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Columbus Before Isabella, by Jean-Paul Laurens (c. 1838–1921)

This painting, by the French artist Jean-Paul Laurens (c. 1838–1921), depicts the explorer, Christopher Columbus, in an audience with his patron, Queen Isabella (r. 1474-1504). She was ruler of the Kingdom of Castile (in her own right) and of Aragon (through her marriage to King Ferdinand, r. 1479-1516). The Spanish monarchs had not been Columbus’ first choice for patronage. He only began reaching out to Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand after his proposed expedition had already been rejected by the Portuguese and the English. Isabella and Ferdinand, too, were hesitant about supporting the expedition, and the roles played by Alonso de Quintanilla (the Spanish court’s chief accountant) and Pedro Gonzales de Mendoza (Cardinal and Archbishop of Toledo) in advocating for Columbus’ cause should not be undervalued. Despite the rocky start, Columbus and the Spanish monarchs formed a partnership in 1492 that would soon send Europe into a colonial craze. In his expedition logbook, Christopher Columbus wrote down his impression of the meetings he had with the monarchs, which occurred at the end of the Reconquista (and the unfortunate subsequent expulsion of Spain’s remaining Jewish population) in 1492. Columbus’ original log-book sadly has been lost, but a digest copy of the log was preserved by Bartolomé de las Casas (c. 1484-1566), and he quoted Columbus’ reflections about meeting with the monarchs:

“Your highnesses ordained that I should not go eastward by land in the usual manner but by the western way which no one about whom we have positive information has ever followed. Therefore having expelled all the Jews from your dominions in that same month of January, your Highnesses commanded me to go with an adequate fleet to those parts of India, in return you granted me great favours bestowing on me the titles of Don and High Admiral of the Ocean Sea and Viceroy and perpetual governor of such islands and mainland as I should discover and win or should in future be discovered and won in the Ocean Sea, and that these rights should be inherited by my eldest son and so on from generation to generation” (Digest of Columbus’ Log-Book On His First Voyage, entry for January 2).

Although Columbus referenced the month, January, he actually did not receive a contract from the Spanish monarchs until late April. This period of negotiation was detailed by Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo (c. 1478-1557), who explained in his General and Natural History of the Indies that, “A first grant and agreement was made by the sovereigns to Columbus in the city of Santa Fé, in the Kingdom of Granada, on 18 April 1492, before secretary Juan de Coloma. And the agreement was confirmed by a royal appointment given to him thirteen days later in the city of Granada on 30 April 1492…” (Oviedo, General and Natural History, II.4). With royal backing, Columbus set sail from the Spanish mainland on his ships, the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria, making his first stop at the Canary Islands. Finally, on September 6 1492, Christopher Columbus would set off across the Atlantic. To the great frustration of Columbus, he would utterly fail in his quest to reach Asia, for the American continents blocked his path.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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Aristotle

Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE)

“Like any other whole that is made up of many parts, the state is to be classed as a composite thing; so clearly we must first try to isolate the citizen, for the state is an aggregate of citizens. So we must ask, Who is a citizen?”

  • From Aristotle’s Politics (Bekker page 1274b), translated by T. A. Sinclair and revised by T. J. Saunders (Penguin Classics, 1962, 1981, 1992).

The Strung-Out Death Of King Grimoald

In 671, King Grimoald of the Lombards would have been just over 60 years of age, but despite his advancing years, the king was still living life like a younger man. The grey-haired king still personally commanded Lombard armies in battle (his most recent conquests at that time being the cities of Forlimpopoli and Oderzo), and in-between battles he spent his time hunting or training with the weaponry of his day. Grimoald also remained quite active in his private life, for, around 671, he fathered a young son and heir, named Garibald. Active lifestyle aside, King Grimoald’s continued good health was not guaranteed. And in 671, unfortunately, the king suffered a series of unexpected and odd medical problems that proved fatal.

