Nestor's Cup

Thales and the Greek Enlightenment

2010-02-01T21:11:00.002-05:00

I began reading Karl Popper last summer and it has been a valuable experience. I'm currently rereading his essays on the Presocratic philosophers for a lecture I give about the place of the Hippocratic writers in ancient Greek thought. Although (or perhaps precisely because) he was not a Classicist, Popper offered a number of revolutionary insights about early Greek philosophy and its role in western civilization. Those insights have been largely ignored by Classicists. His most exciting contribution, in my opinion, is his revaluation of Thales' impact on philosophy and science. If you ever read something about Thales, it is likely that he predicted an eclipse and thus began philosophy or science. This seems highly unlikely to me. Popper's argument runs like this.

It was common for both ancient philosophical schools and religions to organize around a single man who was considered a master or prophet. For pagan observers even the early Christian church fits this paradigm, as evidenced by Galen's use of the formulaic phrase "the followers of Moses and Christ." The schools were dedicated to learning the teachings of their master and spreading them to contemporaries and the next generation. There was typically no room for innovation; any new elements were painstakingly attributed to the master himself, so that the philosophy or doctrine would appear to have sprung from him perfected already. The real origin of western philosophy and science is found sometime in pre-classical Greece when a tradition of critical discussion was developed. What Popper sees with fresh eyes is that this development appears to have begun with Thales.

Thales hypothesized that the earth rested on a body of water. This explained the foundation of the earth, it explained why the earth was seemingly surrounded by "the river Ocean," and it also provided a convenient explanation for seismic activity. The question then arose: on what does the water rest? In order to avoid this problem of infinite regression, Anaximander, a student of Thales, suggested that the earth did not rest upon anything. Rather, he claimed, it hung pendant in space, and was held in place by its central position. It seems that Anaximander thought of the earth as a sphere, but in any case, the idea was current not much later. Within a few centuries not only was the notion of a spherical earth widely accepted, but its size was accurately calculated by Eratosthenes.

Although Thales was only about fourteen years older than Anaximander and they died around the same time, and were both active in the Milesian school, there is no ancient tradition about an intra-school feud. This suggests that Thales tolerated dissent from his students, and perhaps even encouraged it. Perhaps it seems trivial, and indeed it has been overlooked or unappreciated throughout history although it was right before our eyes, but I think Popper is right to see this as the great contribution of Thales and the proper mark of the origins of western science.

Thucydides 5.89

2010-01-03T17:17:00.000-05:00

ἐπισταμένους πρὸς εἰδότας ὅτι δίκαια μὲν ἐν τῷ ἀνθρωπείῳ λόγῳ ἀπὸ τῆς ἴσης ἀνάγκης κρίνεται, δυνατὰ δὲ οἱ προύχοντες πράσσουσι καὶ οἱ ἀσθενεῖς ξυγχωροῦσιν.

You know as well as we do that justice, as a matter of human reckoning, is something to be decided between equals, while those who are more powerful do what they are capable of doing, and the weak accept what they have to accept.

Pindar: Paean 1

2009-12-28T17:13:00.006-05:00

For the Thebans, 52a, P.Oxy.841 (5,1908)

πρὶν ὀδυνηρὰ γήραος σχεδὸν μολεῖν,
πρίν τις εὐθυμίᾳ σκιαζέτω
νόημ' ἄκοτον ἐπὶ μέτρα, ἰδών
δύναμιν οἰκόθετον

Just before reaching the pains of old age,
let a man gladly shelter
a peaceful mind for the sake of moderation, having seen
power stored in his home.

I've been intrigued for several days with this fragment of one of Pindar's Paeans. The first line depends on the conjecture of the first editors, Grenfell and Hunt, who read σ[χεδὸν μ]ολεῖν. But the crux of the passage is the meaning of the enigmatic phrase, σκιαζέτω νόημ' ἄκοτον ἐπὶ μέτρα. I've taken the prepositional phrase ἐπὶ μέτρα to mean "for the sake of moderation." I follow Race for the verb σκιαζέτω meaning "to shelter," for that is the sense of what the man must do to his "un-angry mind." The word seems, however, to mean "shade, to cast a shadow," or, "to overshadow," or even "to keep away" as of the sun's rays (Alciphr.3.12). Perhaps it should read νόημα κότον rather than νόημ' ἄκοτον, and the man would be advised to keep off anger with respect to the mind. In any case, it is also an interesting question how we are to understand the "angry" or "un-angry" mind.

Athenian courts

2009-11-29T20:32:00.002-05:00

Adriaan Lanni's book Law and Justice in the Courts of Classical Athens is not really an introductory survey of Athenian courts. She examines a specific feature of Athenian law: relevance in the courtroom. As a background to her argument, however, she provides the basic outline of the courts which existed in classical Athens.

Except for maritime cases, litigation in Athens was the privilege of male citizens, with few exceptions. There were two categories of procedure, private cases (δίκαι) in which the victim could bring suit, and public cases (γραφαί) which anyone could initiate. There was a measure to prevent the courts being used as public stages, whereby the prosecutor was penalized if he failed to win at least one-fifth of the votes, sometimes involving exile. Citizens could choose arbitration to avoid the courts. There was also a body called "the Eleven" in front of whom criminals were brought when caught red-handed; they were executed if they confessed, or sent to trial if they maintained innocence. If it came to trial, cases were heard by juries of Athenian citizens, usually numbering between 201 and 501 people, although there are claims of much larger juries in certain cases.

Homicide cases were a different matter. There were five homicide courts. The Areopagus is the most famous, and probably the oldest, and its foundation is mythologized in the Orestia of Aeschylus. The Palladion probably heard cases of unintentional homicide, although there is debate on its precise function (some think that it heard cases in which a person was involved in homicide but did not carry out the act with their own hands). The Delphinion heard cases in which the defendant admitted killing someone, but claimed that they they had acted within the law. The Prytaneion seems to have involved matters of religion and ritual, and the Phreatto heard cases in which "a defendant in exile for a prior offense was charged with homicide or wounding; he was not permitted to enter Attica but was obliged to deliver his defense to the court from a ship anchored off shore." But these last two courts are poorly attested. Much of the information for the operations and jurisdictions all of these courts comes from the Aristotelian Constitution of the Athenians.

Lanni sees a broad division in the court system between the popular courts, on one hand, and the homicide and maritime courts on the other. Her division is based on the standard of relevance of evidence introduced in the courtroom. The Athenians made a distinction between evidence that was to the point (εἰς τὸ πρᾶγμα) and evidence that was outside the point (ἔξω τοῦ πράγματος). Interestingly, however, they required speakers to stick to the point only in homicide and maritime cases, whereas in popular courts, which handled all other matters, speakers were not prevented, as any reader of the Greek orators knows, from introducing all sorts of information which had no bearing on guilt, such as the philanthropy or misanthropy of the defendant, or the possible effects of a guilty verdict on the defendant's family.

In designing a legal system, "all societies must address the inevitable tension between consistency and flexibility," and Lanni argues that the Athenian system represents a complex solution to that problem. She suggests that the Athenians deliberately allowed irrelevant information into the popular court proceedings in order to provide that each case was understood in its particulars, and was not judged blindly according to impersonal laws. In homicide cases, however, speakers were required to stick to the point at hand, and Lanni argues that this displays both the conservative nature of the homicide courts, and a desire to avoid the dangers of volatile emotion in deciding cases of the utmost seriousness. She argues that the flexible nature of the popular courts developed out of the most conservative homicide courts, and not the other way around, as is sometimes supposed. There were also special procedures for maritime cases, known as the δίκη ἐμπορική, which probably were heard in the popular courts, but which, like the homicide courts, required speakers to stick to the point, and suits could only be brought under this procedure when a contract was involved. Lanni argues that the stricter standards of relevance in these matters was meant to instill confidence in foreign investors and merchants that they could count on "consistency" when appealing to Athenian courts.

For the most part, Lanni makes her case strongly, and the book provides a good overview of the legal system, if not really an introduction to the subject. I think, however, that she too lightly dismisses the religious element of pollution in homicide cases. Perhaps the stricter standards of relevance in homicide cases reflects the situation that defendants were either polluted or not, they had either committed the act or not, and any other information was irrelevant to the proceedings. Robert Parker has argued that the pollution element in Greek religion has been exaggerated, and the homicide courts did in fact take intent into consideration, so maybe Lanni is right, but she dismisses this with only the briefest mention, and I wish she had addressed it at greater length.

The administration of Roman libraries

2009-11-01T19:27:00.003-05:00

Until the time of Tiberius, that is to say in the three libraries which existed when Augustus died, the libraries seem to have been run independently. There is no evidence of a central administration, and Ovid, in Tristia 3.1, imagines a work of his written in exile approaching first the Palatine Library, then the Porticus Octaviae, and then that in the Atrium Libertatis, only to be rejected each time. This suggests that around AD 10, at least, there wasn’t one person in charge of all of the libraries.

We know the names of about two dozen lower-level slave and freedman personnel from epigraphic sources (all save one dating from the Julio-Claudian period). Of 26 men, 5 are certainly freedmen, 11 certainly slaves, and the other 10 probably slaves. Six of the slaves are called uilicus, which probably means they had some administrative or supervisory duties. Five of the slaves are assigned to the Palatine Library, and five to the Porticus Octaviae; no other libraries are named. Nine of the slaves and four of the freedmen belonged to the familia Caesaris, and at least two were public slaves, both of whom worked in the Porticus Octaviae. The men associated with particular libraries were assigned either to the Greek or Latin section. There is no indication that the slaves were specialized in any way, except for the title uilicus already mentioned for some of them. The assignment to one of the two libraries was presumably made based on language skills, since the main duties would have been organization, perhaps retrieval, and likely a great deal of copying both of new acquisitions and to replace damaged copies.

We know of 13 freeborn men who were involved with the libraries of Rome. Six of these men seem to have been commissioners who were in charge of the libraries at Rome. There doesn’t seem to have been such a position under Augustus. The first is Tiberius Julius Pappus who was appointed by the emperor Tiberius. Dionysius of Alexandria comes from Egypt to Rome in the second half of the first-century. Early in the second-century we find Roman equestrian commissioners, among whom was the biographer Suetonius. This seems to fit with a pattern that took place under Trajan and Hadrian to appoint equestrians to administrative posts instead of freedmen. Fergus Millar (1977) suggests that it is not so much a transition from freedmen to equestrians as it is from Greek to Roman intellectuals, which fits the pattern as we can reconstruct it from the few inscriptions. George Houston (2002) suggests that the commissioners were in the first place assistants to the emperor, rather than administrators, that is to say, that the uilici would have supervised the day-to-day operations of the library, while the commissioner dealt with matters affecting the emperor.

For those interested in the commissioners, see Lorne Bruce (1983) "The procurator bibliothecarum at Rome." Journal of Library History 18: 143-162. For more on the epigraphic evidence, see George Houston (2002) "The Slave and Freedman Personnel of Public Libraries in Ancient Rome." TAPA, v.132, n.1/2: 139-176. For a reappraisal of the role of Tiberius, see Houston's recent article (2008) "Tiberius and Libraries: Public Book Collections and Library Buildings in the Early Roman Empire." Libraries & the Cultural Record, v.43, n.3: 247-269

Greek and Roman libraries

2009-10-31T10:05:00.003-05:00

I have long been interested in book production and collection in the Greek world, and especially with the great library projects at Pergamon and Alexandria, but I only recently undertook to read about Roman libraries for a presentation in a seminar on Roman topography. In coming to the project, I had in mind the conventional notion that the genesis of libraries in Rome was based on their encounters with the libraries of Pergamon and Alexandria. Suetonius tells us that Julius Caesar planned to open the first public library, and entrusted the task to Varro, but that it was cut short by his assassination. Most writers assume that he was inspired to create something like the library at Alexandria, which he had seen first-hand. But after studying the libraries that did come into existence at Rome starting in the first-century BC, the most surprising thing was how different they were than their Greek forerunners.

The first public library in Rome was established by Asinius Pollio in the Atrium Libertatis, from wealth gained in his eastern campaigns. Nothing of this library remains. It fits into the scheme of manubial projects at Rome, whereby leading individuals would make dedications to the public after great exploits abroad, and they increasingly involved giving the public access to luxuries enjoyed by the wealthier classes: gardens, sculpture, and later baths. It seems only natural that public libraries would be established.

Augustus opens the next two public libraries soon afterward. The first was attached to the temple of Apollo on the Palatine; the second to the Porticus Octaviae. It is the of the Palatine Library that we have the first remains, although they date from the reconstructions in the reign of Dominitian after it was damaged by fire. Tiberius is credited with opening one or possibly two, and Vespasian opens one in the Temple of Peace. The most famous library for us, because it is best preserved, is that in the Forum of Trajan. The grand Roman baths also contain libraries. The Regiones tell us that in the fourth-century, there were 28 (one manuscript says 29) public libraries in Rome.

These libraries are fascinating for many different reasons, literary, social, political, architectural, and administrative, but I just wanted to point out some of the ways in which they are innovative. In the first place, Roman libraries from the very beginning (and even in the conception of Julius Caesar, if we are to take Suetonius literally) are different from Greek libraries in that they consist of two wings: one for Latin literature and one for Greek literature, reflecting a bilingual culture. The Palatine library has two adjacent but separate wings, and that in the Forum of Trajan has two wings facing each other, in the middle of which stands the column of Trajan. They are always mirror images of each other, and this becomes a motif of library architecture, which will take new forms in the symmetrical designs of the Roman baths, which seem to contain libraries. I suspect that the size of the libraries was determined by the space needed for Latin literature, which was then mirrored for the Greek section. It was perhaps out of national pride that the Greek sections were not larger. This is the second way in which Roman libraries differed from the Greek examples at Pergamon and Alexandria: scale. The library at Alexandria famously attempted to collect all books, and its holdings have been estimated at between 200,000 and 700,000 rolls, with one ancient estimate 490,000 being commonly cited. In comparison, the library in the Forum of Trajan, which is larger than other examples, was capable of holding about 20,000 rolls (10,000 in each of the two sections). There was clearly no attempt to create a complete archive of world literature. There was also a difference in function. The library at Alexandria was a research institution which drew scholars from around the world to study, with lodging and food provided. The Roman libraries were never designed with this in mind, but rather to make books available to the public (although what "public" means in this context is another topic altogether).

It is clear that the library at Alexandria and the public libraries at Rome, despite what some people have claimed, were two completely different projects. I say this not to minimize the Roman project; it is not that they attempted a similar project and failed. From the beginning they had a new and admirable plan, creating something which the Greek libraries did not offer.

γαμψωνυχοπαντοφιλάρπασος

2009-09-06T18:12:00.000-05:00

Snatcher of everything with curved talons, Lyr.Philol.80.336.

RFK and Aeschylus

2009-08-28T08:02:00.006-05:00

It was recently brought to my attention that Bobby Kennedy made a public announcement (which can be seen here) about the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., in which he quotes Aeschylus, whom he calls his favorite poet, and that allegedly the translation from the Greek was his own. The Aeschylus quote comes from lines 179-182 of the Agamemnon, but it is not Kennedy’s own translation. Here is the Greek:

στάζει δ᾽ ἔν θ᾽ ὕπνῳ πρὸ καρδίας
μνησιπήμων πόνος: καὶ παρ᾽
ἄκοντας ἦλθε σωφρονεῖν.
δαιμόνων δέ που χάρις βίαιος

And in sleep the painful memory of suffering trickles before the heart, and it comes unwillingly to understand; but indeed it is a violent grace of the spirits.

Edith Hamilton translated it this way in 1930: And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despite, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.

If you listened to the audio clip this will sound familiar. Here is what Kennedy said in my own transcript: Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart, until in our own de-despair, against our will, comes wisdom, through the awful grace of God.

Clearly his few misquotations of Hamilton’s version (noted in bold, except for his omission of “to us”) do not make this his own translation. The only significant change is despair from Hamilton’s despite, on which Kennedy understandably trips. The Greek word ἄκοντας simply means unwilling. Surely—considering the similarity of the two words and his stutter—Kennedy did not change this deliberately, but the result is actually quite lovely and beautiful in its own right.

Briefly mentioned by Gildersleeve

2009-08-20T07:07:00.003-05:00

Basil Gildersleeve wrote a series of short essays on topics in Classics known as "Brief Mention." What follows are his aphoristic comments on various people and things collected by Frederick Danker (1988).

Justin Martyr: Incondite writer.

Persius: Hopeless prig.

Aelian: An utterly untrustworthy scribbler.

Marcion: A rat from Pontus who gnaws away at the Gospels.

Strauss: Evaporated the Glad Tidings of Great Joy.

Professor Shorey: An exceptional man, and my judgment is open to suspicion because I am a Hellenist.

Demosthenes: Outswears all the Attic orators.

Polybios: He is scrupulous in the avoidance of hiatus, but there is one hiatus that he cannot escape, the yawn in the face of his reader.

Herakleitos: Surrounds his ripe fruit with a protective envelope, so that it may not fall into the hands of unworthy nibblers.

Polyanthea, or Parallelomania: the appositeness of the citations is by no means in keeping with their number.

Dissertations: Long endurance guarantees the toughness and large charity the amplitude.

Plutarch: Philosophic washerwoman of Chaeronea.

Aristophanes: Spoiled darling of the Muses.

Swinburne: A case of moral leprosy.

Jebb: A man of admirable poise, of wonderful insight, of flawless style, a scholar whose renderings made all others seem coarse or crude.

Constantine the Great: A sorry Christian in theory and practice.

Antoninus: Introspective keeper of a pathological peepshow.

The Kappadocian St. George: A fraudulent pork-commisary as a layman, a truculent tyrant as a prelate, he deserves more attention than he has received at the hands of his unconscious imitators in these latter days.

Lucian: No hope, no love. No good God for him but good Greek.

Use of Scriptural language: in the category of recondite allusions.

Double entendre in contemporary authors like Browning: There is nothing more obscene than an obscene conundrum, and erotic and skatologic riddles play an important part in that region of folklore.

On the position of Pindar's ἄριστον μὲν ὕδωρ in Gildersleeve's almanac of commonplaces: It goes under Aquarius.

Slit-skirt: Bequest from those φαινομηρίδες, the Spartan belles.

Many grammarians: like Renan's Eastern sage, whose name being interpreted means οὗ τὸ σπέρμα εἰς τὴν κεφαλὴν ἀνέβη.

The Greek Language: The cases made havoc with compounds. Syntax killed synthesis.

Herodotos: One of the most fascinating, large-minded, artistic and lovable natures in the whole world of classical literature.

Interpreters with little time for grammar: who does not know the syntax of Thukydides does not know the mind of Thukydides.

On his edition of Pindar: If I were to edit Pindar again, even the ghost of the digamma would disappear.

The Men Who Built the Theaters

2009-08-15T12:48:00.004-05:00

The ἀρχιτέκτων in ancient Greece was more like a general contractor than an architect in our sense of the word, but it also developed the sense of theater manager in Athens. It is often used synonymously with θεατροπώλης and θεατρώνης, but Eric Csapo, in his article "The Men Who Built the Theatres" (2007), attempts to tease out the differences in these terms.

The change in the term ἀρχιτέκτων from a builder to a manager, according to Csapo, is related to the change in theater seating at Athens from wooden benches to stone. Originally the seating at the Theater of Dionysus was comprised of wooden benches. These benches were installed and removed each year at the festival by men who were contracted by the state. What remains of the leases makes clear that the contractor (the ἀρχιτέκτων) paid for the installation, and in return was given permission to charge entrance fees, which covered his costs and made him profit.

