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The Legend Of The Killer Pet Snake Of Ptolemy II

By
thehistorianshut
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Ptolemy II (king of Egypt from 285-246 BCE) was a brilliant leader, but an odd figure in his personal life. On the one hand, he was a skilled diplomatic maneuverer and an expansionist who extended his influence in all directions, but on the other hand, he was also the first Ptolemaic king to marry his own sister, an awkward trend that would be repeated by later members of his Ptolemaic Dynasty. A similar shaky balance between acclaim and criticism arose with Ptolemy II’s interest in wildlife. At times, he showed intellectual curiosity in the wide variety of animals that wandered near and around his realm. Yet, he also might have become obsessive in hunting and capturing exotic creatures. On this, the historian Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE) wrote, “expending on this hobby great sums of money, [Ptolemy II] not only collected great herds of war-elephants, but also brought to the knowledge of the Greeks other kinds of animals which had never been seen and were objects of amazement” (Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, 3.36). In particular, King Ptolemy II was reportedly proud of a giant snake that a team of hunters was able to capture alive. This huge serpent, however, had not been an easy prey for the trappers sent to retrieve it for the king.

Legends about Ptolemy’s pet snake were quite extravagant. The creature was reportedly 30 cubits long, equaling about 13.716 meters (or 15 yards or 45 feet), and although it was great in length, the circumference of its body was rather slender. Ptolemy’s hunters, so the story goes, tracked the beast down at an oasis, where the serpent lived in a hole in the ground when it was not feeding on the various animals that came to the watering hole for a drink. At first, Ptolemy’s fearful hunters allegedly tried to wrangle the huge snake with rope and sheer strength. According to legend, this initial battle of wills did not go well for the hunters. Diodorus Siculus wrote:

“With cowardly trembling they cast the nooses about its tail; but the beast, the moment the rope touched its body, whirled about with so mighty a hissing as to frighten them out of their wits, and raising itself into the air above the head of the foremost man it seized him in its mouth and ate his flesh while he still lived, and the second it caught from a distance with a coil as he fled, drew him to itself, and winding itself about him began squeezing his belly with its tightening bond; and as for all the rest, stricken with terror they sought their safety in flight” (Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, 3.36).

After that legendary and folkloric battle with the serpentine beast, Ptolemy’s hunters decided they could not take down the monster in a fair fight. Resorting to cunning and trickery instead, the hunters backed down and let the trappers take over the operation. As the story goes, the party waited until the serpent had slithered away from its home to hunt before they went into action. They filled in and covered up the snake’s original underground lair, and right beside it they dug a sizable tunnel, in which they placed a great net. With the trap set, the group waited for the snake to return. When the creature, indeed, slinked back to the region of its lair, the hunters and trappers launched their second attack. Instead of confronting it straight on, they now allegedly blasted away at trumpets, threw rocks, and did anything else within their power to raise an unbearable clammer. Faced with this onslaught of sound and projectiles, the serpent bolted toward its hole in the ground—yet, instead of entering its own lair, the creature instead mistakenly sought shelter in the manmade, net-lined trap. Seizing victory, the hunters tied the opening of the net shut and dragged the captured beast out of the hole. Diodorus Siculus described the supposed reaction of King Ptolemy II and his court when the giant serpent was hauled back to the city of Alexandria:

“When they had brought the snake to Alexandria they presented it to the king, an astonishing sight which those cannot credit who have merely heard the tale. By depriving the beast of its food they wore down its spirit and little by little tamed it, so that the domestication of it became a thing of wonder. As for Ptolemy, he distributed among the hunters the merited rewards, and kept and fed the snake, which had now been tamed and afforded the greatest and most astonishing sight for the strangers who visited his kingdom” (Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, 3.37).

Such, then, is the peculiar tale of the giant pet serpent of King Ptolemy II. It is a story laced with exaggeration and folklore since ancient times, possibly spread by the hunters, Ptolemy II himself, or other storytellers. It should be said that the snake likely did not kill two people before it was caught, but two hunters could have easily died on the expedition from other causes. Whatever the case behind this strange story, it is an interesting and entertaining tale.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (God and serpent, manuscript BL YT 13, f. 22, of the Book of Hours, Use of Sarum (‘The Taymouth Hours’), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and The British Library.jpg).

