Orlando Furioso Naughty Bits

When reading William Stewart Rose's famous (yet not-quite famous enough) translation of Ludovico's incredible Renaissance Italian epic, Orlando Furioso, one occasionally comes across this (emphasis my own):

XLVII.	To comfort her, some reasons full of grace, Sage and devout the approaching hermit cites: And, now his hand upon her moistened face, In speaking, now upon her bosom lights: As her, securer, next he would embrace: Him, kindling into pretty scorn, she smites With one hand on his breast, and backward throws, Then flushed with honest red, all over glows.
XLVIII.	A pocket at the ancient’s side was dight, Where he a cruise of virtuous liquor wore; And at those puissant eyes, whence flashed the light Of the most radiant torch Love ever bore, Threw from the flask a little drop, of might To make her sleep: upon the sandy shore Already the recumbent damsel lay, The greedy elder’s unresisting prey.
XLIX.	(Stanza XLIX untranslated by Rose)
L.	(Lines 1-2 untranslated by Rose) Hopeless, at length upon the beach he lies, And by the maid, exhausted, falls asleep. When to torment him new misfortunes rise: Fortune does seldom any measure keep; Unused to cut her cruel pastime short, If she with mortal man is pleased to sport.

Why, what's that? Stanza XLIX (and a few lines of the sequel) of Canto VIII is untranslated by Rose?
Really?
How tantalizing.

Did anyone else translate it?
Not to my knowledge.

So I grabbed the Italian text and got to work.
Here are my translations of the bits Ariosto probably had a blast writing while centuries later would give Rose a heart attack:

XLVII.	To comfort her, some reasons full of grace, Sage and devout the approaching hermit cites: And, now his hand upon her moistened face, In speaking, now upon her bosom lights: As her, securer, next he would embrace: Him, kindling into pretty scorn, she smites With one hand on his breast, and backward throws, Then flushed with honest red, all over glows.
XLVIII.	A pocket at the ancient’s side was dight, Where he a cruise of virtuous liquor wore; And at those puissant eyes, whence flashed the light Of the most radiant torch Love ever bore, Threw from the flask a little drop, of might To make her sleep: upon the sandy shore Already the recumbent damsel lay, The greedy elder’s unresisting prey.
XLIX.	Embraces her and touches her with lust And slumbers she, the dame, and cannot shield. Now a kiss upon lips, now beauteous bust; None there vigil keeps in that harsh field. But not this fumbling makes his charger thrust Though he desires, his body old age yields: An ill act, for he has so many years; More his exertions, the worse all appears.
L.	Ev’ry which-way, ev’ry manner he tries But that lazy nag however doesn’t leap. Hopeless, at length upon the beach he lies, And by the maid, exhausted, falls asleep. When to torment him new misfortunes rise: Fortune does seldom any measure keep; Unused to cut her cruel pastime short, If she with mortal man is pleased to sport.

This one is pretty good:

LXIV.    “'Scarce my demand was made, before mine eye
              Beneath the lymph engulphed that lady viewed:
              Nor answered she my prayer, but, for reply,
              Me with the enchanted element bedewed;
              Which has no sooner touched my face than I,
              I know not how, am utterly transmewed:
              I see, I feel—yet doubting what I scan—
              Feel, I am changed from woman into man.

          LXV.      “‘And even if that did not seem strange anew,                         
                        You are able to explain, nor wouldn’t trust:                         
                        Into another sex, and hitherto                       
                        I have my wants, swift obey you I must.                         
                       Ye command these sure, which just now I grew                          
                       And evermore for you watchful and robust.’                         
                       Thus I spoke; and made herself by feeling                         
                       To find with her hand that truth revealing.

          LXVI. 
Come interviene a chi già fuor di speme   Just as a man comes already hopeless
di cosa sia che nel pensier molt’abbia,    About a thing he might have thought much
che mentre più d’esserne privo geme,        He groans, lacking more life
più se n’afflige e se ne strugge e arrabbia;     Unless more he grieves nor droops and angers;
se ben la trova poi, tanto gli preme    if well he finds it then, much him squeeze
l’aver gran tempo seminato in sabbia, He has sowed a long time in the sand
e la disperazion l’ha sì male uso,    and the despair has him yes evil used
che non crede a se stesso, e sta confuso: which does not believe to himself and remains confused.