Grimoald’s peculiar demise all began when the king contracted an unknown discomfort or illness. Bothered by his condition, King Grimoald retired to his palace at Pavia to rest. Details of the pain or unease that the king experienced are unknown, but the symptoms of the illness caused the king to call for physicians, who operated on him with a lancet, perhaps performing a bloodletting. Illness, however, could not restrain Grimoald’s desire to move, explore and exercise. He longed to go hunting, and this urge became more and more enticing while he languished in his palatial sickbed for days. Ultimately, despite still recovering from his illness and physicians’ treatments, King Grimoald grabbed a bow and decided to go look for some wild game. This hunting trip, unfortunately, would be the king’s last.

What allegedly happened next was recorded by the Lombard historian Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799). He wrote, “But Grimuald indeed having remained in the palace on the ninth day after the use of the lancet, took his bow and when he attempted to hit a dove with an arrow, the vein of his arm was ruptured” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, V.33). After suffering this peculiar injury while out hunting, King Grimoald was rushed back to the palace, where his condition went from bad to worse. The physicians were called back in and, though medicines were administered, they apparently could do little to fix the injury. In fact, the king responded so poorly to the medicines that it was rumored that he might have been poisoned by one of his physicians. Whatever the case, King Grimoald never recovered after his hunting accident, but instead succumbed to his injury and died.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Hunting scene from BL Royal 2 B VII, f. 151v, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).

 

Sources:

  • History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.

Danaë and Perseus on Seriphos, by Henry Fuseli (c. 1741–1825)

This painting, by the Swiss artist Henry Fuseli (c. 1741–1825), has been tentatively labeled by the Yale University Gallery of Art as Danaë and Perseus on Seriphos. If this title, indeed, represents what is depicted in the painting, then Fuseli’s artwork re-creates a story from ancient Greek mythology. To understand the backstory for this mother-and-son pair of Danaë and Perseus, one must backtrack to the myths and folktales of Argos and its royal family.

As the ancient Greek legends tell, there was once an Argive king named Acrisius (or Acrisios) and he was the father of Danaë, who is the woman featured in the painting. Their father and daughter relationship was poisoned, however, when King Acrisius learned of a prophecy that he would one day be killed by a child born from Danaë. When the king learned of this prophecy, Danaë had not yet had any children, so Acrisius tried to thwart destiny by imprisoning his childless daughter in a heavily-guarded underground bronze chamber. These precautions, however, simply made Danaë an easy target for the lusty high-god, Zeus, who paid a visit to the caged princess. From this divine visit, the famous demigod hero, Perseus, was born.

Once Acrisius became aware that the fated child, against all odds, had been born in the guarded underground bronze chamber, he lashed out against Danaë and the baby. A scholar known as Psuedo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) concisely summarized what happened next, writing, “[Acrisius] put his daughter into a chest along with her child, and threw it into the sea. The chest was cast ashore at Seriphos, where Dictys recovered it, and raised the child” (Apollodorus, Library, 2.4.1). Such, then, is the story behind how Danaë and Perseus arrived at the island of Seriphos. In the watery background of the painting, a figure in a chariot can be seen riding atop the stormy waves. This figure, perhaps, is the ancient Greek sea god, Poseidon, who happened to be Danaë’s great-great-great-great-grandfather.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Complicated Life Of Uni The Dane

According to folklore and oral history preserved in the Icelandic Book of Settlements (Landnámabók), an enigmatic figure named Uni lived a troubled life in Iceland during the Age of Settlement period of Icelandic history (c. 860-930). As portrayed by the medieval source, Uni might have had an identity crisis, for Uni’s father, Gardar, was said to have been “of Swedish stock” (Landnámabók, chapter 4), whereas Uni, himself, was nicknamed “the Dane” (Landnámabók, chapter 284). To complicate the matter, Gardar and Uni, despite their unexplained connections to Sweden and Denmark, were both reported to have lived in Norway. Additionally, their family had an important connection to Iceland, for Gardar was said to have been one of the first explorers to discover the island and played a key role in spreading news of Iceland’s existence back to Norway.  Whatever the family history might have been for Gardar and his son, Uni, they reportedly chose to stay in Norway during the important reign of Harald Finehair (ruled approximately 860-940), the first Norwegian king with enough influence to proclaim himself king of all Norway.

