Royal Symbol Research Articles

The Painted Musicians in Longthorpe Tower

AbstractThis article examines the instrumentalists painted on the vault of the first-floor room of the surviving tower of Longthorpe Manor, near Peterborough, built by Robert of Thorpe in about 1330. Longthorpe Tower is currently being reinterpreted by English Heritage, and, as a result, new photos of the wall paintings have been taken, which allow greater clarity of content.This article will focus on the seven instrumentalists, once eight, which now survive in each quadrant of the vault. It will show that, although the paintings are in a poor state of preservation, there is much to be gleaned from the extant instrumentalists. Previous scholarship has focused on the nativity scene, apostles, and royal symbols, painted on the walls below the vault. Here the role of the musicians and instruments in this iconographical scheme is examined for the first time. In addition, the importance of these instruments to musicians and musicologists is assessed. Detailed diagrams of the instruments are given, along with a...

El arma sagrada: el combate con arco y flecha en Irán

<p class="AMresumen">The following article presents the development of the bow and arrow, and its important role in the history of Iran. The bow always played an important role not only on the battlefield, but also in hunting. It was also considered as a sacred weapon and additionally a royal symbol. Bow and arrow were considered as a superior weapon in comparison with other types of weapons because one could fight with them at a safer distance as one offered by swords, maces and axes. The first part of the article presents a short history of the bow in Iran. Based on historical Persian manuscripts, the next part explains the structure of the composite bow and the materials used for making it. The third part describes some types of bows based on the material, place of production, the usage, and bow type based on the length of the bow and the arrows. The following part talks about different types of arrows based on morphology of arrowheads, the type of plume/feather, the material of the shaft, the material of the arrowhead, the length of arrows, the target of arrows, the place of production of arrowheads and terms for describing its different features of an arrowhead. Then, the article talks about different types of thumb rings, bowstrings, quivers and bow cases and arrow guides for shooting short arrows. The next part discusses different principles of archery as explained in Persian manuscripts. Finally the article describes different archery targets.</p>

Some Reconsiderations on Pendant-Legged Buddha Images in the Dvāravatī Artistic Tradition

The aim of this paper is to reassess some common ideas about a particular type of buddha image frequently found in central Thailand in ca. 7th- 8th centuries, the buddhas seated in the so-called “European fashion” or pendant-legged, often labelled pralambapādāsana in Sanskrit. While briefly dealing with iconographic questions, including the origins and meanings of this particular posture, the paper will also discuss the matter of terminology in relation to the royal symbolism conveyed by this iconography.

Grasping the Griffin: Identifying and Characterizing the Griffin in Egyptian and West Semitic Tradition

The griffin is commonly understood to be an eagle-headed winged lion. I argue here that the Egyptian version has a falcon head, identifying it as a form of Horus; as an allomorph of the sphinx (seen most clearly on the axe-head of Ahmose), it represents the ka of the king. A digression into Judeo-Christian iconography argues that the bird among the evangelical symbols, derived from Ezekiel’s vision of the divine chariot, is not an eagle, but a falcon, the four forms being all derived from Egyptian images of the king (as lion, bull, man, and falcon). The iconography of cherubs (commonly supposed to be of Mesopotamian inspiration) is perhaps more directly linked with griffins, since the Hebrew kerûb is claimed to be the source of Greek γρυψ (“griffin”) by J. P. Brown. The other symbolic beast of the Israelite repertoire is usually understood to be serpentine: here I argue that the Hebrew śārāp, “seraph,” is better explained as derived from Egyptian srf/sfr, “griffin,” having the same sense. A semantic (though perhaps not morphological) equivalence of śārāp and kerûb seems reasonable. The frequent incidence of griffins in West Semitic glyptic art in the second and first millennia is shown to perpetuate the Egyptian solar and royal symbolism, which was also transmitted to the Aegean world.

King Midas' Ass's Ears Revisited

On several occasions the Phrygian King Midas was portrayed with donkey’s ears in Greek literature and art. There is no text that offers a plausible explanation of Midas’ strange appearance and later commentators provide many competing stories to account for his animal ears. A new interpretation can be offered on the grounds of a pre-Phrygian Anatolian tradition. The revised reading of the Luwian hieroglyphs on the so-called ‘Tarkondemos Seal’ reveals the donkey as an old Anatolian royal symbol. The Phrygians might possibly have adopted this kind of symbolism which later was lost or misunderstood. Greeks who provided their own interpretations of Midas’ ass’s ears only re-interpreted the original myth creating several aitia. Anatolian and Aegean Bronze Age survivals in Phrygian culture are being discussed as well.

