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Canute The Great’s Golden Gifts To Two Icelandic Skalds

By
thehistorianshut
-

To get into the good graces of a medieval Icelandic skald, one usually needed only do great deeds and give great gifts. Canute the Great—ruler of England (r. 1016-1035), Denmark (r. 1019-1035) and Norway (r. 1028-1035)—was a figure who did both. Two known Icelandic poets, or skalds, who journeyed to the court of Canute were Bersi Skáldtorfuson and Sigvat the Skald. Canute seemed to favor the former over the latter, reportedly giving Bersi two golden rings and a sword which was, of course, also inlaid with gold. Sigvat the Skald also received a golden ring from Canute, and although he was grateful for it, he harbored some jealousy for the gifts bestowed on his colleague. These rewards, and the feelings they inspired, were poetically written down by Sigvat the Skald, and his verse was quoted in the Heimskringla of the scholar Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241):

“Gave us the glorious sovran
guerdon bounteous, so that
both our arms, Bersi,
brightly shine with gold rings.
One mark or more he gave as
meed to you, a sword eke,
sharp-edged: my share is only—
surely God rules—a half mark.”
(Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 131).

Sigvat the Skald, perhaps irked at being favored less than Bersi, ultimately left Canute’s court and reportedly went to his rival, the Norwegian King Olaf II (r. 1015-1028), before Canute seized control of Norway. Sigvat later joined the court of Olaf’s son, King Magnus the Good of Norway (r. 1035-1047).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Midvinterblot (Midwinter Sacrifice), painted by Carl Larsson (c. 1853-1919), housed by the National Museum in Sweden, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

Sources:

  • Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.

Vertumnus And Pomona, By Jan Tengnagel (c. 1584-1635)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Dutch artist Jan Tengnagel (c. 1584-1635), depicts a myth about the god Vertumnus and the goddess Pomona. In the scene above,  frozen on the canvas, we have caught Vertumnus in an awkward situation. Although the painting portrays what looks like two women in conversation, one of the two figures is Vertumnus in disguise. It is actually a peculiar tale of courtship that the art conveys.

Vertumnus was an Etruscan god of seasons and vegetation, while Pomona was a goddess of orchards and fruit. They had a lot in common and as soon as Vertumnus laid eyes on the goddess, he wanted to spend the rest of his immortal life with her. Pomona, however, was totally absorbed into her agricultural duties, living in a walled-off orchard and rejecting any and all advances from male deities who sought her company. Nevertheless, Vertumus was a persistent fellow and he also happened to be a talented shapeshifter. Using his transformative power, Vertumnus tried out all sorts of physiques and appearances, trying to catch Pomona’s attention. He approached her orchard in various disguises, such as a reaper, a haymaker, a plowman, a vineyard worker and an apple picker, only to be turned away or ignored each time. After Pomona rejected all of these personas, Vertumnus had an epiphany—if he adopted a disguise as a woman, maybe Pomona would let down her guard enough to talk. The Roman poet Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE) described these transformations:

“All these forms he adopted again and again to get close
to Pomona and so to enjoy the sight of her beautiful person.
One day he even put on a grey wig with a bright-coloured headscarf,
crouched down over a stick and pretended to be an old woman.”
(Ovid, Metamorphosis, 14.651-655).

In this latest disguise, Vertumnus made much better progress. He was able to waltz right into Pomona’s orchard and strike up a conversation with her, as can be seen in the painting above. Still disguised as the old woman, Vertumnus began telling the goddess that she had a godly admirer, and he went on to describe his real self. After Vertumnus got Pomona’s attention with this self-serving prelude, he revealed his true identity and shape, to great effect. As Ovid told the tale, the two lived happily ever after.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Lucan

By
thehistorianshut
-

Lucan (c. 39-65)

“Given the gift of peace, how each regrets
he ever held a sword or lobbed a spear,
or suffered thirst or prayed the gods in vain
to win a war.”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book 4, between lines 352-388), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