Charging admission might seem natural to us, but it was in fact quite revolutionary. It was the first time that fees were charged for a religious festival (see Sommerstein 1997 and Wilson 1997). It is disputed whether fees were seen as the cause of, or the solution to, the conflict created by competition for seats at the festival. Perikles is credited with taking state money and distributing it so that poorer citizens could afford seats. The terms θεατρώνης and θεατροπώλης both refer to the same function but from different points of view. The θεατρώνης, or theatron-buyer, is the state perspective: the man who buys the rights to charge admission. The θεατροπώλης, or theatron-seller, is the audience perspective: the man who sells them admission.

At some point in the fourth-century, the city decided to invest in permanent stone seating for the theater. This eliminated the need to install and remove the wooden benches each year, and it increased greatly the amount of seating available. With this one-time investment, the city eliminated the need to lease out the job to the ἀρχιτέκτων. Now the city could collect admission directly for itself. At this point the term ἀρχιτέκτων came to refer to a new position, which was a salaried position with the state, elected by popular assembly, as evidenced by the Athenian Constitution and inscriptions beginning around 333 BCE. This position was something like a public works director and building inspector, involved in the management of the theater for the state.

An Apology for Pindar

2009-07-28T19:15:00.010-05:00

I had intended to deliver a paper about reading Pindar as part of a conference on the larger topic of the relevance of Classics today. Since that project never materialized, I thought I would note down just a few of the preliminary thoughts I had on the issue.

The defense of Classical studies in educational institutions has been necessary since its direct usefulness in sciences began to wain. In a sense, that is when Classics became a distinct field as opposed to western education in general. Many of the defensive arguments reek of desperation on the part of Classicists, and do not convince me. Those who suggest that students should learn Latin because it teaches logical thinking are misled, I think, by the outdated notion that Latin is somehow more logical than other languages. For education in logic, nothing seems more suitable than logic itself, or its twin, mathematics. There are those who suggest that Greek and Latin should be learned for the insight which they provide into the vocabulary of English and of scientific terminology. I hope to treat that notion more fully in another essay, but suffice it to say for now that, while true, the traditional education in Classics is a long detour for that purpose. The issue comes down to the definition of the field itself, which is troublesome for its immense scope, and too large for this discussion.

Of those who value Humanities programs in general, few would deny the relevance of Classics, and it seemed rather amusing to me that there should be a conference of Classicists to discuss the importance of Classics. The usefulness of Homer, for instance, in the study of all subsequent Western literature is self-evident. The study of Greek drama seems to me also to need no defense. Plato and Aristotle are in the same position, but more so for the influence of Plato on the Christian tradition, and of Aristotle on the modern European intellectual tradition. Herodotus and Thucydides have a secure place in the study of historiography, and Euclid survives almost intact today. I have mentioned just a few authors, and only Greek ones, but I trust there is no controversy here. Authors like Hesiod and Xenophon and Demosthenes might require some persuasion for a few, but a good case could be made easily.

When it comes to Pindar, however, I think that the matter is different. Even among Classicists, he often demands some apology, and outside of that, the going gets tough. I find myself defending him even to other Greek philologists. Although he has been admired in most generations, this seems often to be based on his reputation, and his influence is not as marked as other major poets. Already in ancient times his language and meter proved difficult, and in modern times his genre has been a major obstacle.

It is this last point which seems to require the greatest defense for modern readers. In the end, I claim, the complaints are not entirely substantiated. That he wrote in praise of athletic victors is true, but athletes and athletics do not dominate even the epinikian songs, which are all that we possess of a much larger and varied output. The songs are much more focused on myth and wisdom and ethics, imagery, metaphor, and playful sounds. In short, the things we appreciate about poetry of all genres; and he is masterful at most.

I will return to his value as a poet, but he is also valuable for historical purposes as well. In the first place, it is acknowledged now that the so-called "lyric" tradition is perhaps more ancient than the epic tradition (based on metrical evidence) and Pindar is a major representative. Like Homer, he represents the very end of a long tradition, and as such he can tell us a great deal. He preserves elements of an Indo-European tradition in which the poet had an important place as educator, historian, and religious figure. The praise which he bestows on athletes is his version of the power which wordsmiths had to enhance great men and great ideas. In fact, he probably provides the best comparative evidence about the Indo-European poet from the Greek branch. Along the same lines, he is valuable for the study of historical linguistics and comparative mythology. While many people see his myths as original treatments, it is very often the case, in my opinion, that he preserves ancient traditions which are otherwise lost, although this is often unverifiable, and there is no doubt about innovations. As one of the last great representatives of Greek choral poetry, he is important both for the study of that genre, and for the study of the origins of drama, which developed out of the choral tradition. In a general sense, he occupies an important place in the transition into the classical period of Greece, after the Persian Wars, which is also represented by Aeschylus, but from a different perspective. And he provides an interesting study as a fifth-century poet who was neither from Athens nor focused on Athens; the value of this should not be underestimated.

Even as I write this, I am realizing just how much I have to say on the topic; I have only begun, and new ideas are developing already. But in the way of a conclusion, I would say that his greatest importance lies in the greatness of his poetry. He is relevant because great art is relevant. His style does not translate to English as well as other Greek poets, but in Greek it is hard to miss the beauty of sound and structure in his language. His rich imagery and complex metaphors are right at home, I think, in the modern poetic sensibility. And if one gives him the respect of close and multiple readings, there is no shortage of gems, even in translation, such as his famous musing that "man is a dream of a shadow," or that "war is sweet for those who have not participated," or that σοφίαι μὲν αἰπειναί, which can be rendered variously as "poetry is lofty," or "wisdom is hard to reach," or "art is steep." He warned us that "a crafty politician will not impress the noble with his speeches, and yet, flattering everyone, he weaves delusion to its end," and that "different desires stir the hearts of each man, but if a man attains his wish let him cling to it and not let it go for something far off: there is no way to know what will happen in a year." He advised us to praise even our enemies when they perform well, and he set an example for all men and women when he promised that "pursuing the joy of each day, I will calmly approach my old age and my fated lifetime; for we all die alike, but our destiny is unequal."

Edward Everett (1794-1865)

2009-07-01T21:25:00.003-05:00

Edward Everett was one of America's foremost Hellenists and orators in the nineteenth century. He was elected to the House of Representatives and the United States Senate, became the Governor of Massachusetts, and then Secretary of State under Millard Fillmore, and was a failed vice-presidential candidate in 1860. He also served at President of Harvard University from 1846-1849.

After graduating from Harvard and preaching from the Brattle Street pulpit, he was invited to a professorship of Greek at Harvard, and allowed to study in Germany first, while receiving full salary. It is claimed that he was the first American to receive a Ph.D., which he took from Göttingen in 1817. Ralph Waldo Emerson studied in his classroom at Harvard, and said of him: "There was an influence on the young from the genius of Everett which was almost comparable to that of Pericles in Athens."

While he is clearly an interesting figure in American history for many reasons, it strikes me as remarkable that he had a relationship with both presidents Jefferson and Lincoln. He is well-known for his two-hour speech at Gettysburg which preceded Lincoln's famous address, and corresponded with the president. For Jefferson, he served as a book buyer while in Europe, and corresponded with him also. In one series of letters, when he was 80 years old, Jefferson attempts to argue that Greek did, in fact, possess an ablative case, which was only formally identical to the dative. He finally concedes to Everett, saying, "I acknowledge myself...not an adept in the metaphysical speculations of Grammar. By analyzing too minutely, we often reduce our subject to atoms of which the mind loses its hold."

Milton's Pindar

2009-06-28T19:57:00.002-05:00

The Intellectual Development of John Milton by Harris Fletcher, 1961, in two volumes, is the most fascinating work on Milton that I've encountered so far. It contains extensive descriptions of the minute details which bring his experience to life, such as the long investigation as to the probable route of Milton from London to Cambridge as a student, and what the university town must have looked like to the arriving traveler. It outlines the general state of education in London in his day, including a survey of the available Greek grammars, and describes what we know in particular about his education. And it provides vivid accounts of daily and educational life at Cambridge in the seventeenth century.

Fletcher also describes Milton's copy of Pindar. He purchased it in 1629, and read it extensively during his vacation in 1630. In fact, it is the most heavily annotated of his books that we possess. It was the edition of Johannes Benedictus, King's Professor of Greek at Samur, published in 1620 as Pindari Olympia, Pythia, Nemea, Isthmia, a square quarto of 756 pages of text and 54 unnumbered pages of Index Rerum et Verborum. The book is now at Harvard.

The Greek is accompanied on the left by a Latin paraphrasis and a metaphrasis on the right. Milton left extensive notes on the blank sheets before the title page, and in the margins of the text. There is a description of the book in Library of Harvard University Bibliographical Contributions, n.6, edited by Justin Winsor, 1879, and in a subsequent edition many of his notes have been transcribed (but not all). His notes are often text critical, some attributed to other editors, while some seem to be his own emendations; there are also extensive quotations from other poets which he wished to compare or use to explain certain passages. There are attempts to date his notes, most substantially based on the evolution of his form of the epsilon. Fletcher's work contains a good introduction to the subject, which is just a beautiful wave in an ocean of learning about Milton's education and thought.

Note on ψυχή

2009-05-31T10:46:00.002-05:00

I had never noticed before that ψυχή is used of the butterfly or moth. See Arist.HA.551a14, Thphr.HP.2.4.4, and Plu.2.636c.

Ambiguity

2009-05-27T06:55:00.002-05:00

This is a principle as formulated by Anne Lebeck in The Oresteia: A Study in Language and Structure, 1971. It is not to say that every interpretation is correct, but simply that ambiguity is a powerful tool for a poet. Pindar scholars would do well to keep this in mind.

"It should be a basic principle in interpreting Aeschylus that when language and syntax are most difficult, the poet has compressed the greatest number of meanings into the smallest possible space. Pursuing the customary methods of classical scholarship one is sometimes tempted to treat ambiguity as if the author were at fault, as if the clarity of normal diction were beyond his grasp. Yet that ambiguity characteristic of Aeschylus is not easy to achieve; it comes about neither by accident nor inability, but by design. Commentaries on the Oresteia at times degenerate into arguments about the "right" interpretation of passages where wording is enigmatic and meaning multiple. The following approach is here pursued: when argument arises over meaning, the statement that claims to be exclusively right is categorically wrong. The philologist should not restrict himself to a single interpretation of such passages but should give free rein to all possibilities and associations, ultimately selecting as many as form part of a larger pattern and contribute to the meaning of the total work. The linguistic devices by which ambiguity is effected should be analyzed and the significance of the passage then interpreted in the light of its obscurity."

Hesiod W&D 721

2009-04-12T09:58:00.001-05:00

εἰ δὲ κακὸν εἴποις, τάχα κ' αὐτὸς μεῖζον ἀκούσαις

But if you speak evil, soon you yourself shall hear worse.

Ancient variants

2009-04-09T16:57:00.004-05:00

The LSJ lists στήτη or στήτα as a rare Doric word for γυνή. It appears in Theocritus Syrinx 14, and perhaps derives from a variant reading early in Homer's Iliad. The phrase διαστήτην ἐρίσαντε from Iliad 1.6, which means, "those two having quarreled, they stood apart", was sometimes read, according to Dickey 2007, as διὰ στήτην ἐρίσαντε, which would read, "those two having quarreled over a woman."

Truly holy is this abode

2009-03-04T17:48:00.002-05:00

Oil-glistening, violet-crowned city, forever song praises you, my holy Athens, you, stronghold of the Hellenes: Home of the Gods.

About this fragment of Pindar, a young Wilamowitz wrote to his parents after seeing the Athenian acropolis in 1873:

"Pindar of Thebes sang this 2,350 years ago. A Theban, and two years after the Battle of Plataea. It would be like an Alsatian today praising Berlin. And really, when I climbed up the Acropolis between the marble fragments and cactus, Lüders cried out to me the phrase that Jehovah said to Moses when he appeared to him on Horeb in the burning bush: Remove the shoes from thy feet, for holy is the place where thou entereth. And when I entered the rocky plateau, and before me lay the great field of ruins, I stood upon the ancient slope where the islands of the sea came to give their tithe to the Goddess of Athens, where later the Spartan lords drew back before the holiness of the place, where the weapons fell from the hand of Alaric the Goth——there I now saw that everything lay in ruins, that the violence of time, human neglect, and human evil had been able to destroy even the walls of the gods' dwelling, but not to infect the holiness of their breath, which floats over the place. Then I too cried out: Truly holy is this abode, a Home of the Gods, as Pindar said. But I didn't take off my boots; I only lit a cigarette."

In Memoriam: William Harris

2009-02-23T19:10:00.002-05:00

The world lost William Harris this past Sunday. His absence will be felt keenly by students of art and literature all across the world who read his essays and poems, and used the resources that he created to allow interested autodidacts to access the Greek and Latin languages.

I began a correspondence with Bill several years ago after reading his commentary on the fragments of Archilochus, and he was a constant force in my intellectual life. He shared new thoughts with me; he urged me to explore new areas and attempt difficult things; he expressed a confidence in me beyond what I deserved, and, most importantly, offered me at the same time the sort of blunt criticism that only a real friend gives, which is a terribly valuable gift, being so rare. When I expressed interest in returning to school, he offered without solicitation to write for me a letter of recommendation, which was overly generous, since, he said, "as faculty adviser I always felt like a lawyer, aim for a win."

Both his essays and our private correspondence contain lessons that I will keep with me throughout my life. He possessed a beautiful balance of traditional intellectual rigor and open-mindedness to fresh methods and ideas. He urged me to teach to the brightest students in each class, so as not to fail them, but in a manner that would challenge other students to rise above their typical work. He reminded me that the sounds I made in my head while reading poetry silently do not have the real potency of sound waves. He confirmed my belief that education is not restricted to schools, but, in fact, often flourishes more fully elsewhere, where determination and curiosity are not stifled by poor methods and dull people.

Much of what I could say about him can be found in his own words. I leave you with these two paragraphs, which end an autobiographical piece, the first of which is a touching reflection on his own life, and the second a meditation on life in general:

If in conclusion I would say that I have not had an easy life overall, living for those early years poor as a professor in a small college in bad times could possibly be, having several failed expectations with both marriage and friends, being a loner with gregarious penchants who ends being a content loner after all. But I have done as many things in my life as there was time to do. A friend remarked that I was "a jack of all trades" and he added with a thoughtful smile that I was a master of most. Like my Dad who died suddenly at age 93 never thinking of dying at all, I have no thoughts about either mortality or immortality. As to thinking about dying? I don't have the inclination, and above all, considering the pace of the work I am doing, I just don't have the time.

It is still winter for me here with lingering snowflakes, but soon it will be back to the carpentry and cabinetmaking in the woodshop, a lot of house windows to be repainted later, then firewood for next year to be got and stacked under the south shed overhang. But of course I will be waiting as deep snow melts away, thinking about Spring, that grateful time of the year when the tulips first push up their tentative heads, signaling that soon the world is to be reborn in a rush of verdant leafage once again. Then get out the tiller and turn over the garden, where two months later my wife will be kneeling almost hidden by corn and squash and tomatoes as she fills her basket with the goodness of the earth for our dinner. Such fare is not only good to the taste and good for the body, it is a witness that the earth itself is a good place and there is room for many of us to live a good life, as long as we learn how to use it. And above all, if we learn how to use it well!

ὅ τι τερπνὸν ἐφάμερον διώκων ἕκαλος ἐπῄειν γῆρας ἔς τε τὸν μόρσιμον αἰῶνα.

Hesiod W&D 361-362: The straw that broke the camel's back

2009-02-20T18:16:00.002-05:00

εἰ γάρ κεν καὶ σμικρὸν ἐπὶ σμικρῷ καταθεῖο,
καὶ θαμὰ τοῦτ' ἔρδοις, τάχα κεν μέγα καὶ τὸ γένοιτο

For if you place a small thing upon a small thing, and you do this often, soon it will become large.

Picasso on Greek Art

2009-02-07T18:59:00.001-05:00

To me there is no past or future in art. If a work of art cannot live always in the present it must not be considered at all. The art of the Greeks, of the Egyptians, of the great painters who lived in other times, is not an art of the past; perhaps it is more alive today than it ever was.

The Origins of the Center for Hellenic Studies

2009-01-10T10:54:00.004-05:00

Last night I read a short book of that title written in 1990 by Eric Lindquist. The CHS sits on a few relatively secluded acres at the dead end of Whitehaven Street off of Massachusetts Avenue. It borders the huge green spot on maps of Washington, D.C., called Rock Creek Park, which separates Mass Ave from Georgetown. The Center is surrounded by the Dutch, Italian, British, and Brazilian embassies, as well as the Naval Observatory, which serves as the residence for the Vice President, and is directly across the street from the home of the Clintons. It consists of a central building, with an internal courtyard, which houses the library on the main floor and basement, offices for administrators and fellows on the main floor, a kitchen and dining room with outdoor patio on the basement floor, and a large gathering room with kitchenette, fireplaces, and piano on the main floor. Behind the main building is the director's residence. Just to the side is the "stoa" building, which has seven apartments for visitors and single fellows, with laundry room and gym. Lining the driveway are houses for married fellows, one of which has been converted to a high-tech seminar building.

The current director is Gregory Nagy, who still splits his time between the Center and his teaching duties at Harvard University. Before him, the position was shared by Deborah Boedecker and Kurt Raaflaub (1992-2000), Zeph Stewart (1985-1992), and the original director, Bernard Knox, who ran the Center from 1963 until he retired in 1985. Because Knox was previously scheduled for a sabbatical in Greece and tenure as Sather professor at Berkeley, Michael Putnam, from Brown University, was appointed as temporary director for the first year. During that year, the Center was run from the Tompkins House across the street, while construction was underway on the campus. The fellows were responsible for their own housing in Washington, but had studies there and were given lunch daily. There was no library until the Center acquired the private library of Werner Jaeger, who died in 1961, and portions of the libraries of Arthur Stanley Pease and Arthur Darby Nock, who also died around that time. According to Knox, some of the fellows from that first year saw an advantage in the lack of a library: it forced them to concentrate on writing.

The Center as it currently exists is quite different from its initial conception. Its origins are in Paul Mellon's desire for an institute that would focus on the study of the humanities in a world where education had become increasingly focused on sciences and technology. From the beginning he had Washington, D.C., in mind, believing that the United States capital had too few cultural institutes compared to other countries. His father had set up the National Gallery out of the same concern. The idea began to take shape when Huntington Cairns (a lawyer who was intimately involved with the National Gallery) suggested that the institute be dedicated to the promotion of Hellenism in the United States. He was convinced that it should not merely be a research center, but that it should be active in bringing back the humanistic ideals which he felt had faded from American society. He fiercely believed that it should not be associated with a university, since he felt the universities of America had failed in this regard, having become vocational centers. He referred to it as "the Residence" throughout his campaign.

The idea took shape in the physical world when Marie Beale, a wealthy widow, and friend of Cairns, offered land on Whitehaven Street for such an institute. Only months after she signed papers to that effect, she died in Zurich, and the project entered a confused phase of realization. Beale's lawyers had encouraged her to incorporate stipulations that would protect her interests, and the task of sorting it all out was given to the Old Dominion Foundation. As happens with many idealistic ventures when it comes to realization, the process was taken over by administrators and lawyers, who had practical concerns, and the concept that Cairns had in mind slowly rotted in boardrooms. Harvard University was motivated to keep the project alive, because it stood to inherit money from Beale only if an institute was established on that location, even if it had no association with the university. In the end, the University, through then-president Nathan Pusey, and the board of the Old Dominion Foundation decided to create an institute to support the research of young scholars, who often found inadequate time for writing amid the demands of developing classes. The Center provides housing, stipends, and fellowship for twelve young scholars from across the world each year, where they can spend a full year doing research and writing with no other demands on their time.