 

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Artemisia Building The Mausolaeum, Painted By Simon Vouet (c. 1590-1649)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the French artist Simon Vouet (c. 1590-1649), depicts Queen Artemisia II of Caria (r. 353-351 BCE) overseeing plans for the spectacular tomb of her late husband, King Mausolus (r. 377-353 BCE). Queen Artemisia poured untold riches into constructing the tomb, hiring the best sculptors in all of Greece—such as Scopas, Bryaxis, Timotheus, and Leochares—to work on the monumental project. The tomb, known as the Mausoleum, was a masterpiece of architecture and art, listed among the Seven Wonders of the World. Pliny the Elder (c. 23-79), a Roman scholar, mentioned the Mausoleum in his Natural History:

“[Scopas, Bryaxis, Timotheus and Leochares worked on] the Mausoleum; such being the name of the tomb that was erected by his wife Artemisia in honour of Mausolus, a petty king of Caria, who died in the second year of the hundred and seventh Olympiad. It was through the exertions of these artists more particularly, that this work came to be reckoned one of the Seven Wonders of the World… The east side was sculptured by Scopas, the north by Bryaxis, the south by Timotheus, and the west by Leochares; but, before their task was completed, Queen Artemisia died. They did not leave their work, however, until it was finished, considering that it was at once a memorial of their own fame and of the sculptor’s art: and, to this day even, it is undecided which of them has excelled” (Pliny the Elder, Natural History, 36.4).

Such, then, is the history that Simon Vouet re-creates in his painting. It shows Queen Artemisia II with certain architects or artists, going over the plans for the soon-to-be world-famous Mausoleum. The scene would have to be set between 353 and 351 BCE, for that was the time in which she was directly involved in overseeing the construction of the great tomb. Unfortunately, as was stated in Pliny’s quote, Queen Artemisia did not get to see the completed wonder. Nevertheless, as construction was allegedly completed by 350 BCE, just one year after her death, Queen Artemisia likely knew how magnificent the tomb would be.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Machiavelli

By
thehistorianshut
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Machiavelli (c. 1469-1527)

“It is well to seem merciful, faithful, humane, sincere, religious, and also to be so; but you must have the mind so disposed that when it is needful to be otherwise you may be able to change to the opposite qualities.”

  • From The Prince (chapter 18) by Machiavelli, translated and printed by the Henry Regnery Company, 1948.

Emperor Phokas’ Heady Proof Of Power At The Camp Of The Tribunal

By
thehistorianshut
-

Phokas (also known as Phocas) was a military officer in the employ of Emperor Maurice of Constantinople (r. 582-602). He was stationed in the Balkans, where Phokas became well-liked by the army grunts garrisoned there. This affection evidently derived from Phokas positioning himself as a champion of the common warrior, advocating for better working conditions and pay. Yet, although Phokas had the admiration of the average foot-soldier, he did not have much influence on the imperial military command. Instead, leadership figures such as the army in the Balkans’ lead general, Philippikos, saw Phokas as an agitator and a dangerous influence on the troops. While the work conditions and pay should have been addressed, the high officials were quite right to fear the charismatic activist, for when the unrest in the army escalated into mutiny and rebellion, Phokas became the leader of the revolt. With a sizable rebel army behind him, Phokas marched on Constantinople and successfully usurped power from Emperor Maurice in 602.

In the history of kingdoms and empires, overthrown monarchs too often meet unpleasant ends. Unfortunately for Emperor Maurice, he fell victim to that deadly trend, as did his family. When Phokas seized control of Constantinople and its empire, he was able to capture Emperor Maurice, his empress, Constantina, and at least eight of their children—five sons and three daughters. The women were put under house arrest, but Maurice and his male relatives were used to send a message. Phokas wanted the empire to undisputedly know that a new emperor was in power, and he did this by executing Maurice, his brother, and at least five of Maurice’s sons. Yet, death was not the end, as Phokas had the bodies deliberately mutilated. The heads of Maurice and his sons were put on display at a place called the Camp of the Tribunal—the headless bodies were reportedly dumped in the sea. The execution of Marice and his sons, as well as the public parading of their heads, was mentioned in the Chronographia of Theophanes (c. 750s-818), who wrote, “In November Phokas became Emperor. As we said before, the rebel killed Maurice and his five sons. He ordered their heads placed in the Camp of the Tribunal for a number of days. The inhabitants of the city went out to look at them until they began to stink” (Theophanes, Chronographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6095 (602-603 CE)). Although Maurice’s wife and daughters were initially placed under house arrest, they were not ultimately spared by the usurper. Emperor Phokas had them, too, executed around 606 or 607.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Solidus coin from the reign of Emperor Phocas (r. 602–610), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

Sources:

  • Theophanes, The Chronicle of Theophanes, translated by Harry Turtledove. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982.
  • Michael J. Decker. The Byzantine Art of War. Pennsylvania: Westholme Publishing. 2013.

