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Orestes and Pylades Disputing at the Altar, Painted By Pieter Lastman (c. 1583-1633)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Dutch artist Pieter Lastman (c. 1583-1633), was inspired by the ancient Greek play, Iphigenia in Tauris, which was written by Euripides (484-406 BCE). It is a play that features two siblings, Iphigenia and Orestes, who were fathered by powerful King Agamemnon—who famously was the Greek commander-in-chief during the Trojan War. The war, although glorious for Agamemnon’s reputation, also tore apart his family. Iphigenia was offered as a sacrifice before Agamemnon and the Greeks set sail for war (yet, in Euripides’ play, Iphigenia was saved by Artemis, who relocated the girl to a temple at Tauris; but the goddess did not inform the family of Iphigenia’s survival). As Iphigenia was presumed dead, grudges began to fester within the royal family. In the end, Iphigenia’s mother, Clytemnestra, murdered Agamemnon. In turn, Orestes, prodded by the god Apollo, avenged his father by killing his own mother, Clytemnestra. This pattern of Apollo pushing Orestes on dangerous quests continues in the play, Iphigenia in Tauris, and the painting that was inspired by it. Euripides had the character, Orestes, lay out the setting and plot of the latest adventure in the opening lines of the play, stating, “[Apollo] told me to go to the boundaries of the Tauric land, where Artemis, your sister, has an altar, and to take the statue of the goddess, which is said here to have fallen to this temple from heaven; and, taking it by craft of some stroke of luck, to complete the venture by giving it to the Athenian land” (Euripides, Iphigenia in Tauris, between lines 67-92). Yet, as might be guessed from looking at the commotion in the painting, Orestes (and his friend Pylades) were caught while trying to steal the statue of Artemis.

Iphigenia, as priestess of Artemis’ temple at Tauris, had a tense reunion with her apprehended brother. There was little time for hugs and reminiscing, as execution was the punishment for the sacrilegious attempted-looting of the temple. Yet, Iphigenia gave her brother a potential tether of salvation, for she declared that she would only execute one of the two friends, and the other would return home to Mycenean Argos. Iphigenia strongly insisted that Orestes should be the one to leave Tauris alive, but Orestes was not keen on the idea of willingly leaving his friend, Pylades, to die. Instead, Orestes volunteered to be the one that faced execution, but this caused great distress to the priestess. For Iphigenia, the thought of having to execute her brother was too much for her to bear, so she suddenly decided to defect from her duty as arbiter of the temple laws and instead become an accomplice of Orestes. Together, Iphigenia, Orestes and Pylades tricked the local population of Tauris, managed to load the temple’s statue on a ship, and successfully sailed away with their holy cargo.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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King Cunincpert’s Sheepish Display Of Strength

By
thehistorianshut
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Cunincpert was a Lombard king who ruled from 688 until his death in the year 700. A curious quote about the king, attributed to Cunincpert’s greatest rival—Duke Alahis of Trent and Brescia—reveals a glimpse of the king’s reputation. Duke Alahis, as reported by the Lombard historian Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), allegedly said, “Cunincpert, although he is a drunkard and of a stupid heart, is nevertheless quite bold and of wonderful strength” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, V.40). Yet, even this blunt quote may be too generous to the king in its wording. The word ‘bold,’ perhaps, should have been exchanged with the similar, but different, descriptive word, ‘ambitious.’ For ‘bold’ suggests courage, whereas King Cunincpert was said to have once used a body-double to lead his troops into battle, which was a decision that was arguably cowardly. Nevertheless, King Cunnincpert was a Lombard monarch of the Catholic faith in a realm where the rival Christian sect of Arianism was still popular, and therefore the Catholic clergymen-historians, such as the aforementioned Paul the Deacon, had to do some public relations damage control to safeguard the memory of Cunincpert’s pro-Catholic reign. As for the assertion that Cunincpert was notably strong, however, other stories were dug up by Lombard storytellers and historians to support that detail. The legend that supported Cunincpert’s supposed strength, as our title subtly hinted, was a tale that involved a flock of sheep.

