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Crastinus Struck The First Blow At The Battle Of Pharsalus

The Battle of Pharsalus, which took place near the Enipeus River of Greece, was the decisive battle in 48 BCE that marked the victory of Julius Caesar over Pompey the Great in the Roman Civil War fought between the two genius generals. It was a day of great significance to both sides of the war—either as the day that Julius Caesar defeated his greatest opponent, or as the day that Roman Republic lost and was forever changed. On days of note such as the Battle of Pharsalus, the gravity of the moment often causes the people involved to store in their collective memories curious details about the day in question that might have otherwise been overlooked. One such ancient recollection involved a warrior named Crastinus, who was remembered by both sides of the war as the first infantryman to commence battle at Pharsalus.

Julius Caesar mentioned Crastinus by name in his Commentaries on the Civil War, which is also simply known as Caesar’s Civil Wars. Speaking in a third-person viewpoint about his own accomplishments, Caesar wrote that Crastinus proudly led the charge when the attack was signaled. The text stated:

“There was in Caesar’s army, a volunteer named Crastinus, who the year before had been first centurion of the tenth legion, a man of pre-eminent bravery. When the signal was given, he said, “Follow me, my old comrades, and display such exertions on behalf of your general as you have determined to do. This is our last battle, and when it shall be won, he will recover his dignity, and we our liberty.” At the same time he looked back to Caesar, and said, “General, I will act in such a manner today that you will feel grateful to me, living or dead.” After uttering these words he charged on the right wing, and about 120 chosen volunteers of the same century followed” (Julius Caesar, Commentaries on the Civil War, 3.91).

Supporters of Pompey, as well as later Romans who were hostile to the advent of emperors, understandably did not give such glowing reviews for Crastinus’ eagerness to lead the charge. One such critic was the Roman poet Lucan (c. 39-65), whose poem, Bellum Civile (Civil War), included a jab at Crastinus’ battlefield legacy. Lucan’s biting verses read:

“Crastinus! May the gods
damn you not to death (the punishment waiting for all)
but to feel pain after death, because your hand heaved
the lance that started the battle and first stained Thessaly
with Roman blood. Sheer madness! As long as Caesar
restrained his weapons, did any hand prove more eager?”
(Lucan, Civil War, Book 7, between lines 466-488).

With such hostility to Caesar (and the Julio-Claudian Dynasty that came after him), it may not come as a surprise to the reader to learn that Lucan’s death in the year 65 came after he was caught in a failed plot to assassinate Emperor Nero (r. 54-68). As for the fate of the eager warrior, Crastinus, he died fighting in the Battle of Pharsalus. Julius Caesar wrote that he was “slain by a sword-stroke in his face while fighting with the utmost bravery” (Commentaries on the Civil War, 3.99). Although Crastinus died fighting, the army that he died for won the day. Pompey the Great fled from the Battle of Pharsalus and escaped to Egypt, where he was assassinated before the end of 48 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Roman Soldiers Fighting the Dacians, by Nicolas Beatrizet (c. 1515 – 1565+), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Gallery of Art).

 

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The Founding of Thebes, Painted By Salvator Rosa (c. 1615 – 1673)

This painting, by the Italian artist Salvator Rosa (c. 1615-1673), shows a scene from the Greek mythological tales about Cadmus. He was introduced into ancient myth as a hero that was sent on a quest to rescue the mythical princess Europa, who had been kidnapped by Zeus. Cadmus failed in this original task, but he soon found renewed purpose and fame in a mission handed to him by the Oracle of Delphi. As ordered by the oracle, Cadmus was to follow a restless cow until the long-wandering beast finally slumped to the ground, and it was there that Cadmus was meant to build the city of Thebes. Yet, as can be seen in the painting, Cadmus would face some drama before construction on the new city could begin.

According to the myth, Cadmus and his followers had been lured by their guiding cow right into the hunting grounds of a ferocious dragon. Not long after their arrival in the region, Cadmus’ companions began disappearing. Noticing this, Cadmus donned his magical gear and went to investigate, leading to a showdown between hero and monster. Cadmus slew the dragon, and when he had completed this feat, the goddess Pallas Athena made an appearance. She came not with congratulations, but with odd instructions that she wanted Cadmus to carry out. The Roman poet Ovid (c. 43 BCE-17 CE) described the scene:

“Look now! Gliding down through the ether, his patron goddess
Pallas appeared, with orders for him to turn the soil
and sow the teeth of the dragon as seeds of a race to come.
He did as she bade and after pressing a rut in the earth
with a plough, he scattered the teeth that were destined to grow into men.
At once—amazing to tell—the clods started to crumble;
out of the furrow a line of bristling spear-tips sprouted,
next an array of helmets nodding with colourful plumes,
then manly shoulders and breasts and arms accoutered with weapons
rose from the earth, a burgeoning crop of shielded warriors.

Madness got hold of them all. Their death was as quick as their birth,
from the wounds they dealt and received in their own unnatural warfare.
Those youths, allotted so brief a span of life, were already
beating the breast of their mother earth, till it bled with their fresh warm
blood. Five soldiers only remained, and one was Echíon.
He, at Minerva’s prompting, threw his arms to the ground
and sued for peace with his brothers, promising peace in return.”
(Ovid, Metamorphosis, 3.101-128)

Such were the directions handed down by Athena (or Minerva) to Cadmus, resulting in the free-for-all battle between the Spartoi (the “Sown”). It is this scene that the painting above re-creates. The toothless dragon can be seen in the forefront of the artwork, lying dead near Cadmus and Athena, who converse together while the Spartoi brawl to the death around them. As the story goes, the five survivors of the deathmatch became the founders of noble families in the city of Thebes.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Mark Twain

Mark Twain (c. 1835-1910)

“Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

By order of the Author.”

  • From the Preface “Notice” of Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (published in 1884). The edition used here is by Bantam/Random House (1965, 1981, 2003).

The Legendary Giant Herd Of Hafur-Bjorn

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

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

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

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Aeschylus

Aeschylus (c. 525-456 BCE)

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

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

Hairs Of Fortune And Immortality From Greek Mythology

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

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

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

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

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

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Gods Of The English Weekdays

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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

 

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

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

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

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

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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