Although Uni’s family had been involved in spreading news of Iceland’s existence to Scandinavia, their clan was hesitant of moving to the island. Gardar was said to have remained in Norway for the rest of his life, and Uni, too, lived for a long time in King Harald’s Norway before ultimately deciding to give Iceland a try. If Uni thought the new settlers of Iceland would welcome him because of his father’s history with the island, he was sorely mistaken. Instead of community and hospitality, Uni was met with extreme suspicion and hostility. According to the Book of Settlements, Icelandic settlers thought Uni was an agent sent by King Harald Finehair to bring Iceland under Norwegian control. Uni’s complex Danish and Swedish heritage also likely contributed to his tensions with the predominantly Norwegian settlers of Iceland. The Book of Settlements described Uni’s struggles to ingratiate himself into the Icelandic community:

“Uni put in at a place now called Una Estuary, and built a house there. He took possession of land south of Lagarwater, claiming the entire district north of Una Brook. When people realized what he wanted, they grew hostile and wouldn’t sell him livestock and other necessities, so he wasn’t able to stay there. Uni moved over to South Alftafjord, but couldn’t settle there either” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 284).

Uni, after being rejected from community after community, finally found his way to a potential ally and friend. This amiable new character was a man named Leidolf, who was nicknamed “the Champion of Skogarhverfi.” Uni was given protection by Leidolf and also received permission to live on the champion’s land. It was at that time that Uni came face to face with Thorunn, Leidolf’s daughter. As the story goes, Uni and Thorunn were attracted to each other and they began a clandestine affair. Nature took its course, and Thorunn ultimately became pregnant. Leidolf, obviously, soon became aware of his daughter’s situation. He was surprisingly supportive of Thorunn and Uni’s relationship, and he encouraged the two to get married. But, unfortunately for pregnant Thorunn and her father Leidolf, Uni was not keen on the idea of formally settling down to family life.

Faced with Thorunn’s pregnancy and Leidolf’s calls for a marriage ceremony, evasive Uni began devoting all of his time to brainstorming ways to escape Leidolf’s estate. Uni resisted Leidolf’s pressuring’s for a marriage—which, in itself, annoyed the persistent father—but the big break in the cordial atmosphere occurred once Uni made good on his decision to run away. When the neglectful father-to-be fled, Leidolf mustered an armed search party and hunted Uni down, dragging him by force back to pregnant Thorunn. Nevertheless, Uni only ran away a second time. With this second transgression against his family, Leidolf was not as forgiving as he had been before. The Book of Settlements described this peculiar debacle:

“Uni tried to run away with his men, but Leidolf rode off after them and caught up to them at Flangastead. They fought there, because Uni wouldn’t go back with Leidolf. Several of Uni’s men were killed, and he went back against his will, because Leidolf wanted him to marry the girl…A little later Uni ran away again when Leidolf wasn’t at home, but as soon as Leidolf found out, he went off after him. They met up with each other at Kalfagrafir, and Leidolf was in such a rage, he killed Uni and all his companions” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 284).

Such was the end of the odd life of Uni “the Dane.” Thorunn’s child by Uni was a boy named Hroar, who would eventually be nicknamed the Tongue-Priest. Leidolf, fortunately, did not let his anger against Uni taint his relationship with Thorunn’s son. In fact, Hroar Tongue-Priest became Leidolf’s heir and inherited his land and assets.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration for Njal’s Saga, painted by August Malmström (c. 1829-1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Stockholm Sweden).

 

Sources:

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

The Poisoning Of Glauce And Creon, Painted By Jean-François de Troy (c. 1679 -1752)

This painting, by the French artist Jean-François de Troy (c. 1679 -1752), re-creates one of the murderous scenes from the catastrophic end of the mythical Romance between Jason and Medea. Their story was a long one. Jason, a member of the royal family at Iolcos, was sent by his paranoid uncle, Pelias, on a quest to fetch a magical Golden Fleece from the lands of King Aeetes of Colchis. Jason, captaining a ship called the Argo, which was crewed by many famous warriors of Greece, succeeded in reaching Colchis. Nevertheless, Jason likely would not have succeeded in obtaining the Golden Fleece if not for his affair in Colchis with Medea—King Aeetes’ daughter. Medea, a powerful sorceress, helped Jason overcome King Aeetes’ challenges, and she ultimately showed Jason how to steal the Golden Fleece from her stubborn and reluctant father. With the Golden Fleece and Medea on board the Argo, Jason and the Argonauts fled from Colchis and resumed their seaborne adventuring, eventually finding their way back to Jason’s homeland of Iolcos. There, Jason and Medea brought about the death of Pelias, which caused them to be exiled. At that point, Jason and Medea made their way to Corinth, where King Creon was ruling. Such, then, is a brief backstory for Jason and Medea’s presence in Corinth.