According to the twice-mentioned Paul the Deacon, it was during the reign of Cunincpert’s father, King Perctarit (r. 671-688), when young Cunincpert had a memorable stroll through one of the king’s sheep pastures alongside his eventual rival, Duke Alahis. The two were just as competitive in their youth as they would be in their adulthood, and their mutual competitiveness that day led to a contest of strength in front of the wooly audience that was grazing in the royal pastureland. One thing led to another, and eventually the sheep, themselves, became props in the boyhood battle of will and muscle. Paul the Deacon, again recording dialogue that was allegedly attributed to Duke Alahis, wrote, “[there was a ram] of great size which he [Cunincpert] seized by the wool of the back and lifted from the ground with outstretched arm, which, indeed, I [Alahis] was not able to do” (History of the Lombards, V.40).

Whatever the truth behind that legend might be, Cunincpert and Alahis transitioned from competing with sheep to battling with armies. Alahis, who originally controlled the Trento region of Italy, added the area of Brescia to his realm through a successful war against King Perctarit. When Cunincpert succeeded his father as king of the Lombards in 688, Duke Alahis challenged him for the throne. His campaign was initially successful, and he captured the Lombard capital of Ticinum (later Pavia). Yet, Cunincpert and his supporters regrouped and engaged the powerful duke in the Battle of Coronate near Bergamo in 689. It was during that battle that Cunincpert’s peculiar body-double incident allegedly occurred, whereas Duke Alahis fought on the front lines. The scheme, however, worked out for Cunincpert, because, by the end of the battle, both the body-double and Duke Alahis were dead on the battlefield. With Alahis dead, Cunincpert was able to win the battle and consolidate his monarchal power.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Shepherds and Sheep, David Teniers the Younger (c. 1610–1690), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

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Alcestis on the Banks of the Styx, by Albert Edelfelt (c. 1854-1905)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Finnish painter Albert Edelfelt (c. 1854-1905), was inspired by stories about the ancient Greek mythological figure, Alcestis. She was the daughter of King Pelias of Iolcos, and she eventually married Admetos (or Admetus)—the ruler of the Thessalian city of Pherae. Admetos was a divinely well-connected man, and he was particularly good friends with the god Apollo. Yet, having the close attention of the divine beings was not always a good thing, as the fickle gods could punish just as easily as they could bless. And that is exactly what happened in Admetos’ situation.

One fateful day, as the myth goes, Admetos was visited by his godly friend Apollo, but this time, Apollo was also accompanied by his divine sister, Artemis. Admetos and Apollo, as usual, got along splendidly. But Artemis, who decided to snoop around Pherae’s temples and shrines, soon fell into a foul mood, for she discovered that her due sacrifices and offerings in Pherae were not up to her standards. Being a typical ancient divinity, Artemis succumbed to the vice shared by most gods—wrath. In her fury over the deficient offerings, Artemis began to plot a deadly punishment against the king of the city. She was not subtle about her intentions, and Admetos became aware of his impending doom. Therefore, he went to his powerful and influential friend, Apollo, and begged for assistance. After listening to the situation, Apollo agreed to do what he could to help, but the god also explained that Artemis’ curse could only be delayed or transferred.

Following Apollo’s guidance, Admetos was able to postpone Artemis’ vengeance, and in the meantime, the Fates were bargained with in order to give Admetos more options. As the story goes, the Fates were persuaded to allow for a willing volunteer to take Admetos’ place the next time the king faced death. Yet, the trick would be finding a person who was willing to make such a selfless sacrifice. As the reader might have guessed from the painting, only Admetos’ wife, Alcestis, was prepared to give up her life so that her husband could keep living. Yet, Apollo, a prophetic god, might have known that Alcestis’ fate was not as hopeless as it seemed. This myth and its conclusion was described by a scholar known as Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century):

“Apollo advised him to propitiate the goddess, and demanded of the Fates that when Admetos was about to die, he should be released from death if somebody would freely choose to die in his place. When the day came for him to die, neither his father nor his mother was willing to die for him, so Alcestis died in his place. But Kore [or Persephone] sent her back to earth again, or, according to some accounts, Heracles fought with Hades for her [and returned her to Admetos]” (Apollodorus, Library, I.9.15).