On Clifford Geertz

38 Historically Speaking March/April 2007 On Clifford Geertz Keith Windschuttle The cover notes on the recent Clifford Geertz collectionAvailable Lightsay that the book "treats the reader to an analysis of the American intellectual climate by someone who did much to shape it." This is all too true. During the past tiiirty years, Geertz has been at the height of academic audiority not only in his own discipline of anthropology, but also in history, the social sciences, and die study of literature. He was the founder of the methodology of "thick description" whose aim, he said, was "to draw large conclusions from small, but very densely textured facts; to support broad interpretations about the role of culture in the construction of collective life by engaging them exactly with complex specifics." His method was not only a major influence in cultural anthropology but also inspired the subdiscipline of cultural history. Among Australian historians alone, those he directly influenced include Inga Clendinnen on die Mayans and the Aztecs, Greg Dening on Polynesian culture, Rhys Isaac on colonial Virginia, and Donna Merwick on Dutch New York. Geertz pursued his objectives partly through his anthropological fieldwork in Indonesia and Morocco in the 1950s and 1960s and pardy dirough his historical studies, such as his interpretation of the royal symbolism of Elizabeth I of England and of the Negara court in Bali. He wrote a long essay about a Balinese cockfight he witnessed in 1958. His aim was to persuade his readers that diis activity was not just a cheap, low-life blood sport on which foolish young men wagered far more money than they could afford . He called cockfighting an "art form" of monumental proportions, a Balinese equivalent of King Learor Crime andPunishment, which "catches up these themes—death, masculinity, rage, pride, loss, beneficence , chance—and, ordering them into an encompassing structure, presents them in such a way as to dirow into relief a particular view of their essential nature." In another essay from the 1970s, Geertz reproduced a long, verbatim description by a 19th-century Danish observer of a suttee rite in Bali, in which die cremation of a dead Rajah was accompanied by die immolation of his diree young and beautiful concubines . In diis case, Geertz again claimed literary motives . He said his purpose in recounting what he called diis "celebration of the quieter beauties of personal obliteration," this "chaste hymn to annihilation ," was to emulate the literary critic Lionel Trilling when the latter tried to explain die similarly distant cultural mores of Georgian England in die novels of Jane Austen. In justifying this approach, Geertz claimed to be demonstrating how closely the work of the andiropologist resembled that of the literary critic. In particular , he wanted to show how cultural interpretation resembled a critic's reading of a poem. But it is also clear that his agenda was to persuade his readers to take a different attitude toward behavior to which most Westerners would normally react with disgust. By portraying cockfighting as a noble art and the burning of widows as a spectacle of awesome beauty, he was continuing the celebration of the exThe great deficiency ofGeert^ and his confreres was theirfailure to distinguish between Westernisation and modernisation. otic begun by his American anthropological precursors Edward Sapir, Benjamin Lee Whorf, and Margaret Mead. Geertz's target was the Western mentality, and his objective was to destabilize its assumption that its observations were natural and its concepts universal. This tactic has worked remarkably well. In the 19di century, Western imperial powers used customs like suttee as a rationale for imposing their own rule of law over states where it was practiced. By die late 20fh century, the anthropological profession was urgingits students to see ceremonies of this kind not as evidence of barbarism but as authentic expressions of particular cultures. The idea diat Westerners might intervene in the name of dieir own principles had itself become die real cultural offense. This kind of cultural relativism was intended to serve the interests of many of the subjects of anthropological investigation, especially the indigenous people, peasants, and die landless of die underdeveloped world. It hoped to change damaging attitudes toward diem in die West...

