Helena of Egypt, whose story looks mighty familiar
Roughly a year ago, I wrote a post about Tamaris, a woman in the fifth century BCE who was the daughter of a painter and an acclaimed artist in her own right. Recently I learned of a similar story, courtesy of novelist Joanne Harris, who is running occasional posts titled “Women You Deserve to Know” on her Threads account.
Helena of Egypt was a painter in the fourth century BCE, active in the period after the death of Alexander the Great in 323 BCE.* Like Tamaris, she learned her craft from her father, an otherwise unknown artist named Timon. And like Tamaris, we know little about her. Our main source is Pliny the Elder (23/24-79 CE), who included her in a list of women artists in his Natural History. She also appears in a list of women named Helena in an encyclopedic work by Photios I of Constantinople (ca 810/820-893 CE), who probably got most of his information from Pliny..
According to both Pliny and Photios, Helena’s best known work was a scene of Alexander the Great’s victory over the Persian ruler, Darius, at the Battle of Issus. According to Photios, the Roman emperor Vespasian (r. 69-79 CE) held what was then an ancient painting, along with other spoils of war, in the Temple of Peace in Rome The painting is long lost, but a mosaic of the same subject found at Pompei is believed by some to be a copy of Helena’s work.
It turns out that Pliny was also Boccacio’s source for writing about Tamaris. In fact, he is our only source for women artists in ancient Greece and Rome. The list is small: Tamaris, Helena of Egypt, Aristarete, Iaia, Eirene, and Calypso. Pliny does not have much information on any of them, though he does suggest that all but one of them had a father who was also a painter. Working from details given by Pliny, later scholars have dated them from the sixth through the third centuries BCE—in other words centuries before Pliny wrote about them.
Perhaps inevitably, some modern scholars have suggested that one or all of them did not exist, for the same reasons that scholars have argued that various women warriors did not exist. *Sigh*
*A time of political chaos as Alexander’s generals, and his older half-sister Cynane (also a talented general), duked it out over the remains of his empire. But I digress.
What’s Up, Doc?
It’s a tradition here at History in the Margins that I kick off the year with a post about what I expect to work on and think about over the coming year. I’ve always thought of it as the blog equivalent of the coming attractions at a movie theater—minus the popcorn. (I realize this is a dangerous position. Not everyone loves watching the trailers for future movies. I do.)
This year I have no coming attractions to offer you, because at some level I have no idea what I’m going to do next.
I will still be writing, thinking and, hopefully, talking about Nazi Germany and women journalists as the publication date for The Dragon from Chicago draws near. (August 6!). Beyond that, I expect to flail around without direction: reading widely* and following rabbit holes wherever they take me. No musts or shoulds allowed. Quite frankly, I’m looking forward to it—and I plan to take you with me.
Here’s to a New Year full of historical discoveries and lots of good books for us all.
*And randomly. The To-Be-Read piles are tall and varied. At the moment I’m reading books about the early movie industry, women in medieval Europe, and camouflage in World War II. Who know where they will lead me?
Silent Night: A Reprise
Earlier this month, My Own True Love and I began the holiday season with one of our favorite events: Songs of Good Cheer at Chicago’s Old Town School of Folk Music. For the last 25 years, a band of musicians and (now former) Tribune columnists Eric Zorn and Mary Schmich have led the audience in song. For the last 24 years, My Own True Love and I have been in that audience, accompanied by a changing cast of friends and family. The program each year includes both religious and secular holiday standards and less well known songs, some of which have become beloved over the years. There is always at least one Hanukkah tune and one song in Spanish. Every year, the audience sobs its way through a song by Mary Schmich titled “Gonna’ Sing.”*
Every year, the concert ends with “Silent Night.” This year, as we sang “Silent Night” I was reminded of our visit to Salzburg over Christmas several years ago. On our first full day in Salzburg we stopped at the Salzburg Museum to see a special exhibit celebrating the 200th anniversary of “Silent Night.”
Prior to seeing that exhibit, I had never thought about the historic context of the song, which a young Austrian priest named Joseph Mohr and the local teacher and organist, Franz Xaver Gruber,wrote in the small Austrian village of Oberndorf bei Salzburg in 1818.
Salzburg and the area around it had been under duress for several years. It was plundered by the French during the Napoleonic wars. Like much of Europe, it had suffered crop failures and food shortages in 1816 (“the year without summer”). That same year, after being shuffled back and forth between Austria and Bavaria, Salzburg was annexed by the Hapsburg monarchy, losing both its autonomy and its role as a regional capital. In 1818, the city suffered a major fire. No wonder Franz Gruber and Joseph Mohr wrote so longingly for peace.
I think we all share that longing this year.
*If you want to see the lyrics and hear the entire song, check out Eric Zorn’s blog, https://ericzorn.com/index.php/2023/12/12/gonna-sing/
* * *
I’m taking the rest of the year off. I’ll be back in the new year with historical tidbits for your enjoyment. Until then, have yourself a merry little celebration of he victory of light over the darkness in the tradition of your choice