Alexander Condemning False Praise, Painted By Francesco de Mura (c. 1696 – 1782)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Neapolitan artist Francesco de Mura (c. 1696 – 1782), purports to show Alexander the Great—ruler of Macedonia (r. 336-322) and conqueror of an empire stretching from Greece to the borderlands of India—in the act of condemning false praise. It is an ironic artwork, for while it is not inconceivable that Alexander might have rejected sycophancy and baseless groveling at rare times when he was in a foul mood, this was definitely not his normal behavior. Quite the opposite, an insatiable desire for praise and glorification was a key component of Alexander the Great’s character and strategy. He claimed his father was the high-god, Zeus, and he wanted to be elevated to the status of a heroic demigod, an equal to figures such as Achilles and Heracles. Similarly, he took every chance he could during his travels to name after himself random settlements and potential future cities, labeling them with titles such as Alexandria. Instead of rejecting false praise, Alexander was said to have indulged in it too much, causing annoyance among some of the officers who knew all too well that Alexander was a fallible and mortal human. The ancient Greek-Roman biographer, Plutarch (c. 50-12), wrote the following assessment after perusing through the histories, memoirs and letters from the age of Alexander that were at his disposal:

“Although at other times his society was more delightful and his manner more full of charm than any king, yet when he was drinking he would sometimes become offensively arrogant and descend to the level of a common soldier, and on these occasions he would allow himself not only to give way to boasting but also to be ridden by his flatterers. These men were an irritation to the more refined members of Alexander’s entourage, who had no desire to compete with them in their sycophancy, but were unwilling to be outdone in praising Alexander. The one course they thought shameful, but the other was dangerous” (Plutarch, Parallel Lives, Life of Alexander, chapter 23).

It was, indeed, dangerous to undermine Alexander’s sense of self, as the king’s friend, Cleitus the Black, learned all too well. In 328 BCE, Cleitus reminded the king that Philip II of Macedonia, not Zeus, was Alexander the Great’s real father. Cleitus also reminded the king that, his military genius aside, Alexander was not a one-man wrecking ball; his achievements had been won through the blood and sweat of the army, and warriors such as Cleitus, himself, had needed to rescue reckless Alexander from time to time in battle. This speech from Cleitus the Black outraged Alexander, and in response the king skewered him with a spear. Therefore, while Francesco de Mura shows a scene of Alexander the Great condemning false praise, this was not the normal behavior of the megalomaniac king.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Olympic Boxer Kleomedes of Astypalaia And His Rageful Rampage

By
thehistorianshut
-

Kleomedes of Astypalaia (also known as Cleomedes of Astypalaea) was a boxer who reached his athletic pinnacle during the first decade of the 5th century BCE. He competed in the Olympic games of either the seventy-first Olympiad (496 BCE) or the seventy-second (492 BCE), where his fighting skills were unmatched. The title for boxing champion of that Olympiad was determined by a showdown between Kleomedes of Astypalaia and a rival fighter named Iccus of Epidaurus. Despite the fight being a battle between the best of the best in Greece, the boxing match quickly proved to be a one-sided affair. Kleomedes was utterly dominant in the fight, and Iccus was terribly bludgeoned by his opponent’s merciless fists. The umpires of the match eventually had to step in to pull Kleomedes away, but it was already too late—Iccus of Epidaurus was dead.

