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Duke Romoald II Of Benevento And The Crazy Succession After His Death

Romoald (or Romuald) II, son of Duke Gisulf I of the Beneventan Lombards, succeeded his father as Duke of Benevento around the year 706. At that time, the Dukedom of Benevento was nominally tied to an overarching Lombard monarchy, but Romoald and his predecessors had scrounged considerable autonomy for their realm, and they embraced this by increasingly behaving like an independent power. Nevertheless, Duke Romoald II lived at the same time as powerful King Liutprand of the Lombards (r. 712-744), and the king made it his policy to rein in the freewheeling Lombard dukedoms.

Unfortunately for Duke Romoald II, his Dukedom of Benevento was a prime target for the king’s new project of reasserting crown authority. Yet, good fortune graced Duke Romoald when a man named Transamund II ascended to the Lombard Dukedom of Spoleto around the year 724. This Duke Transamund was much more rebellious and belligerent than Duke Romoald, and, consequently, the direct brunt of the king’s wrath and punitive measures were suffered by Spoleto. Around 730, King Liutprand made a show of force and cajoled dukes Transamund and Romuald into renewing their oaths of fidelity to the monarchy—and it was Spoleto, not Benevento, that was directly invaded during the king’s mission to reimpose his authority. Despite close calls such as this, Duke Romaold II managed to live out his life relatively unmolested by the powerful king, and he ultimately married Liutprand’s sister, Gumperga. Romoald, however, did not live long after the marriage; he died a natural death around the year 731, leaving behind a young son named Gisulf II as his heir.

As the boy-duke was a son of the aforementioned Gumperga, he was consequently King Liutprand’s nephew. While such status had its boons, perhaps it was also a source of tension among some courtiers in the independently-minded dukedom of Benevento. Whatever the case, young Gisulf II found that his reign was anything but stable, and soon a threatening faction formed in Benevento around a mysterious figure named Audelais. Little is known about this curious character, but he evidently was able to depose Gisulf II and usurp power in Benevento for around two years. Young Gisulf either escaped or was spared during Audelais’ period of rule, and due to his survival, he was able to make a comeback. Gisulf II’s followers were able to rally together and, perhaps with some muscle from King Liutprand, they managed to oust Audelais’ regime. A Lombard historian named Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799) described this conflict, writing, “Some conspirators rose against him [Gisulf] and sought to destroy him, but the people of the Beneventans who were always faithful to their leaders, slew them and preserved the life of their duke” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, 6.55).

While King Liutprand was helping Duke Gisulf II sort out the problems in Benevento, the monarch must have not liked what he saw in the region’s political landscape. Perhaps thinking that the region needed a more mature ruler than a boy-duke, King Liutprand decided to remove young Gisulf from power and instead appointed another nephew, Gregory, to oversee the dukedom for the time being. During those years, young Gisulf was not abandoned; he was instead raised and educated within King Liutprand’s court.  Maybe Gisulf did not mind his temporary demotion because he was a child at the time, but his period of displacement lasted for quite a while. Duke Gregory commanded Benevento from around 732 until he died in 739.

Gisulf II by then might have been old enough to rule Benevento, at least with a regency council supporting him, but—once again—opportunists within the Beneventan court made the first move. A popular military man named Godescalc quickly usurped the dukedom in 740 with the support of the Beneventan army. Knowing the king would target him, Godescalc speedily negotiated alliances with Liutprand’s foes in Spoleto and Rome. Godescalc’s coalition was a challenge for the Lombard king, but Liutprand ultimately overcame them in battle. By 742, King Liutprand removed from power both Duke Transamund II of Spoleto and Duke Godescalc of Benevento. Finally, with Godescalc ousted, Gisulf II made his long-delayed journey back to Benevento to assume rule over the region. Duke Gisulf II continued to oversee Benevento until his death around 751.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped death-bed scene of Duke Richard of Normandy from BL Royal 16 G VI, f. 259v, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).