Lindquist lays out the interesting history of the Center's history from conception to realization in more detail, of course, than I can offer here. Although I had known about the general structure and operations of the Center, I was fascinated to learn that it grew out of a very different idea of Huntington Cairns, as an idealistic society devoted not to academic work, which was being done in the universities, but to reestablishing the Hellenic and humanistic tradition as a vital part of society. He opened a last desperate presentation to the Old Dominion Foundation with a quote from Gilbert Murray: "The next generation must use all its strength, all its wisdom, to see that the main drift of the world is Hellenic and not barbarous." Cairns saw the project as no less than an effort to save civilization, but most of the other players did not share his sense of society's lapse into barbarism.

I will be valid and sound iff I work hard at it

2008-12-30T22:23:00.006-05:00

X=I will be valid
Y=I will be sound
Z=I work hard at it

1. (X ∙ Y) ≡ Z

2. Z

3. ∴ (X ∙ Y)

Instead of writing, I am refreshing, while on vacation, my formal logic with a series of lectures put online by Rick Grush of UC San Diego, and with an old textbook that I still have. This was sparked by the purchase of a sharp-looking copy of The Development of Logic by William and Martha Kneale, which at this point is sharing with me all sorts of useful tidbits about Aristotle's technical vocabulary. I wish there were more lectures like this available openly.

Scribal fancies

2008-12-24T09:23:00.003-05:00

There are lists of psychological and mechanical mistakes that can explain errors or omissions in our textual tradition, even assuming that the scribe was working diligently. I like to imagine, however, whenever I come across such a textual problem, a young monk tucked away in the corner of a stone monastery, at a wooden desk, bathed in dull candlelight, with a half-blank canvas under his pen, and a thick manuscript to the side. As he comes to a line on the delicate features of a beautiful woman, or the innocence of a flower, his mind quickly leaps to a pretty girl he saw in a field past which he had walked early that morning. Just as quickly he turns it again to the page before him, eager to push away that thought, but it is not gone: it lingers in a repeated word or a missed line. It remains to this day, that delicate thought, preserved through time, unbeknownst to him, hidden to us although it is right before our eyes.

Pindar's House

2008-12-15T20:33:00.005-05:00

The great Emathian conqueror bidd spare
The house of Pindarus when temple and towre
Went to the ground.

These lines are from Milton's 8th sonnet. The "Emathian conqueror" is Alexander the Great, who, when his troops were about to destroy Thebes, gave orders that Pindar's house should be left intact. It is not really surprising that Alexander would admire Pindar. His poetry urges great men to accomplish great deeds, and chides those who would stay close to home and fade into oblivion. Alexander should have paid more attention, however, to Pindar's warning that men should not strive too far, lest they overreach human boundaries. Alexander's sights were set on no less than the entire world, and he only stopped because he did not have the necessary support from his men. What is even worse, he petitioned (or maybe paid) an oracle to declare that he was the son of Zeus and therefore partly divine. Pindar clearly warned men not to seek godly things: μὴ ματεύσῃ θεὸς γενέσθαι.

For more on the story of Alexander and Pindar's house, see Slater 1971, "Pindar's House," in Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies, and also Plutarch.Alex.11, Arrian.Hist.Alex.1.9.10, Pliny.Nat.Hist.7.29, and Dio Chrysostom.2.33.

Simonides and Horace

2008-11-19T07:00:00.001-05:00

The line of Simonides, ὁ δ' αὖ θάνατος κίχε καὶ τὸν φυγόμαχον, was translated by Horace (3.2.14) as: mors et fugacem persequitur uirum. Oates 1939 argues further that this poem was based upon a poem of Simonides.

On the etymology of the word νίκη

2008-11-18T20:15:00.003-05:00

Ἀπολλώνιος δὲ ὁ τοῦ Ἀρχιβίου φησὶν ὃ ἑνὶ εἴκει, τουτέστιν ἑνὶ ὑποχωρεῖ. γέγονε δὲ κατ' ἀφαίρεσιν τοῦ ε καὶ συγκοπῇ τοῦ ει διφθόγγου. ὁ γοῦν Σιμωνίδης παρετυμολογεῖ αὐτό, φησὶ γάρ· ἑνὶ δ' οἴῳ εἴκει θεὰ μέγαν ἐς δίφρον.

This etymology of the word νίκη from the Cyril-lexicon is, of course, nonsense, and it is even doubtful to me whether Simonides had this in mind, but I find ancient etymologies fascinating nonetheless. According to the author, the word νίκη comes from the phrase ὃ ἑνὶ εἴκει, "that which yields to one", with the first epsilon dropped and the syncope of the ει diphthong. He cites Simonides: "for one man only the goddess yields in her great chariot." The goddess Victory is commonly described as bringing the victor in her chariot (ἅρμα or δίφρος).

Incidentally, I think I've only just noticed this word τουτέστιν, which seems to be the equivalent of "i.e." (i.e., id est) or "that is".

Patron of the Arts

2008-11-18T19:04:00.003-05:00

ἦσαν δὲ κύριοι μὲν τῶν πραγμάτων διὰ τὰ ἀξιώματα καὶ καὶ τὰς ἡλικίας Ἵππαρχος καὶ Ἱππίας, πρεσβύτερος δὲ ὢν ὁ Ἱππίας καὶ τῇ φύσει πολιτικὸς καὶ ἔμφρων ἐπεστάται τῆς ἀρχῆς. ὁ δὲ Ἵππαρχος παιδιώδης καὶ ἐρωτικὸς καὶ φιλόμουσος ἦν καὶ τοὺς περὶ Ἀνακρέοντα καὶ Σιμωνίδην καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ποιητὰς οὗτος ἦν ὁ μεταπεμπόμενος...

This is from Aristotle's Athenian Constitution (18.1), in which he says that Hippias, as the older and more prudent (ἔμφρων) brother, was in charge of the government, while Hipparchos, the playful, amorous, and art loving one (παιδιώδης καὶ ἐρωτικὸς καὶ φιλόμουσος), sought out poets.

Ancient da Vinci?

2008-11-18T18:46:00.003-05:00

καὶ τὴν μνημονικὴν δὲ τέχνην εὗρεν οὗτος· προσεξεῦρε δὲ καὶ τὰ μακρὰ τῶν στοιχείων καὶ διπλᾶ καὶ τῇ λύρᾳ τὸν τρίτον φθόγγον

According to the Suda, Simonides invented mnemonics, long vowels, double consonants, and the third note on the lyre.

Gildersleeve on Aelian

2008-11-13T18:49:00.002-05:00

"Cobet is perfectly safe in sneering at his Atticism, and yet the unprejudiced modern must admit that he is not a bad story-teller. But many of the post-classic people are good story-tellers, perhaps because they have the bad taste to be so much like us..."

I adore Gildersleeve. Pick up a copy of his work in the library, and look at the photograph on the inside, and I'm willing to bet that, unlike so many other 19th c. scholars, he is smiling.

Girls, dolls, and pupils

2008-11-12T20:15:00.002-05:00

ἐννενόηκας οὖν ὅτι τοῦ ἐμβλέποντος εἰς τὸν ὀφθαλμὸν τὸ πρόσωπον ἐμφαίνεται ἐν τῇ τοῦ καταντικρὺ ὄψει ὥσπερ ἐν κατόπτρῳ, ὃ δὴ καὶ κόρην καλοῦμεν, εἴδωλον ὄν τι τοῦ ἐμβλέποντος;

I have enjoyed very much explaining the Greek and Latin roots of medical terminology this semester, and was delighted to learn a new bit of Greek vocabulary this week. I thought it was curious that the word κόρη appeared in medical terminology for the "pupil" of the eye. There is no lack of strange usage in this field, but I couldn't make the connection no matter how hard I stretched. The textbook only informed us that this particular root for "pupil" comes from the Greek word for "girl", without any sort of explanation. One of my students made the clever, but incorrect, suggestion that it was the "core" of the eye.

The answer was spelled out clearly for me in the third LSJ entry: "pupil of the eye, because a little image appears therein". This usage must derive from the previous entry, in which we learn that the word was also used of "dolls" and "small votive images". The most informative passage is the one I've cited above, placed in the mouth of Socrates by Plato in Alcibiades.1.133a, in which he says: "Have you considered that the face of someone observing the eye appears in the eyeball of the one opposite him just as in a mirror, and which we call a pupil, an image of the observer?" Socrates goes on to claim that, just as the eye must look into the eye to see itself, so must the soul look into the soul if it wishes to see itself, and other things like that.

The word κόρη is also used of: "the long sleeve reaching over the hand" (I'm not sure what this means yet, see X.HG.2.1.8); "the Attic drachma", because it had the head of Athena on it; as a synonym for ὑπέρεικον, or St. John's Wort (beats me: see Hp.ap.Gal.19.113); and, finally, in architectural language for "female figures as supports", or Caryatids.

The word pupil itself seems to come through Old French from Latin pupilla, a diminutive form of pupa, "girl", although according to Lewis's dictionary, it was the form pupula that was used in Latin for the pupil of the eye. (I don't have the OLD at hand.) I imagine that this Latin usage is based on a Greek analogy.

For an English curiosity, see the obsolete term "baby" in OED for "small image of oneself in another's pupil", which manifested itself in a 17th c. expression "to look babies", meaning to stare lovingly into another's eyes. Fun.

Greek drinks

2008-10-22T17:57:00.003-05:00

During a lecture last year on wine and the wine trade in ancient Greece, I suddenly developed a question that the lecturer wasn't able to answer, but which I haven't properly pursued. She noted that there were few drinking options for the ancient Greek compared to today, and that in the main, the choice seems to have been between wine and water. My questions is this: if the Greeks were making wine, can we assume that they were also drinking fresh grape juice?

At 115a of his Critias, Plato says: ἔτι δὲ τὸν ἥμερον καρπόν, τόν τε ξηρόν, ὃς ἡμῖν τῆς τροφῆς ἕνεκά ἐστιν, καὶ ὅσοις χάριν τοῦ σίτου προσχρώμεθα – καλοῦμεν δὲ αὐτοῦ τὰ μέρη σύμπαντα ὄσπρια – καὶ τὸν ὅσος ξύλινος, πώματα καὶ βρώματα καὶ ἀλείμματα φέρων.

I've complied a few other references that I need to look over, but it seems from this reference that fruits were used to make drinks, and, presumably, these weren't all alcoholic. I'd specifically like to find a reference to using the grape for juice not intended to make wine.

Pindar, Isthmian 7.40-43

2008-09-16T21:17:00.001-05:00

ὅ τι τερπνὸν ἐφάμερον διώκων
ἕκαλοσ ἔπειμι γῆρας ἔς τε τὸν μόρσιμον
αἰῶνα· θνᾴσκομεν γὰρ ὁμῶς ἅπαντες,
δαίμων δ' ἄϊσος.

Pindar on War

2008-09-08T16:28:00.001-05:00

γλυκὺ δὲ πόλεμος ἀπείροισιν

A Vagina in Search of an Author

2008-08-24T14:17:00.002-05:00

That is the title of a new article by Martin West in Classical Quarterly, 2008, 58: 370-375. He deals with this hexameter fragment, which is quoted in the Refutation of All Heresies (possibly) by the bishop Hippolytus:

αὐτὰρ ὑπ' αὐτὴν ἐστιν ἀταρπιτὸς ὀκριόεσσα
κοίλη, πηλώδης, ἥ θ' ἡγήσασθαι ἀρίστη
ἄλσος ἐς ἱμερόεν πολυτιμήτου Ἀφροδίτης

The bishop seems to think that it refers to the mystery religions and a spiritual "path", but, as West claims, it is a reference to the vagina. Hippolytus compares a (poorly remembered) passage from Matt.7.13-14:

στενὴ καὶ τεθλιμμένη ἐστὶν ἡ ὁδὸς ἡ ἀπάγουσα εἰς τὴν ζωήν, καὶ ὀλίγοι εἰσὶν οἱ εἰσερχόμενοι εἰς αὐτήν, πλατεῖα δὲ καὶ εὐρύχωρος ἡ ὁδὸς ἡ ἀπάγουσα εἰς τὴν ἀπώλειαν, καὶ πολλοί εἰσιν οἱ διερχόμενοι δι' αὐτῆς

West then spends some time trying to determine the original author of the hexameter fragment, whom Hippolytus calls ὁ ποιητής. It is comical to think that a bishop would have obliviously quoted this passage. Perhaps it had already been quoted out of context in connection with the mysteries, and he merely took it from that source. It is not any less funny to me in that case. Modern scholars, according to West, have understood the quote in the bishop's context too. He provides classical parallels for his thesis, and raises some concerns about its context in the bishop's work (such as the questionable association of the "grove of Aphrodite" with the afterlife).

Sinaiticus goes online

2008-07-22T07:01:00.003-05:00

On Thursday, sections of the Codex Sinaiticus will be available online.

Ancient Greek Summer Camp

2008-06-12T11:31:00.002-05:00

I leave tomorrow morning for Washington DC to attend a summer seminar for graduate students at the Center for Hellenic Studies. We will be exploring homecoming themes (νόστοι) in Greek literature, especially the Odyssey, of course, but also in tragedies and beyond. I am particularly interested in comparing the homecoming of epic heroes to the homecoming that forms the nucleus of Pindar's victory songs for athletes, so I hope we touch on his poems to some degree. I look forward to meeting other Hellenists from around the country.

Odyssey 15.400

2008-06-12T11:22:00.003-05:00

... μετὰ γάρ τε καὶ ἄλγεσι τέρπεται ἀνήρ,
ὅς τις δὴ μάλα πολλὰ πάθῃ καὶ πόλλ' ἐπαληθῇ

For even in troubles a man is delighting afterwards, whoever has suffered very much and wandered very far.

Either drink or leave

2008-05-03T20:29:00.002-05:00

I came across this proverb today while doing research: ἣ πῖθι ἢ ἄπιθι. It comes from Cicero's Tusculanae Quaestiones, 5.41, where he attempts a Latin equivalent, aut bibat aut abeat, with rather good results. I think it means something like "shit or get off the pot", but directed at party goers. Without cultural context it sounds a lot like ancient peer pressure.

Sanskrit things

2008-04-29T14:34:00.004-05:00

I finished the last Sanskrit reading assignment that I'm likely to ever have again. That's not to say that I'm finished reading Sanskrit, but now I get to read whatever I want! My first order of business is to read RV 1.32 for a class that I'm teaching this summer. After that I want to read some verses of the Bhagavad Gita, which I've long wanted to do. First, however, I still have that lingering business of a final exam.

In our final class I wondered why the the root vac becomes voc in the aorist forms. We consulted Whitney's grammar, which only said that "maturer" research was needed. One of my fellow students made a great suggestion, which turned out to be right after some searching. It is a secondary reduplication: *a-va-vc-at, where *av is treated like *au.

Going to Fiveness

2008-04-09T15:53:00.003-05:00

I've come across an interesting phrase in Sanskrit for dying several times this semester. It involves the word pañcatva, which means fiveness, and the verbal element gam, meaning to go: so, going to fiveness. The sense is dying, or going to death, more fundamentally, the dissolution of the body into the five elements, earth, water, fire, air, ether (according to Lanman).

Streams

2008-04-09T15:48:00.003-05:00

I really like the Sanskrit word sarga. I suppose the most fundamental meaning is that of letting loose or streaming. This manifests itself in several different ways. It can be used of an arrow being shot, or released. It can be used of a river or stream. It can be used of a chapter or section of a book. And it can also be used of herd of animals, presumably of a herd being let loose, and so moving together like a stream.

Lowell Edmunds on Max Ernst

2008-04-09T15:28:00.004-05:00

Lowell Edmunds gave a lecture today on the painting Oedipus Rex by Max Ernst. After he made some observations on interpretation, it turned into a group discussion of the painting. The main question seemed to be in what degree Ernst was referring directly to the play by Sophocles or the work of Freud. There were some elements that seem to refer directly to the play, for instance, the arrow through the walnut. There are several things that suggest Hamlet, perhaps via Freud.

There were some interesting observations made. It is a left hand coming through the window, which might recall the name Laius. The device being used by the hand can be identified in other works of Ernst as a tool for piercing the feet of birds. The nut almost certainly refers to a problem, whether the riddle of the sphinx, or the murder investigation of Oedipus in the play. The horns on the the head in the background, again judging from other works of Ernst, refer to kingship. The rope attached to the horns leads into the sky, suggesting some divine control, and one member of the audience pointed out that the rope is not taut, perhaps indicating anticipation of the future, or that there remains an appearance of free will. Edmunds sees in the two heads the characters of Laius and Jocasta. Some wanted to see the horned figure as Oedipus himself. I think, in the framework of Freudian thought, there is no problem with something having two interpretations at the same time. I wondered about the how the bird might relate to augury, which is an important theme in the play. The eye on the bird in the foreground is inverted, which theme of sight is also another related theme in the play, since Tireseus is blind, and Oedipus is figuratively blind in the beginning, and later physically blinds himself, once he has seen. It was a great deal of fun, after spending a few months in a seminar on Oedipus Tyrannos, to add another interpretation to the discussion, and one that requires a good deal of detective work.

Lowell Edmunds

2008-04-08T18:30:00.003-05:00

I had the pleasure of having lunch today with Lowell Edmunds of Rutgers University. We talked mostly about current politics and conservation of energy in daily life, but we also talked about some of his current work, which deals with minor Latin literature, or, more specifically, it deals with a definition of minor Latin literature. His work on Greek literature and mythology is more familiar to me, of course, but I also discovered that he wrote a book on the martini. Afterward, we had a small discussion with professors and graduate students on contemporary Athenian political themes in the Oedipus Tyrannos of Sophocles.

Gods and Demons

2008-04-07T15:50:00.003-05:00

The Avestan word ahura, which refers to a group of deities, is cognate with the Sanskrit word asura, which is used of demons. When I first discovered this, I was surprised, because I had learned that the Sanskrit word sura was used of gods. It seems that the ancient Indians, at some point, thought that the word-initial "a" was privative, which it was not.

Gildersleeve and Classics in America

2008-03-13T15:16:00.001-05:00

Gildersleeve is credited with introducing the German seminar into Classical studies in America. He was influential as an educator, and, from reading his letters, he often gives the impression that precisely this would be his legacy. In a letter of February 6th, 1884, to Daniel Gilman, he gives some brief ideas about what graduate study should entail. He discusses the nature of research by students: "The thesis must show an ability to investigate if not on the higher lines that lead to new results at least on the lines that lead to sharp, clear, systematic presentation of what is known. Original work is a much abused phrase, few men after all are capable of doing more than getting material together for the thinker who is to come."

On the importance of Latin for the Hellenist, he says: "Of every candidate for the degree of Dr. of Philosophy in the department of Greek, a knowledge of Latin is required. If Latin is the minor subject the examination is entrusted to the Latin department. If it is not, the candidate must show his knowledge of the language by translating a piece of prose Greek into Latin."

He describes a typical method of examination for students:

1. Translation from Greek into English of selections from the different departments and different ages of Greek literature. The selections are of average difficulty and are taken from less familiar authors, so that in the majority of cases this exercise shows the ability of the student to read Greek at sight.

2. A classic passage is given (with the critical apparatus)--or a selection of passages--on which the student is to write a commentary giving his views of the various readings with substantiations of that same.

3. As a test of grammatical and lexical familiarity with Greek the candidate is required to write without grammar or dictionary a Greek thesis, based on some familiar passage of Greek history or literature.

4. An examination on the history of Greek literature covering the Classical period, the portions studied in the university being treated with more details.

