In the first of these two articles showing paintings of Spartans from the city-state in ancient Greece, I illustrated some of the laws laid down by the founder of its warrior tradition, Lycurgus.

When those laws were all in place and in practice, Lycurgus told an assembly of all Spartans that he needed to return to the oracle at Delphi to consult on one final measure. He made the Spartans take an oath to abide by these unwritten laws until his return, then departed for Delphi. There he obtained the approval of the oracle, which he recorded in writing and sent back to Sparta.

This undated painting of Lycurgus Gives the Laws to the Spartans has been attributed to either Jacopo Palma il Vecchio (c 1480-1528) or Bonifazio Veronese (1487-1553). It shows an elderly Lycurgus apparently giving a volume of written law to the Spartans in the marketplace, but could equally be of Lycurgus addressing his last assembly of all Spartans before he left for his second visit to Delphi.

Merry-Joseph Blondel’s portrait of Lycurgus of Sparta from 1828 also shows him as an older man, here with written scrolls on his right thigh. Given the oral nature of Lycurgus’ laws, this can only be interpreted as the moment that Lycurgus has written his message reporting the oracle’s approval of his laws, ready to send it back to the city.

Lycurgus then did something extraordinary in its selfless ingenuity: having put the whole of Sparta under oath to keep his laws until his return, he then starved himself to death, ensuring that oath could never expire. The laws of Lycurgus lasted through fourteen kings, and five hundred years, without change, until gold and other spoils of war entered Sparta during the reign of King Agis.

The single most celebrated event in Spartan history is the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 BCE, in which three hundred Spartan soldiers, with 700 Thespians and 400 Thebans, were claimed to have kept over one hundred thousand Persians at bay for three days. This is the more remarkable for the fact that the Spartans and their supporters fought to the death, following which the Persians overran Boeotia and captured Athens. It is thus an example of self-sacrifice in the face of overwhelming odds, resulting in most noble defeat.

The only major painting that I have been able to discover of this is Jacques-Louis David’s Leonidas at Thermopylae (1814). Leonidas, the Spartan King and commander of the force, is at the exact centre of the painting, the viewer fixed in his emotionless gaze. Around him are his three hundred Spartan warriors, with supporting trumpeters, a lyre hanging on the tree, and laurel crowns being handed round.

David leaves some clues to his narrative in inscriptions, which have unfortunately become barely legible. A soldier has climbed up to carve an inscription in Greek at the upper left, the word HERAKLEOS appears on a plinth to the left of Leonidas, and by his right foot is an anachronistic piece of paper bearing more Greek words.

More subtle, perhaps, are the small groups driving pack animals along a narrow path at the upper right: the Persians were shown a mountain path around the narrow pass at Thermopylae, enabling them to gain an advantage over the Spartans.

Recent artistic interest in Thermopylae seems to have started around 1960, and first reached popular culture in Rudolph Maté’s 1962 movie, The 300 Spartans, which has been interpreted as comment on the Cold War at the time. This in turn inspired Frank Miller’s graphic novel 300, which was first published in 1998, and made into a highly successful movie of the same name by Zack Snyder, released in 2006.

In contrast, Sparta’s three wars against the state of Messenia are little-known. Gustave Moreau’s fascination for esoteric ancient history led him to start painting a scene from the Second Messenian War in about 660-650 BCE.

Moreau seems to have worked on Tyrtaeus Singing During the Combat in the early 1860s, abandoned it, then returned to have it enlarged in about 1883, and work it further for a period, before finally giving it up altogether.

This detail shows much of his original painting, which is full to bursting with androgynous and near-naked young men. The priestess-like figure to the left of the centre appears to be Tyrtaeus, an elegiac Greek poet whose verse exhorted the Spartans to fight bravely against the Messenians. He is shown here in action, inspiring the young Spartan warriors to victory. The strange collage-like effect is a combination of Moreau’s emphasis on establishing the form of his figures, and I suspect edge-enhancement in the image’s processing.

