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The Legendary Giant Herd Of Hafur-Bjorn

By
thehistorianshut
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Hafur-Bjorn was an early settler of Iceland who lived during the so-called Age of Settlement period (c. 860-930). Bjorn and his brothers, Gnup, Thorstein Hrungnir and Thord Leggjaldi, were dragged around Iceland by their indecisive father, Molda-Gnup, who traveled from site to site on the island, searching for an ideal place to settle that met his criteria of wants and needs. Molda-Gnup first brought his family into the Kúðafljót region of Southern Iceland. As told by the medieval Icelandic Book of Settlements (Landnámabók), Molda-Gnup “took possession of land between Kudafljot and Eyjar River, including the whole of Alfaver; at that time there was a large lake there, a fine place for hunting swans” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 329). Despite the picturesque river, lake, and its population of beautiful swans, there was also some trouble in the region that predictably distressed Molda-Gnup. At that time, the local land was reportedly experiencing a rise in volcanic activity and lava flows. This molten peril caused Molda-Gnup and his family to relocate to Hofdabrekka, along with other settlers who were also threatened by the lava. Not long after, Molda-Gnup moved yet again, to a new place called Hrossagard, and, after spending a winter there, he moved his family once more to another site called Grindavik. There, Molda-Gnup’s criteria for a settlement was met, so he began building his home and farm in that region.

As the story goes, Molda-Gnup’s family was wealthy from selling previous plots of land that they had claimed before finally settling at Grindavik, so they had little trouble obtaining materials and setting up buildings on their estate. Yet, filling their pastures with a thriving ecosystem of livestock was another matter. Molda-Gnup was reportedly struggling to be a successful herdsman, but his luck changed when he delegated the job of overseeing the family’s livestock business to his son, Bjorn.

Bjorn did an excellent job managing the family’s animals, and he especially had a talent for raising goats. Under his management, the family’s goats began to multiply at such an extent that a legend formed, claiming Bjorn must have had supernatural help to accomplish his feat. The tale was recorded in the Book of Settlements, which stated “One night Born dreamed that a cliff-giant came and offered him partnership, and that he accepted the offer. Afterwards, a strange billy-goat came to join his herd of goats, and his live-stock began to multiply so fast that soon he was a wealthy man” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 329). According to the Book of Settlements, it was this tale of the mysterious cliff goat that gave the herdsman his nickname of Hafur-Bjorn, which means Billy-goat Bjorn.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Italian Mountain Landscape with Shepherds, by Marten Ryckaert (c. 1586 – 1630) and Paul Bril (c. 1552 – 1626), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Statens Museum for Kunst.jpg).

 

Sources:

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

The Judgement Of Midas. The Musical Contest Between Apollo And Marsyas, Attributed To Giovanni Battista Cima da Conegliano (c. 1459-1517)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, attributed to the Italian artist Giovanni Battista Cima da Conegliano (c. 1459-1517), re-creates a myth about the god, Apollo, competing in a music competition against a satyr. Cima da Conegliano seems to fuse two myths in which Apollo musically dueled against satyr challengers. One is the myth directly mentioned in the artwork’s title—that of Marsyas—in which a satyr named Marsyas lost a competition against Apollo and was horribly flayed alive afterwards by the victor. Cima da Conegliano’s inclusion of the Phrygian King Midas, however, draws on a separate myth in which Apollo competed against the satyr-god, Pan. For that showdown between Apollo and Pan, a mountain god named Tmolus was the official judge, but Midas had the fortune…or misfortune…of being at the right place and the right time to join Tmolus in witnessing the godly competition. Ovid (c. 43 BCE-17 CE), a Roman poet, described the scene that followed:

“So Pan performed on his rustic pipes,
and his barbarous strains entranced the ears of Midas, who chanced
to be there when he played. When the piece was finished, Tmolus solemnly
turned his head in Apollo’s direction, and so did his forest.
Phoebus was crowned with a wreath of Parnassian bay on his golden
hair, and he swept the ground with his mantle of Tyrian purple.
His lyre richly inlaid with jewels and Indian ivory.
Holding the instrument firm in his left hand, plectrum in his right,
he struck the pose of a maestro; and then he plucked at the strings
with his practiced thumb, till Tmolus, enthralled by the beautiful music,
notified Pan that his pipes must yield the palm to the lyre.
All agreed with the judgment pronounced by the sacred mountain;
only Midas challenged the verdict and called it unfair.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 11.160-173).