Kleomedes of Astypalaia had won the fight with such dominance and ease that the umpires suspected (without proof) that the victor had somehow won the match through foul play or cheating. Although no evidence was reportedly found to back up the claim of cheating, a decision was nevertheless made to block Kleomedes from receiving the honors that he was due after winning the championship match. Indignant Kleomedes was powerless to overturn the ruling, so he began his bitter journey back home, becoming more and more enraged as he neared Astypalaia. Unfortunately, by the time he reached his homeland, Kleomedes had worked himself into a complete state of madness. He had a breakdown at a schoolhouse, of all places, going on such a rampage that he knocked down a load-bearing pillar, which caused the building to collapse. This sad, strange tale was recorded by the 2nd-century scholar, Pausanias, who included the story in his Description of Greece:

“At the Festival previous to this it is said that Cleomedes of Astypalaea killed Iccus of Epidaurus during a boxing-match. On being convicted by the umpires of foul play and being deprived of the prize he became mad through grief and returned to Astypalaea. Attacking a school there of about sixty children he pulled down the pillar which held up the roof. This fell upon the children, and Cleomedes, pelted with stones by the citizens, took refuge in the sanctuary of Athena” (Pausanias, Description of Greece, 6.9.6-7).

What happened next was quite strange. The cynic might say that Kleomedes escaped the angry stone-throwing mob at Astypalaia and ran away into ashamed exile. Yet, a more supernatural legend also existed about the boxer’s disappearance. In this alternative tale, Kleomedes allegedly locked himself in a chest within the sanctuary of Athena. When the mob of pursuers forced open this box in which they were sure Kleomides was hiding, they instead found, with great shock, that it was empty, with no trace of the boxer inside. Confused and concerned, the people of Astypalaia reportedly sent a representative to the Oracle of Delphi to ask for guidance. The prophetess residing there, known as the Pythia, reportedly gave the following response back to Astypalaia:

“Last of heroes is Cleomedes of Astypalaea;
Honor him with sacrifices as being no longer mortal.”
(Pausanias, Description of Greece, 6.9.8)

Astypalaia accepted the advice of the Pythia and, although Kleomedes might have caused the deaths of up to sixty children, they decided to honor the boxer as a hero and champion. It is unclear, however, if his status as a victor of an Olympic game was amended. Nevertheless, he got his fame, albeit this came less from glory than from infamy.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Terracotta rim fragment of a kylix (drinking cup) circa 500–480 B.C., [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

Sources:

Oedipus Cursing His Son Polynices, by Henry Fuseli (c. 1741-1825)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This dramatic scene, painted by the Swiss artist Henry Fuseli (c. 1741-1825), depicts Oedipus—perhaps the unluckiest hero of ancient Greek myth—along with three of his children: Antigone, Ismene, and Polynices. Stubborn Oedipus is represented by the figure of the old man dressed in brown. Oedipus’ equally strong-willed daughter, Antigone, is portrayed as the brown-haired woman standing over him, who can be seen trying to contain the situation. Her more unimposing sister, Ismene, is the blonde-headed woman kneeling by her father’s leg. Finally, the young man at the receiving end of Oedipus’ accusatory gestures and glares is Polynices.

In the chronology of Oedipus myths, this painting is set near the end of the long and tragic saga. By this point, it had been many decades since Oedipus fled from his adoptive parents at Corinth. Long ago were the days when he killed a mysterious kingly man named Laius on the road, and defeated the sphinx and her riddles. In the distant past, too, was Oedipus’ ascendance to the throne of Thebes, achieved by marrying the widowed female ruler, Jocasta, whose husband had been killed. After many more years, a plague struck Thebes, and Oedipus tried to appease the gods by vowing to bring justice to the killer of his wife’s former spouse. Unfortunately, instead of peace and healing, the truth only brought disgrace and infamy. Oedipus learned that the kingly figure he had earlier killed on the road was Jocasta’s former husband, King Laius. Even worse, Oedipus learned that Laius and Jocasta were his birth parents. Therefore, since coming to Thebes, Oedipus had committed two of the worst taboos in ancient Greece—patricide, and incest of the worst kind. In the aftermath of the discovery of the truth, Jocasta hanged herself and Oedipus rendered himself blind. Finally, bringing us to times more current to the scene in the painting, Oedipus wandered as an outcast and a social pariah, with loyal Antigone staying by his side as a guide, while Ismene traveled to oracles and prophets to gather divine advice for her father.