Spartans also played a central role in the war with Troy, the result of Paris’s abduction of Helen, a Spartan woman whose origins are the subject of dispute. Later Roman accounts, the basis of most more recent paintings, claim she was the outcome of the union of Leda, wife of Tyndareus, King of Sparta, with Zeus, in the form of a swan. Those dating back to the time of the Cypria and the Epic Cycle are more complex, and make Helen’s mother Nemesis, the personification of public disapproval.

In the Greek version, Zeus appeared to Leda as a swan. Both he and Tyndareus impregnated Leda at about the same time, but as Zeus was then in the form of a swan, her twin pregnancies resulted in two eggs: one hatched into Castor, who was human because his father was Tyndareus; the other hatched into Polydeuces (Latin Pollux), who was divine as his father was Zeus. Despite their different fathers, the twins were known as the Dioskuroi, who were later to rescue Helen.

This interpreted copy of Leonardo da Vinci’s Leda and the Swan, probably painted in the early 1500s and now in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, summarises the later account of Helen’s unique birth, with two eggs and a fourth baby, Clytemnestra. Later paintings, perhaps wisely, concentrated on Leda and Zeus, and skipped the incredible egg phase altogether.

According to most accounts, when Helen was still under age, she was abducted by Theseus, the ‘hero’ who abandoned Ariadne on the island of Naxos. Helen’s adopted brothers the Dioskuroi were unimpressed by this, so they paid Theseus a visit, and persuaded him to return their step-sister. In return for her son’s offence, Aethra, mother of Theseus, was made Helen’s slave, and wasn’t freed until after the fall of Troy many years later.

Jean-Bruno Gassies’ painting of Castor and Pollux Rescuing Helen was runner-up in the Prix de Rome in 1817. The woman being escorted away at the left may have been intended to be Theseus’ mother Aethra, although she appears remarkably young.

Helen’s beauty only grew over time, and her hand was sought by many suitors in a contest organised by her brothers Castor and Polydeuces. Among those suitors were many prominent figures, including Odysseus. Helen’s father, King Tyndareus, feared that in choosing between her suitors he would offend and cause trouble. The suitors therefore agreed to swear an oath, under which they would all defend the successful suitor in the event that anyone should quarrel with them, the crucial Oath of Tyndareus. Under that, Menelaos, King of Sparta, was chosen as Helen’s husband.

Helen was the bribe offered by Aphrodite to Paris for judging her the winner of the golden apple of discord. For nine days, Helen’s husband Menelaos entertained Paris as a guest, while Paris plied her with gifts. On the tenth day, Menelaos was called away to Crete for his grandfather’s funeral. He left his house in Helen’s charge, reminding her to ensure their guests were well cared-for, although clearly not in the way that Paris was intending.

For Tintoretto, The Rape of Helen (1580) was nothing short of war. As an archer is about to shoot his arrow, and another Trojan fends off attackers with a pike, Helen, dressed in her finery, is manhandled onto Paris’s ship like a stolen statue.

Thus the Spartans were at the centre of the Trojan War.

For all the untold number of paintings of classical myths, there are but a tiny number of works that strive to show historical events and scenes in the great classical civilisations. Even fewer of those show the most anomalous of the classical cultures, that of Sparta. Yet in recent years interest in Sparta, the Spartans, and their extreme way of life has risen, and is reflected in a wealth of modern imagery in graphic novels, movies, and computer games.

This weekend I look at some of the more significant paintings made of the Spartans prior to 1900.

Sparta was the capital of a city-state in ancient Greece, founded as a monarchy in about 930 BCE. The founder of its renowned warrior tradition was Lycurgus, who lived some time between 900-800 BCE and laid down much of the law and institutions of the Spartan state, although he refused to be its king.

Before Lycurgus implemented his reforms, he visited the Oracle at Delphi, who told him that the state which observed his laws would become the most famous in the world. Pythia, the high priestess at Delphi, is shown in Eugène Delacroix’s Lycurgus Consulting the Pythia (1835-45) listening intently to Lycurgus, before giving her prophesy.

Lycurgus was born into a Spartan family, and it’s most probable that he was the son of a reigning king of Sparta who lost his life when he was stabbed with a butcher’s knife as he intervened in a riot. Lycurgus’ older brother Polydectes inherited the throne, but died shortly afterwards.