5. The examination before the Board, as has been agreed on is considered a test of general bearing, facility of expression, readiness of resource rather than a test of special knowledge.

It resembles the type of examinations typical in American universities today, with the exception of numbers two and three, which deal with textual criticism and composition, respectively. At the risk of being attacked as too conservative, I think it is unfortunate that these things aren't stressed for doctoral students. Textual criticism is perhaps the most important aspect of Classical studies, since it is by this discipline that we are given the texts from which all other work is ultimately done; with more accurate texts, the results of other studies can achieve greater accuracy. Besides that very practical point, I believe that the most enlightened approach to any study of literature is through stylistics and structure, and the textual critic, contrary to the common notion, is more than simply a master of handwriting, but also a master of his author's style. Composition in the ancient languages is often spurned, especially in America, but it provides a unique method of language learning, since the student is called upon to produce forms and phrases, rather than simply recognizing them passively. I will be required to do only a minimal amount of composition, but, luckily, I have professors who can offer more intensive practice in independent study. Of textual criticism, however, there is very little chance of serious study, partly because of the location of manuscripts around the world.

I have been labeled as a "linguist" by many people in my department (which is rich in archaeologists), sometimes jokingly and sometimes respectfully, because I am seeking from my professors as deep a knowledge of the languages as possible. In my years at university, I am more interested in tapping expertise in syntax and stylistics than in hearing personal impressions and responses to literary works. It is a matter of practicality: I think my time is better spent on things which are more difficult for an autodidact. This is often misconstrued as an end itself, rather than a means. As interested as I am in phonetics, inflection, and syntax, I am not a linguist in the pure sense: I wish to study stylistics, which cannot be accomplished without a thorough understanding the structure of language and its usage by artists.

In the Shadow of Herodotos

2008-03-12T14:47:00.005-05:00

In addition to my required lectures, since returning to a university setting, I have been attending as many extra-departmental lectures as I can manage. I have been to most events at the music department as well. In most instances the talks are rewarding and interesting, and some have been fascinating and inspiring. At the beginning of the last semester, I heard a graduate student in comparative literature talk about his work, who opened: "Today I want to talk to you about corpses." He was a captivating orator. In addition to interesting information, I am constantly learning about oratory style and skill. Some speakers have interesting topics and important points to make, but are dreadfully dull or disorganized. Others could speak about anything and draw the audience to hang on their every word. Occasionally, there are speakers who ramble, perhaps out of nervousness, when they could have stated something sharply and succinctly. Apparently, according to John Myers, in his book Herodotus, Father of History, Herodotus was remembered in Olympia for "lecturing overlong", as evidenced by the proverb ἐς τὴν Ἡροδότου σκιάν.

Oedipus Tyrannos 370-371

2008-03-02T21:18:00.006-05:00

Lines 370 and 371 of the OT of Sophocles are a beautiful couplet in several respects. We are in the middle of a heated exchange between Oedipus and Teiresias, when Oedipus threatens (368): ἦ καὶ γεγηθὼς ταῦτ᾽ ἀεὶ λέξειν δοκεῖς; This translates very loosely: "Do you really think you can speak like that and get away with it?" Teiresias responds:

εἴπερ τί γ᾽ ἐστὶ τῆς ἀληθείας σθένος

Then Oedipus shoots back with these lines:

ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι, πλὴν σοί· σοὶ δὲ τοῦτ᾽ οὐκ ἔστ᾽, ἐπεὶ
τυφλὸς τά τ᾽ ὦτα τόν τε νοῦν τά τ᾽ ὄμματ᾽ εἶ

Perhaps the most striking element is the string of "t" sounds in the second line. Along with "p" sounds, the alliterative use of "t" seems to be a particular favorite in Greek literature, as least from what I've encountered in my reading to date. I've come across it in Homer, but it seems more prevalent in later poets. Compare the Ajax of Sophocles (687-688):

ὑμεῖς θ᾽ ἑταῖροι ταὐτὰ τῇδε μοι τάδε
τιμᾶτε Τεύκρῳ τ᾽ ἢν μόλῃ σημήνατε

For alliterative "p" sounds, consider these examples:

πέντ᾽ ἐπὶ πεντήκοντα πόδας πήδησε Φάϋλλος
[Page FGE 1496]

πίμπλησι πεδίον πᾶσαν αἰκίζων φόβην
[Soph.Ant.419]

ποίνιμα πάθεα παθεῖν πόροι
[Soph.El.210]

τὰ τοῦδε πενθεῖν πήματ᾽ ἐς πλεῖστον πόλεως
[Soph.OC.739]

Not too much further in the OT (425) we come across "sigmatism", as Dawe calls it:

ἅ σ᾽ ἐξισώσει σοί τε καὶ τοῖς σοῖς τέκνοις

Sometimes the effect is enhanced by other repetitions, such as Ms or Ts, and with the repetition of the "t" sound, there are often additional dental "d" sounds. For an interesting example of repetition with both "t" and "p" sounds, see Aesch.Cho.363-371; for more on the general subject, see Opelt, Glotta 37 (1958) 205-232, and for more on this passage, see the commentaries of Dawe and Kamerbeek.

In addition to the playful sound, the accusatives of respect with this figurative use of the word τυφλὸς, blind, are striking. Oedipus accuses Teiresias of being "blind" in the ear (οὖς), in the mind (νοῦς), and, finally, in the eye (ὄμμα), which conclusion gives us the literal organ of blindness. There is, of course, irony here, since it is Oedipus who is "blind" to the nature of his situation, and he will wish for "blindness" of ears, mind, and eyes later (1384ff.), and actually blind himself in the end.

But look at this couplet again:

ἀλλ᾽ ἔστι, πλὴν σοί· σοὶ δὲ τοῦτ᾽ οὐκ ἔστ᾽, ἐπεὶ
τυφλὸς τά τ᾽ ὦτα τόν τε νοῦν τά τ᾽ ὄμματ᾽ εἶ

There is also a neat chiasmus here with the words ἔστι and σοί which adds to the effect of the lines. It is quite a powerful response by Oedipus in his anger.

Using Your Head

2008-02-28T22:26:00.002-05:00

If you ever need to spark revolution among your allies, but don't want to pay the text-messaging fees on your cell phone, or don't feel like using a computer, and you have lots of patience and a few weeks, you could opt for the method of Histiaios, as explained at 5.35 in Herodotus:

ὁ γὰρ Ἱστιαῖος βουλόμενος τῷ Ἀρισταγόρῃ σημῆναι ἀποστῆναι ἄλλως μὲν οὐδαμῶς εἶχε ἀσφαλέως σημῆναι ὥστε φυλασσομένων τῶν ὁδῶν, ὁ δὲ τῶν δούλων τὸν πιστότατον ἀποξυρήσας τὴν κεφαλὴν ἔστιξε καὶ ἀνέμεινε ἀναφῦναι τὰς τρίχας, ὡς δὲ ἀνέφυσαν τάχιστα, ἀπέπεμπε ἐς Μίλητον ἐντειλάμενος αὐτῷ ἄλλο μὲν οὐδέν, ἐπεὰν δὲ ἀπίκηται ἐς Μίλητον, κελεύειν Ἀρισταγόρην ξυρήσαντά μιν τὰς τρίχας κατιδέσθαι ἐς τὴν κεφαλήν.

[For Histiaios, wishing to signal to Aristagoras to revolt, had no other safe way to signal, since the roads were guarded, but, having shaved his most trustworthy of slaves, he marked his head and waited for the hair to grow out, and as soon as it grew out, he sent him to Miletos, having ordered nothing else to him, but that when he should arrive in Miletos, to tell Aristagoras, after shaving his hair, to look at his head.]

Gildersleeve on Jebb

2008-02-26T23:03:00.004-05:00

I'm reading selected letters of Basil Lanneau Gildersleeve, whom I consider one of America's foremost Hellenists, and who was one of Pindar's most sensitive readers. In 1880 he made a trip to Europe to make the enterprise of Johns Hopkins University known among the scholarly community, and to recruit for the university's chair of Latin, and for contributions to the American Journal of Philology. There are all kinds of interesting tidbits, but I pass along this description of G.'s meeting with Richard Claverhouse Jebb:

To: Daniel Coit Gilman
[President of Johns Hopkins]
Oxford, June 1, 1880

In Oxford I have met several men whom I wanted to see for various reasons. Jebb I found at last. He is an excessively nervous man and all the time he is lecturing tries to make a double spiral twist out of his legs and casts from side to side an agonized stare at his auditors. His voice is highpitched, fashionable English style, though not so disagreeable as most readers of that persuasion make it. And his utterance is broken every few minutes by a distressing hysteric cough. When he translates poetry, he lets his voice fall into the lower ranges, which are not unpleasant, only you wonder which is his own voice. Of course the language is elegance itself and the literary judgment in the main sound. I had a very pleasant talk with him after his lecture and while his manner is nervous, he was by no means the shrinking creature I had heard him described. He urged me very much to spend some days with him in Cambridge before my departure and actually volunteered to write for the Journal, a favor which, in my modesty, I should hardly have dreamed of asking. As Jebb is one of the most prominent Greek scholars in England, I was especially interested in him and so have been betrayed into a bit of description, though, of course, he is out of our range.

Apollo & Son

2008-02-25T21:38:00.004-05:00

In the first book of the Iliad, at line 37, the slighted priest Chryses calls upon Apollo to avenge him:

κλῦθι μευ, ἀργυρότοξ᾽, ὃς Χρύσην ἀμφιβέβηκας
Κίλλαν τε ζαθέην Τενέδοιό τε ἶφι ἀνάσσεις,
Σμινθεῦ, εἴ ποτέ τοι χαρίεντ᾽ ἐπὶ νηὸν ἔρεψα,
ἢ εἰ δή ποτέ τοι κατὰ πίονα μηρί᾽ ἔκηα
ταύρων ἠδ᾽ αἰγῶν, τόδε μοι κρήηνον ἐέλδωρ·
τίσειαν Δαναοὶ ἐμὰ δάκρυα σοῖσι βέλεσσιν.

The vocative Σμινθεῦ is thought to derive from σμίνθος, meaning mouse. Some people have conjectured that, as a healing god who also spreads plague, Apollo is called Σμινθεῦ because rodents spread disease, but this is only speculation. Strabo (13.1.48) describes a temple in Chrysa in the Troad for Apollo Smintheus, where there is an image of Apollo with his foot upon a mouse. This might at first glance suggest that Apollo is crushing a mouse, but there are other instances of gods and heroes resting their feet upon animals without a sense of violence, so it is not certain.

Apollo's son Asklepios is also known as a healer. It has been suggested that his name too derives from the name of a rodent. There is a word ἀσπάλαξ (also σπάλαξ) which means mole, or blind-rat, as the LSJ would have it. There exists another variant on this word by metathesis: σκάλοψ. By comparing the cognate Latin word scalpo, meaning, I scratch (think of a mole scratching in the earth), we can see that the variant σκάλοψ is older, and this has led some to suppose an earlier form *ἀσκάλοψ.

An interesting parallel can be found in the Indian tradition. There is a warrior god, Rudra, whose weapon is a bow (Rig Veda 2.33.14) and who is associated with disease and healing (Rig Veda 22.33.2, 4); and he has a son named Ganesha. Although their names do not reveal any relationship with rodents, the characters themselves are so related: Ganesha with the rat, and Rudra with the mole. While it is not clear exactly why a warrior god, who fights with a bow, and who also heals, is associated with rodents, it does seem likely that such a figure, with a son in a similar line of work, was part of Proto-Indo-European mythology.

Temple of Olympian Zeus

2008-02-16T22:15:00.008-05:00

After sitting in the agora, as the day was coming to an end, I made up my mind to walk to the opposite side of the Acropolis to see the Temple of Olympian Zeus. I didn't have much time to get there before the site would be closed, but it was my last evening in Greece, and I wanted to squeeze in one more adventure before leaving Athens. If I had fully comprehended the scale and the grandeur of the remains, I would have left no chance of missing it. The Temple was begun at the end of the sixth century by Hippias and Hipparchos, the sons of Pisistratus, but it was not completed for more than six more centuries, in the Roman period. In one of these photos you can use the people to get a feel for the size, but, as always, the magnitude cannot be felt except by standing beside it.

I arrived at the site when the gate was half-closed, and the guards very nicely informed me that I had only 15 minutes before closure. I made my way quickly toward the remains of the temple, and walked the full perimeter, taking pictures from all angles. Then I stood underneath what towering columns still remain and let it flow over me like waves from the past. I cannot even fathom what it would have looked like in its completed form, or even half completed for that matter.

I stayed until the guards informed that it was time to leave, and then I very nicely thanked them, and just remained where I was. You can actually hear a woman in the video tell me it was time to leave. I was very grateful that they allowed me to stay longer without becoming too irritated, but I had to absorb as much as I could.

On my way out, heading back toward the Acropolis, I turned and gazed at it again for ten more minutes, thinking about my entire trip to Greece culminating in this last sight. I will certainly go back to Greece one day, but I doubt that it can ever be as inspiring and overwhelming as my first whirlwind tour, which took me through an extraordinary number of places and landscapes. It was a perfect time to make the visit too, just before entering upon graduate work in classics, and the experience has been beneficial both in broad terms of understanding the setting for my studies, but also in specific ways, like providing photos and knowledge for several presentations.

My trip to Paris was a great transition to returning home to New York. It offered something different and exciting, and some time to see new sights, in a slightly more relaxed mode. I spent several days exploring the restaurants and back streets of the city. I also managed to see the Louvre and the Musée Rodin, as well as the Sorbonne, and nearly twenty of the bookstores in the surrounding neighborhoods. I bought a copy of Herodotos at Pnin, and searched desperately for a copy of Chantraine's Homeric grammar, without any luck.

This tour of Greece took me much longer to complete than I had supposed when first starting on the project, but now I hope to return to some of the interesting notes that I've discovered in my reading, including some updates on my Latin education, and my exploration of the Sanskrit language.

Temple of Hephaistos

2008-02-16T21:45:00.008-05:00

After all the raving I've done about these landmarks and landscapes of Greece, my praise will undoubtedly be worth less when I say that the Temple of Hephaistos is one of the truly spectacular sights of Greece. There are several factors which contribute to that estimate. In the first place, I'm particularly fond of Hephaistos as a character in Greek literature; this, of course, has little bearing on the temple. The temple is a perfect example of the simple complexity and mastery of form that Greek architecture displays. I know that this will sound like something straight from a textbook on Greek art and architecture, but I'm not sure how to describe it otherwise. It dominates its site with grace. It is far and away the most exciting thing to see in the agora, and it is enhanced by its station just slightly above the rest of the gathering place, on a small hill, and also with the Acropolis looming in the background on an even higher plane. But most of all, it is the completeness of its preservation which makes it one of the best ways to enjoy Greek architecture.

I visited the site on my first trip through Athens, before heading to Thera and Crete, and knew that I would have to come back before leaving. There was a further reason as well: just after I took the first picture on the first visit, my camera informed me that I was out of memory. I searched through the photos, seeking for something to delete, but I knew that I would have to buy more memory anyway, so I planned to photograph it on my next visit. When I returned for a second time, and snapped one more photo, my camera now informed that my batteries were almost dead. I could hardly believe it. I walked through the agora, hoping, on the one hand, to find somewhere to buy batteries, but relieved, on the other hand, when I realized that there was no commerce in the area. But there was a woman who over heard me asking a guard about buying batteries, and she very generously informed me that she was leaving on the following morning, and that I could have her extra batteries. I doubt that she will ever come across this blog, but I am eternally grateful to her.

I sat for a long time in front of the temple, as the last remaining people wandered away, and read from my copy of Homer, occasionally looking out across the most famous of all Greek meeting places, trying to imagine the momentous events that took place there, as well as the everyday affairs of the anonymous citizens. What debates had raged there among philosophers? What orations had been delivered which would change the tide of Greek, and therefore European, history? How many people had felt that timeless thrill of finding a great book in the market at a terrific price? How many had argued with the vendor over the cost of an over-priced book?

Divine Bronze

2008-02-16T21:32:00.006-05:00

When I rounded the corner in the museum, and saw the grandeur of this famous bronze in a majestic pose, it took my breath. I've always been fond of this piece; it is wonderfully crafted, and wonderfully preserved, but it is also a remarkable work of art. I do not know enough about sculpture to even begin to explain how it produces its effect, but it gives me that same feeling that I get when appreciating some of my favorite works. There is much debate about whether it is meant to represent Zeus or Poseidon, which would be solved instantly if we knew what instrument he was about to throw with his right arm: a thunderbolt or a trident. I've included a photo of the statue's posterior, which I don't think I've ever seen before in a book; I hope you appreciate it. I'm sure that I had some more close up photos, of feet, hands, etc., but I'm not able to find them at the moment. I've also included a short video clip (of poor quality); I think that it offers an unusual three-dimensional view of a work that demands it.

Nestor's Cup, again

2008-02-16T21:28:00.004-05:00

I thought that these images of what Schliemann called "Nestor's Cup" deserved its own post on this blog. It was a real treat to see it in person, after studying all of its manifestations in literature and archaeology. Like some of the other pictures, it was difficult to get a good image through the glass casing.

National Archaeological Museum

2008-02-16T21:11:00.006-05:00

The National Archaeological Museum in Athens was a delightful way to spend the morning in Athens while we waited for our hotel room to be prepared. We toured the entire thing slowly, and were able to reflect on the landscape and the locations for many of the exhibits. By an interesting stroke of luck, there was a special exhibit devoted to Thera, which we had visited just days before. Here are just a few select images from the museum.

Crete: Chania

2008-02-16T21:01:00.001-05:00

Now we aimed to reach the north coast again, this time heading across central Crete in a north-westerly direction, on much smaller, winding roads. The map we had wasn't very accurate, and the road signs were more confusing than helpful. We came to a decisive junction, at which one sign pointed us to go right, and a sign just a little further suggested we go left. We stopped the car and looked closely at the map, and finally decided to take the route to the left, which seemed to make the most sense. Whether or not it was the quickest route, I cannot imagine that the other would have been nearly so lovely. As we moved into the center of the island, we curved around rocky mountain tops, including Mt. Kedros, with small farmsteads here and there around the bases, and flocks of goats wandering about, and neatly planted patches of olive trees.

We came to the north coast of the island at Rethymno, and began searching for a certain restaurant, Avli, which had been highly recommended. After parking near the port, we walked through a maze of Venetian style streets, and finally came upon our destination. We walked through a dimly lit interior, and came to a central courtyard with full trees, and lush plants, and took one of the few seats in the shade. There was only one other table occupied, which made for a lovely lunch: we enjoyed tapanade and bread until our salads arrived, and then I had a delicious duck plate with orange and tangerine sauce, and a glass of local rosé. The food was as good as we expected, and the atmosphere was even nicer than we could have hoped for, so it made a wonderful little break after driving across the island. We wandered through the streets again, looking at interesting shops, including one bookstore, although I didn't find anything particularly interesting.

Next we headed to Chania, which would be our ultimate destination on Crete. Our room at Casa Delfino was right on the ancient port, and the maps didn't indicate that it was impossible to drive very close, so it took some ingenuity in order to find a place where we could park for several days. The ancient port area is a beautiful circular walkway, and wonderful buildings grown up around it, with circuitous walkways all throughout. We spent about two days just enjoying the lively atmosphere and the food, and the fact that we could walk through this little section of the city completely shaded from the blistering sun of the heat-wave.

After this respite, we boarded an overnight ferry back to Athens. We watched Crete fade into the distance until the sun had nearly laid down over the horizon, and then we ate a nice dinner at a restaurant aboard the ferry, and went to sleep in our cabin. Over the next few days in Athens we saw the National Archaeological museum, returned to the Acropolis and the Agora, and made our way to see the Temple of Olympian Zeus, which was a breathtaking way to end the trip before flying to Prague and Paris.