 

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Artemisia Receives The Ashes Of Mausolus, Painted By Willem de Poorter (c. 1608-1648+)

This painting, by the Dutch artist Willem de Poorter (c. 1608-1648+), was inspired by the ancient historical figure, Queen Artemisia II of Caria (r. 353-351 BCE). Upon the death of her husband, King Mausolus (r. 377-353 BCE), widowed Queen Artemisia poured untold riches into constructing a magnificent tomb in which to house the remains of the deceased king. Artemisia hired the best sculptors in all of Greece to work on the monumental project, enlisting the help of men such as Scopas, Bryaxis, Timotheus, and Leochares. 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, was the historical woman and her story that inspired Willem de Poorter’s painting. Despite the out-of-place wardrobe choice used by the artist, the scene would have to be set between 353 and 351 BCE, for that was the time in which Artemisia 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

 

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William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare (c. 1564 [?] – 1616)

“The course of true love never did run smooth”

  • From William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act I, scene 1, approximately line 134). The edition used here is the Wolfgang Clemen and Sylvan Barnet version (Signet Classic/New American Library, 1963, 1964).

Mark Twain’s Quicksilver Bread Boat Folk Belief Reference

Mark Twain peppered The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (published 1876) and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884) with references to intriguing superstitions and folk beliefs that could be found in 19th-century America. From throwing a pinch of salt over one’s shoulder to dispel bad luck, to folkloric ways to locate bodies submerged in a river, Mark Twain preserved a wide range of customs and beliefs in his classic novels. It is that latter example—of superstitions involving the finding of bodies submerged in water—that will be briefly featured here.

Early on in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, chapter eight to be precise, the novel’s protagonist, Huck, decides to fake his own death in a desperate bid to escape from the custody of his violently abusive father. After staging a convincing murder scene, Huck Finn hid in the vegetation on the banks of the Mississippi River and waited for the town to discover his suspicious disappearance. As Huck had planned, the town quickly assumed that he had been killed and dumped into the river. Search parties were formed, and the runaway boy eerily watched as his friends and neighbors patrolled the river in search of his body.

According to Mark Twain’s plot, the search party was using three tactics to scan the river, and only one of their methods was not superstitious. The first, most basic, and least superstitious of their tactics was simple eyesight—the act of scanning the water with their eyes for a sign of a body in the water or on the riverbank. They were not very thorough with this method, however, for they did not manage to spot Huck Finn hiding in the vegetation, even though Huck was keeping a close eye on them.

When their eyes failed to do the job, the search party called in the help of superstition and folklore. As Huck described in the novel, “’Boom!’ I see the white smoke squirt out of the ferryboat’s side. You see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my carcass come to the top” (The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, chapter 8). The passage references a folk belief that the percussion and shock of a canon could somehow compel a submerged body to float to the surface. This, as one might suspect, did not produce results for the search party, so they moved on to their next folkloric tactic—quicksilver bread boats.

According to Mark Twain’s narrative, there was a folk belief that if a section of a loaf of bread was hollowed out and filled with the poisonous metal, mercury, then the loaf would somehow become a corpse-locating machine that was sure to float to where the body could be found. In the book, Huck Finn was able to predict that the searchers would use this method, commenting, “I happened to think how they always put quicksilver in loaves of bread and float them off, because they always go right to the drownded carcass and stop there” (The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, chapter 8). This method, although ineffective in reality, ironically did its job in Mark Twain’s novel, for one of the loaves did find its way to Huck, albeit his body was still alive.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped photograph of a Ferry across the Mississippi at Fort Snelling, photographed by John P. Doremus (c. 1827 – 1890), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Getty Museum).

 

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Achilles Discovered Among The Daughters Of Lycomedes, Painted By Jean Lemaire (c. 1598-1659)

This painting, by the French artist Jean Lemaire (c. 1598-1659), draws inspiration from ancient Greek mythology, re-creating a peculiar myth about Achilles’ recruitment into the Greek coalition army for the Trojan War. As this particular story goes, Achilles’ parents—the Nereid nymph, Thetis, and King Peleus of the Myrmidons at Phthia—received a prophecy that their son would die during the course of the Trojan War. Horrified by this oracle, the worried parents decided to hide their son from the Greek recruiters who were mobilizing the might of Greece for war. To achieve their objective, Peleus and Thetis smuggled Achilles to their friend, King Lycomedes, on the island of Scyros, where Achilles was disguised as a young woman and hidden among Lycomedes’ large household of daughters. This curious ploy worked well for a time, but to the detriment of the plot, it was cunning and observant Odysseus who was the recruiter that came searching for Achilles. A scholar known as Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) summarized the ancient accounts of Achilles at Scyros:

“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).

Such is the tale that inspired Jean Lemaire’s painting. As the title of the artwork is “Achilles Discovered Among The Daughters Of Lycomedes,” Odysseus must have already blasted a trumpet and noticed that Achilles’ reaction was different than that of Lycomedes’ daughters. Now that he has been found out, Achilles takes up his sword and prepares to exchange his dress for armor.