Polydectes’ wife was pregnant at the time, so Lycurgus could only reign until that child was born: if a boy, then the child would succeed to the throne. After eight months of Lycurgus’ rule, a son Charilaüs was born, and Lycurgus proclaimed him king. To allay suspicion that he might try to usurp the authority of the new king, Lycurgus left Sparta and travelled. This gave him the opportunity to visit other kingdoms to learn of the strengths and weaknesses of the laws and institutions of Crete, the Ionians, and Egypt.

Lycurgus resolved to revolutionise Spartan society by introducing a completely new regime. He therefore visited the oracle at Delphi to discover whether his ideas were sound. The high priestess addressed Lycurgus as “beloved of the gods, and rather god than man”, and endorsed his proposals, that she said would be the best in the world.

His next task was to win over the senior Spartans, so they would be happy to implement his laws. Once he had convinced many of them, Lycurgus got thirty of them to go into the marketplace at dawn, and with their weapons to strike terror into those who opposed the proposals. King Charilaüs first fled to a refuge, then returned to give Lycurgus his support.

The changes made to Spartan law, institutions, and society were fundamental and extensive. Lycurgus established a Council of Elders with twenty-eight senators, to ensure that no king could become a tyrant, and the state couldn’t drift towards democracy. Land was redistributed uniformly and equally in lots: 30,000 in the surrounding countryside of Laconia, and 9,000 in the city of Sparta.

Lycurgus withdrew all gold and silver coinage, leaving only iron in circulation. He then devalued that currency, so that being rich in it would require a large store-room full of heavy iron coins. This forced equality in terms of money and possessions, and helped banish superfluous arts and trades, killing all luxury. To ensure a communal life for the good of society as a whole, he introduced common messing, so that Spartans all ate in large groups, on a simple but healthy diet.

Wealthy Spartans grew incensed with these changes, and started to stone Lycurgus, who was forced to flee from the marketplace. One young Spartan, Alcander, managed to blind him in one eye before he reached safety. Rather than have Alcander put to death, Lycurgus took him in as a servant and companion, so the young man became his most devoted follower, and convinced other opponents to support the reforms.

In his Lives, Plutarch provides considerable detail of the diet provided by these common messes, the fact that Spartan boys attended them, and there learned to withstand others jesting at them.

Lycurgus didn’t put these laws into writing, but established an educational system to instil them into future generations. Other unwritten laws included the requirement for all laws to remain unwritten, and the avoidance of extravagance in property, by the use of common building materials and standards.

The narrative in Caesar van Everdingen’s Lycurgus Demonstrates the Benefits of Education from 1660-62 doesn’t appear to relate directly to Plutarch’s text, but shows a young Lycurgus with a couple of young Spartan men, their hair cropped short.

The new laws also regulated marriages and births. As Spartan men were away on military expeditions much of the time, Lycurgus gave their wives sole control when their husbands were away, and the title of Mistress. He ensured that unmarried Spartan women kept healthy, by prescribing that they too undertook running, wrestling, throwing the discus, and the javelin.

Spartan society appears to have been distinctive, perhaps unique, among the many small states of ancient Greece for its dedication to a single product: the perfect (male) warrior. From cradle to grave, males were reared, educated, trained, and worked for the single task of fighting the state’s enemies.

Because Spartan women had the crucial role of producing infant warriors, and of keeping the state going while their menfolk were away for long periods training and fighting, they were highly valued in those roles. They were even encouraged to acquire supporting skills, that enabled two Spartan women to become victors in the Ancient Olympic Games. Lycurgus urged young Spartan girls to engage in wrestling, presumably so that they could defend the homeland when their menfolk were absent.

The process of turning a male baby into an adult warrior is known as agoge, and is detailed in this fascinating Wikipedia article.

Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg’s Three Spartan Boys Practising Archery (1812) shows three young boys progressing through their training in basic military skills.

Once old enough and sufficiently skilled, a young man would be given his shield by his mother, as shown in Jean-Jacques-François Le Barbier’s A Spartan Woman Giving a Shield to Her Son. The mother’s instructions would have been for her son to return either with his shield, or on it: he had to make a success of his training, or to die trying.