Giovanni Battista Cima da Conegliano re-creates this tale, albeit with a touch of fashion and archaeology from his own era. The goat-legged figure in the painting, obviously, is the artist’s representation of the satyr, either Marsyas or Pan, while the other figure wielding an instrument would be Apollo. Watching over the competition could only be Tmolus and Midas, and since the title of the artwork says, The Judgement of Midas, Cima da Conegliano likely placed Midas in the center of the painting, letting the mythical king steal the role of lead judge from Tmolus, who is likely depicted by the figure leaning on a stick beside Apollo. As for the aftermath of the competition, Apollo was not happy that Midas sided with Pan. Therefore, wrathful Apollo transformed Midas’ ears to look as if they belonged on a donkey.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Aeschylus

By
thehistorianshut
-

Aeschylus (c. 525-456 BCE)

“Make me rich with no man’s envy,
neither a raider of cities, no,
nor a slave come face to face with life
overpowered by another.”

  • From Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (approximately line 465), translated by Robert Fagles. New York: Penguin Classics, 1979.

Hairs Of Fortune And Immortality From Greek Mythology

By
thehistorianshut
-

As told in the tales of ancient Greece, a single blessed hair could protect a person, or even a kingdom, from the harms of the world. With one such magical hair, a kingdom could be given divinely-assured security, or the possessor of the hair could find himself or herself immune to age, wounds, and disease. Yet, as was often the case with mythical boons, there is always a catch to the gift. Whereas the kingdom and the king might be made unassailable because of their magical locks, the blessed hair, itself, was still vulnerable to sabotage, and this loophole often caused the downfalls of the Greek heroes who possessed the enchanted strain of hair.

King Nisus of Megara, often said to have been a son of the war-god Ares, numbered among the ranks of mythical figures with special god-given hair. Nisus’ land was coveted by powerful King Minos, but as long as Nisus retained on his head a magical strand of purple hair, his kingdom of Megara would be steadfastly protected by the gods. Yet, as the saying goes, love conquers all, and the love-goddess Aphrodite eventually caused Nisus’ fall from grace by infecting his daughter, Scylla, with an infatuation for her father’s rival, King Minos. The tale was summarized by a scholar known as Pseudo-Hyginus (c. 2nd century), who wrote:

“Nisus, son of Mars [Ares], or as others say, of Deion, and king of the Megarians, is said to have had a purple lock of hair on his head. An oracle had told him that he would rule as long as he preserved that lock. When Minos, son of Jove [Zeus], had come to attack him, Scylla, daughter of Nisus, fell in love with him at the instigation of Venus [Aphrodite]. To make him the victor, she cut the fatal lock from her sleeping father, and so Nisus was conquered by Minos” (Pseudo-Hyginus, Fabulae, 198).

A similar series of events happened to a descendant of the famous Greek hero, Perseus. Hippothoe, Perseus’ granddaughter, was brought as a mistress to the Echinades Islands by the sea god Poseidon. There, Hippothoe had a son named Taphios, and he, in turn, had a son named Pterelaos. Poseidon became quite fond of his grandson, Pterelaos, and the sea-god decided to bless the boy a with a magnificent gift—a golden hair that granted immortality. A scholar known as Pseudo-Apollodorus recorded the tale, writing, “To Taphios a son, Pterelaos, was born, whom Poseidon made immortal by planting a golden hair in his head” (Apollodorus, Library, 2.4.5).