           LXVII.  “So then the lady touches and perceives                          
                         What have I become, such desire she keeps                          
                         To her eyes, to her touch, herself not believes                         
                         And remains doubtful, still she does not sleep;                         
                         And must prove it true for faith not deceived,                         
                         So she may feel those senses she might reap.                         
                        ‘O God, (spake she) if merely dreams are these                         
                         I fain sleep endless, awake would displease.’

          LXVIII. “There was no sound of some drums or of horns                         
                        As I began for an assault of love.                         
                        My kisses either height to scale or mourn                        
                        They grant a sign which likens unto doves.                        
                        Other arms than darts or fire by me borne.                      
                        I, without scale, onto walls leapt above                        
                       And plantéd the standard there with one jab                        
                       And her, my enemy, beneath me stabbed.

           LXVIX.  “The night before us, in that bed we dwelt,                            
                          Full of soft sighs and grave complaints it teems                           
                          She never before then has more felt                               
                          Laughter, feasting, rejoicing, gentle themes.                          
                          With no more nodes does the acanthus svelte                           
                          In columns are inscribed and in beams                          
                         Than those with which we tight together prest,                         
                         Our necks, our thighs, our arms, our legs, and breasts.

               LXX. “The thing remained concealed between us two;
                          So that our bliss endured some months; at last
                          We were espied; and, as I sorely rue,
                          The tidings to the Spanish monarch past.
                          Thou that whilere preserved’st me from the crew,
                          Which me into the flames designed to cast,
                          By this mayst fully comprehend the rest;
                          But God alone can read my sorrowing breast.”

Daylight Saving Time - Is There a "Better" Way?

Daylight Saving Time

If it's tradition, we humans love it.
Even though it may hurt us, sting us, frustrate, annoy, or confuse us, if our hallowed, never-incorrect ancestors did it, by all the powers that be, we'll continue to march into whatever happiness-devouring chasm necessary.
For example: Daylight Saving Time.
Each year, the time switch seems to sneak up on us - yes, it sneaks up on us. Nobody is ever prepared for Daylight Saving Time. If it weren't on the calendar, no one would even be aware of it happening apart from that horrible feeling one gets when one wakes up on that terrible Monday morning wondering where the hell one's life went.
Anyway: after the time switch is done sneaking up on us, we begin to debate about the possibility of not doing this insanity any longer. Health concerns are cited; studies are quoted; people whine and complain and liken adapting to the time change like becoming accustomed to contracting a new, incurable disease.
Then, after we have those bitter feelings off our minds and the anger off our chest and we've taken enough naps, we calm down...in order to do the same thing again next time.
Is there another, better way to handle this?
Yes, easy: don't do it. Stop doing it. Just leave it alone. Don't change the time. At all. Full stop. Period.
The problem is that this solution is too easy.

So, keeping in mind that some people want to be trifling and make life more difficult for the rest of us, here's my contribution to the DST debate with a mind and demeanor to please all:

The ancient Romans divided up their nights into four equal vigiliae - "watches" (cf. Eng. "vigil", in keeping with the Greek practice of dividing the night into φυλακή - "guardships") and their days into twelve equal horae - "hours".
Assuming a sunrise at 6:00 AM and a sunset at 6:00 PM, this can be illustrated in the following manner:

Assuming this 6:00 AM - 6:00 PM daytime setup, each hora will be sixty minutes in length, each vigilia one hundred-eighty minutes (three hours) in length.

Now, here's the tricky part: the Romans retained the same equal division of the daylight hours into twelve horae, regardless of how much daylight there actually was. Remember, the Earth doesn't orbit the Sun in such a way that daylight starts a 6:00 AM and ends at 6:00 PM every day, year-round.
Let's check out what happens to the above diagram during different parts of the year:

At Rome, on the Vernal Equinox (March 20th, 2015)...

• the sun will rise at 6:14 AM 


• the sun will set at 6:22 PM


• daylight will last for 12 hours, 7 minutes, and 25 seconds


• For the ancient Romans, each hora would be (727.25 minutes/12 =) 60.6 minutes in length.


• For the ancient Romans, each vigilia would be ([1436.4 minutes - 727.25]/4 =) 177.3 minutes in length (or 2.9 hours).

At Rome, on the Summer Solstice (June 21st, 2015)...

• the sun will rise at 5:35 AM 


• the sun will set at 8:49 PM


• daylight will last for 15 hours, 13 minutes, and 48 seconds


• For the ancient Romans, each hora would be (931.48 minutes/12 =) 77.62 minutes in length.