Patronage and Representation at the Huviska Vihāra a Kusāna-Period Monastery in Mathurā

Art and inscriptions from the Jamālpur site in the southern section of Mathurā city help characterize an early Buddhist monastic community and its relationship with lay patrons of non-royal backgrounds. Although named after Huviska, a powerful ruler of the Kusāna dynasty in the mid–second century CE, the monastery at this site was supported by monks, local administrators and members of professional groups such as actors. Monks specialized in textual interpretations, recitations and meditative practices, but were also successful fund raisers who actively influenced Buddhist imagery. Figures of lay worshippers carved in a naturalistic style are privileged in sculptures from this monastery. Visiting monks were instrumental in introducing elements of Kusāna royal symbolism into local art production. The role of this monastery was primarily to help local political elite to gain legitimation through their association with the Kusāna name and royal symbols on the one hand, and on the other, with a local nāga cult. Worshippers of the nāga deity, who otherwise occupied a low position in society, gained recognition by joining the patronage network of the monastery. Certain groups—craftsmen, merchants and agriculturalists—as well as women, however, seem to be conspicuously absent as donors at this site.

Royal Symbolism and Swedish-American Heritage Making

Royal Symbolism and Swedish-American Heritage Making

Owning the King's Story: The Escape from Worcester

In September of 1651 Charles II of Britain led a troop of 6,000 Scottish soldiers into England. After some initial success, the king's army met Oliver Cromwell's forces at the town of Worcester. Despite the monarch's personal courage, the New Model Army routed the Scots, forcing Charles to flee for his life. The young king quickly disguised himself as a common servant and spent the next six weeks hiding in priest's holes, sleeping in oak trees, and living out the legend of the incognito king. After a series of adventures in which Charles narrowly eluded discovery, the king managed to escape to Europe, where he remained until his Restoration.1The story of Charles II's flight from Worcester inspired imagery of clemency and inclusion. Such imagery supported the agenda of Catholics and broad church Protestants and, immediately after the Restoration, representatives from both groups printed relations of the king's escape which appropriated the tale for their respective interests.2 In 1663 Abraham Jennings, a staunch Anglican, published a version of the story which ignored the motifs of clemency and inclusion and used the story to promote high church goals.3 Charles did not leave the interpretation of his escape solely to others. Uncomfortable with the written word,4 the king narrated his tale countless times. Only at the height of the exclusion crisis did Charles take steps to have his version of the escape printed, to make his version the authorised one.5Historians have created powerful models to explain how a representation of a monarch, as in the story of Charles's escape, affects royal charisma.6 These studies have, on the whole, considered royal symbolism to be generated solely by the king or his proxies; scholars, therefore, view the authority striven for by such imagery as strictly congruent with the king's agenda.7 Such an approach may succeed for England's Charles I, but its limitations become evident when examining the representations surrounding Charles II. Unlike his father, who exerted a tyrannical control over his portrayal, Charles II's hands-off style of governing, along with the circumstances of his accession, created a space wherein the image of the king became an object of contention. Various factions strove to control Charles II's image in order to direct his charismatic power towards a particular political-religious goal.The only scholarly investigation of the escape stories, Harold Weber's Paper Bullets, does not recognise how the different accounts battle to control Charles's image.8 Weber succeeds in relating the authors' portrayal of Charles as heroic in his suffering, but fails to examine the political effects of the imagery he detects, and makes some dubious assertions concerning providentialism. 9 The main fault in the work, however, is methodological.In his discussion of the escape narratives, Weber ignores the concepts of occasion, author and illocution. Texts printed in 1660 receive virtually the same analysis as one hand-written in 1680. This is especially surprising for a book which promises to examine 'the relationship of print culture and the kingship of Charles II'.10 Weber's disregard for context not only leads to an inability to wring the most from his sources, but it also suggests that Charles directly controlled the propaganda surrounding him. 'Like no monarch before him,' Weber claims, 'Charles was forced from the very beginning of his reign to generate his royal identity through the commercial press'.11 This contradicts everything we know about this laissez faire monarch. In the first year of his restoration, when the authors of the escape stories tried to project an image of this virtually unknown king, they certainly meant to glorify their sovereign, but in a manner which enhanced their goals, not necessarily his agenda.12IIWhen Charles II returned to England, crowds lined the streets from Dover to London to welcome home their exiled monarch. Few of the cheering celebrants knew much about the man who had donned the royal mantle. …

New Evidence Bearing on the Two-Winged LMLK Stamp

The consensus that "royal" seals were used on the LMLK jar handle stamps before the invasion of Judaea by Sennacherib in 701 B. C. E. is based on evidence that the four-winged scarab beetle was the royal symbol of the Northern Kingdom and on the inference that the two-winged solar disk was the royal symbol of the Southern Kingdom. New evidence from the Kenyon excavations on the southeast hill of Jerusalem supports that inference and shows that the two-winged symbol was in use at least from the time of Hezekiah (and probably earlier), continued into the seventh century B. C. E., and ceased in the last decades of the Monarchy, when another symbol (the rosette) came into use.