Crete: Agia Triada

2008-01-07T19:52:00.000-05:00

Like Mycenae and Tiryns, Phaistos and Agia Triada are very close together, leading some scholars to speculate that Agia Triada was a second residence for the ruler, or at least associated with the palace at Phaistos in some way. It is smaller, and more difficult to find, since some of the road signs point in the wrong direction; and we were the only visitors there that morning. But it was very enjoyable, and has some unique features that certainly make it worth visiting.

It was interesting for me to see the different styles of masonry that mark the different periods of occupation. There are parts where the stones are neatly cut and carefully placed together side-by-side with the rougher looking walls pieced together with oddly shaped rocks. I imagine that this reflects the fluctuating prosperity of the inhabitants, but I am fond of the creativity that goes into piecing random shapes together.

There was a well-preserved marketplace, with a stretch of rooms, and the column bases out front where a colonnade once stood. There were also, just across the courtyard, some square walls sunk into the ground, that look like rooms on first sight, but lack any doors; perhaps they were storage pits.

There were also several very interesting examples of water systems still in tact at the site, both what seem to be raised water-supplying pipes, and gutters on the ground, which I imagine served for drainage. In addition, there were several staircases, all in different styles. One of them employed a technique that I've used before, where there are two quick steps, and then a longer landing, followed by two quick steps, and a longer landing, and so on, which is used to suit the rise and run of a particular space without making the steps awkward heights.

Crete: Phaistos

2007-12-15T21:29:00.001-05:00

Phaistos is underestimated in the guide books, and for that reason it was probably the most pleasant surprise on the whole trip, and one of the more interesting sites. For one thing (and this is a recurring theme with me) there was hardly anyone at the site, and atmosphere is an important element of all of life's explorations, especially when visiting ancient sites, where you must use your imagination to conjure up a once vibrant society from the distant past.

Entering the site from the north, you descend a narrow staircase, which leads to some kind of gathering area, which has three staircases surrounding it, and which is labeled as a "theatre" on the plan given here, although I'm very skeptical about that (see the western part, on the bottom of the plan). Perhaps it's because I've built many stone staircases, or because staircases are one of the few things that remain in tact at many sites, but they were a particular joy to me at many locations.

From there we explored some of the nearby storage rooms. At Phaistos, they are very well preserved in many cases, or reconstructed very well, meaning that the walls are often above your head, which allows you to get a feeling for the room's space, without having to imagine walls from a pattern of stones on the ground. On several stones were carved signs (such as a double axe) and I wondered for a long time what purpose these served, perhaps decorative or informative or religious. I recently was able to ask an archaeologist in my department, who is working on Minoan sites in Crete, and he informed me that they are mason's marks, and that these marks vary at different sites, and allow scholars to see what palaces were built by the same crews or designed by the same architects.

On the eastern side of the site is a large courtyard, which has the remains of footers for long stretches of pillars. There are remains of an olive press and several other stone carvings that look as though they were designed to catch or to hold liquid for something.

To the north and east of the courtyard are more rooms, and this is where the famous Phaistos disc was found in 1908. It has not been deciphered, and, in fact, there is little agreement about anything, even as to what the symbols represent, in what direction they are to be "read", and whether the disc even originated on Crete. My impression, which is worth absolutely nothing, of course, is that the symbols run from the center to the outer edge, simply because that seems, technically, easiest to me. There are groupings of symbols which are marked off by dividers, and could conceivably be either words or sentences; I imagine they are more likely to be words, and I think the safest guess is that the symbols represent syllables, but the length of the groupings could just as well indicate a consonantal or alphabetic script. But one thing seems clear, and is the most interesting aspect, in my opinion: that the symbols were pressed into the clay with molds, that is, in a manner of movable type.

It is a fascinating object, and captured my attention for some time, even though there is very little intelligent material to read about it at this point. I was terribly disappointed that I wasn't able to see the actual disc, which is in the closed museum in Iraklion. When I first saw the reproductions which are for sale all through Matala, I found it objectionable at best, but it struck me later as a very clever paperweight, and it sits as such on my desk as I type this. I almost wish I had gone in for the set of coasters too.

Crete: Matala

2007-12-13T20:37:00.000-05:00

The drive across Crete to the southern coast was delightful. There were long expanses of olive orchards and fruit farms, and stunning views from the interior mountains. We drove literally through the parking lot at Phaistos (to which we would return the following morning) and continued to our destination, Matala, a small coastal town. In the 1970s, young people flocked to Matala to live a communal lifestyle in the wonderful complex of caves near the harbor, which had been carved out originally in Neolithic times. There were lots of drugs involved as well. The town is somewhat more touristy now, but it is still cheaper than most places, and it was a wonderful place to spend a few days, because the beach was fantastic, and it was in close proximity to several ancient sites, including Phaistos and Agia Triada.

The beach was small, and bordered on two sides by rock formations, one of which housed the aforementioned caves. There was a small rocky island out to sea, which gave it a great deal of character. During the daytime, especially because of the heat, I assume, people flocked to the clothing optional beach, and it was difficult to find an empty spot with an umbrella. At night, things calmed down a bit, but there were small bars and restaurants all along the beach and seaside, and there were always people still mingling when I called the night. At the very end of the boardwalk there was a restaurant built on wooden posts over the last rocks before the sea, and we ate a wonderful dinner there while watching the sun set on the Mediterranean.

Crete: Knossos

2007-12-09T18:28:00.000-05:00

While the sea journey to Thera had been pleasant, the next leg, to Crete, wasn't: the boat was much smaller, and the waves were much larger, and it was all I could do to keep from vomiting. I kept staring out at the horizon the entire time, while in the periphery of my vision people kept running past me to the bathroom or to the stack of vomit-bags at the concession, which needed to be replenished more than once.

When we finally landed in Iraklion, we walked the few blocks to the Kronos Hotel, and I laid down on the bed for half an hour, until I felt myself again, and we headed out to the seaside to have a bite to eat. The next morning, we tried to enjoy breakfast in the lobby, as clouds of tobacco smoke lingered. We rented a car, and waited for it to be delivered, as the extremely friendly clerk became more and more annoyed that it had not arrived yet. He called the driver several times (I never did figure out from where it was being delivered) and spoke briskly into to phone, and then hung up, and smiled at us, and offered more complimentary water.

Our first stop was Knossos, which is just a short drive from the city. The parking lot was crowded, and we walked through the palace complex, as though out of obligation; it was not my favorite site, especially among throngs of people, who also must have felt obligated to go there. I don't mean to sound too down on the place: it is one of the most important locations in the ancient world, and I am fascinated by Minoan culture. I am interested in the site as center of exchange with the Near East, in the culture which could imagine a capital with no defensive walls, in its relationship with mainland Greece, as the location of significant remains of Linear B, and, especially, in the remnants of myth, like the Labyrinth, and Adriane, Minos, and Daedalos, plus its appearance in other stories, such as the Hymn to Demeter and on the Shield of Achilles. But the reconstructions are more distracting than helpful, in my opinion, and are of debatable vision. It was sometimes difficult to determine what walls were authentic remains, at least for someone like me, with an unfortunate amount of archaeological knowledge. Plus, the reconstructions of the Hall of the Double Axes, and the Dolphin mosaic, were closed for repairs. (You will see a bit of this mosaic in one of the photos, for which I had to jump a barrier, and kneel down very low to the ground.) My favorite part was the staircase and long roadway that approaches the structure.

Afterward, we headed back into Iraklion to see the Archaeological Museum. It was difficult to navigate the roads, and even more difficult to park, and when we finally arrived at the Museum, the entire thing was closed; it had been closed for almost 7 months, and it would remain closed for several more. I was terribly disappointed, since it is the second largest archaeological museum in Greece, and there were several things I wanted badly to see. I'm still unsure why the entire museum had to be closed, and why they couldn't leave some exhibits open in rotating sequence, but I'll assume there was a good reason.

The next adventure was to cross the island of Crete to the south coast; the countryside was beautiful, and the drive pleasant, and the south coast promised to be less crowded and expensive. I came to learn later, that several of my fellow graduate students were excavating at that very time at a site in central Crete, by which I passed very closely.

Thera

2007-12-03T17:21:00.001-05:00

I'll return to Athens before flying out of Greece, but from here I move on to the gorgeous island of Thera (or Santorini). I had hoped to do some island hopping, and see at least three or four islands on the way to Crete, but, despite hastening through much of the mainland, I was running out of time, and decided to spend more time on the islands, and less time traveling. It was exciting to finally set sail on the Greek sea from the port at Piraeus, and I stood outside and watched as the mainland receded into the distance. Occasionally we would pass by some very small islands, which didn't seem to be inhabited as far as I could tell. We passed between the islands of Sikinos and Ios before finally entering the harbor at Thera. As you move past the centralized island volcano and come into the port, the stark cliffs grab your attention. I probably don't need to mention that Thera is most famous for largely having fallen into the sea, making a once-circular island into something of a crescent shape with the ominous volcano at the middle. As we approached the docking station, it became clear that in order to get anywhere we would have to climb a frighteningly steep and windy road up the sheer cliff face. We could see buses and cars making their way up and down by zigging and zagging on a narrow road leading almost directly upwards. Our villa had arranged a transport for us, but we had to wait twenty minutes for the next boat to arrive with some other guests, so we sat around and had a cool drink. On the ferry we met a man who owned a coffee shop at the docks, but it was too hot for a coffee in the middle of the day during a heat wave. He spent part of the year in Chicago, and the rest of the time on Thera, and it was clear that he knew the ferry system well enough to sneak into the cabin section of the ferry without paying: he kept looking around awkwardly and taking a seat until someone came up to him with tickets and asked him to move.

When we finally started the ascent up the cliff face, I could hardly look over the edge. It didn't help that our driver felt it necessary to pass a car on the first stretch, with a bus coming down the hill at us. Full-sized tourist buses and vans and cars all drove much too quickly, and then came to abrupt halts just at the hairpin turn, where, invariably, there was a bus coming around that couldn't make the turn clearly, so we would have to wait patiently. I was honestly surprised that I didn't see any accidents.

Once at the top, the view was astounding: on one side the island sloped off gently to the sea in the distance, with green land, as any island might look; and on the other side the island fell immediately into the sea with colorful, vertical cliffs. There was, as I mentioned, an island volcano at the center, and a larger island off to the north-west, and a few other islands to the south-west; you could see each end of the largest, crescent-shaped piece of the island. Our villa sat on directly on the cliff at the highest point on the island, with a breathtaking view that would be the focus of our stay there. The island itself is interesting, but I could have sat and pondered at the vast harbor that was once land: I simply could not imagine that one day it was a huge island, and the next, most of it was gone.

The western cliff faces were completely and utterly covered with the stereotypical white buildings that you probably associate with Greek islands. You could walk several kilometers to the next town on a path that went through the balconies and patios of other homes and visitors and restaurants. We found one of the most fantastic restaurants that we would experience, and ended up eating there three times before we left; if you ever get to Thera, make sure to visit Skaros. The tables looked out onto the harbor, and the menu was only a formality, as the waiter would encourage you to try the fresh seafood of that morning, or, at least, some special design of the chef. The service was friendly, and the food was amazing, and the wine, as everywhere on Greece, was local and delightful. My only experience with Greek wine was the dreadful bottles you are lucky to find in a wine shop in New York, but the fresh, local wine of the different regions of Greece, made from grapes that I've never heard of (and can't remember now) were always tasty and crisp. And the digestifs were always offered enthusiastically; if you refused, they would insist that you have one on the house, and the waiter would always join you, which must have become difficult by the end of the shift.

There were several Minoan settlements on the island, and the famous Thera fresco depicts what might be a map or a visual narrative, with boats leaving one piece of land, and arriving at another. There are different types of boats, and even some instances of people falling out of the boats into the sea. It would be fascinating to learn the context. Luckily for us, when we returned to Athens, we discovered that there was a special exhibit dedicated to Thera.

Athens: Theatre of Dionysus

2007-11-10T21:37:00.001-05:00

The theatre of Dionysus, of all the sites in Greece, is probably the most exciting in terms of direct relationship to Greek literature: it was this space, cut into the hillside below the acropolis, that was in the minds of all the great dramatists when they wrote their plays. It was here that plays were performed at the great dramatic festivals, in those days when these classical texts were fresh and brand new literary achievements. It is also deceiving, however, to associate the modern remains with theatre in the classical period: originally there was wooden seating of some kind, which was replaced with stone benches in the fourth century; what we see today was constructed after the most famous era of drama in Athens, in Roman times. It is one of the more problematic sites to reconstruct, and it is often unclear what stones and columns belong to which era. But none of that detracts from the magic of the exact site where some of the most influential literature of all time was first played out. As I work through those literary masterpieces I will picture this site in my mind always.

Athens: τὸ Έρέχθειον

2007-11-03T20:13:00.000-05:00

The Erektheion was one of my favorite structures in Athens. The unique design stands apart from the other standard building types, and it has a certain grace about it, sitting quietly in the shadow of the enormous Parthenon. It has three sections: the main temple, the north extension, and the porch; all three sections have separate roofs, and it is built at four different levels. It incorporates Ionic style columns of three different sizes. A relief frieze of Eleusinian stone decorated the outside of the building, perhaps depicting the birth of Erektheos.

The building we see today was built between 421-407 BC, perhaps designed by Mnesikles, who designed the Propylaia. The most famous features are undoubtedly the Καρυάτιδες, who make up the porch of the maidens, the female-figured architectural supports.

Athens: The Parthenon

2007-10-30T22:23:00.001-05:00

Arriving in Athens, one of the famous intellectual centers of the world, was a thrilling experience. It was certainly not a warm welcome however. We had already driven through quite a bit of the Greek countryside, and returned the car to the airport, so we decided to take a cab from the airport to our hotel in the heart of the city. It was immediately clear that the ride was going to be expensive, and it didn't take much longer to realize that the driver was probably taking advantage of us; but, since the meter was running, there was seemingly no way to argue. In the end, we paid about twice as much as it was supposed to cost, and only figured out why later that night: the meter was set on 2, the night rate, instead of the proper 1, the day rate. But how can you think of such things for long when you are in the city of Plato and Socrates, Aristophanes and Aeschylus and Pericles, the theater of Dionysus, the famous schools and haunts of thinkers and writers like Aristotle and Herodotus, and countless others?

The hotel room was not quite as nice as the handbook described. The elevator was frighteningly noisy and bumpy; the room wasn't terribly clean; and there was pornography galore, for free, on several television stations, which catches you off guard each and every time. But we immediately went out to explore; the first destination was the acropolis. We walked from our hotel toward the ever-present peak, which would disappear behind buildings, and reappear as we turned corners, and went through squares and markets.

This was during the sweltering heat that accompanied the first few fires this past summer, and the sign at the entrance to the site requires hats and water for all visitors. The Parthenon itself was covered with scaffolding for the ongoing repairs, but it was overwhelming to see it in person after having seen so many photographs.

The city of Athens sprawls endlessly in all directions. It was hard to imagine what the city would have looked like in, say, the fifth century, but it was easy enough to imagine the acropolis dominating the landscape.

It is hard to convey in pictures or words what it is like to stand on the famous pinnacle, but I suppose this attempt is as good as any. There is more to come on the surrounding sites and monuments in turn.

Epidauros

2007-09-21T21:58:00.000-05:00

The next morning we set out from Nauplio for Athens, where we had an appointment to return the rental car that afternoon. We drove leisurely eastward toward Epidauros, stopping to see the remains of a few Mycenaean bridges, and enjoyed the winding road, through tight gullies and over small hills. There were several apricot orchards along the way, and, of course, the ever-present olive trees. Perhaps we were a bit too relaxed, because we made more than one wrong turn on the way to Epidauros, although, the road signs throughout Greece, with inaccurate mileage, can be terribly confusing. There was no thought, however, of missing the famed theater, even if it meant paying a late fee on the car. And it was a lovely detour.

When we finally arrived at the site, there were just a few cars in the parking lot, and some buses lined up. The theater isn't immediately visible; we walked along a shaded path, passing a youthful group on its way out. As we neared the top of the gentle incline, the sunshine let us know that we were approaching a clearing; and finally there it was: the enormous grandeur of a perfectly preserved Greek amphitheater. It was larger and more impressive than I had imagined. There were visitors scattered sparsely in the seats, and young French school children were taking turns at the center of the orchestra, giving speeches with gentle voices which easily reached their schoolmates in the stands.

We climbed one of the staircases nearly to the top row and sat quietly for several minutes. In my mind, I was suddenly among a throng of Greek speakers, bustling to their seats through the narrow walkways, ready to watch a play of no particular title (though it was certainly one of the lost tragedies). After that fantasy, we followed the top row around to the middle, and sat again, looking out at the vast landscape, and I wondered if this spectacular view, with the excitement of a performance, just faded completely from the attention of the crowd.

I sat for as long as I could in the hot sun, and then descended to the orchestra level once again. There was lighting equipment set up all around for the events that are still staged at the theater. A few carved pieces stood nearby, including this one with an inscription ending with the word ΓΥΝΑΙΚΑ.

One theme of my whirlwind Greek tour was the agonizing decision of what to see and what to skip, and, with our pressing appointment, and the promise of travel on the wine-dark sea to the Greek Isles, we pressed on without exploring the site thoroughly.

Tiryns

2007-09-15T18:10:00.000-05:00

We drove past the ancient site of Tiryns as we arrived at Nauplio, and then again the next morning on our way to see Mycenae, before finally stopping that afternoon. The walls are simply overwhelming; they stand out even among other examples of cyclopean style masonry. In Homer's catalogue of ships it is Diomedes who leads Τίρυνθὰ τειχιόεσσαν to Troy. Herakles was also associated with the city, some saying that he was sent there from Thebes by the Delphic Oracle, others that he was born there. The city is found in the story of Bellerophon in the Iliad, which appears to be the only reference to writing in the Homeric poems. There were, in fact, vessels inscribed with Linear B signs discovered at Tiryns. In the story, Bellerophon sought refuge at Tiryns under King Proetus, but when the king's wife tried to seduce him, and he refused her, she complained to her husband that B. made advances on her. The king decided to send B. to Lycia, the kingdom of his father-in-law, with σήματα λυγρὰ, terrible signs, inscribed on a tablet, instructing the king to kill B. on his arrival. At Iliad 6.168:

πέμπε δέ μιν Λυκίηνδε, πόρεν δ᾽ ὅ γε σήματα λυγρὰ
γράψας ἐν πίνακι πτυκτῷ θυμοφθόρα πολλά,
δεῖξαι δ᾽ ἠνώγειν ᾧ πενθερῷ ὄφρ᾽ ἀπόλοιτο

Bellerophon isn't aware of the instructions, since he cannot read the signs, but the king of Lycia fails in his attempt to kill B. with a series of dangerous tasks. He was so impressed with B., in fact, that he offers his daughter in marriage and half of his kingship. But when B. becomes hated by the gods (Il.6.200):

ἤτοι ὃ κὰπ πεδίον τὸ Ἀλήϊον οἶος ἀλᾶτο
ὃν θυμὸν κατέδων, πάτον ἀνθρώπων ἀλεείνων

There is also a lost play by Euripides, the Bellerophontes, of which a few fragments survive in other authors, suggesting that it dealt with his attempt on Olympus.

My visit to Tiryns was especially pleasant because absolutely nobody else was there. It was a sweltering hot day during the heat wave at the very beginning of the devastating fires this summer. The site, of course, is made up of dirt and rocks in the direct sun, with one very slight tree for shade, under which I rested more than once.