Due to the devotion of his daughters, Oedipus truly doted upon Antigone and Ismene.  The relationship between Oedipus and his sons, however, was not warm at all. Whereas Antigone and Ismene followed Oedipus into exile, caring for their blind father’s every need, the sons contrastingly abandoned dear old dad to wage war for the throne of Thebes. Nevertheless, a prophecy soon emerged that claimed whichever city hosted Oedipus’ tomb would be granted victory. When this prophecy was spread, both of Oedipus’ sons immediately had a change of heart and wanted to see their father again…at least so they could build his tomb on their territory in the near future. And that brings us to the scene painted above—in it, Oedipus’ son, Polynices, has come in an attempt to convince his father to join his faction in the civil war. Polynices was on the losing side of the conflict, forced to flee from Thebes and relocate to Argos, and it was to that Argive city that he wanted to bring his father. Oedipus, as can be seen in the painting, rejected his son’s offer and instead launched into a vitriolic tirade that was filled with curses for the sons that had spent years not displaying any affection, love or respect for their exiled father. For this scene, the Athenian playwright, Sophocles (c. 496-405 BCE), armed Oedipus with linguistic daggers such as:

“But off to damnation with you, abhorred by me and disowned! Take these curses which I call down on you, most evil of evil men: may you never defeat your native land, and may you never return to the valley of Argos; I pray that you die by a related hand, and slay him by whom you have been driven out. This is my prayer. And I call on the hateful darkness of Tartarus that your father shares, to take you into another home; and I call on the divinities of this place, and I call on the god of war, who has set dreadful hatred in you both. Go with these words in your ear; go and announce to all the Cadmeans, and to your own faithful allies, that Oedipus has distributed such portions to his sons” (Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, approximately lines 1380-1395).

After hearing this emphatic speech, Polynices gracefully accepted defeat and walked away, disappointed and doomed. Oedipus’ prophecy came true, as Polynices later attacked Thebes, which was held by his brother, Eteocles. In the ensuing battle, both brothers were killed and their uncle, Creon, became the undisputed leader of the city. Meanwhile, Oedipus met a mysterious, supernatural end in the region of Colonus, Athens, and his daughters thereafter returned to Thebes. There, as could be expected from people in Oedipus’ family, their fates were not kind.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Ovid

By
thehistorianshut
-

Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE)

“Love and regal dignity, scarcely the best of friends,
are rarely discovered together.”

  • Metamorphoses by Ovid (Book 2, approximately lines 846-847). Translated by David Raeburn. Penguin Classics; Revised Edition, 2004.

The Legend Of The Capture And Reconquest Of King Olaf II’s Flagship, The Bison

By
thehistorianshut
-

A former Viking and mercenary named Olaf Haraldsson seized the throne of Norway around 1015, becoming King Olaf II. As monarch, he devoted himself to two main goals—increasing his crown authority and spreading Christianity to the jarls, chieftains and commoners who still practiced the region’s traditional religion. King Olaf, however, was too aggressive in his policies of government centralization and social Christianization. In the end, instead of stabilizing his position as king, Olaf’s heavy-handed policies and practices had the opposite effect of causing unrest among large swaths of the peasantry and nobles in his kingdom. Watching this faction of dissent with interest was Canute the Great, ruler of England since 1016 and king of Denmark as of 1019. Knowing that he could take advantage of the unrest, Canute began encouraging revolt and rebellion in Norway. Finally, after a campaign of bribes and promises of a less imposing style of rule, King Canute was able to pull off a remarkable usurpation of power in Norway, forcing Olaf Haraldsson and his family to flee the country in 1028.

As the coasts of Norway and Denmark were now hostile waters, Olaf reportedly traveled on land to Sweden, and then gained passage to the territory of the Rus. During this retreat, Olaf had to leave behind much of his possessions, including, apparently, his recently-built flagship, called the Bison. The king’s abandoned fleet of ships was found by Olaf’s enemies and they were divvied up as war plunder by the discoverers. According to folklore and legends collected by the story-hungry medieval Icelanders, an adventurer named Jokul Bardarson somehow managed to barter, bet, and jostle his way to possessing the Bison. Jokul was mentioned in several medieval Icelandic texts, including the Heimskringla by Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), as well as the Book of Settlements and Grettir’s Saga. Jokul Bardarson’s supposed physical characteristics and temperament were described in Grettir’s Saga, which claimed, “Jokul was a big, strong man with a violent temper. A seafarer, he was very difficult to deal with and yet extremely capable” (Grettir’s Saga, chapter 34). Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla, for its part, recorded the tale of Jokul aiding King Olaf’s enemies, leading to his acquisition of the Bison. As for the Book of Settlements, it skipped the tale of Jokul taking the helm of the abandoned flagship, but it and the Heimskringla both agreed on Jokul’s ultimate fate.