• For the ancient Romans, each vigilia would be ([1436.4 minutes - 931.48]/4 =) 126.23 minutes in length (or 2.1 hours).

At Rome, on the Autumnal Equinox (September 23rd, 2015)...

• the sun will rise at 6:58 AM 


• the sun will set at 7:06 PM


• daylight will last for 12 hours, 8 minutes, and 26 seconds


• For the ancient Romans, each hora would be (728.26 minutes/12 =) 60.69 minutes in length.


• For the ancient Romans, each vigilia would be ([1436.4 minutes - 728.26]/4 =) 177.04 minutes in length (or 2.95 hours).

At Rome, on the Winter Solstice (December 22nd, 2015)...

• the sun will rise at 7:35 AM 


• the sun will set at 4:42 PM


• daylight will last for 9 hours, 7 minutes, and 38 seconds


• For the ancient Romans, each hora would be (547.38 minutes/12 =) 45.62 minutes in length.


• For the ancient Romans, each vigilia would be ([1436.4 minutes - 547.38]/4 =) 222.26 minutes in length (or 3.7 hours).

Imagine trying to keep your sundial up-to-date; or calculating how much sand you would need to put into an hourglass to keep track of the hour - the length of the daylight hora is dependent on the time of year.

Given the difficulty level (above a layman's knowledge) and the dedication needed to keep track of such subtle minutiae (literally), we can expect the average ancient Roman citizen to have little or no interaction with such a system - one imagines the average Cornelian or Julian to have looked at the position of the Sun in the sky in order to get a general idea of the time of day: morning, midday, evening being the most important (such as the hora sexta - "the sixth hour" which meant either midday [roughly six hours after sunrise] or midnight [roughly six hours after sunset]. The Spanish word siesta is derived from sexta).
Priests and officials were given the duty of calculating the calendar and the fasti ("The Divinely Allowed Days" - days considered lucky or appropriate in which business could be conducted, courts could convene, &c).
But if we were to adopt this ancient Italic (slightly Hellenic-influenced) system (a move which, by the way, is as stupid as the current system we already have: another superfluous and anachronistic way to keep track of time - therefore, no win, no loss.), then we all would be invested in learning the various degrees (literally down to the minutiae) of how much daylight we have on an in diem basis. There are so many trains, meetings, buses, classes, assemblies, courts, and work schedules in our post-Industrial Age society which require us to know, on a rather in diem level, the general and the exact time. Of course, the tech exists to make this work; but hot damn, think of the logistics of the switch-over - for one, one would have to convince snowball-flinging Senators to enact the damn thing.
Furthermore, we post-Industrial Age humans work at night, and through the night, and on an in noctem basis. This ancient system is well adapted to humans living without much capacity for cheap and effective artificial lighting and working under predominantly agrarian conditions - unlike our own Daylight Saving Time, which is an on-again, off-again hodgepodge of (supposedly) energy-saving initiatives, originally enacted by Germany as a fuel-saving effort during World War I (Sommerzeit). In such a system of time-keeping as detailed above, the day just ended more or less for most people when one couldn't see well outside anymore - the night is quite dark and extremely dangerous; however, why would the division exist anymore?
Lots of things happen at night in 2015, and with some degree of normalcy, during those once deadly Roman vigiliae.
Regardless of the drawbacks, is it really as bad as what we have now?
Let's do it.

Sophokles in the New Millenium: Oidipous and Fuller's Hannibal

One of the main trademarks of Sophoklean drama (and a testament to Sophokles' genius) is his penchant for riddles and deception. In no other play is this more well-defined than in Oidipous Tyrannos (known better by its Latin title Oedipus Rex).

The drama is so constantly acute yet can persist so chronically over many hours or many weeks because we the audience know important information which the characters in the drama don't. We know from the outset that Hannibal is a cannibal - it's made clear from the first installment - just as the Athenians knew that the accursed man whom Oidipous seeks is Oidipous himself. The horror and suspense comes from us waiting for the characters to figure out what we already know. In order to up the ante in season two, the writers showed us, the audience, from the outset that Jack Crawford fights with Hannibal - when that scene finally played out in full at the end, we the audience found out the truth at the same time as the characters: the characters' shock and horror now mirrors our own.

Fantasy Gone Awry or Instinctual Warning?