A Variant Type of the Uraeus in the Late Period

The use of the uraeus as a royal symbol dates back to the most ancient representations of the king in ancient Egypt.2 Although it did not appear on every image of a pharaoh, particularly in the early dynasties, it nevertheless was an ubiquitous emblem until well into the period of Roman domination. Although the conformation and markings of the uraeus varied considerably during its three thousand years of use, it almost always took the form of an erect cobra with extended hood. It is apparent that this particular serpent in a striking mode had an innate meaning on the royal brow, in addition to its religious associations. The flaring hood offered a threatening image to the viewer, who surely would have known that the Egyptian cobra (Naja haje) expands its hood only when ready to strike (fig. 1). In this sense, the cobra uraeus could be compared to a mace or a knife as a deadly instrument that illustrated the power of the royal personage and also protected him.

Ensigns of Authority: French Royal Symbolism in the Age of Louis XII

Ensigns of Authority: French Royal Symbolism in the Age of Louis XII

Notation and language in school mathematics: An interim statement

All teachers of mathematics are aware of variations both in notation and definitions between different books; in addition, the conventions used in science often differ from those used in mathematics. Readers may have seen the Royal Society booklet Quantities, units and symbols and the report SI units, signs, symbols and abbreviations issued by the Association for Science Education. A sub-committee of the Mathematical Association’s Teaching Committee has been studying this subject with the aid of examples and proposals submitted by members.

A 40-Shekel Weight with a Hieratic Numeral

2) Its use in the royal stamp-impressions of the Southern Kingdom, probably during the reign of Josiah, is to be explained as a result of that king's claim to be the legitimate heir to the Northern Kingdom. 3) The fact that another device-identified as a winged sun-diskalso appears on the royal stamp-impressions of Judah while in every other respect the two types of stamp are identical (in motif and inscription, not in workmanship) suggests that the device is the royal symbol of the Southern Kingdom. 4) While the rendering of the winged sun-disk motif on the stampimpressions is very crude, its prototype is probably to be sought in a version of the winged sun-disk motif which was demonstrably current in Syria during the period of the Monarchy. 5) The use of the two devices on the royal stamp-impressions is a clear demonstration of Josiah's overt claim to be the successor to the Israelite Kingdom as it existed under David and Solomon. 6) The crudeness of the renderings of both devices and the addition of the word 1-m-1-k to both is interpreted as a result of haste, of the lack of former seals to use as models, and the necessity of making the significance of the two admittedly crude and probably forgotten symbols known to all citizens of the newly reconstituted and independent kingdom. Admittedly, the evidence for all parts of the argument is not of equal weight, but it does provide an explanation for the two symbols on the royal stamp-impressions, their historical setting, and their crude rendering. Possibly, a royal seal of the House of Judah may some day be found to prove or disprove the above thesis.

Art. XIX.—Sinhalese Copper-plate Grants in the British Museum

There are three Sinhalese sannas (grants of land) on copper-plate amongst the Sinhalese MSS. of the British Museum, catalogued under the press-marks Add. 11,555 a, b, and c. The sannas were presented to the British Museum by a Mr. J. Barlow Hoy as long ago as the 30th of March, 1839. But who Mr. Hoy was and how he got them I have not been able to find out. The two marked b and c are neatly engraved on smooth rectangular copper-plates, measuring by 2⅛″ and 12⅜″ by 2″ respectively, leaving in each, case a margin on the obverse side to the left, in which the royal symbol Çrī, signifying prosperity, is cut in large type. The other sannasa (a) is ornamented with a plain silver border running round the rectangular plate of copper, 16⅜″ by 3″ in size. The letters are well cut, with, kuṇḍali flourishes at the beginning and end of each line. On the left of the obverse is the usual margin, which is here separated from the text by a thin silver band right across the plate, so as to receive a large-sized Çrī engraved boldly.