Education in Sparta (1850) was, I believe, painted by Cesare Mussini, or possibly his brother, and shows some of the less attractive aspects of the agoge, as one young man has clearly been overdoing the drink. There are also subtle allusions to the acceptance if not encouragement of pederastic relationships.

If this work is by Mussini, the quality of its paint layer should be superb, as Mussini used his own resin-based formulation for oil paints. These were so successful that he was able to sell the recipe to H Schmincke, whose company has continued to sell oil paints based on Mussini’s formulation ever since.

By far the most famous depiction of Spartans is a second attempt by Edgar Degas, Young Spartans Exercising from about 1860, now in the National Gallery in London.

Degas’ first attempt, Young Spartan Girls Challenging Boys (c 1860), shown above, was abandoned, but gives insight into the second.

Four Spartan girls taunt six Spartan boys in front of a substantial building. Around that building is a group of Spartan women, presumably mothers of the boys and girls in the foreground, who are talking with Lycurgus. Behind that building is the city of Sparta, and in the distance to the left, behind the girls, is Mount Taygetus, where unfit Spartan babies were abandoned to see if they survived and merited life. Degas may at this stage have wanted to make the visual association between the girls, who would in due course become mothers, and the mountain where some of their infants would have to be abandoned.

Young Spartans Exercising (1860) appears to be an oil study for his second version of this painting, adopting Degas’ revised composition.

Young Spartans Exercising (c 1860) was Degas’ most complete second version, which he listed for display at the Fifth Impressionist Exhibition in 1880, but doesn’t appear to have been shown there.

One of the boys, whose head is just visible in the first version, has been removed, but the two groups otherwise remain similar to the first version. The building in the middle distance has been removed to open the view out, and as a result the group of mothers with Lycurgus appears less prominent and more distant. The whole image has been stretched along its horizontal axis, moving Mount Taygetus to the left of the group of girls.

Degas had undoubtedly read Plutarch’s life of Lycurgus, including the passage:
He freed them from softness and delicacy and all effeminacy by accustoming the maidens no less than the youths to wear tunics only in processions, and at certain festivals to dance and sing when the young men were present as spectators. There they sometimes even mocked and railed good-naturedly at any youth who had misbehaved himself; and again they would sing the praises of those who had shown themselves worthy, and so inspire the young men with great ambition and ardour. For he who was thus extolled for his valour and held in honour among the maidens, went away exalted by their praises; while the sting of their playful raillery was no less sharp than that of serious admonitions, especially as the kings and senators, together with the rest of the citizens, were all present at the spectacle.

Degas continued to work sporadically on this painting, leaving it unfinished when he died. The artist never explained his intention, nor did he provide any clues as to how this painting should be read. Modern readings characteristically concentrate on gender contrasts and conflict, but all too often ignore its background, both visually and in historical context.

Marriages became open, in allowing both husband and wife to have relations with the partners of others. Sons were considered not to be ‘owned’ by their fathers, but by the state itself. Newborn infants were taken to a place called Lesche, where they were examined by elders, who decided whether the child was healthy and sturdy. If it was, it was assigned one of the 9,000 plots of land, and reared by its parents. Babies deemed frail or ill-formed were abandoned at Apothetae, a chasm at the foot of Mount Taygetus, to die.

The examination by elders at Lesche is the subject of two little-known paintings that appear to have a common origin. The first, claimed to be by Jacques-Louis David and titled Lycurgus of Sparta (1791), shows this process taking place, with a queue of young parents. A newly-born infant is being presented to the elders for their verdict, perhaps with Lycurgus acting as the organiser.

This painting by Jean-Jacques-François Le Barbier is titled The Magnanimity of Lycurgus and was apparently made in the same year of 1791. All its key elements correspond to those in the David, as if one artist partly copied the other.

Plutarch provides lengthy details of the rearing and education of Spartan children, and the effects on Spartan culture. These he summarises thus:
[Lycurgus] trained his fellow-citizens to have neither the wish nor the ability to live for themselves; but like bees they were to make themselves always integral parts of the whole community, clustering together about their leader, almost beside themselves with enthusiasm and noble ambition, and to belong wholly to their country.