In order to enter the city you pass through what were once two gates. Some of the largest stones are incorporated in this part of the wall. The upper part of the site has the remains of a megaron and surrounding rooms. In one of these rooms was a pit in the corner which looked very much like a toilet, with a stone drainage system leading into the ground, and, indeed, I later discovered that the site map at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens labels it as such. The lower part of the site is an open space, with what looked like storage rooms along the west wall. There were two very interesting tunnels leading through the wall, but they were both off limits, and heavily supported with metal braces.

There were almost no signs here of a tourist destination, and I cherish that experience of exploring an ancient site in silence and solitude, at my own pace, and without any supervision. In my imagination I was stumbling upon a mysterious bronze age site, but, of course, it would not be nearly as interesting if it weren't for the work of archaeologists.

The Treasury of Atreus

2007-09-09T10:15:00.000-05:00

The sunken beehive-shaped structure below the walls of Mycenae known as the Treasury of Atreus, or sometimes the Tomb of Agamemnon, is the largest of the nine θόλος tombs outside the city walls. It is impossible to rate my impressions of all the wonderful things I saw in Greece, but this was one of my favorite experiences of the trip. It sits on the left side of the road approaching Mycenae, so we could see the commanding position of the citadel above us as we pulled off the road to see the treasury first. Just as we arrived at the site, a tour group was leaving, so we had the site to ourselves for perhaps twenty or thirty minutes.

The stonework is awesome. These stones were cut and placed with remarkable precision many centuries before the grand structures of the classical period, and even today they remain in perfect condition, with hairline seams between the monstrous blocks. The retaining walls defining the dromos, or entryway, grow taller and more imposing as you approach the entrance; it runs a length of 36m and is 6m wide. The lintel stone alone weighs 120 tons. As I walked through the doorway, my eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine outside, and the pitch darkness gave way, revealing a marvelous and solemn circular space, 14.6m in diameter and 13.4m high, with 33 courses of stone creating a perfect dome. There is a side chamber, 6m square and 5m high, with the same void triangle above the entrance that appears above the main doorway; it helps to relieve weight from the lintel stone. The side chamber was roped off and completely dark; I took a picture with a flash, but it shows little more than your imagination would.

Along the perimeter are some stones which provided lovely seating as I sat and read from my edition of the Iliad for a few minutes, enjoying a quiet moment in the shade of the blistering sun, overwhelmed by the bronze age history, and the more recent tradition of professional and amateur visitors who have documented the structure ad nauseam. I could have sat there all day in the cool air and read from Homer with occasional glances up to the pinnacle of the domed stonework; but too quickly another guided group arrived at the scene and broke the silence.

After seeing the citadel and the museum, I returned to the treasury to shoot a short video with my digital camera. I wish I had thought to do that earlier, when I had the site all to myself, but by this time there were several groups of visitors.

Mycenae

2007-09-03T11:20:00.000-05:00

After enjoying the delightful evening in Nauplio, it was all I could do to wait until the next morning to visit Mycenae. We backtracked past Tiryns, whose monstrous walls were calling out to us, and continued on the same road that brought us to Nauplio. Coming from that direction, we took a right onto a smaller road leading to the site, and went through the nearby town with no shortage of theme-based restaurants and gift shops.

The hilltop housing the citadel is visible as you ascend the only road and pass the Treasury of Atreus. As you walk up the path leading to the Lion's Gate entrance, you can see the results of excavation just outside of the walls (look for some great work soon on extra-palatial economics by Panagiota Pantou). The Lion's Gate itself was as impressive as I had imagined, although there were no herds of tourists filing through in my mental image. As you enter, on the right, is the famous Grave Circle A, from which we have many of the famous artifacts uncovered by Schliemann, and which must have been important to the inhabitants, as it was included within the city when the Cyclopean walls were assembled. Farther into the distance is the road and the Treasury of Atreus, and the lower landscape dotted with fields which must have sustained the citadel in ancient times. On the opposite side of the site is a dramatic downward drop, and then the quick, steep, rocky rise of the mountains.

The path winds upward to the site's very pinnacle, where the court and megaron were located. From this height there is an astounding view of the surrounding landscape that must have been a rewarding sight for a ruling king.

The path continues downhill to the rear of the site, with a smaller northern gate, and a subterranean stairway leading to a cistern. We walked curiously down the initial flight of stairs into the dark tunnel, and then paused for a bit, looking down into the complete darkness. There was no warning to stop, or of any danger, but it would have been impossible to continue without some kind of lighting. We decided to take a picture with the flash, which showed more stairs, with metal braces holding the ceiling up, continuing around the corner to the right.

Standing at the very top of the site I could not help but imagine Agamemnon, looking out proudly over the fields before his kingdom, like the king on the Shield of Achilles (Iliad 18.556): βασιλεὺς δ᾽ ἐν τοῖσι σιωπῇ | σκῆπτρον ἔχων ἑστήκει ἐπ᾽ ὄγμου γηθόσυνος κῆρ. The Treasury of Atreus, which sits several hundred meters from the citadel, deserves its own post, coming soon.

Nauplio

2007-08-24T16:12:00.000-05:00

Leaving Delphi we followed the winding road west along the coast of the Corinthian Gulf and crossed the Antirrio-Rio bridge to the Peloponnesus. Occasionally we would come around a sharp cliffside corner to see a rocky island rising from the blue sea. We drove east along the coast toward Corinth, and stopped at Xulokastro for lunch. We chose a restaurant with seating on the gulf, and it was the first place where English wasn't an option. The food was fantastic. The waiter brought bread and olive paste immediately, and we ordered mussels and shrimp and vegetables and a salad, with a carafe of white wine. After the break, we continued on to Nauplio, and walked through the Venetian section until we found a pension that wasn't booked; it took three tries.

We stayed in a cozy third floor room of a lovely pension. It would have been impossible to carry our luggage up the steep, narrow staircase, so we brought just a few necessary items with us. Ours was the only room on that floor, and it had a small rooftop balcony facing one of the castles on the hill; at night the castle was bright with lights. The complimentary breakfast consisted of a top-rate Greek yogurt, plenty of bread and pastries, cheese, coffee, and a jam made from fresh apricots.

Nauplio was recommended to me by the graduate director at the University of Buffalo as a great base from which to explore Mycenae and Tiryns and Epidaurius. It is a beautiful town. The area where we stayed was close to the harbor, and accessible only by the narrow walking streets between the old Venetian buildings, with restaurants and shops tucked away everywhere. Overlooking the harbor are two hilltop castles, and there is a third castle about 500m out into the water on a tiny island. The boardwalk extends from the Venetian quarter and wraps around the cliffside, below one of the castles, to a public pebble beach. That first night we sat and had drinks at the harbor, surrounded by water, and mountains in the distance, and watched the sun set slowly, until it disappeared around the same time as my third margarita. With the sun gone, the street performers came out, some juggling flaming sticks, and others playing music. We found a restaurant late at night and had a delicious dinner outside under the stars.

Delphi: ὁ ὀμφαλὸς τῆς χθονός

2007-08-19T11:46:00.000-05:00

The only arrangement we made before arriving in Greece was a hotel room for one night in Delphi. As soon as we landed at the airport, we rented a car, and drove to Delphi, which took a bit longer than we expected. We skirted Athens on the highway, and the road became less and less industrial as we progressed. We went through Thebes, but didn't spend much time there, because by then we realized how long the drive would actually take; it was nice to go through the town nevertheless. The mountains became larger as we approached Delphi, and finally we passed through Arahova, a very lovely little skiing village, only a few kilometers from Delphi. Upon entering Delphi, we had a bit of trouble finding our hotel, and it turned out that we were cut off from the main street by some road construction. After settling into the room, and taking a short nap, we grabbed our first frappé, and headed to the museum adjoined to the ancient site. There was a copy of the ὀμφαλός stone in one of the rooms, but perhaps the most striking moment was coming around the corner to be surprised by the famous bronze charioteer, which I was expecting to see in Athens.

The next morning we walked down to the lower site and saw the gymnasium and the Sanctuary of Athena. It is free to walk through this section, but still we were the only people there, and so we sat and enjoyed the breathtaking view out toward the Gulf of Corinth.

I was surprised that there were so many inscriptions still sitting outside at the sites, and especially at the Sanctuary of Athena, which wasn't gated; but I suppose it wasn't too long ago that you were permitted to climb upon the monuments. Here is a picture of me admiring an interesting representation of the letter xi that I hadn't seen before. It had one horizontal line at the top, and then below it was a small curved line that swooped down to the bottom left to connect to another horizontal line, so that the bottom two lines resembled the letter 2, rather than the three distinct horizontal lines which must have been far easier to carve into stone.

After that we headed across the road to the upper site. I recognized many of the monuments, but it was interesting to actually experience the topography, which was much steeper than it appears from photographs in books. It was more crowded here, with several different tour groups all arriving at the same time: there was a group of older French tourists, another group of high school students from Egypt, and another Japanese group of all ages. The site was large enough to give some space, but there was definitely some tension between the older French tourists, and the Egyptian kids, who ran about the site yelling loudly to one another from different levels.

On the path up there were many inscribed stones being left to weather along a nicely constructed stone wall. There were many treasuries on the site, which attest to the importance of Delphi in the Greek world. The Athenian treasury was fully reconstructed, and sat on the corner of the path that led to the Temple of Apollo, whose few pillars stood out from below and above. Just above the temple was the well preserved theatre first established in the fourth century. It must have been overwhelming to see a performance with the sanctuary and views of the deep valley in the background.

At the very top of the site was the famous stadium first constructed in the fifth century and remodeled many times afterwards. It was surrounded with seats, and a backed bench in the center, which was presumably reserved for important spectators. The starting blocks at one end were still evident. Thirty or forty years ago my girlfriend's mother raced the length of the stadium with her mother and sister while people cheered them on, and we had planned to do the same thing, but foolishly we had worn flip-flops and sandals, and the ground was very uneven and rocky.

It is easy to see why Delphi was so important in ancient times: it was one of the most breathtaking landscapes that I saw. It was considered the center, or navel, of the world, and there was a story that Zeus released two eagles from opposite ends of the earth to find the center point, and they met at Delphi. Pindar wrote in Pythian 6: ὀμφαλὸν ἐριβρόμου χθονὸς ἐς νάϊον προσοιχόμενοι. And Euripides, in Ion (5-7):

ἥκω δὲ Δελφῶν τήνδε γῆν, ἵν᾽ ὀμφαλὸν
μέσον καθίζων Φοῖβος ὑμνῳδεῖ βροτοῖς
τά τ᾽ ὄντα καὶ μέλλοντα θεσπίζων ἀεί

After leaving Delphi, we drove down the mountain and through some of the most spectacular olive orchards that we would see, and west along the Corinthian Gulf to the bridge linking the Peloponnese. It was certainly my favorite overall site, although there were several other special places and moments that are important to me.

First Stop: The Met

2007-07-18T13:48:00.001-05:00

The first stop on my trip to Greece was New York City, to visit some family and friends, and, of course some bookstores. This would probably not be worth mentioning here in connection with my trip to Greece, if it wasn't for the exciting opening of the new Greek and Roman galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In 1949, more than half of the Met's Classical collection went into storage, and, despite the heaven of culinary delights already available in Manhattan, someone decided to use the space for a restaurant instead. But now, almost sixty years later, with this opening, the museum's already impressive display of Greek and Roman artwork has doubled back to its original size. The new sections seem to be mostly Hellenistic and Roman artifacts, but the space itself is lovely, and it includes a tremendous example of an Ionic style column.

Anniversary and Adventure

2007-07-10T08:06:00.000-05:00

Yesterday marked one year since I wrote the first entry for this blog called Nestor's Cup, which I've used to keep myself writing by noting some of the interesting and unusual things that I've discovered while studying Greek culture. It was an idea that I had in mind for a while: I considered it a good way to keep a journal that I could access at the library or at housesitting jobs without having to lug a computer around constantly. It also seemed like a nice memorial for my cat, Nestor, as I noted in the first post.

If anyone reads this blog, you will have noticed that the entries for the past six months have been much more sparse than those in the first six months. There are several reasons: some personal reasons, a change in my working life, and fluctuation in my access to the internet. I've also been preparing to return to school this fall to begin graduate work in Classics. After the initial research and paperwork, I began to dedicate a lot of time to studying the languages that I will need, since I'm entirely self-taught (excepting the fantastic community of independent classicists at Textkit), and especially to Latin, which is a weak point for me. More recently I've begun to address some of the details of my advent at university: where I will live, how I will move, what classes I will take, and how to deal with the confusing web of administrative personnel.

I'm not sure how this change will affect Nestor's Cup. On one hand, I expect to be extremely busy with papers and reading and teaching; but on the other hand, I will have constant internet access, and hope to come across interesting tidbits at a faster rate, since I will be surrounded by scholars and students---plus, I've often found that I can be more productive when I have a pressing schedule. We'll see what happens. I've felt free to blog about anything that I found interesting, but I've always had a special interest in topics that are relegated to the fringes of scholarship, like mundane details of everyday life, more unusual passages or writers, and anything immature, vulgar, and obscene: things to remind me that Greek culture encompassed more than those brilliant artists whom we study and admire most keenly. I expect that I will continue to be drawn to these things, but I can also envision some ways in which this blog might evolve in the short-term and over time. In the first place, I imagine that I will be more and more prone to include Roman elements, and other foreign elements, primarily, but perhaps not exclusively, as they shed light on Greek art and culture. There also might be times when I make brief posts that will be more useful to me as a memory aid for future research than it will be interesting reading for others. And, finally, it is likely that I will write sometimes about the state of Classical studies in general, and at my school in particular, as well as personal reflections about graduate study as opposed to independent study. In the more distant future, if this blog is to survive that long, I can imagine it growing ever wider in scope, to include more of my intellectual interests outside of the Classical world, and to become a tool in the essaying that I hope to work at throughout my life. Already, however, with this post, there has been a change in the tone of Nestor's Cup.

But over the next few weeks there will be a more definite program as I find time to write on this blog: that is to recount my recent adventure to Greece, from which I've just returned, and to offer you commentary and photographs of my journey to some of the landscapes and landmarks that we read about as Hellenists. It was one of the most awesome experiences of my life, and a very good bit of research as well, and more enlightening than it can ever seem from my recollections and photos; but, with any luck, I'll offer some unique reflections that don't find their way into the scholarly accounts, nor the travel-writing done by excellent writers who nevertheless haven't the same passion for the ancient culture and language---at any rate it will be my story.

Claudius Aelianus: Beaver Testicles and Red-Hot Feline Semen

2007-06-08T22:10:00.001-05:00

My first encounter with Claudius Aelianus (not to be confused with Aelianus Tacticus) was his description of the Cynic Zoilus, a critic of traditional literature so grumpy that he was called Ὁμηρομάστιξ, and whose name later became synonymous with a malignant critic. This is the account of Moses Hadas in his Ancilla to Classical Reading, 1954, page 93:

Earlier in the 4th century the Cynic Zoilus of Amphipolis protested against what he considered adulation of the traditional classics. Zoilus made Homer the special object of attack and earned the name "scourge of Homer," but he assailed Isocrates and Plato with almost equal bitterness. This is how Aelian (11.10) describes him: Zoilus was called the Rhetorical Dog. His appearance was as follows: long beard, shaven head, short cloak not reaching the knees. He loved to bawl, and he had plenty of time to win many hatreds. The wretch was a calumniator. When a cultured man asked him why he spoke ill of everyone, he replied, "Because, though I wish to, I cannot do ill."

I wasn't able to find the original Greek (presumably from his work ποικίλη ἱστορία, also known from the Latin translation Varia Historia), but while searching it out in the library I discovered his work on the characteristics of animals, περὶ ζῴων ἰδιότητος (aka De Natura Animalium). He was a Roman writing around the turn of the 3rd century CE, which I think makes it the latest Greek that I've read to date, but it is filled with fantastically entertaining descriptions of the animal kingdom, like these:

About cats, he has this to say, 6.27:

αἰλούρων ὁ μὲν ἄρρην ἐστὶ λαγνίστατος, ὁ δὲ θῆλυς φιλότεκνος, φεύγει δὲ τὴν πρὸς τὸν ἄρρενα ὁμιλίαν· ἀφίησι γὰρ τὸν θορὸν θερμότατόν τε καὶ προσεοικότα πυρί, καὶ κάει τῆς θηλείας τὸ ἄρθρον. εἰδὼς οὖν ὁ ἄρρην τοῦτο τὰ κοινὰ βρέφη διαχρῆται, ἡ δὲ παίδων ἑτέρων πόθῳ ἑαυτὴν παρέχει συνελθεῖν γλιχομένῳ.

[Of cats the male is the most lustful, while the female cares for the young, and avoids intercourse with the male; for the ejaculated semen is extremely hot even like fire, and burns the female's genitals. Knowing this, the male kills their young, and she, desiring other kittens, yields herself to his desire.]

On caterpillars, 6.36:

αἱ κάμπαι ἐπινέμονται τὰ λάχανα, τάχα δὲ καὶ διαφθείρουσιν αὐτά. ἀπόλλυνται δὲ αὗται, γυνὴ τὴν ἐπιμήνιον κάθαρσιν καθαιρομένη εἰ διέλθοι μέση τῶν λαχάνων.

[Caterpillars eat vegetables, and quickly destroy them. But they themselves are destroyed if a menstruating woman walks through the middle of the garden.]

And on beavers, and those who crave their testicles, 6.34, (translated by A.F. Scholfield):

ὁ κάστωρ ἀμφίβιόν ἐστι ζῷον, καὶ μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν μὲν ἐν τοῖς ποταμοῖς καταδὺς διαιτᾶται, νύκτωρ δὲ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ἀλᾶται, οἷς ἂν περιτύχῃ τούτοις τρεφόμενος. οὐκοῦν ἐπίσταται τὴν αἰτίαν δι᾽ ἣν ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸν οἱ θηραταὶ σὺν προθυμίᾳ τε καὶ ὁρμῇ τῇ πάσῃ χωροῦσι, καὶ ἐπικύψας καὶ δακὼν ἀπέκοψε τοὺς ἑαυτοῦ ὄρχεις, καὶ προσέρριψεν αὐτοῖς, ὡς ἀνὴρ φρόνιμος λῃσταῖς μὲν περιπεσών, καταθεὶς δὲ ὅσα ἐπήγετο ὑπὲρ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ σωτηρίας, λύτρα δήπου ταῦτα ἀλλαττόμενος. ἐὰν δὲ ᾖ πρότερον ἐκτεμὼν καὶ σωθεὶς εἶτα πάλιν διώκηται, ὁ δὲ ἀναστήσας ἑαυτὸν καὶ ἐπιδείξας ὅτι τῆς αὐτῶν σπουδῆς οὐκ ἔχει τὴν ὑπόθεσιν, τοῦ περαιτέρω καμάτου παρέλυσε τοὺς θηρατάς· ἧττον γάρ τοι τῶν κρεῶν ἐκείνοις φροντίς ἐστι. πολλάκις δὲ καὶ ἔνορχοι ὄντες, ὡς ὅτι πορρωτάτω ἀποσπάσαντες τῷ δρόμῳ, εἶτα ὑποστείλαντες τὸ σπουδαζόμενον μέρος, πάνυ σοφῶς καὶ πανούργως ἐξηπάτησαν, ὡς οὐκ ἔχοντες ἃ κρύψαντες εἶχον.