Unfortunately for Medea, Jason fell in love with a local Corinthian girl named Glauce. For Jason, it was not just sexual allure, but also political attraction, because Glauce happened to be the daughter of King Creon on Corinth. Creon, for his part, energetically supported the relationship between his daughter and the famous adventurer. Yet, there was a problem—Jason and Medea were married and had children. King Creon, however, nullified the marriage on the excuse that Jason and Medea had been married abroad. With that hurdle out of the way, Creon also decreed that Medea would soon be banished from Corinth.

Medea ultimately came to terms with her situation and she realized that she would not be able to charm or argue Jason back to her side. Yet, coming to terms was not the same thing as making peace with the situation. Instead, Medea plotted cruel revenge. Acting as if she was sending a congratulatory wedding gift to Glauce, Medea had her uninformed children carry poison-laced garments to the unsuspecting princess. These gifts were a beautiful robe and a golden garland headpiece. Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE), the Athenian playwright, wrote of the horrible effects that these bewitched garments exacted on the doomed wearer:

“The golden garland set upon her head was sending forth a wonder, a stream of all-consuming fire, while the delicate robe, the gift of your children, was feeding on the wretched girl’s pale flesh…Overcome by calamity she fell to the ground, so mishappen that only a loving parent would find it easy to recognize her. Her eyes had lost their usual clear and settled look, her face its loveliness. Blood mingled with fire dripped from the top of her head, her flesh melted from her bones like teardrops of resin as your poisons gnawed invisibly…But her poor father, still unaware of the calamity, suddenly came into the house and fell upon the corpse” (Euripides, Medea, approximately lines 1185-1205).

As Glauce’s body was surrounded by all sorts of foul poisons and magic, the fire and toxins spread to King Creon, killing him too. After the poisonings, Medea was said to have murdered (or abandoned) the children she had by Jason, and then she fled to Athens, where she married King Aegeus. Yet, she was kicked out of that city, too, after she was discovered to be plotting murder against Aegeus’ famous son, Theseus. As for Jason, there are differing myths about him after the horrors that occurred in Corinth. According to some of the more popular tales about Jason’s demise, he either took his own life or was eventually crushed by a falling beam.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Sophocles

Sophocles (c. 496-406/405 BCE)

“Second thoughts make liars of us all.”

  • Sophocles, Antigone, approximately line 390, translated by Robert Fagles (Penguin Classics, 1982, 1984, 2018).

The Legend Of Enigmatic King Arkamani / Ergamenes

Interesting occurrences were happening in the Meroitic Kushite Kingdom (approximately modern Sudan) in the 3rd century BCE that caught the attention of ancient Greek scholars. At that time, a powerful leader known variously as Arkamani or Arkakamani was in command at the kingdom’s capital of Meroë. He was also known by the name Ergamenes to Greek commentators, such as Agatharchides (c. 2nd century BCE) and Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE). According to the Greeks, Arkamani (as we will call him from now on) was a contemporary of the Ptolemaic Egyptian pharaoh, Ptolemy II Philadelphus (r. 285-246 BCE). And although Arkamani wanted to resist Ptolemaic Egyptian power and culture, he personally was said to have made use of what Greek scholars had to offer. According to Diodorus Siculus, Arkamani “had a Greek education and had studied philosophy” (Library of History, III.6). All in all, he comes across as a highly intelligent and formidable figure.

