We were again in Venice, and paid our respects to Paolo Sarpi.
Six years ago we discovered him, on his small plateau between a canal and a shopping street, and learned something about him from the plaque. Here he is closer up.
You may remember, from my former description, that he was a champion of religious tolerance and of the independence of the Republic of Venice from the dictatorship of the pope, for which he twice came close to being assassinated. Left for dead, he survived. If he hadn’t, modern astronomy might not have got its birth when it did. For it was Sarpi who passed the information about a new instrument, the telescope, to Galileo.
Most points in Venice are named for their churches, which are named for saints, but not for this martyr of a later age. His motto Esto perpetua, “May she be for ever,” borrowed for the American republic, was intended for the free Venetian republic. It is as well that he died before knowing of its destruction by Napoleon.
Name-chain
For those who get intoxicated by names, Sarpi inevitably leads to Sarpedon. Who was Sarpedon? He was the most reliable of the allies who came to help Troy defend itself against the Greek invaders, and the one who came from farthest off, from Lycia. Zeus could not rewrite the fate of his son Sarpedon, nor of Troy.
And Sarpedon leads to Skarphedinn. Who was Skarphedinn? In Burnt Njall’s Saga, perhaps the greatest of the mediaeval Icelandic sagas, he was the eldest of the sons of Njall, formidable, ironic of speech, good at making enemies. The story of the blood feud between this family and another is punctuated by moments at which:
“Skarphedinn grinned.”
And you know trouble is coming. There is an episode in which Skarphedinn on skis or skates leaps a river and goes sliding destructively through his enemies on the ice. In the end, Njall and all his family are burned inside their house.
And to Scapia. Who was Scarpia? He is the evil chief of police, the villain of Puccini’s opera Tosca.
Skarphedinn Grinned could be the title of a suspense story. You are welcome to write it if, as is likely, I don’t.
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This weblog maintains its right to be about astronomy or anything under the sun.
Welcome back, Guy. I hope you had a good journey.
At least in the Catholic church, saints are always named by their first names. If there’s more than one with the same first name, then their last name or an epithet is added. So I think it would be San Paolo Sarpi. Sounds more mellifluous to my ear, anyway.
Is Skarphedinn pronounced Skarp-hed-inn (like ap-helion), or Skarf-ed-inn (like aph-elion)? (Sorry, I couldn’t resist the aphelion joke.)
Yes, I know he would be San Paolo Sarpi, but I wanted to keep playing on the Sa- theme and also to arouse curiosity if possible, which I think it the function of blog post titles.
Skarp-hedinn, surely. Actually the d represents a fricative consonant like th in English thy, and is written with the letter edh, which looks like a d sloping backward and with a cross through it. The corresponding voiceless consonant, like th in thigh, is written with another letter that Old English had, called thorn, looking like p with an uptick.
I wish I knew what the element skarp and hedinn mean. I once knew a smattering of Icelandic when I was trying to compile a family tree of English words, but I’ve forgotten most of it.