Such, then, is the backstory for Albert Edelfelt’s painting of Alcestis standing on the banks of the River Styx. It is set after she faced death willingly in Admetos’ stead. Now, she waits for Heracles to bring her back to Pherae, or for the goddess, Persephone, to set her free from the underworld.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Ichthyophagi Legend Of The Red Sea Flood

By
thehistorianshut
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Seas and gulfs around the Arabian Peninsula have been relabeled and renamed since ancient times. In particular, the “Red Sea” has had a complicated history—in ancient times, the name referred to what is now called the Persian Gulf. Today’s Red Sea, in contrast, used to be called the Arabian Gulf. Regarding the legend featured here, the event was reportedly set in the Arabian Gulf (today’s Red Sea), but as the story was supposedly recorded by people generally referred to as the Ichthyophagi (“Fish-Eaters”)—who were present along both waterways—the legend could have technically been set in either sea or gulf.

As told by Greco-Roman scholars such as Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE), Ichthyophagi storytellers preserved a legend about a time when “the gulf” (presumably the Arabian Gulf/Red Sea between the east coast of Africa and the Arabian Peninsula) receded to reveal large tracts of green land. How long this newly uncovered terrain remained accessible was not elaborated upon by the ancient storytellers, but the situation was definitely not permanent. Citing the Ichthyophagi legends, Diodorus Siculus wrote:

“Among the Ichthyophagi who dwell near by has been handed down a tale which has preserved the account received from their forefathers, that once, when there was a great receding of the sea, the entire area of the gulf which has what may be roughly described as the green appearance became land, and that, after the sea had receded to the opposite parts and the solid ground in the depths of it had emerged to view, a mighty flood came back upon it again and returned the body of water to its former place” (Diodorus Siculus, Library, 3.40).

Naturally, many people are intrigued by this legend due to the religious tales and theories about sea-partings and floods that originated in the Middle East region. Any connections between the Ichthyophagi legend and other stories from the region, however, are dubious. In any case, many peoples and cultures from all over the world preserved similar legends and folkloric stories about floods and deluges.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Sea Cove, painted by Albert Bierstadt (c. 1830–1902), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

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Achilles Among The Daughters Of Lycomedes, Painted By Jan de Braij (c 1626/1627-1697)

By
thehistorianshut
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This curious painting, by the Dutch artist Jan de Braij (aka Jan de Bray, c. 1626/1627-1697), draws inspiration from mythological tales about the Greek hero, Achilles. In particular, this scene re-creates, albeit with fashion from the artist’s own times, an early tale about Achilles, set just before he joined the Greek forces for the Trojan War. According to one tradition of the story, Achilles’ parents—the Nereid nymph Thetis and King Peleus of the Myrmidons at Phthia—received a prophecy that their son would die in the Trojan War. In response, they decided to hide him from the Greek recruiters who were mobilizing the might of Greece for war. To this end, Peleus and Thetis disguised Achilles as a girl and sent him to live with their friend, King Lycomedes, on the island of Scyros. As Lycomedes had many daughters, Achilles’ parents hoped that their costumed son could hide out with the princesses at Scyros and avoid the war. Nevertheless, cunning and perceptive Odysseus was among the men tasked with finding Achilles, and it was his wit that undid the charade. An ancient scholar known as the Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) summarized this version of the story:

“When Achilles was nine years old, Calchas declared that Troy could not be taken without him, but Thetis—who knew in advance that he was fated to be killed if he joined the expedition—disguised him in women’s clothing and entrusted him to Lycomedes in the semblance of a young girl…Achilles’ whereabouts were betrayed, however, and Odysseus, searching for him at the court of Lycomedes, discovered him by causing a trumpet to be sounded. And so it came that Achilles went to Troy” (Apollodorus, Library, 3.13.8).