Arkamani, during his reign, brought about many reforms and changes to the Meroitic Kushite Kingdom, touching on several aspects of life for the people in his realm. Reform of the kingdom’s language was instituted, with Egyptian hieroglyphics being phased out and replaced with Meroitic writing. Arkamani also strengthened the power and influence of the crown in the kingdom. Similarly, he maneuvered himself into a greater position of power over religious leaders in the Kushite kingdom. According to legend, he was heavy handed or even murderous in his campaigns against the priestly class. Diodorus Siculus wrote, “he entered with his soldiers into the unapproachable place where stood, as it turned out, the golden shrine of the Ethiopians, [and] put the priests to the sword…” (Library of History, III.6). Whether this massacre was literal or figurative, however, remains in debate.

Despite the obscurity of specific details from his reign, Arkamani was undoubtedly a historical figure. In fact, inscriptions referencing him have been found at the site of ancient Meroë. Yet, as of now, archaeology and ancient folklore still are not able to combine in a way to lift the reign of Arkamani up out of the fog of obscurity.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Pyramiden von Meroë, by Ernst Weidenbach (c. 1818-1882), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the New York Public Library Digital Collections).

 

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The Oracle, painted by Camillo Miola (c. 1840 – 1919)

This painting, entitled The Oracle, was created by the Italian artist Camillo Miola (c. 1840-1919), who is also known by the name, Biacca. His scene shows an ancient Greek priestess, serving as a prophetess in a temple. Although there were several prophetic oracle sites in the ancient world, the artist likely depicts the most famous of them all—the Oracle at Delphi. There, one could find a unique mystically-attuned priestess, known as a Pythia, who, when sitting upon her specially-placed tripod, would utter cryptic messages that were said to have been mystically divulged to her by the temple’s patron god, Apollo. As seen in the painting above, these utterances were recorded and interpreted by priests that attended the Pythia. Prophecies and statements from the priestesses of Delphi were highly valued in ancient Greece, and it was not uncommon for individuals and communities to seek advice from the Oracle before committing to any great decision or undertaking.

Even in ancient times, people in the Greco-Roman world suspected that the famous priestesses at Delphi might have been receiving help literally from the earth in order to enter their prophetic trances. The Roman scholar, Pliny the Elder (c. 23-79), wrote of Delphi in a section of his Natural History that dealt with vents in the earth. He stated, “In other places there are prophetic caves, where those who are intoxicated with the vapour which rises from them predict future events, as at the most noble of all oracles, Delphi. In which cases, what mortal is there who can assign any other cause, than the divine power of nature, which is everywhere diffused, and thus bursts forth in various places?” (Pliny the Elder, Natural History, 2.95). Pliny’s contemporary, the poet Lucan (c. 39-65), also wrote an account of a Pythia of Delphi. In Lucan’s entertaining and fictionalized account, the poet describes the psychedelic escalation and decline of a Pythia, who seems tired and afraid of her hallucinogenic occupation. Lucan wrote:

“At last, terrified, the maiden fled toward the tripods.
She reached the cavernous depths and there remained,
and the power conceived in her virgin breast what the spirit
of the rock, unexhausted after so many centuries,
poured into the prophetess. At last he possessed
her Delphic breast—her body had never been fuller.

She searches long and hard
and barely finds it, buried among so many great fates.
First, rabid madness pours from her frothing lips,
groaning, loud howling with heavy panting breath,
then sad wails of lamentation echo
through the vast caves. At last, the virgin is mastered
and her voice rings out:

Then returning from the holy light where she saw Fate
to the common glare of day, a shroud of darkness falls.
Paean had poured inside her Stygian Lethe
that stole away the gods’ secrets. Truth fled her heart
and the future returned to Phoebus’ tripods;
struggling to revive, she falls.”
(Lucan, Civil War, Book 5, approximately lines 170-230)

Camillo Miola’s prophetess seems to be displayed mid-trance. Smoke rises up from the left side of the canvas, but if the smoky fumes are hallucinogenic, then the attending priests seem to be immune to the effects. On the ground, bowing below the Pythia are, perhaps, the men who await her prophecy. It would be a message with the potential to shape ancient commerce, politics and war.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift (c. 1667-1745)

“His Majesty’s present severities acquitted me of all past obligations.”

  • Gulliver’s Travels (Voyage to Laputa, chapter 7) by Jonathan Swift. New York: Washington Square Press, 1970.