Most humans would agree that this is (at least) attractive:

Judging the photo merely on objective grounds, one identifies the doe-y, come-hither eyes; the slightly open mouth; blonde, somewhat tussled hair - dry, even though she's in a damn swimming pool. How about that swimming pool? Isn't part of the allure the fact that she's in water? Isn't there something inherently sexy about scantily clad women in water?

Is that why so many mythologies have these:

Artist Unknown

Yikes. 
The Rusalki (sing. Rusalka), "Red Haired Girls (русалка)", of Slavic mythology are female water nymphs who are believed to be confined to pools and founts except during a week in June, Rusalka Week/Green Week (русальная неделя), during which the nymphs were especially dangerous and they could escape their waters; swimming was forbidden during the week. It was the custom of the Rusalki to lure children and young men to swim with them in the water, only to drag them to their deaths or tickle them to death under the waves.
Holy shit.

What about these lovely ladies?

Hylas and the Nymphs, Waterhouse

They seem so nice and...interested. Like...really interested. And then once you're in the water (which is really good, they're telling you), they have you.
This happens:

αἶψα δ᾽ ὅγε κρήνην μετεκίαθεν ἣν καλέουσιν

        And forthwith he (Hylas) a spring followed after, which they call                       

Πηγὰς ἀγχίγυοι περιναιέται. οἱ δέ που ἄρτι

                  The Pegas by the neighbors who dwell around. And there, in that place

νυμφάων ἵσταντο χοροί· μέλε γάρ σφισι πάσαις

                  The Nymphs' dances are held. For it was in their care, all of them

ὅσσαι κεῖν᾽ ἐρατὸν νύμφαι ῥίον ἀμφενέμοντο        1.225 A

                  Who there in the lovely headland, the nymphs who there dwelt,

Ἄρτεμιν ἐννυχίῃσιν ἀεὶ μέλπεσθαι ἀοιδαῖς.

                  To Artemis in nightly songs ever to sing.

αἱ μέν, ὅσαι σκοπιὰς ὀρέων λάχον ἢ καὶ ἐναύλους

                  They either the peaks of the mountains had by lot or even the streambeds

αἵ γε μὲν ὑλήωροι, ἀπόπροθεν ἐστιχόωντο·

                  But also the wood-watchers, far-ranged they wandered.

ἡ δὲ νέον κρήνης ἀνεδύετο καλλινάοιο

                  But one, from the top of the beautifully-flowing spring rising 

νύμφη ἐφυδατίη. τὸν δὲ σχεδὸν εἰσενόησεν        1.230 A

                  Was a water-nymph. And him she nearby perceived

κάλλεϊ καὶ γλυκερῇσιν ἐρευθόμενον χαρίτεσσιν,

                  Him, with beauty and with sweet graces blushing red,

πρὸς γάρ οἱ διχόμηνις ἀπ᾽ αἰθέρος αὐγάζουσα

                  For forth lighted by the moon from the upper-heaven, fully brighted,

βάλλε σεληναίη· τῆς δὲ φρένας ἐπτοίησεν

                  Him the moon smote. And her heart did she make faint, 

Κύπρις, ἀμηχανίῃ δὲ μόλις συναγείρατο θυμόν.

                  She Kypris, and in the confusion only just did she gather back her senses.

αὐτὰρ ὅγ᾽ ὡς τὰ πρῶτα ῥόῳ ἔνι κάλπιν ἔρεισε        1.235 A

                  But at the first into the stream the pitcher he dipped

λέχρις ἐπιχριμφθείς, περὶ δ᾽ ἄσπετον ἔβραχεν ὕδωρ

                  To one side leaning, and wordless ringing the water 

χαλκὸν ἐς ἠχήεντα φορεύμενον, αὐτίκα δ᾽ ἥγε

                  Into the bronze repeatedly ringing, and immediately she

λαιὸν μὲν καθύπερθεν ἐπ᾽ αὐχένος ἄνθετο πῆχυν,

                  On his left, from above his throat she laid her forearm,

κύσσαι ἐπιθύουσα τέρεν στόμα, δεξιτερῇ δὲ

                  To kiss, yearning for his soft mouth, and with her right hand 

ἀγκῶν᾽ ἔσπασε χειρί· μέσῃ δ᾽ ἐνὶ κάββαλε δίνῃ.        1.240 A

       His elbow she drew down and cast him into the middle of the eddy.

-Apollonios of Rhodes, Argonautika A.1207-1240, interlinear with my own -ANF.