The Dramatic Demise Of William II d’Eu

By
thehistorianshut
-

Count William II d’Eu was a nobleman in the realm of King William II Rufus of England (r. 1087-1100). He came under suspicion in 1095, when the king of England was at war with the rebellious Earl Robert de Mowbray of Northumberland. Count William II must not have played too active a role in the treachery, for during the king’s campaign to besiege the earl’s cities and to capture Robert de Mowbray, there was little mention of the count. Yet, in 1096, after the earl was defeated, William II d’Eu was belatedly accused of treason in connection to Robert de Mowbray’s insubordination. The accuser was a man named Geoffrey Bainard, and there was enough evidence for the king to call for a trial. This case, however, was to be a trial by combat. The duel that followed, and the king’s decision afterward, were recorded in sources such as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, and the Historia Anglorum of Henry of Huntingdon. The former of this trio of sources reported: “Geoffrey Bainard accused William of Eu, the king’s kinsman, that he had been in the treason against the king, and maintained it against him by fight, and overcame him in single combat, and after he was overcome, the king commanded his eyes to be put out, and afterwards to emasculate him” (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, entry for 1096). The disgraced and mutilated count’s steward, too, was caught up in the treason inquiry and was hanged. Count William II d’Eu is thought to have not survived the wounds of his blinding and emasculation in 1096.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration from a manuscript of a Bestiary or Lapidary labeled BL Royal 12 F XIII, f 42v, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and The British Library).

 

Sources:

Apollo Flaying Marsyas, By Girolamo Troppa (c. 1637-1733)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This curious painting, created by the Italian artist Girolamo Troppa (c. 1637-1733), displays a scene from a horrific myth. On the right side, the childlike figure with blonde hair is a representation of the god Apollo. Restrained beside him is Marsyas, a hairy-legged satyr who made the mistake of challenging Apollo to a music contest. The god did not take kindly to the challenge, and after Apollo won the melodious duel, he imposed a merciless and gruesome penalty on the defeated satyr. Girolamo Troppa, in his cool-colored painting, did his best to conceal the horror that would come in the seconds and minutes after this scene was unfrozen. No blood can be seen, and the expression on Marsyas’ face is obscured. Nevertheless, what happened next was quite bloody and extremely painful. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), vividly described Marsyas’ punishment—flaying:

“In spite of his cries, the skin was peeled from his flesh, and his body
was turned into one great wound; the blood was pouring all over him,
muscles were fully exposed, his uncovered veins convulsively
quivered; the palpitating intestines could well be counted,
and so could the organs glistening through the wall of his chest.”
(Ovid, Metamorphosis, 6.387-391)

Such is the horrific myth that this painting subtly alludes to. Marsyas, of course, did not survive the flaying that was imposed on him. As the story goes, Marsyas’ many friends shed such a quantity of tears in mourning the loss of their loved one that a river was formed, carrying their grief to the sea.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Strange Shipwreck Omen Before Crusaders Set Out On The First Crusade

By
thehistorianshut
-

Answering Pope Urban II’s call for an armed pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1095, Count Robert Curthose of Normandy, Count Robert of Flanders and Count Stephen of Blois were among the many noblemen of Europe who mobilized armies for the First Crusade. A man named Fulcher of Chartres (c. 1059-1127) joined the crusading warband of the three counts named above, and fortunately for us, Fulcher wrote a chronicle about his experiences. The counts, their army, and Fulcher, finished preparing for their journey by September or October of 1096. They made their way out of France and trekked into Italy, where they went sightseeing at the holy sites, while also arranging for themselves to be ferried across the Adriatic Sea at the port city of Bari. Count Robert of Flanders quickly brought his own troops across the sea around December, 1096, whereas Robert Curthose of Normandy and Count Stephen of Blois delayed in Italy until April of 1097. Fulcher of Chartres remained with Robert Curthose and Stephen during that time, and his stay in Italy was peculiar to say the least.

Morale in the particular army that Fulcher was attached to became dangerously low during their wait in Italy. The crusaders learned firsthand that not everyone in Christendom was in agreement on the Crusade and its leading proponent, Pope Urban II. In fact, an antipope named Clement III (r. 1080-1110) existed at that time and some of his supporters still resided in Italy. Clement’s people despised anything to do with Pope Urban, and therefore also rejected his idea of a crusade. In a memorable episode, Fulcher claimed that he and other crusaders were harassed by these followers of Clement, stating that they “threw stones at us as we were prostrate praying. For when they saw anyone faithful to Urban, they straightway wished to slay him” (Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, 1.7.2). This harassment, mixed with fear of the battles to come, reportedly caused desertion to become a problem in the crusader army. As told by Fulcher, “without hesitation, many who had come this far with us, now weak with cowardice, returned to their homes” (Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, 1.7.3). Therefore, by April 1097, Count Robert Curthose and Count Stephen were eager to get their troops on the move, and for the sake of the already low morale, they wanted the process to be as smooth and seamless as possible. Nevertheless, fate had something else in store for them.