[The beaver is an amphibious creature: by day it lives hidden in rivers, but at night it roams the land, feeding itself with anything that it can find. Now it understands the reason why hunters come after it with such eagerness and impetuosity, and it puts down its head and with its teeth cuts off its testicles and throws them in their path, as a prudent man who, falling into the hands of robbers, sacrifices all that he is carrying, to save his life, and forfeits his possessions by way of ransom. If however it has already saved its life by self-castration and is again pursued, then it stands up and reveals that it offers no ground for their eager pursuit, and releases the hunters from all further exertions, for they esteem its flesh less. Often however beavers with testicles intact, after escaping as far away as possible, have drawn in the coveted part, and with great skill and ingenuity tricked their pursuers, pretending that they no longer possessed what they were keeping in concealment.]

I plan to entertain myself further with his naturalistic insights, and I expect that they will provide ample fodder for future blogposts.

Geometric Vases

2007-05-19T11:44:00.000-05:00

In his short handbook on Greek art, John Boardman discusses an inspiration for the geometric designs on vases that I had never encountered before: basket weaving. He says: All the patterns are more characteristic of the appearance of basketry or weaving than of brushwork, and this is surely their source of inspiration. Indeed, some basketry shapes are copied. This had never occurred to me before when looking at vases with geometric style designs, but now it strikes me as something that should have been obvious at first sight.

For Boardman, this "raises intriguing questions". He notes that weaving and basketry were primarily women's work, and that in many early societies pottery was as well. Greek pottery, however, in the classical period, seems to have been an industry dominated by men. Boardman also suggests that some of the large vases of the Late Geometric period were perhaps too large to have been crafted by women. I would make two objections: first, that painting the vases would not require the same strength as building them; and secondly, having worked on a crew of stonemasons made up entirely of women, and knowing several women farmers, I doubt that even the largest vases would be beyond the capability of a woman. Despite this, Boardman wonders if the geometric style was the first, and possibly last, "influential contribution" of women to Greek art.

Shallow Rivulets vs. Copious Rivers

2007-04-06T20:04:00.000-05:00

I can't recall ever getting really excited about a piece of Latin literature; but, even though I've only begun to study Latin to enrich my Greek studies, I'm sincerely hoping that someday I will experience that excitement, once I gain some proficiency with the language. Still, at this point, I have to agree with what Erasmus wrote to a daughter of Sir Thomas More, quoted here from J.E. Sandys' A History of Classical Scholarship (v.II, p. 230):

"You are an eloquent Latinist, Margaret," he was pleased to say, "but, if you woulde drink deeplie of the Wellsprings of Wisdom, applie to Greek. The Latins have onlie shallow Rivulets; the Greeks, copious Rivers running over Sands of gold."

Simonides, Hesiod, and Women

2007-03-29T20:27:00.000-05:00

I came across this fragment (6) of Simonides in the Cambridge History of Greek Literature:

γυναικὸς οὐδὲν χρῆμ᾽ ἀνὴρ ληΐζεται
ἐσθλῆς ἄμεινον οὐδὲ ῥίγιον κακῆς

[A man gains nothing better than a good woman, nor worse than a bad one.]

The word ῥίγιον literally means more frosty, colder, but is used metaphorically in the sense of more horrible. The word ληίζομαι can mean generally to get or to gain, but the primary meaning is to seize as booty, to take by force. This reminded me of Fortson's discussion of marriage in Indo-European traditions, where the term for marriage is usually a verb meaning to take or to lead away, as λαμβάνειν or ἄγεσθαι in Greek, or the phrase uxorem ducere in Latin; he confidently projects this back to Proto-Indo-European. Fortson points out that these roots are also used of cattle and water (note the use of χρῆμα above, a thing that one uses or needs, in plural, goods, property). He writes: "their use here indicates exogamous and virilocal marriage where the bride was taken or led from her father's family to her husband's" (Indo-European Language and Culture, 18).

Notice the neat structure of the second line: the simple word οὐδὲ in the center, flanked by two antithetical comparatives, ἄμεινον and ῥίγιον, with the opposite values ἐσθλῆς and κακῆς in the genitive at the extremities of the verse (both of which agree with the very first word of the fragment, γυναικὸς).

This seems to be taken directly from Hesiod's Works and Days (702-703) and reworked from hexameters into iambics:

οὐ μὲν γάρ τι γυναικὸς ἀνὴρ ληΐζετ᾽ ἄμεινον
τῆς ἀγαθὴς, τῆς δ᾽ αὖτε κακῆς οὐ ῥίγιον ἄλλο

It is almost word for word, in fact, with the addition of χρῆμα, and the use of ἐσθλῆς for ἀγαθὴς. The next line in Hesiod, 704, begins with the enjambment of the interesting word δειπνολόχης, meaning fishing for invitations to dinner, parasitic.

An evill imped wing to flie withall

2007-03-24T20:26:00.000-05:00

In the section on Roger Ascham, in A History of Classical Scholarship, v.II, p. 235, J.E. Sandys relates Ascham's thoughts on the value of translations: In opposing the opinion of the bishop, who said, we have no nede now of the Greeke tong, when all things be translated into Latin, Ascham urges that, even the best translation is ... but an evill imped wing to flie withall, or a hevie stompe leg of wood to go withall.

Youthful Indiscretion

2007-02-28T21:54:00.001-05:00

In the third book of the Iliad, Hector goes out between the two armies to announce that Alexander will fight with Menelaos to settle the dispute over Helen. At the end of his response, Menelaos says (3.108-110):

αἰεὶ δ᾽ ὁπλοτέρων ἀνδρῶν φρένες ἠερέθονται:
οἷς δ᾽ ὁ γέρων μετέῃσιν ἅμα πρόσσω καὶ ὀπίσσω
λεύσσει, ὅπως ὄχ᾽ ἄριστα μετ᾽ ἀμφοτέροισι γένηται.

[The minds of young men are always wavering; but in whatever an old man shall undertake he looks both backwards and forwards, so that the very best comes to pass for both sides.]

This is a nice passage on maturity, and I especially like the phrase φρένες ἠερέθονται. Aristarchus removed these lines because, according to Kirk, "they provide a kind of excuse for Priam's sons." It doesn't seem to me to excuse anything. Kirk goes on to say: "Proverbial material is quite often worked into Homeric speeches, not always with complete appropriateness, when a sententious effect seems justified, so that Aristarchus' objection is clearly overdone."

The word ἠερέθονται is developed from ἀείρω, to raise, and means to hang floating or waving in the air, or metaphorically, to be blown about in the wind, to be unsteady, unstable, fickle. The D Scholiast glosses: ἀπαιωροῦνται, κρέμανται, οἷον οὐκ εἰσὶν σταθεραί, αλλ' ἀβέβαιοι.

The Phrygians

2007-02-22T22:47:00.001-05:00

On the advice of the same very generous person who gave me a copy of Fortson's book on IE language and culture, I've been looking at what F. has to say about the Phrygians, and some points of comparison between their language and Greek.

The arrival of the Phrygians in Anatolia was previously thought to coincide with the fall of the Hittite empire, and perhaps even to have caused it, but most scholars now think they came two or three centuries later, according to Fortson. They are thought to have come from the Balkans, and Herodotus says their homeland was in Macedonia (see below); it has been claimed that they were related to the Thracians and the Armenians. They established a state after moving farther inland, and joined a loose confederation, called the Muski in Assyrian records, which was the primary force in Anatolia until the 8th century. Late in that century the seat of power shifted westward under King Midas, and in the next century his kingdom was overtaken by Cimmerian invaders from the north, who sacked Gordion, the Phrygian capital.

Although there seems to be no reason to doubt their Balkan origins, according to F., the first clear evidence for the Phrygians comes from central Anatolia in the 8th century. There are about 80 inscriptions in Old Phrygian between that time and the middle of the 5th century, which are written in an alphabetic script that seems to be derived from an early Greek alphabet used in Asia Minor (Fortson). Much later, in the first two centuries AD, there are New Phrygian inscriptions in the Greek alphabet.

Ancient writers, including Hesychius, preserve Phrygian glosses, some of which are known also from inscriptions. Phrygian has more in common with Greek than any other IE language, according to Fortson, and also with Armenian and Indo-Iranian. These include: the fact that before consonants, word-initial laryngeals were vocalized as vowels; the use of (at least) five cases; examples of consonant stems, thematic nouns, i-stems, u-stems, and feminine a-stems, which resemble the Greek forms; the possible existence of an s-future; a past-tense e-augment; third person imperative forms; and the extremely similar perfect middle participles with -meno- plus reduplication, such as tetikmenos (accursed?) and protuss[e]stamenan (set up, established).

Herodotus (7.73) mentions the Φρύγες, who migrated from Europe to Asia (with translation by A.D. Godley):

οἱ δὲ Φρύγες, ὡς Μακεδόνες λέγουσι, ἐκαλέοντο Βρίγες χρόνον ὅσον Εὐρωπήιοι ἐόντες σύνοικοι ἦσαν Μακεδόσι, μεταβάντες δὲ ἐς τὴν Ἀσίην ἅμα τῇ χώρῃ καὶ τὸ οὔνομα μετέβαλον ἐς Φρύγας. Ἀρμένιοι δὲ κατά περ Φρύγες ἐσεσάχατο, ἐόντες Φρυγῶν ἄποικοι. τούτων συναμφοτέρων ἦρχε Ἀρτόχμης Δαρείου ἔχων θυγατέρα.

[As the Macedonians say, these Phrygians were called Briges as long as they dwelt in Europe, where they were neighbors of the Macedonians; but when they changed their home to Asia, they changed their name also and were called Phrygians. The Armenians, who are settlers from Phrygia, were armed like the Phrygians. Both these together had as their commander Artochmes, who had married a daughter of Darius.]

He writes about them again (2.2) in a famous story about the Egyptian King Psammetichos, and his plan to determine the oldest nation on earth (with translation by A.D. Godley):

οἱ δὲ Αἰγύπτιοι, πρὶν μὲν ἢ Ψαμμήτιχον σφέων βασιλεῦσαι, ἐνόμιζον ἑωυτοὺς πρώτους γενέσθαι πάντων ἀνθρώπων: ἐπειδὴ δὲ Ψαμμήτιχος βασιλεύσας ἠθέλησε εἰδέναι οἵτινες γενοίατο πρῶτοι, ἀπὸ τούτου νομίζουσι Φρύγας προτέρους γενέσθαι ἑωυτῶν, τῶν δὲ ἄλλων ἑωυτούς. Ψαμμήτιχος δὲ ὡς οὐκ ἐδύνατο πυνθανόμενος πόρον οὐδένα τούτου ἀνευρεῖν, οἳ γενοίατο πρῶτοι ἀνθρώπων, ἐπιτεχνᾶται τοιόνδε. παιδία δύο νεογνὰ ἀνθρώπων τῶν ἐπιτυχόντων δίδωσι ποιμένι τρέφειν ἐς τὰ ποίμνια τροφήν τινα τοιήνδε, ἐντειλάμενος μηδένα ἀντίον αὐτῶν μηδεμίαν φωνὴν ἱέναι, ἐν στέγῃ δὲ ἐρήμῃ ἐπ᾽ ἑωυτῶν κέεσθαι αὐτά, καὶ τὴν ὥρην ἐπαγινέειν σφι αἶγας, πλήσαντα δὲ γάλακτος τἆλλα διαπρήσσεσθαι: ταῦτα δὲ ἐποίεέ τε καὶ ἐνετέλλετο Ψαμμήτιχος θέλων ἀκοῦσαι τῶν παιδίων, ἀπαλλαχθέντων τῶν ἀσήμων κνυζημάτων, ἥντινα φωνὴν ῥήξουσι πρώτην: τά περ ὦν καὶ ἐγένετο. ὡς γὰρ διέτης χρόνος ἐγεγόνεε ταῦτα τῷ ποιμένι πρήσσοντι, ἀνοίγοντι τὴν θύρην καὶ ἐσιόντι τὰ παιδία ἀμφότερα προσπίπτοντα βεκὸς ἐφώνεον, ὀρέγοντα τὰς χεῖρας. τὰ μὲν δὴ πρῶτα ἀκούσας ἥσυχος ἦν ὁ ποιμήν: ὡς δὲ πολλάκις φοιτέοντι καὶ ἐπιμελομένῳ πολλὸν ἦν τοῦτο τὸ ἔπος, οὕτω δὴ σημήνας τῷ δεσπότῃ ἤγαγε τὰ παιδία κελεύσαντος ἐς ὄψιν τὴν ἐκείνου. ἀκούσας δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ Ψαμμήτιχος ἐπυνθάνετο οἵτινες ἀνθρώπων βεκός τι καλέουσι, πυνθανόμενος δὲ εὕρισκε Φρύγας καλέοντας τὸν ἄρτον. οὕτω συνεχώρησαν Αἰγύπτιοι καὶ τοιούτῳ σταθμησάμενοι πρήγματι τοὺς Φρύγας πρεσβυτέρους εἶναι ἑωυτῶν. ὧδε μὲν γενέσθαι τῶν ἱρέων τοῦ Ἡφαίστου τοῦ ἐν Μέμφι ἤκουον: Ἕλληνες δὲ λέγουσι ἄλλα τε μάταια πολλὰ καὶ ὡς γυναικῶν τὰς γλώσσας ὁ Ψαμμήτιχος ἐκταμὼν τὴν δίαιταν οὕτω ἐποιήσατο τῶν παίδων παρὰ ταύτῃσι τῇσι γυναιξί.

[Now before Psammetichus became king of Egypt, the Egyptians believed that they were the oldest people on earth. But ever since Psammetichus became king and wished to find out which people were the oldest, they have believed that the Phrygians were older than they, and they than everybody else. Psammetichus, when he was in no way able to learn by inquiry which people had first come into being, devised a plan by which he took two newborn children of the common people and gave them to a shepherd to bring up among his flocks. He gave instructions that no one was to speak a word in their hearing; they were to stay by themselves in a lonely hut, and in due time the shepherd was to bring goats and give the children their milk and do everything else necessary. Psammetichus did this, and gave these instructions, because he wanted to hear what speech would first come from the children, when they were past the age of indistinct babbling. And he had his wish; for one day, when the shepherd had done as he was told for two years, both children ran to him stretching out their hands and calling “Bekos!” as he opened the door and entered. When he first heard this, he kept quiet about it; but when, coming often and paying careful attention, he kept hearing this same word, he told his master at last and brought the children into the king's presence as required. Psammetichus then heard them himself, and asked to what language the word “Bekos” belonged; he found it to be a Phrygian word, signifying bread. Reasoning from this, the Egyptians acknowledged that the Phrygians were older than they. This is the story which I heard from the priests of Hephaestus' temple at Memphis; the Greeks say among many foolish things that Psammetichus had the children reared by women whose tongues he had cut out.]

In their commentary to Herodotus, How and Wells write: "Frederick II of Germany and James IV of Scotland are said to have repeated the experiment of Psammetichus, and to have proved by it that Hebrew was the speech of Paradise."

The Phrygians also appear in Homer (Iliad 3.184-187) when Priam tells Helen about his journey to their land:

ἤδη καὶ Φρυγίην εἰσήλυθον ἀμπελόεσσαν,
ἔνθα ἴδον πλείστους Φρύγας ἀνέρας αἰολοπώλους
λαοὺς Ὀτρῆος καὶ Μυγδόνος ἀντιθέοιο,
οἵ ῥα τότ᾽ ἐστρατόωντο παρ᾽ ὄχθας Σαγγαρίοιο

[Previously, I went into vine-rich Phrygia, where I saw many Phrygian men with fast horses, the people of Otreos and godlike Mugdonos, who were then encamped on the banks of the Sangarios.]

But according to Kirk's commentary, "they are a different people from those later called Phruges who swept down into Asia Minor from Thrace (cf. Herodotus 7.73) some time after the fall of Troy." (I wish he had explained this more thoroughly.) Kirk also points out that αἰολοπώλους occurs only here in Homer, but is used of the Phrygians again at line 137 of the Hymn to Aphrodite, perhaps echoing this passage. And he says: "Otreus and Mugdon are otherwise unknown; the latter's non-Greek name suggests that he may not be entirely fictitious."

Lycophron of Chalcis

2007-01-25T13:30:00.000-05:00

In his book on Callimachus, Alan Cameron mentions one of that poet's colleagues at the Museum, Lycophron of Calchis, who was a cataloguer for Philadelphus, and also wrote twenty tragedies, according to the Suda. At least two of his plays dealt with contemporary issues: a tragedy about the city of Cassandreia, founded by Cassander in 315, and seized by Apollodorus sometime around the year 280; the other was a satyr play about his teacher Menedemus of Eretria. But he is best known for a messenger speech of 1474 lines which Cameron describes as "the most obscure surviving Greek poem," containing 518 words that don't appear anywhere else in Greek literature!

Execution Techniques

2007-01-23T21:38:00.000-05:00

In his chapter on the development of Athenian democracy, from the book The Ancient Greeks: A Critical History, John Fine discusses some of the methods employed for executions among the Greeks.

One widespread practice, especially in earlier times, was stoning. In Athens, at least, this was usually the result of an informal lynch mob, rather than an officially sanctioned punishment. It was practiced as late as 479BC. The Persian Mardonius, while occupying Athens, sent a messenger, Murychides, to Salamis with an offer for the Athenians. Lycides, an Athenian councillor, merely suggested that the proposal be sent to the assembly for consideration, and he was stoned to death by his fellow councillors. Herodotus relates the story (9.5):

τῶν δὲ βουλευτέων Λυκίδης εἶπε γνώμην ὡς ἐδόκεε ἄμεινον εἶναι δεξαμένους τὸν λόγον, τόν σφι Μουρυχίδης προφέρει, ἐξενεῖκαι ἐς τὸν δῆμον. ὃ μὲν δὴ ταύτην τὴν γνώμην ἀπεφαίνετο, εἴτε δὴ δεδεγμένος χρήματα παρὰ Μαρδονίου, εἴτε καὶ ταῦτά οἱ ἑάνδανε: Ἀθηναῖοι δὲ αὐτίκα δεινὸν ποιησάμενοι οἵ τε ἐκ τῆς βουλῆς καὶ οἱ ἔξωθεν ὡς ἐπύθοντο, περιστάντες Λυκίδην κατέλευσαν βάλλοντες, τὸν δὲ Ἑλλησπόντιον Μουρυχίδην ἀπέπεμψαν ἀσινέα. γενομένου δὲ θορύβου ἐν τῇ Σαλαμῖνι περὶ τὸν Λυκίδην, πυνθάνονται τὸ γινόμενον αἱ γυναῖκες τῶν Ἀθηναίων, διακελευσαμένη δὲ γυνὴ γυναικὶ καὶ παραλαβοῦσα ἐπὶ τὴν Λυκίδεω οἰκίην ἤισαν αὐτοκελέες, καὶ κατὰ μὲν ἔλευσαν αὐτοῦ τὴν γυναῖκα κατὰ δὲ τὰ τέκνα.

[Lycides, one of the councillors, proposed that it seemed best to take the offer which Murychides brought before them and put it to the people. He declared this plan, either having taken money from Mardonius, or because it was pleasing to him. Immediately the Athenians were furious, both those from the council, and those outside when they heard of it. Circling Lycides and throwing, they stoned him to death; but they sent off Murychides the Hellespontian unharmed. With much noise growing in Salamis about Lycides, the women of the Athenians learned the news, hearing from one another and encouraging each other, they went to the house of Lycides on their own, and stoned to death his wife and children.]

This story was very popular among patriotic orators of the 4th century, according to Fine, and was used to illustrate the commitment of their forefathers to freedom; but in their versions it had become a deliberate decree rather than a spontaneous lynching.