The Grecian Ναϊάδες (Naiades) - were freshwater nymphs (saltwater nymphs being Νηρηΐδες [Nereides - "The Daughters of Nereus", the Old Man in the Sea]) and tended to be bound to certain founts and waterways (as the Rusalki). The Naiades very famously seduced Ὕλας (Hylas), a young Argonaut and companion of Ἡρακλῆς (Herakles), whose beauty fascinated them, into entering their pool where they drowned him (Apollonios has one nymph seducing the youth, other authors, such as Strabo, have several). 

The tripartite Rhinemaidens, examples of the Germanic nix or nixie, are water sprites.

The Rhinemaidens Warn Siegfried, Arthur Rackham

Though most famously found in Wagner, nixie do show up in Das Nibelungenlied as well, though in connection with the Danube. Here, the sneaky Burgundian knight Hagen gets the better of two rivermaids:

1533 [Hagen] sought to find the boatmen / if any might be near,
When sound of falling waters / full soon upon his ear.
Beside a rippling fountain, / where ran the waters cool,
A group of wise mermaidens / did bathe themselves within the pool.
1534 Ware of them soon was Hagen / and stole in secret near,
But fast away they hurried / when they the sound did hear.
That they at all escaped him, / filled they were with glee.
The knight did take their clothing, / yet wrought none other injury.
1535 Then spake the one mermaiden, / Hadburg that hight:
"Hagen, knight full noble, / tell will we thee aright,
An wilt thou, valiant warrior, / our garments but give o'er,
What fortune may this journey / to Hunland have for thee in store."
1536 They hovered there before him / like birds above the flood,
Wherefore did think the warrior / that tell strange things they could,
And all the more believed he / what they did feign to say,
As to his eager question / in ready manner answered they.

 -Das Nibelungenlied, Author Unknown, trans. by George Henry Needler

Mermaids?
 

A Mermaid, Waterhouse. Aww, she seems nice. She has a tail.

"Seamaids" from the Old English mere "sea" and maid, these creatures appear in mythologies the world over, from the Greeks to the Chinese:

Greek legend changed Alexander the Great's sister Thessalonike into a mermaid who haunts the waters of the Aegean. She sets upon a ship in a maelstrom and asks only one question: "Ζει ο Βασιλεύς Αλέξανδρος;" - "Lives the King Alexander?"; to which there is only one answer: 
"Ζει και βασιλεύει και τον κόσμον κυριεύει" - "Lives he and even reigns and over the kosmos is the lord." Pleased with this answer, she quiets the maelstrom; any other answer will cause her to dash the ship to bits.
In Chinese lore, sailors take home mermaids stranded on the shore. Once they released, they express gratitude. These creatures, which are either covered in fine, multi-colored hair or have webbed hands and feet, seem far more kind than their Western counterparts:

The Fisherman and the Syren, by Frederic Leighton c. 1858

This guy looks like he's having fun. I'm sure he notices her tail wrapping around his legs. Is that water level rising?

Just so we're clear: if one should find oneself near a pond or other body of water and an attractive woman (or maybe man, who knows?) invites one into the water - take a deep breath and consider that maybe most of these stories are similar for a reason:

The Siren, Waterhouse. I'm not convinced that this guy is having fun.

So don't be this guy - maybe skip out on the babes inviting you into the water.

Sirens
How did Sirens and mermaids become "intertwined", pun intended?
Σειρήν (pl. Σειρῆνες) "Seiren/Seirenes, commonly Anglicized "Siren" - "The Entwine-ers" (get it?), were originally the handmaidens of Demeter. When Persephone was kidnapped by Haides, Demeter gave these handmaidens the wings of birds in order for them cover more ground with greater speed. They grew weary of their searching and so escaped their quest to the island of Anthamoessa, where they become accustomed to using their bewitching songs to ensnare passing sailors into dashing their ships into the rocks and cliffs nearby.

Ulysses and the Sirens, Waterhouse

When the Argonauts passed by their isle, the musician Orpheus played his music so loudly and beautifully that it drowned out their songs.
When Odysseus and his men were approaching them, the wily king was so overcome with a desire to hear them that he ordered his men to lash him to the mast (above) while they stuffed their ears with cloth and wax - he could not resist from hearing their song. Pure temptation itself.

Over time, the legends (or facts, if you will) of the mermaids and sirens became fused.
Intertwined, right? 
Here's another "Odyssey and the Sirens". Compare with the above:

Ulysses and the Sirens, Herbert James Drapper

Slightly more fishy, less wingy.