While the tale of Achilles with the daughters of Lycomedes was a popular story, there were competing narratives. Most notably, Homer wrote a totally different story in The Iliad, in which an undisguised Achilles eagerly and excitedly accepted Odysseus’ invitation to join the Trojan War. Homer wrote a scene where the character, Nestor, reminisced about recruiting Achilles and his friend Patroclus, saying, “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). Jean Lemaire, however, obviously rejected this version of the story and instead opted for the more entertaining tale of Achilles being discovered 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://collections.lacma.org/node/229642

Socrates

Socrates (c. 469-399 BCE)

“The smartest part of my skill is that I am clever without wanting to be.”

  • This saying, attributed to Socrates, was recorded in Plato’s Euthyphro (section 11d). The translation used here is by G. M. A. Grube, revised by John M. Cooper (Hackett Publishing, 2000).

The Revenge And New Life Of Thorstein Asgrimsson

Thorstein Asgrimsson was a Norwegian man who lived around the 9th and 10th century. He was said to have come from a line of chieftains who ruled a piece of land called Fiflavellir in the Telemark region of Norway. As the story goes, Thorstein’s father, Asgrim, reigned as chieftain during the rise of King Harald Finehair (r. 860-940)—the first regional Norwegian ruler who expanded his power and influence enough to be called a true King of Norway.

Thorstein, it appears, was not too involved in helping his father, Asgrim, manage their small realm in Norway during the tumultuous time in which they lived. Instead, Thorstein was evidently more interested in adventuring, exploring, and going on Viking raids. Nevertheless, while Thorstein spent time abroad, his father Asgrim began to become increasingly overwhelmed by the changing political dynamics in Norway.

As King Harald Finehair’s successful campaigns against rival rulers in Norway caused petty kings and chieftains to choose sides, Thorstein’s father fatefully decided to side against King Harald. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), Thorstein was once again off on a Viking expedition when Asgrim’s campaign of resistance against King Harald reached its most perilous point. At that time, Harald Finehair sent an ultimatum to Asgrim, telling him to capitulate and pay tribute, or face the consequences. Asgrim refused, or did not respond, prompting King Harald Finehair to send an agent named Thororm of Thruma to deal with the situation. Thororm, apparently with approval of the king, ultimately killed Asgrim.

Thorstein Asgrimsson, meanwhile, was still abroad when his father was killed, but Thorstein returned home not long after the death. The state that his homeland was in when he reached his birthplace is unclear, but it would not be surprising if looting, burning, imprisonment and more killings had occurred. Fortunately, Thorstein’s ten-year-old brother, Thorgeir, was apparently safe and sound, as was their aunt Thorunn, but there might not have been many other comforting sights left to see on the family estate. As Thorstein Asgrimsson no longer had much to lose, he decided to throw himself into a new expedition—a mission for revenge.

Although King Harald Finehair had evidently ordered or condoned the killing of Asgrim, Thorstein chose to aim for a more realistic target—Thororm of Thruma. Revenge may be an understatement, for Thorstein apparently wanted to outdo whatever brutality Thororm might have formerly meted out in his campaign against Asgrim. This tale of back-and-forth death and destruction was recorded in the medieval Icelandic Book of Settlements, the version cited here being that of Sturla Thordarson (c. 1214-1284):

“King Harald sent his kinsman Thororm of Thruma to claim a tribute from Asgrim, but he refused to pay. Next the king sent Thororm for Asgrim’s life, and Thororm killed him. At that time Thorstein, Asgrim’s son, was away on a viking expedition and Asgrim’s other son, Thorgeir, was only ten years old. A little later Thorstein came back from his viking expedition and went over to Thruma, burning Thororm and his entire household to death in his own house, slaughtering the livestock, and looting everything he could lay hands on” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 356).

Knowing that a violent response from Harald Finehair would be imminent, Thorstein decided to gather up all of his family and possessions and plan for a new life abroad. With all the people and wealth that he had left, Thorstein Asgrimsson set to sea and plotted a course to Iceland. Thorstein, his brother Thorgeir, and their aunt Thorunn, settled in the southern portion of the island. In particular, Thorgeir was known to have settled near the site of Oddi.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image titled “Illustrasjon til ‘Olav Trygvesøns Saga’, Snorre Sturlason, Kongesagaer, Kristiania 1899”, by Erik Werenskiold (c. 1855-1938), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum of Norway).