Pterelaos eventually clashed with his powerful relatives, Electryon (ruler of mighty Mycenae) and Electryon’s nephew, Amphitryon. It was during this feud between the clans that the deities of love struck again, making Pterelaos’ daughter, Comaitho, fall in love with Amphitryon. With the advent of this love, the future events of Peterlaos’ life, unfortunately, unfolded in the same way as that of the myth of Nisus. As told by Pseudo-Apollodorus, “Now as long as Pterelaos was still alive, Amphitryon was unable to capture Taphos; but when Comaitho, the daughter of Pterelaos, who had fallen in love with Amphitryon, plucked the golden hair from her father’s head, he died, and Amphitryon gained control of all the islands” (Apollodorus, Library, 2.4.7). Another hair plucked, another blessed man defeated, another kingdom conquered. Unfortunately for Comaitho, her love was not reciprocated—when she was brought before Amphitryon, he had her executed.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section from The Judgment Of Jupiter, By Samuel Finley Breese Morse (c. 1791–1872), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Yale University Art Gallery).

 

Sources:

The Death Of Socrates, Painted By Jean Francois Pierre Peyron (c. 1744 – 1814)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the French artist Jean Francois Pierre Peyron (c. 1744-1814), depicts the death scene of the famous Greek inquirer, Socrates. In 399 BCE, the seventy-year-old philosopher was brought to trial in Athens, charged with crimes such as holding atheistic or heretical beliefs, and of being a dangerous influence to the minds of Athenian youths. Although Socrates denied the charges, he was found guilty by his peers and sentenced to death. Despite being condemned to face execution, Socrates’ death sentence was not immediately carried out. This was because the philosopher’s trial had occurred around a time when Athens had sent representatives on a religious mission to Delos, and it was deemed improper to execute a prisoner while the mission was ongoing. As a result, Socrates was held under relatively loose imprisonment for around a month. During this time, the old philosopher’s friends, admirers and followers tried to convince the condemned man to flee Athens and live in exile. Socrates refused, however, saying that although he disagreed with the trial’s outcome, he would not disobey the state’s decision. Instead of fleeing, he willingly accepted death. Yet, although Socrates was at peace with that decision, his followers had a much more difficult time dealing with the situation. Socrates’ protégé, Plato, recorded the dramatic scene of Socrates drinking poison while surrounded by his distraught friends:

“He was holding the cup, and then drained it calmly and easily. Most of us had been able to hold back our tears reasonably well up until then, but when we saw him drinking it and after he drank it, we could hold them back no longer; my own tears came in floods against my will. So I covered my face. I was weeping for myself, not for him—for my misfortune in being deprived of such a comrade. Even before me, Crito was unable to restrain his tears and got up. Apollodorus had not ceased from his weeping before, and at this moment his noisy tears and anger made everybody present break down, except Socrates” (Plato, Phaedo, 117d).

Such is the scene that is portrayed by Jean Francois Pierre Peyron in his painting. It captures Socrates in the moments before he drank the cup of poison. The artist, like Plato before him, portrays Socrates resolute in his decision, whereas the philosopher’s followers struggle with despair over the impending loss of their friend and mentor. Curiously, this same story was painted by Jean Francois Pierre Peyron’s contemporary and rival French painter, Jacques-Louis David (c. 1748–1825), and they displayed their artworks at the same Salon exhibition in the Louvre. Unfortunately for Peyron, it was Jacques-Louis David’s painting that was the more popular of the two.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Gods Of The English Weekdays

By
thehistorianshut
-

Although religions have come and gone since the days of the ancient world and the Middle Ages, belief systems from those eras have left a lasting influence on labels’ given to the days of the week in the English language. As the British Isles were invaded by various peoples such as the Romans, Germanic tribes (ie. the Anglo-Saxons), and Nordic Vikings and settlers, it is natural that these cultures played a role in providing names for the days of the English week.

Sunday is exactly what it sounds like. It is the Sun’s day, or the Day of the Sun. This day’s name had an origin in ancient Rome, and was in honor of the Roman sun-god, Sol—later Sol Invictus (the Unconquerable or Undying Sun). Before the Roman emperor, Constantine (r. 312/324-337), eventually transitioned to Christianity, he had been a devout member of the cult of Sol Invictus, and he was the Roman ruler that instituted that Sunday should be a day of rest, doing so via an edict in the year 321. Constantine’s decision was recounted by the Codex Justinianus, which stated, “On the venerable Day of the Sun let the magistrates and people residing in cities rest, and let all workshops be closed” (Codex Justinianus, III.12.2).