Atropos' Abhorréd Shears

What is the Greek for Atropos' abhorréd shears?

~in collaboration with Robert Alspaugh (https://ralspaugh.wordpress.com/?ref=spelling)

While doing an illustration of the Moirai for a genealogical mural in my classroom, I wondered, "what is the Greek for Atropos' abhorréd shears by which she cuts the thread of life and ends a mortal's worldly existence?"

Bitchin'.

Answer: What's ancient Greek for 404 Error? Tettera-Ouden-Tettera?

There is no Greek for the abhorréd shears. The first reference to the shears appears in Milton.

But the fair Guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, [ 75 ]
And slits the thin spun life. But not the praise,
Phœbus repli'd, and touch'd my trembling ears;

-Milton, Lycidas

Huh...well...then what does Atropos do? Isn't she defined by her shears? Klotho weaves the thread, Lakhesis measures it, and Atropos, "The Unturnable", cuts it... right?

It seems not. 
A few hours, several books, and internet sites later, the following was crystallized:

Greek: Μοῖραι - "The Apportioners"; 

Italic: Parcae - "The Twine-ers" (cf. Grk: πλέκω -"to twine"); 

Les Parques, Alfred Agache, c. 1885

Germanic: Nornir - The Norns - "The Witches"

Slavic: Sudice
  
Appearing as a tripartite goddess, the three were depicted as spinners or weavers; though as their function and appearance changes with each author, they originally were never thought of as "cutters".

In the Hellenic branch, the three and their jobs and iconography were originally categorized as such:

Κλωθώ - Klôthô - "The Spinner" - she spins the thread of life, handing the carded wool to her sister Lakhesis. She is usually depicted with a ball of wool. Her name is etymologically related to the Old English clath, "a woven thing".
In Italic mythology she appears as Nona, "The Ninth", in which she visits an expectant mother in the ninth month of her pregnancy to begin spinning the thread of the child's life.
For the Northmen, she was Urðr, cognate with the Old English Wyrd. She is concerned with the Past (urðr means "that which has happened").
For the Eastern Europeans, she was one of three old women who appears before an infant in its cradle after birth. She had a fattened lower lip from continuously salivating on the thread of life.

Λάχεσις - Lakhesis: "The Alloter" - she takes the carded wool from Klôthô and wraps it around the distaff. The spinning process causes the wool to bind together into a thread. The Greek lakhos, "a lot, portion, fate" refers to being awarded a portion of something, in this case, the length of the thread, the length of life.
In Italic mythology she appears as Decuma/Decima, "The Tenth", in which month since conception the child's life is allotted.
For the Northmen, she was Verðandi, and was concerned with the Present (verða means "that which is happening").
For the Eastern Europeans, she appeared at the cradle of an infant with her sisters. She had a fattened thumb from continuously fingering the flax to make the thread of life.

Ἄτροπος - Atropos, "The Unwraveler"- though her name has almost always been interpreted as the alpha privative a- "un-" and tropos, "a turning"- "the Unturnable One" referring to her supposedly immovable nature in severing the thread of life, I propose a different meaning: the alpha privative a- "un-" and tropos, "the thing turned, 'wraveled', or wrapped", in reference to wrapping a leather strap about an oar. Atropos refers to unwrapping that strap. So for the Greeks, all Atropos does is take the thread off of the distaff. She sets it aside, where it will be taken by Death and severed at the moment of life's end (by means of either his teeth or a blade of some kind).
In Italic mythology she appears as Morta, "Death", in which she does cut the thread of life with a knife, sword, or her teeth.
For the Northmen, she was Skuld, and was concerned with the Future (skulla means "that which shall be").

For the Eastern Europeans, she appeared at the cradle of an infant with her sisters. She had an enlarged left foot from continuously working the pedal of the spinning wheel, spinning the thread of life - curiously enough, this version caught up with technology, as there a spinning wheel in it, an invention introduced to Europe as early as the 13th century A.D. -the Homeric Moirai stretch back to the 8th century B.C.

One can see the confusion. From the Hellenic, Italic, and Germanic branches we are presented with an amalgamation of a tripartite godhead whose triple aspects weave the thread of a mortal's life, while also seeing into the Past, Present, and Future simultaneously, and having the power over Death by cutting the thread.

Don't get me started on Disney:

Wait, now they're the Graiai?