 

Sources:

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

Virgil Reading From The Aeneid, Painted By Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (c. 1780 – 1867)

This painting, by the French artist Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (c. 1780 – 1867), depicts the ancient Roman poet, Virgil (c. 70-19 BCE), reading sections of his epic poem, The Aeneid, to the family of Rome’s authoritarian ruler, Augustus (r. 32/27 BCE-14 CE). Virgil can be seen on the left side of the painting, dressed in white, and apparently reading from a scroll copy of his verses. Augustus—the sitting man caped in red—can be found on the right side of the painting, displayed in the act of supporting a woman dressed in yellow who has apparently fainted during the poetic performance. She, the fainting woman, would be Augustus’ sister, Octavia, while the red-gowned woman to Octavia’s side must be Livia, Augustus’ wife.

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres’ painting is grounded in ancient Roman history, or at least its folklore and legend. As the story goes, the fainting portrayed in this painting was caused by a section of Virgil’s poem that described the realms of the dead. In particular, Virgil had worked a reference to Octavia’s deceased son, Marcellus, into his account of the supernatural landscape, and when the line was narrated by the poet, it caused Octavia to momentarily lose consciousness.  The Roman biographer, Suetonius (c. 70-122+), described the incident in his Life of Virgil, claiming that when the poet was invited to perform his epic for Augustus and the imperial family, “Virgil read to him three books in all, the second, fourth, and sixth. The last of these produced a remarkable effect on Octavia, who was present at the reading; for it is said that when he reached the verses about her son, ‘Thou shalt be Marcellus,’ she fainted and was with difficulty revived” (Life of Virgil, section 32). Such is the scene that Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres re-created in his painting.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Awkward Royal Election Of Hildeprand

King Liutprand of the Lombards, who ascended to power in 712, never fathered any legitimate male heirs to his throne. This caused a crisis around 735, when King Liutprand fell deathly ill and his court suspected that he might not recover from his illness. Although Liutprand had no sons, he did have many nephews, including men named Hildeprand, Gregory, Agiprand, Gisulf and Aufusus. Due to the king’s predicament of having no direct descendants, these nephews were considered strong claimants to the Lombard throne.

When King Liutprand continued to sicken around 735, the politicking and maneuvering began in the court. As Lombard politics go, the proceedings were surprisingly bloodless, and one of the nephews evidently was able to seize the title of heir apparent without assassinating any of his fellow kinsmen at that time. The winner, as the title of the article likely spoiled, was the first named nephew—Hildeprand.

Awkwardly, Hildeprand and his supporters, with power at their fingertips, were a bit too eager and jumpy. Hildeprand and his faction had secured hold of the position of heir just as King Liutprand was reaching the worst stage of his illness in 735. Under these circumstances, they outrageously got ahead of themselves and uncouthly decided to hold a coronation for Hildeprand while King Liutprand was still very much alive. The story of this peculiar situation was recorded by the Lombard historian, Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), who wrote:

“At this time the king himself fell into a great weakness and came near to death. When the Langobards [aka Lombards] thought that he was departing from life they raised as their king his nephew Hildeprand, at the church of the Holy Mother of God, which is called ‘At the Poles’ outside the walls of the city…they handed to him the staff as is the custom…King Liutprand indeed when he had learned this thing did not receive it with equanimity, yet when he became well of his illness he kept him as his colleague in the government” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, 6.55).

As the end of the quote hints, King Liutprand did not die in 735, meaning that Hildeprand had to relinquish his regal staff and authority that he assumed while Liutprand was on his sickbed. King Liutprand of the Lombards would go on to rule for nearly another decade, breathing his last in the year 744. At that moment, Hildeprand repeated his earlier success and managed to ascend to the throne once again. Yet, he could not hold on to his crown. Eight months into the new king’s reign, King Hildeprand was deposed and replaced by Duke Ratchis of Friuli.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image labeled Coronation of Abimelech from BL Royal 2 B VII, f. 38, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).

 

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Orestes and Pylades in Tauris, by Nicolaas Verkolje (c. 1673 – 1746)

This painting, by the Dutch artist Nicolaas Verkolje (c. 1673 – 1746), 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—the Greek commander-in-chief that famously led Greece’s warriors 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. The ensuing confrontation between the people of Tauris and the failed thieves is what Nicolaas Verkolje re-creates in his painting.

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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