Of all things, a deadly mass-casualty tragedy occurred just as Fulcher and his companions were about to sail across the Adradic Sea. One of the ships that the counts had acquired for their journey proved unable to carry all of the animals, gear and people that were loaded onto it. The strained ship sank catastrophically, killing many people and livestock, as well as destroying great quantities of cargo. Fulcher of Chartres described this ill-timed disaster, writing, “we saw one boat among the others, which, while near the shore and apparently unhindered, suddenly cracked apart in the middle. Whereby four hundred of both sexes perished by drowning…” (Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, 1.8.2). This disaster greatly affected the army—the deaths, alone, dismayed the troops, while the shipwreck also caused many to have a newfound or amplified fear of the water. Fulcher of Chartres continued his description of the tragedy, making note of the emotional impact it took on some in the army:

“Of the others now wrestling with death, only a few lived. Horses and mules were destroyed by the waves, and much money was lost, too. When we saw this misfortune, we were confused with so great a fear that very many of the weak-hearted ones, not yet aboard the vessels, went back to their homes, having abandoned the pilgrimage, and saying that never would they place themselves on the deceptive water” (Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, 1.8.4).

A deadly shipwreck such as this was definitely not what Count Robert and Count Stephen needed at that time. Therefore, the leadership in the group applied all of their rhetorical and religious skills to minimize the impact of the disaster. As the story goes, some of the soggy bodies that were hauled out of the sea had the signs of a cross imprinted, dyed, or otherwise marked on their bodies, and this was all that the leadership figures needed for a new narrative to spin the disaster in its best possible light. Pointing out these mysterious cross imprints, Count Robert, Count Stephen and their accompanying clerics reportedly claimed, “by such a miracle, those dead had already by God’s mercy obtained the peace of everlasting life in the clearly evident fulfillment of the prophecy which had been written: ‘The just, though taken prematurely by death, shall find peace’” (Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, 1.8.3). This silver lining—a perceived confirmation that participation in the crusade led to salvation—was masterfully spun by the quick-thinking leadership figures, who were able to keep the shaken army calm enough for them to cross the Adriatic Sea and enter the lands of the Empire of Constantinople.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Two Ships From BL Add 10292, f. 36v L’estoire del Saint Graal (or de Merlin), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and The British Library.jpg).

 

Sources:

  • Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, translated by Martha McGinty (1941), in The First Crusade edited by Edward Peters. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1971, 1988.

Medusa, Painted By Alice Pike Barney (c. 1857-1931)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the American artist Alice Pike Barney (c. 1857-1931), is a curious mix of family portrait and myth. Alice Pike Barney used the face of her daughter, Laura, as the model for the painting. As myths go, Alice made an intriguing choice in deciding which tale she wanted to bring to life with her daughter’s visage. She picked the tragic myth of the ill-fated Gorgon, Medusa. The Roman poet Ovid (c. 43 BCE-17 CE) concisely summarized the unfortunate backstory of this unhappy being:

“Medusa was once an exceedingly beautiful maiden,
whose hand in marriage was jealously sought by an army of suitors.
According to someone who told me he’s seen it, her marvelous hair
was her crowning glory. The story goes that Neptune the sea god
raped this glorious creature inside the shrine of Minerva.
Jove’s daughter screened her virginal eyes with her aegis in horror,
and punished the sin, by transforming the Gorgon’s beautiful hair
into horrible snakes.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 4.794-802)

Such was the origin story of the snake-haired Medusa, whose gaze could turn people into stone. To further add to her woes, Medusa was fated to be slain and decapitated by the hero, Perseus. An odd myth, indeed, in which to feature one’s own daughter.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Aristotle

By
thehistorianshut
-

Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE)

“Observation tells us that every state is an association, and that every association is formed with a view to some good purpose.”

  • From Aristotle’s Politics (Bekker page 1252a), translated by T. A. Sinclair and revised by T. J. Saunders (Penguin Classics, 1962, 1981, 1992).