It is this myth that is playing out in the painting above. Jan de Braij seems to have painted the beginning of the myth instead of the end, for Achilles looks to be putting on his disguise and relinquishing his gear, as opposed to removing his costume and dressing for war. Whatever the case, the story of Achilles’ actions during his recruitment period was drastically different based on the source telling the story. For instance, this myth of Achilles’ unsuccessful concealment with Lycomedes’ family was not included in the pages of Homer’s Iliad or Odyssey. In fact, Homer wrote a totally different story in which an undisguised Achilles eagerly and excitedly accepted Odysseus’ invitation to join the Trojan War. In a scene where the character, Nestor, reminisced about recruiting Achilles and his friend Patroclus, Homer wrote, “We had come to Phthia and the welcoming palace of Achilles’ father Peleus to recruit troops…At that moment, Odysseus and I appeared at the gate. Achilles was amazed and sprang to his feet, took us by the hand, brought us in…I began to speak, urging you [Patroclus] and Achilles to join us. You were more than willing, and your fathers both started giving you advice” (Homer, The Iliad, book 11, approximately lines 770-780). Jan de Braij, however, obviously rejected Homer’s version of Achilles’ recruitment, and instead opted for the alternative tale of Achilles being sent to unsuccessfully hide among the daughters of Lycomedes.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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://cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl/en/catalog/506774

Lucan

By
thehistorianshut
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Lucan (c. 39-65)

“Why do the gods above toil to follow, and fear
to spurn, magic chants and herbs? What pact of trade
holds gods duty-bound? Is it a necessity
or a pleasure to obey? Do they deserve it
for some secret piety? Or do they prevail
through tacit threats? Do they have this right
over every god, or do these tyrant songs
dictate to one certain god who can compel
the world however he himself is compelled?”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book 6, between approximately lines 485-515), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

The Cross-Sea Journeys And Ill-Fated Wedding Of Jarl Hákon Eiriksson

By
thehistorianshut
-

Hákon Eiriksson was a Norwegian nobleman with ties to the Danish royal family. His father, Jarl Eirik Hakonarson, had aligned himself with King Sweyn Forkbeard of the Danes (r. 987-1014) and had reportedly married one of Sweyn’s daughters, named Gyda—Hákon’s mother. By siding with King Sweyn, Jarl Eirik Hakonarson became an enemy of Norway’s ruler at that time, King Olaf Tryggvason (r. 995-1000). Nevertheless, it was a conflict that Eirik won, for he was a participant in a coalition of Danes, Swedes and dissident Norwegians that ambushed and killed Olaf Tryggvason at the Battle of Svold (or Svolder) in the year 1000. With the death of the Norwegian king, Jarl Eirik Hakonarson and his son Hákon became leading figures in Norway.

Eirik Hakonarson eventually sailed to the British Isles around the time when King Sweyn Forkbeard seized control of England in 1013. The jarl’s son, Hákon Eiriksson, stayed behind in Norway to see to matters there while his father was away. His father, however, would not return—Eirik Hakonarson died in 1013 of wounds he sustained in England.

Hákon Eiriksson, who succeeded to his father’s jarldom, did not have long to mourn. In 1014 or 1015, a Viking and mercenary named Olaf Haraldsson appeared in Norway to launch a bid for the Norwegian throne. Olaf (later called Saint Olaf) knew that the young jarl was a major obstacle in his path to power, so he targeted Hákon Eiriksson early. Olaf reportedly ambushed his opponent in a narrow waterway, and in the encounter that ensued, Hákon’s ship sank and he was captured. As the story goes, Olaf spared Hákon Eiriksson’s life in exchange for the jarl renouncing his authority in Norway. Whatever the case, Hákon survived the incident and fled to England, where he joined the ranks of his ascendant uncle, Canute the Great. This Canute (or Knut) became king of England in 1016, then king of Denmark in 1019, and he also decided to challenge Olaf Haraldsson for the throne of Norway.

In 1028, Canute the Great successfully used diplomatic and military pressure to usurp power in Norway from Olaf Haraldsson, who fled to his allies among the Swedes and the Rus. When Canute seized control of Norway, Hákon Eiriksson decided to sail back to his homeland to resecure his jarldom. His journey back to Norway, however, came at an awkward time, for Hákon had recently become engaged to be married. Nevertheless, he evidently left his fiancée behind in England while he and Canute toured their newly acquired Norway.