After the Sun, the second most noticeable object in the sky is the Moon, and that is exactly what the next day of the week, Monday, is labeled after. Like the sun, the moon was also viewed as a divine entity by several cultures that influenced Britain. To the Greeks, the goddess, Selene, was the moon incarnate, and the Roman lunar deity was Luna. Norse mythology, similarly, had a moon god named Mani, and his name influenced an Old Norse day, called manandagr. Along similar Germanic lines, the Old English name for the day of the moon was mōndæg or mōnandæg, and the Old English labels eventually evolved into the modern Monday.

For the origin of Tuesday, we must return to Germanic and Norse religions, as will be the case for most the following days of the week. Tuesday comes from the Old English spelling of the god, Tiw or Tiu, an equivalent of the enigmatic Norse war-god, Tyr. Therefore, Tyr’s Day in Old English was called tiwesdæg, which has evolved into the modern spelling of Tuesday.

Wednesday pays homage to the mighty Germanic god, Woden, Wodan, or Wotan, who often (but not necessarily always) was deemed to be the high-god of the Germanic deities. Reckoned in terms of Norse mythology, his parallel would be the powerful god, Odin. The day, simply put, is Woden’s Day (wodnesdæg in Old English). The name has since evolved to Wednesday.

Thursday, too, is a day that is named after a Germanic-Norse god, and due to the advent of Marvel Studios films, his name should be quite familiar to most audiences. The modern English Thursday derived from the Old English þurresdæg, which references the god, Þórr—commonly known in English script as Thor. Therefore, Thursday is Thor’s Day, the day of the hammer-wielding lightning deity.

Deciphering Friday is slightly more complicated than unraveling the meaning of the other days named after Germanic-Norse entities. Instead of the male gods, Friday contrastingly received its name from the ranks of the goddesses. The problem, however, is that two contenders vied to be the day’s patron goddess. Nevertheless, a winner did emerge. In second place for ownership of Friday was Freyja (also spelled Freya), a powerful goddess of love and fertility, who also had some jurisdiction over battles and death. From her, some early variants of Friday were proposed and tried out, such as Freyjudagr. Yet, in terms of the English language, it was a goddess named Frigg, wife of the aforementioned high-god Odin, who clinched victory over the name of Friday in the English language. Friday derives from the Old English frigedæg, which means Frigg’s Day.

For Saturday, we must leave the Germanic-Norse gods behind and return to the days of the ancient Greco-Roman world. This day of the week was presided over by the Greek Titan-god, Cronus, in ancient Greece. Rome, followed suit, positioning its equivalent god, Saturn, over the same day. Roman troops and settlers brought Saturn’s Day to the British Isles and the English language, where it has remained ever since. Instead of attaching a new Germanic-Norse name to the day, Roman Saturn and his day were preserved in the Old English language as sæterdæg or sæternesdæg, which has evolved into Saturday.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (cropped section of a Norse scene [Idunn and the Apples of Immortality], by Ernst Alpers (German, active Hannover, Germany about 1867), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Getty Museum).

 

Sources:

Virgil’s Tomb by Moonlight, with Silius Italicus Declaiming, by Joseph Wright (c. 1734–1797)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the British artist Joseph Wright (aka Wright of Derby, c. 1734–1797), was inspired by two poets from ancient Rome. As the title of the artwork lays out, the scene is set at the tomb of the Roman poet, Virgil (c. 70-19 BCE), author of such poems as The Aeneid and The Georgics. Silius Italicus (c. 26-102), a later wealthy Roman poet, statesman, and patron of the arts, was famous in his own time as being an extremely devoted fan of his late predecessor, Virgil. His fanaticism went so far that he carried out rituals on the days of Virgil’s birth and death. Joseph Wright, in particular, focused on Silius Italicus’ alleged habit of reading Virgil’s verses at the poet’s tomb on the anniversary of his death. Silius Italicus’ contemporary, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113), described his lifestyle with the following words:

“Latterly his increasing age led to his retirement from Rome; he made his home in Campania and never left it again, not even on the arrival of the new Emperor…He was a great connoisseur; indeed he was criticized for buying too much. He owned several houses in the same district, but lost interest in the older ones in his enthusiasm for the later. In each of them he had quantities of books, statues, and portrait busts, and these were more to him than possessions—they became objects of his devotion, particularly in the case of Virgil, whose birthday he celebrated with more solemnity than his own, and at Naples especially, where he would visit Virgil’s tomb as if it were a temple” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 3.7).

Such, then, is the character of the man that can be faintly seen in the painting reciting poetry inside Virgil’s tomb. It should be noted that Silius Italicus was not trespassing during his vigils. Besides reading poetry at Virgil’s tomb, he reportedly also purchased the tomb’s grounds and funded restoration work at the site.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Antium’s Stormy Return To Satricum In 341 BCE

By
thehistorianshut
-

Satricum, a city in ancient Italy, was the unfortunate target or site of many battles and military campaigns in the 4th century BCE. The region was coveted by Rome and the rival Volsci people (especially the Volscian city of Antium), and during their decades-long conflict, the envied Satricum region was violently captured and recaptured several times over. Between the years 386-377 BCE alone, the city had changed hands at least four times. A turning point occurred in 377 BCE, when Satricum (controlled by the Volscians at that time) was largely burned to the ground by an unidentified Latin army. The charred city was neglected for nearly three decades after the burning. Around 348 BCE, however, Antium committed its manpower and resources to rebuilding Satricum. Nevertheless, this prompted a Roman army to attack the refurbished city two years later, setting it once more ablaze in 346 BCE. After that, both sides left the largely abandoned site alone for a few years, but Antium’s people and other supportive Volsicans continued gazing on the coveted ground with an opportunistic eye.

To Antium’s interest, Rome became quite busy in the years following the second burning of Satricum. In 345 BCE, Rome waged campaigns against at least two foes, the Aurunci and the Volscian city of Sora. Yet, those conflicts did not provide much opportunity for Antium, since Rome won the two wars with ease. By 343 BCE, however, Rome found itself at war with a much more competent foe—the Samnites. The so-called First Samnite War (c. 343-341 BCE) began after the Samnites went to war with the Campanian League over the city of Sidicini. As the story goes, the Campanians did poorly in their war and ultimately had to surrender themselves to Rome for protection. Curiously, the Samnites at that time had been friends or allies of Rome, but once Campania became Roman territory, Rome broke off its friendly relationship with the Samnites and declared war. It was a rough war, with victories and defeats on both sides. Yet, for the Romans, the most dangerous situation during the first war did not involve the Samnites, but instead came from Rome’s own military. In 342 BCE, a revolt or mutiny broke out among the Roman troops stationed near Campania, and although the trouble was eventually resolved with legal and military change, the turmoil caused surrounding cities (including Antium) to think that Rome might be vulnerable.

In 341 BCE, just as Rome was beginning to sort out its military and political disputes, the Volscians began to act out, and inspired by the chaos, the city of Privernum also revolted against the Romans. It was at this time, while Rome was distracted by mutinies, wars and uprisings, that Antium decided to sneak some of its manpower once more over to Satricum. The Romans, however, did not overlook this maneuver.

During the course of 341 BCE, the Romans were militarily much better prepared than they were in the previous mutiny-plagued year. Rome’s re-disciplined armed forces quickly crushed the uprising in Privernum, and that victorious army, led by Consul Gaius Plautius, then marched on to the site of Satricum to confront the armed masses gathering there. Antium’s military and their Volscian allies, perhaps, were not expecting the Romans to arrive at Satricum so soon, but when the enemy army approached, the Antium-Volscian coalition whipped their forces into a battle formation. Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), a Roman historian, recorded the story of what reportedly happened on that day of battle:

“The victorious army [of Romans from Privernum] was then taken on to Satricum to confront the Antiates. There the fighting was fierce, with heavy losses on both sides, and was interrupted by a storm before either army could realize its expectations…when the Volscians had counted up the men they had lost on the battlefield they were not at all eager to run into danger a second time, and marched off apprehensively to Antium during the night like defeated men, leaving their wounded and part of their baggage behind” (Livy, History of Rome, 8.1).

