded Charlemagne from legitimizing the boy’s position in the royal family. As the title of the article gives away, Charlemagne and Himiltrude’s son was a hunchback, and the boy became known as Pippin the Hunchback even in his own time.

Despite his illegitimate status as compared to Charlemagne’s other sons, Pippin the Hunchback was still able to cobble together status and influence for himself. He became the acquaintance of leading noblemen in Charlemagne’s empire and forged a close-knit network of political allies. Yet, ironically, Pippin the Hunchback’s socialization and politicking eventually led to his own undoing, because Pippin was eventually caught up in, or accused of, a conspiracy or rebellion targeting Charlemagne in 792. The Royal Frankish Annals claimed Pippin the Hunchback had a leading role in the incident, writing, “While the king was spending the summer at Regensburg, a conspiracy was made against him by his oldest son Pepin and some Franks…Of the authors of the conspiracy some were executed by the sword for high treason and the others hanged on gallows…” (Royal Frankish Annals, entry for 792). As the quote conveyed, whatever was being plotted ended up being discovered, and the conspirators were evidently arrested with ease by Charlemagne and dealt with severely.

According to our next source, Einhard (c.770-840), Pippin was spared from execution and was instead condemned to live the rest of his life in a monastery. On this and other details about Pippin the Hunchback, Einhard wrote, “[Charlemagne] also had a son named Pippin by a concubine whom I put off mentioning with the others; he was fair of face but deformed by a hunchback. When his father, who had taken up the war against the Avars, was wintering in Bavaria, he pretended to be ill and plotted against his father with certain leading franks, who had won him over with the false promise of a kingdom. When their deceit was discovered and the conspirators condemned, he was tonsured and allowed to embrace the religious life in the monastery of Prüm” (Einhard, Life of Charlemagne, chapter 20). After being arrested, tonsured, and sent off to live the life of a monk, Pippin the Hunchback never again reappeared in the historical record.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration labeled “Bossue, Borgne, Boiteuse,” by Luc-Olivier Merson (c. 1846–1920), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Paris Musees Collections).

 

Sources:

  • Two Lives of Charlemagne, by Einhard and Notker the Stammer, translated by David Ganz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.