The initial change of leadership in Norway occurred in a fairly peaceful fashion, because Olaf Haraldsson quickly decided to flee from Canute’s formidable incoming forces in 1028. After the successful usurpation, Canute restored Hákon Eiriksson’s lands and regional status that had been stripped by Olaf Haraldsson. It was at that time, with his land and title regained, that Hákon decided to speedily sail back to England to pick up his fiancée. But, tragically, the two would not live happily ever after. The Icelandic historian and saga writer, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), recorded the tale of what happened:

“[Jarl Hákon Eiriksson] had a bride there in England, and he had come in order to fetch her, intending to celebrate his marriage in Norway; and he had gone to England to procure such materials as he thought would be hardest to get in Norway. In fall he made ready for the journey home but was delayed rather long. He sailed finally, but the short and long of that voyage is that his ship went down with all on board” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 184).

As the quote conveys, both Hákon Eiriksson and his fiancée were lost at sea, never to return again to either England or Norway. News of Jarl Hákon’s death, and the vulnerabilities that his absence in Norway entailed, were said to have been a catalyst for Olaf Haraldsson’s eventual return to Norway. Nevertheless, retaking the Norwegian throne proved a tougher task than the hopeful exile had imagined. Olaf Haraldsson was defeated and killed by a Norwegian-Danish coalition at the Battle of Stiklestad in 1030. Canute the Great retained control of Norway until his own death in 1035.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section from Avskedet (ur Frithiofs saga), by August Malmström (c. 1829-1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Stockholm, Sweden).

 

Sources:

The Shade Of Samuel Invoked By Saul, Painted by Bernardo Cavallino (c. 1616 – 1656)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Italian artist Bernardo Cavallino (c. 1616 – 1656), re-creates a Biblical tale about King Saul of Israel (dated to the 11th century BC). On the eve of a battle against the Philistines, so the story goes, King Saul decided to summon the spirit of the then recently deceased Samuel, a prophet and military leader who had first supported King Saul’s reign, but had died denouncing Saul’s kingship. In order to achieve this supernatural endeavor of conjuring the ghost of the prophet, King Saul went to the Witch of Endor, who knew how to successfully cast the kinds of necromancy spells that the king wanted performed. According to the tale, the Witch of Endor agreed to take up the task. With the king in attendance, she allegedly did, indeed, summon Samuel’s spirit for a conversation with King Saul. It is a scene described in the First Book of Samuel:

“‘Then the woman asked, ‘Whom shall I bring up for you?’
‘Bring up Samuel,’ he said.
When the woman saw Samuel, she cried out at the top of her voice and said to Saul, ‘Why have you deceived me? You are Saul!’
The king said to her, ‘Don’t be afraid. What do you see?’
The woman said, ‘I see a ghostly figure coming up out of the earth.’
‘What does he look like?’ he asked.
‘An old man wearing a robe is coming up,’ she said.
Then Saul knew it was Samuel, and he bowed down and prostrated himself with his face to the ground.”
(1 Samuel 28: 11-14, NIV version)

Such is the scene that is occurring in the painting by Bernardo Cavallino. It shows King Saul kneeling before the summoned ghost of Samuel. Unfortunately for the king, the late prophet’s newest prophecy was not a good one. As the story goes, the summoned Samuel told Saul that the forces of Israel would be defeated in the upcoming battle with the Philistines, and that Saul and his sons would be killed. Samuel’s prediction proved true, but the defeat of King Saul paved the way for the ascendance of King David.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Minister Yi Yin’s Palatial Intervention For King Tai Jian

By
thehistorianshut
-

King Tai Jian was reportedly the second ruler from the ancient Chinese Shang Dynasty, which, according to tradition, overthrew the preceding Xia Dynasty in 1766 BCE (an event that has since been redated by archaeological work to about 1600 BCE). Therefore, King Tai Jian’s reign would traditionally be r. 1753-1700 BCE, or shifted to a more modern estimate of r. 1587-1534 BCE. Date particularities aside, King Tai Jian was said to have had a shaky start to his reign. Specifically, at the time that the new king ascended to the throne, his state of mind was not yet mature and virtuous enough for the responsibilities put on his shoulders. This was concerning to a wise minister named Yi Yin, who was a respected holdover from the reign of the Shang Dynasty’s founder, Tang. As an advisor and mentor of King Tai Jian, Yi Yin decided to launch an unorthodox intervention to straighten out the new ruler’s behavior.