As the quote conveyed, a storm reportedly broke up the battle that occurred that day in 341 BCE at Satricum. Given this respite by nature, the people of Antium and their fellow allied Volscians second-guessed the wisdom of gambling precious manpower in a pitched battle against a formidable Roman army. Therefore, the Antium-Volscian coalition decided to retreat during the night rather than risk a decisive defeat the next morning. Regardless of the indecisive end to the battle, the Romans likely shed significant quantities of their foe’s blood, or perhaps they committed some guilty deed against the wounded who were left behind. Whatever the case, the Romans religiously gathered the loot from that battlefield as a burnt offering to the vengeful goddess, Lua Mater, whose ceremonies allowed the Romans to atone for the horrors of war.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (cropped section from The Death of Paulus Aemilius at the Battle of Cannae, painted by John Trumbull (c. 1756–1843), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Yale University Art Gallery).

 

Sources:

Nausicaa Brings The Shipwrecked Odysseus’ Clothes, painted by Wilhelm Marstrand (c. 1810 – 1873)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Danish artist Wilhelm Marstrand (c. 1810 – 1873), depicts a scene from Homer’s epic poem, The Odyssey. In the events preceding this scene, Odysseus—the namesake of the poem—had been shipwrecked by angry Poseidon’s great storms. Fortunately, due to the protection of the sea-goddess Leucothoe, Odysseus managed to safely wash ashore upon a river-divided coastline in the land of the Phaeacians, a mythological or legendary people. Once he was on land, the protective baton was passed from Leucothoe to Athena, who ensured that the stranded hero would soon be introduced to new allies that would help him on his journey. As was divinely planned, help came in the form of Nausicaa, daughter of the local Phaeacian ruler. Odysseus, fortunately, had passed out in vegetation near the river that fed into the sea, and this river happened to be a favorite spot used by Nausicaa and her maids to clean laundry and bathe. Much to the stranded traveler’s benefit, it was currently laundry day, so Nausicaa and her companions traveled to the river with armfuls of clothing, as well as some provisions and toys. It was from the loud revelry of these merry women that Odysseus was awakened from his shipwrecked stupor. Homer described the memorable first interaction between these characters:

“So Odysseus, naked as he was, made a move towards these girls with their braided hair; necessity compelled him. Grimy with salt he was a gruesome sight, and the girls went scuttling off in every direction along the jutting spits of sand. Alcinous’ daughter Nausicaa was the only one to stand firm. Athena put courage into her heart and took away the fear from her limbs, and she stood her ground and faced him. Odysseus considered whether he should throw his arms round the beautiful girl’s knees and beg for help, or just keep his distance and beg her with all courtesy to give him clothing and direct him to the city. He decided that as the lady might take offence if he embraced her knees it would be better to keep his distance and courteously plead his case” (Homer, The Odyssey, book 6, approximately lines 120-150).

Such is the scene that is taking place in Wilhelm Marstrand’s painting. It shows Odysseus, clothed only by a handful of strategically placed twigs, speaking with Nausicaa and her companions. Despite his awkward introduction, the shipwrecked hero succeeded in winning over Nausicaa to his cause. She, in turn, helped Odysseus gain an audience with her parents, King Alcinous and Queen Arete. Odysseus and his hosts got along well, and the Phaeacians ultimately agreed to ferry the traveler back to his home in Ithaca.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Livy

By
thehistorianshut
-

Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE)

“Peace is the desire even of men well able to conquer; what then should our own desire be? Should we not forget hope and anger, those treacherous counsellors, and entrust ourselves and all our interests to the integrity we know?”

  • The History of Rome (book 7, chapter 40) by Livy, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1982.
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