Rather than sail back to Iceland or another secure region with his prize, Jokul Bardarson instead apparently decided to leave the safety of Denmark and Norway behind to loiter with the Bison around the island of Gotland for a few years. Jokul was allegedly still at Gotland with the Bison around 1030, when Olaf Haraldsson departed from the land of the Rus and sailed back toward Sweden, intent on launching a campaign to retake his lost kingdom of Norway. Unfortunately for Jokul Bardarson, Olaf and his band of loyalists allegedly decided to stop by Gotland before sailing the rest of the way to Sweden. What happened next should be no surprise—Olaf and Jokul crossed paths and the former king recognized his opponent’s ship as the long-lost Bison. As the story goes, Jokul Bardarson was hunted down, captured, and shown no mercy. Snorri Sturluson wrote, “Jokul fell in with King Olaf’s force on the Island of Gotland and was captured. The king had him led forth to be beheaded…” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter182). Snorri Sturluson’s tale went on to say that Jokul tried to dodge the executioner’s blow, an act that only resulted in a slower, more painful, death than had been originally intended. He allegedly lingered on the precipice of death long enough to recite a poem. Almost all of this storytelling, however, was cut away from the Book of Settlements account, which concisely reported, “Bard Jokulsson had a son called Jokul, who was put to death by King Olaf the Holy” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 93). Olaf would soon join Jokul Bardarson in death, for his reconquest of Norway did not go as planned. King Olaf II died at the Battle of Stiklestad in 1030. The Bison, however, survived and was said to have been used by Olaf’s son, King Magnus the Good (r. 1035-1047).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Frithiof går i landsflykt (ur Frithiofs saga), by August Malmström (c. 1829-1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Sweden).

 

Sources:

Pygmalion, From Stories From Ovid, By Daniel Janssens (1636–1682) And The Wauters Workshop

By
thehistorianshut
-

This artwork is a tapestry designed by Daniel Janssens (1636–1682) and woven by the Wauters Workshop. As the title of the artwork divulges, the scene was inspired by the myth of Pygmalion, especially the account of the tale recorded by the Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE). According to Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Pygmalion was a sculptor who carved his vision of the perfect, ideal woman into pristine ivory. All of the artist’s desires and emotions were poured into the design of the life-size artwork, and his skilled hands masterfully shaped the ivory to have the exact voluptuous shapes that he wished for his sculpted woman to possess. Pygmalion succeeded in every goal and criterion that he wanted to achieve in the creation of his ivory lady, and when the genesis of the statue was complete, he fell madly in love with the inanimate woman that he had built. Ovid described the creation of this beloved statue:

“In the course of time he successfully carved an amazingly skillful
statue in ivory, white as snow, an image of perfect
feminine beauty—and fell in love with his own creation.
This heavenly woman appeared to be real; you’d surely suppose her
alive and ready to move, if modesty didn’t preclude it”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 10.247-251)

Pygmalion was still enraptured with his lifelike statue when it came time for his community to hold a festival for Aphrodite (or Venus to the Romans). The artist fell into great emotional distress during the celebrations for the goddess of love, and he prepared a fervent prayer to go along with the offering he would soon leave at the deity’s altar. Ovid continued the story:

“His offering laid, Pygmalion stood by the altar
and nervously asked: ‘You gods, all gifts are within your power.
Grant me to wed…’—not daring to say ‘my ivory maiden’,
he used the words ‘a woman resembling my ivory maiden’.
Golden Venus was present herself for her own celebration.
She understood what Pygmalion meant and she signalled her favour”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 10.273-278)

Indeed, the goddess of love fulfilled Pygmalion’s prayers. Instead of matching the sculptor with a woman that resembled the statue, the goddess of love alternatively used her divine power to bring the sculpture to life. This living statue, in some accounts of the myth, was given the name Galatea, and she reciprocated Pygmalion’s love. Together, they had a daughter named Paphos.

Daniel Janssens’s tapestry evidently re-creates the early stages of the myth. Pygmalion can be seen putting on the finishing touches to the statue that would eventually become his wife. In the scene, he might not yet have brought his prayers and offerings to Venus’ altar, but it seems that several goddesses of Olympus have already taken interest in Pygmalion’s predicament, as they can be seen around him, observing his work on the statue.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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