The Ill-Timed Wars of Malcolm III Of Scotland Against King William II of England

By
thehistorianshut
-

When William the Conqueror died in 1087, his dominion was divided between two sons. The Norman homeland of Normandy was left to Robert II, while the recently-conquered England was inherited by William II “Rufus” (the Red). A third brother, Henry, was left with only money. This division ensured a succession war because each brother coveted the lands of the other. As early as 1088, a pro-Robert faction in England took up arms in an attempt to eject King William II from his throne. These conspirators, however, bet on the wrong son of the conqueror. William II quickly quashed the pro-Robert faction in England and, with Henry’s help, counter-invaded Normandy by 1089, beginning a campaign of pressure on Robert that would last for seven years.

Watching the brotherly civil war with interest was King Malcolm III Canmore, ruler of Scotland since 1058. He had nominally submitted to William the Conqueror back in 1072, but he continued to periodically raid Norman England. To King Malcolm, the struggle for supremacy between William II and Robert II seemed like the perfect opportunity for Scotland to reassert its autonomy. Hoping to deal the Normans a blow while they were divided, Malcolm III rallied his troops and attacked England around 1091. His timing, however, was terrible.

Unbeknownst to King Malcolm, the feuding brothers William II and Robert II had made a truce in Normandy at just about the same time as Scottish troops were invading England. To Malcolm’s dismay, the brothers united to confront the Scots. This peculiar campaign was described in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle”:

“While King William was out of England, King Malcolm of Scotland came hither into England, and harried a great deal of it, until the good men who had charge of this land sent a force against him and turned him back. When king William in Normandy heard of this, he made ready for his departure, and came to England, and his brother the count Robert with him, and forthwith ordered a force to be called out…” (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, entry for 1091).

Malcolm III, unable to fight the united front of William II and Robert II, was once again forced to give lip service to Norman dominance in Britain. After giving a hollow oath, Malcolm withdrew from England. Yet, as before, he was biding his time until he sensed a new vulnerability.

King Malcolm did not have to wait long until he felt that a new opportunity had come—in 1093, King William II fell gravely ill and was rumored to be dead. Given hope by these rumors, Malcolm once again raised his forces to reassert his autonomy. Unfortunately, by the time Malcolm was ready to attack, William II had recovered from his illness and his kingdom was more than ready to respond to a Scottish invasion. Regardless, King Malcolm did not back down, and after some fruitless negotiations, he launched his attack. In the battle that ensued, Malcolm III and his son, Edward, were both killed. Ironically, Malcolm might have died only one year shy of the opportunity that he had been waiting for, as the brothers William II and Robert II resumed open civil war in 1094.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (John, king of Scotland, brought before King Edward I from BL Royal 20 C VII, f. 28 (13th-14th century manuscript of the Chroniques de France ou de St Denis), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and The British Library).

 

Sources:

Vertumnus Or Bacchus, By Giovanni Francesco Romanelli (c. 1610-1662)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Italian artist Giovanni Francesco Romanelli (c. 1610-1662), depicts a Greco-Roman god of vegetation. The figure can be identified either as Vertumnus, a god of seasons and plant life, or the Greek god of wine, Dionysus (the Roman Bacchus). Physical description for Vertumnus is difficult, as he was a shapeshifter who could change his physique and appearance. The Roman poet Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE) described Vertumnus’ skill at transformation:

“He is young and he’s blessed by nature with wonderful looks;
he can change into any form that he likes to suit the occasion.
He’ll be whatever you tell him to be, no matter how strange.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 14.684-686)

Romanelli’s painting similarly resembles a common visual depiction of Bacchus or Dionysus as a handsome youth. Although the god could be depicted in vastly different forms, such as a pot-bellied and bearded man, the youthful depiction of the wine deity was popular, especially to the Romans. The aforementioned poet Ovid described this youthful portrayal of Dionysus/Bacchus:

“Father of revels and cries ecstatic, Mystic Iácchus,
and all the other numberless names which Liber is known by
throughout the cities of Greece. For yours indeed is unperishing
youth and eternal boyhood. You have the comeliest form
of all the gods of Olympus, a face in your hornless epiphany
fair as a virgin girl’s.”
(Ovid, Metamorphosis, 4.15-20)

Such then are the possible identities for this lounging god. The European Union’s Europeana database of cultural materials labels the god as Bacchus. Yet, the National Museum in Stockholm, Sweden—which possesses the artwork—contrastingly lists the piece under the title, Vertumnus.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

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