According to legend, Yi Yin concocted a plan to convince the king to relocate himself to the city of Tong, which was near the tomb and shrine of the “First King” (presumably Tang, the Shang Dynasty’s founder). To incentivize the king to travel to the region, Yi Yin built a brand-new palace at Tong. But, as Yi Yin’s purpose was instructive and educational, the palace was not designed for pleasure or fun. Instead, it was specially constructed to accommodate meditation and introspection.

Thankfully for the realm, King Tai Jian—although flawed—was a man willing to improve himself. He ultimately took Yi Yin’s advice and visited the new palace at Tong. There, the palace’s meditative enhancements and the nearby proximity of the tomb of the First King combined to have a great effect on Tai Jian. His alleged transformation was recorded in the Book of Documents (Shang Shu), otherwise known as the Most Venerable Book, a text that has its origins in the days before Confucius (c. 551-479 BCE). The text stated:

“[Yi Yin] built a palace for the young king at Tong, close to the tomb and shrine of the First King, where he could reflect upon his life so far and reform himself. The new king went to the palace and he was distressed by his former behavior, repenting and bemoaning, until at long last he was able to be truly virtuous” (Shang Shu, chapter 14).

After this experience, so the legend claims, King Tai Jian was a changed man, and, after returning to his capital city, he continued to rule virtuously and ethically. The king appreciated Yi Yin’s efforts in bringing about the transformation, and their partnership in government only grew in trust and productivity. Nevertheless, Yi Yin eventually retired, believing he had fulfilled his duties as a minister and a mentor.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene from the handscroll painting, Duke Wen of Jin Recovering His State, attributed to Li Tang (c. 1070s–1150s), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

Sources:

The Abduction of Europa, by Rembrandt (c. 1606–1669)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the famous Dutch artist, Rembrandt (aka Rembrandt van Rijn, c. 1606–1669), was inspired by the ancient Greek myth of Europa. According to the ancient tales, she was a daughter of a mythical Phoenician king named Agenor. Yet, her royal standing did not spare her from awkward and dramatic twists of fate in her life. In fact, it is Europa, herself, who is seen being dragged off to sea by the white bull. The strange creature to which she clings, unsurprisingly, is a pivotal character of the odd myth. As the story goes, the mysterious white bull had only recently wandered into King Aginor’s royal herds. Behaving in a friendly and unthreatening way, the bull befriended Europa, allowing her to groom him and to dress up his horns with garlands. This charming friendship between beast and woman, however, was not all that it seemed. The mysterious bull was actually Zeus (or the Roman Jupiter) in disguise. As Zeus was a notoriously lusty god, the conclusion to Europa’s unfortunate tale should be no mystery. Taking advantage of Europa’s misplaced trust, Zeus soon lured the unsuspecting princess onto his back, and once she fell for his trap, the magical god raced out over the depths of the sea, so that she could do nothing else but continue to cling to her kidnapper. This scene was described by the Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE):

“The princess even ventured to sit with her legs astride
on the back of the bull, unaware whose sides she was resting her thighs on;
when Jupiter, gradually edging away from the land and away
from the dry shore, placed his imposter’s hooves in the shallowest waves,
then advanced out further, and soon he was veering the spoils of his victory
out in mid-ocean. His frightened prize looked back at the shore
she was leaving behind, with her right hand clutching one horn and her left
on his back for support, while her fluttering dress swelled out in the sea breeze”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 2.868-875).

Such is the gist of the action that is playing out in the painting featured above, albeit with clothing and architecture that harkens more to Rembrandt’s own time instead of the age of the ancients. Nevertheless, the scene shows Europa being dragged out to sea by her godly captor, leaving behind her startled friends and attendants, who can only helplessly stare in shock, dismay and disbelief from the shoreline. After the abduction, Zeus was said to have carried Europa to the island of Crete. There, the god got what he wanted, one way or the other. According to myth, Europa had several children with Zeus, including Rhadamanthys, Sarpedon and King Minos.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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