Another method of execution at Athens until the end of the 5th century involved τὸ βάραθρον, a rocky gulf behind the Acropolis fixed with spikes and hooks, into which victims (οἱ βάραθροι) were hurled to their death. The word βάραθρον also came to be used metaphorically for ruin or perdition, as in Demosthenes 8.45, ἐν τῷ βαράθρῳ χειμάζειν, to winter in that hellish place. Herodotus relates the story of a messenger from Darius being thrown ἐς τὸ βάραθρον (7.133):

ἐς δὲ Ἀθήνας καὶ Σπάρτην οὐκ ἀπέπεμψε Ξέρξης ἐπὶ γῆς αἴτησιν κήρυκας τῶνδε εἵνεκα: πρότερον Δαρείου πέμψαντος ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο, οἳ μὲν αὐτῶν τοὺς αἰτέοντας ἐς τὸ βάραθρον οἳ δ᾽ ἐς φρέαρ ἐμβαλόντες ἐκέλευον γῆν τε καὶ ὕδωρ ἐκ τούτων φέρειν παρὰ βασιλέα.

[Xerxes did not send messengers to Athens and Sparta demanding earth for this reason: previously, when Darius sent men with the same demand, at one place the requester was thrown into the pit, and at the other into a well, and told to fetch earth and water for the king from those places.]

Yet another method was ἀποτυμπανισμός. In the intermediate LSJ the verb ἀποτυμπανίζω is defined as to cudgel to death. But in 1923 a book on the subject by Antonios Keramopoullos, based on excavations in Phaleron, argued that the practice involved chaining a person to a wooden board and standing it upright in the ground. The newer LSJ defines ἀποτυμπανισμός as a crucifixion, and the supplement updates this further: "for crucifixion read prob. destruction." The verb ἀποτυμπανίζω in the supplement is updated to read: to put to death, execute.

The excavations on which Keramopoullos based his book revealed 17 skeletons with iron cramps around the wrists and ankles, and an iron collar around the neck. Although scholars seem to agree that these men were executed by ἀποτυμπανισμός, there is disagreement about whether they were merely left to die slowly, or whether the collar around the neck was tightened until they died. Those who suggest the latter recall a scene from the Thesmophoriazusae of Aristophanes, where a guard is ordered to arrest a man and "bind him on the board": δῆσον αὐτὸν ... ἐν τῇ σανίδι (lines 930-931). Later the prisoner asks the guard to loosen the nail, χάλασον τὸν ἧλον, but the guard only drives it tighter. With lines 1052-1055 the prisoner laments:

οὐ γὰρ ἔτ᾽ ἀθανάταν φλόγα λεύσσειν
ἐστὶν ἐμοὶ φίλον, ὡς ἐκρεμάσθην,
λαιμότμητ᾽ ἄχη δαιμόνων αἰόλαν
νέκυσιν ἐπὶ πορείαν

[For the immortal light does not look dear to me still, since I was hung, strangled, suffering pain, on the quick path to the dead.]

In the dictionaries λαιμότμητος is defined as with severed throat, but it must be either an injured throat or cut from strangling, since he is still able to speak. If the cause of death here is the strangling, there is another instance of hanging someone tied to a board in the Odyssey where the aim is to extend the suffering for as long as possible (22.173-177):

σφῶϊ δ᾽ ἀποστρέψαντε πόδας καὶ χεῖρας ὕπερθεν
ἐς θάλαμον βαλέειν, σανίδας δ᾽ ἐκδῆσαι ὄπισθε,
σειρὴν δὲ πλεκτὴν ἐξ αὐτοῦ πειρήναντε
κίον᾽ ἀν᾽ ὑψηλὴν ἐρύσαι πελάσαι τε δοκοῖσιν,
ὥς κεν δηθὰ ζωὸς ἐὼν χαλέπ᾽ ἄλγεα πάσχῃ

[But you two twist back his feet and hands above and throw him into the storage room, and bind boards at the back, and having tied fast from his body a twisted cord, draw him up the tall pillar near the roof-beams, so that living for a long time he may suffer grievous pain.]

Recall the use of δέω and σανίς above in Aristophanes.

At least from the end of the 5th century, drinking κώνειον, a poison made from hemlock seeds, was the common method of execution. In addition to Socrates, famous people such as Theramenes and Phocion were killed in this manner. According to Fine, the first specific reference to hemlock for execution is during the rule of the Thirty Tyrants (404/3), but he thinks it was probably used before that time, since it seems to be well known enough to serve as a joke in the Frogs of Aristophanes (123-124), produced in 405BC. Discussing the quickest way to Hades, Heracles suggests:

ἀλλ᾽ ἔστιν ἀτραπὸς ξύντομος τετριμμένη
ἡ διὰ θυείας.

[But there is a short, well-worn, direct path, through the mortar.]

The word τετριμμένη is used of road that are well-worn and smooth, but it also used of things crushed or ground, such as the seeds of the hemlock plant in a mortar. Dionysus responds:

ἆρα κώνειον λέγεις;

[Do you mean hemlock?]

But although hemlock became the more common method, the ἀποτυμπανισμός continued to be used, according to Fine, possibly for those convicted of especially heinous crimes.

Aphrodite: Foam, Genitalia, and Immortal Flesh

2007-01-19T22:08:00.000-05:00

William Annis posted notes for the shorter Hymn to Aphrodite on his Aoidoi website a few weeks ago. The hymn begins:

αἰδοίην χρυσοστέφανον καλὴν Ἀφροδίτην
ᾅσομαι, ἣ πάσης Κύπρου κρήδεμνα λέλογχεν
εἰναλίης, ὅθι μιν Ζεφύρου μένος ὑγρὸν ἀέντος
ἤνεικεν κατὰ κῦμα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης
ἀφρῷ ἔνι μαλακῷ·

[I will sing the revered, gold-crowned, beautiful Aphrodite, who protects the walls of all of seaside Cyprus, where the moist might of blowing Zephyrus carried her over the waves of the loud-sounding sea in the soft foam.]

He notes that ἀφρός is an etymological figure on Aphrodite's name, and that led me eventually to the story of her birth in Hesiod's Theogony. Angry that Heaven has been imprisoning many of their children and keeping them from the light, Earth creates a sickle and persuades her son Kronos to take revenge on his father. As Heaven comes down (bringing night) to Earth for intercourse, Kronos cuts off his genitalia. Hesiod continues (lines 188-200):

μήδεα δ᾽ ὡς τὸ πρῶτον ἀποτμήξας ἀδάμαντι
κάββαλ᾽ ἀπ᾽ ἠπείροιο πολυκλύστῳ ἐνὶ πόντῳ,
ὣς φέρετ᾽ ἂμ πέλαγος πουλὺν χρόνον, ἀμφὶ δὲ λευκὸς
ἀφρὸς ἀπ᾽ ἀθανάτου χροὸς ὤρνυτο· τῷ δ᾽ ἔνι κούρη
ἐθρέφθη· πρῶτον δὲ Κυθήροισι ζαθέοισιν
ἔπλητ᾽, ἔνθεν ἔπειτα περίρρυτον ἵκετο Κύπρον.
ἐκ δ᾽ ἔβη αἰδοίη καλὴ θεός, ἀμφὶ δὲ ποίη
ποσσὶν ὕπο ῥαδινοῖσιν ἀέξετο· τὴν δ᾽ Ἀφροδίτην
[ἀφρογενέα τε θεὰν καὶ ἐϋστέφανον Κυθέρειαν]
κικλήσκουσι θεοί τε καὶ ἀνέρες, οὕνεκ᾽ ἐν ἀφρῷ
θρέφθη· ἀτὰρ Κυθέρειαν, ὅτι προσέκυρσε Κυθήροις·
Κυπρογενέα δ᾽, ὅτι γέντο περικλύστῳ ἐνὶ Κύπρῳ·
ἠδὲ φιλομμειδέα, ὅτι μηδέων ἐξεφαάνθη.

[And so first having severed the genitals with the blade, he threw them down from the land into the surging sea, and so they floated on the open sea for a long time. And a white foam rose around them from the immortal flesh, and in it a girl was formed. First she approached sacred Cythera, from where she then came to water-bound Cyprus, and came out a revered and beautiful goddess, and grass grew around under her slender feet. Gods and men call her Aphrodite [and the foam-born goddess and well-crowned Cythera] because she was formed in foam; and Cythera, since she arrived at Cythera; and Cyprus-born, since she was born in well-washed Cyprus; and smile-loving, since she appeared out of genitals.]

West notes in his commentary to line 197 that this etymology from ἀφρός appears also in Diogenes Apolloniates (A24) and Plato's Cratylus (406c), and "that it leaves the second half of the name unexplained is typical of ancient etymologizing, especially in the early period." He points out too that Didymus (Et.magn.179.13) "attempted to do better" by deriving it from ἁβροδίαιτον, effeminacy.

The description in lines 191-192 of Aphrodite being formed in the foam is quite vivid in the Greek: τῷ δ᾽ ἔνι κούρη ἐθρέφθη, where the word ἐθρέφθη is often used of children, to be reared, to grow up. West says that τρέφω "can be used of anything growing or solidifying, of congealing cheese, ice (Odyssey 14.477), etc.; also of the fetus, as Aeschylus' Eumenides 665, Thebais 754, Hippocrates vii.482."

Her connection with Cyprus is also mentioned in the eighth book of the Odyssey, in the song of Demodocus about Ares and Aphrodite (lines 362-363):

ἡ δ᾽ ἄρα Κύπρον ἵκανε φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη,
ἐς Πάφον, ἔνθα δέ οἱ τέμενος βωμός τε θυήεις.

[But smile-loving Aphrodite went to Cyprus, to Paphos, where there is land for her and a fragrant altar.]

These two lines also display the frequent epithet φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη, which Bergk used to conjecture φιλομμειδέα for line 200 of the Theogony above, and which West reads, where the manuscripts have φιλομμηδέα, gential-loving, ὅτι μηδέων ἐξεφαάνθη. I suppose it's easy to see why scribes would be tempted to write φιλομμηδέα, to make sense of the immediate context; but if she isn't otherwise called φιλομμηδέα, then surely the original reading must have been φιλομμειδέα, with a pun on the nearly identical sounding words, and perhaps her association with sex and lust. I wondered about the distant possibility of a genitalia pun in November's Hera's Vengeful Plans.

And a random note: The description in lines 190-191 of the Theogony, ἀμφὶ δὲ λευκὸς ἀφρὸς ἀπ᾽ ἀθανάτου χροὸς ὤρνυτο, reminded me of the Hymn to Demeter, lines 278-279, τῆλε δὲ φέγγος ἀπὸ χροὸς ἀθανάτοιο λάμπε θεᾶς, and a light shone far from the immortal flesh of the goddess.

Callimachus on Quality vs. Quantity

2007-01-13T21:06:00.000-05:00

At the very end of his Hymn to Apollo, Callimachus (perhaps slightly self-conscious about the length of his poems compared to those of Homer?) offers a nice metaphor about the quality and quantity of poetry. Talking with Apollo, Φθόνος, or Envy, says:

οὐκ ἄγαμαι τὸν ἀοιδὸν ὃς οὐδ᾽ ὅσα πόντος ἀείδει

[I do not admire the singer who does not sing as great as the sea.]

There is perhaps a bit of wordplay here, as ἄγαμαι can also mean to envy. Apollo gives him a swift kick, and replies (108-112):

Ἀσσυρίου ποταμοῖο μέγας ῥόος, ἀλλὰ τὰ πολλά
λύματα γῆς καὶ πολλὸν ἐφ᾽ ὕδατι συρφετὸν ἕλκει.
Δηοῖ δ᾽ οὐκ ἀπὸ παντὸς ὕδωρ φορέουσι μέλισσαι,
ἀλλ᾽ ἥτις καθαρή τε καὶ ἀχράαντος ἀνέρπει
πίδακος ἐξ ἱερῆς ὀλίγη λιβὰς ἄκρον ἄωτον.

[The flow of the Assyrian river is great, but it drags much filth of the earth and much waste in addition to water. Bees, however, do not carry water to Demeter from just anywhere, but that which seeps up clean and undefiled from a sacred spring, a small trickle, best and choicest.]

The word μέλισσαι, bees, had two associations which are relevant here: It could be used of poets, such as μέλιττα Μούσης at line 974 of the Ecclesiazusae by Aristophanes (where μέλιττα is the Attic form of μέλισσα); and it was also used of the priestesses of Delphi, or Cybele, or Artemis, as well as those of Demeter (see Pindar P.4.60, and for Demeter, the scholiast to that line, LSJ).

This passage from Callimachus brought to my mind the bee in the Hittite myth of Telipinu. And I was interested to see that he uses the name Δηώ, which is a nickname for Demeter used in the Hymn to Demeter and the dramatists, but not in Homer or Hesiod.

A Further Note on Beastiality and the Hittites

2007-01-10T21:24:00.000-05:00

In August 2006 I wrote about Hittite Laws on Sexuality, including some curious attitudes toward beastiality, which was a summary of Trevor Bryce's discussion from 2002. On page 24 of his book, Indo-European Language and Culture, Benjamin Fortson discusses a relationship between the consecration of kingship and horse rituals in the Indic, Roman, Irish, and (indirectly) Anatolian traditions.

We know most about the Indic ritual, according to Fortson, called asvamedha, where a stallion was sacrificed, specifially "one that excelled on the right-hand side of the yoke", the ritual copulation by the queen with the dead horse, and distribution of the dissected remains. There is some evidence for a Roman ritual called October Equus, which was a sacrifice to Mars of the horse from the right-hand side of a winning chariot team. Its head was severed and fought over by two groups of people, and its tail was pinned to the wall of the royal palace. There is also an Irish ritual, described by Giraldus Cambrensis in the 12th century book Topography of Ireland, that involves copulation between a king and a mare, which is then killed and cut up and boiled, and served to the people to be eaten. Fortson conjectures that this points to an older Proto-Indo-European ritual, although he thinks the choice of a horse from the right-hand side of the yoke is probably a later innovation, since paired draft-horses don't appear in the archaeological record until the middle of the 3rd millennium.

In my earlier post, I mentioned that, although the Hittites punished beastiality with capital punishment, which was otherwise rare, even in most cases of murder, they had specific exemptions in their law code for sexual interaction with horses and mules. On the kingship ritual in Anatolia, Fortson says: "we have some traces of ritual royal copulation, but without horses; interestingly, though, in Hittite law, copulation with animals was a punishable offense except copulation with horses or mules."

Ancient Mullets?

2007-01-07T12:50:00.000-05:00

The Achaeans seem generally to have worn their hair long, based on the formulaic epithet κάρη κομόωντες, letting the hair grow long on the head. In his commentary at Iliad 3.43, Kirk mentions a note by Stephanie West on Odyssey 1.90 which says that long hair remained fashionable with wealthy Athenians into the fifth century. The intermediate LSJ on κομάω says:

In early times the Greeks wore their hair long, whence κάρη κομόωντες Ἀχαιοί in Homer. At Sparta the fashion continued. At Athens it was so worn by youths up to the 18th year, when they offered their long locks to some deity; and to wear long hair was considered as a sign of aristocratic habits: hence κομᾶν meant to plume oneself, give oneself airs, be proud or haughty (like Latin cristam tollere) Aristophanes; οὗτος ἐκόμησε ἐπὶ τυραννίδι, he aimed at the monarchy, Herodotus; ἐπὶ τῷ κομᾷς; on what do you plume yourself? Aristophanes.

He also mentions that West claims the gods have long hair, but he points out that strictly it is only Zeus, "whose locks fall forward in his great oath at 1.529", and Apollo, who is called ἀκερσοκόμης, with uncut hair, at 20.39.

In the catalogue of ships we learn of the Ἄβαντες in lines 536-545:

οἳ δ᾽ Εὔβοιαν ἔχον μένεα πνείοντες Ἄβαντες,
Χαλκίδα τ᾽ Εἰρέτριάν τε πολυστάφυλόν θ᾽ Ἱστίαιαν
Κήρινθόν τ᾽ ἔφαλον Δίου τ᾽ αἰπὺ πτολίεθρον,
οἵ τε Κάρυστον ἔχον ἠδ᾽ οἳ Στύρα ναιετάασκον,
τῶν αὖθ᾽ ἡγεμόνευ᾽ Ἐλεφήνωρ, ὄζος Ἄρηος,
Χαλκωδοντιάδης, μεγαθύμων ἀρχὸς Ἀβάντων.
τῷ δ᾽ ἅμ᾽ Ἄβαντες ἕποντο θοοί, ὄπιθεν κομόωντες,
αἰχμηταὶ μεμαῶτες ὀρεκτῇσιν μελίῃσι
θώρηκας ῥήξειν δηΐων ἀμφὶ στήθεσσι.
τῷ δ᾽ ἅμα τεσσαράκοντα μέλαιναι νῆες ἕποντο.

[And the power-breathing Abantes held Euboea, and Kalchis, and Eiretria, and vine-rich Histiaia, and Kerinthos on the seashore, and the steep city of Dion, and they held Karustos, and inhabited Stura: Elephenor, companion of Ares, was the leader of these, the son of Khalkodon, leader of the great-hearted Abantes. And with him followed the nimble Abantes, letting their hair grow long in the back, eager spearmen with outstretched spears of ash ready to split the breastplates about the chest of the enemy. And with him followed forty dark ships.]

The phrase ὄπιθεν κομόωντες, according to Kirk, "must mean with hair long at the back, short on top", "in order to stop the enemy grabbing it, according to Arkhemakhos, a local historian cited by Strabo 10.465". That is practical enough (if he is right) but it sure sounds like a mullet to me, although I certainly wouldn't say that face-to-face with the μένεα πνείοντες Ἄβαντες themselves, I mean, I don't even own a breastplate.

Iliad 1.5

2007-01-02T12:25:00.000-05:00

Recently, while reading M.L. West's book Textual Criticism and Editorial Technique, 1973, I came across this passage on p.11 about the usefulness of imitations:

Imitations and parodies are occasionally of use, especially in the case of verse texts. For example, in Iliad 1.4-5, where the main tradition gives αὐτοὺς δὲ ἑλώρια τεῦχε κύνεσσιν οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι, Athenaeus records that the pioneer of Alexandrian scholarship, Zenodotus, read the more forceful δαῖτα instead of πᾶσι: it has been observed that this is supported by the echo in Aeschylus, Suppl. 800f. κυσὶν δ᾽ ἔπειθ᾽ ἕλωρα κἀπιχωρίοις | ὄρνισι δεῖπνον. (But the imitation could not have been used to infer a reading δαῖτα if its existence had not been recorded.)

This left me with the impression that West would read δαῖτα in his edition, but when I saw his edition shortly after that, I was surprised to see that he actually read πᾶσι. A friend was kind enough to send me West's note on this passage from his Text and Transmission, 2001:

His [Zenotodus] δαῖτα in 5 was apparently a variant familiar to Aeschylus and the model for his κυσὶν δ᾽ ἔπειθ᾽ ἕλωρα κἀπιχωρίοις | ὄρνισι δεῖπνον at Supp. 800f.* But that does not make it the original reading; πᾶσι is good idiom, cf. Ar. Av. 1117, and Soph. Aj. 830 has ῥιφθῶ κυσὶν πρόβλητος οἰωνοῖς θ᾽ ἕλωρ. Against δαῖτα Athenaeus cites (from Aristarchus) the argument that Homer uses the term only of human banquets, but this is not decisive, cf. Ω 43 (Leaf), and δεῖπνον in Β 383. Zenodotus' reading δηιοι for τ᾽ ἄλλοι at Ι 594 is of similar character--more colourful, but secondary.

[*Other similar passages such as Eur. Hec. 1077, Ion 505, and Tim. Pers. 138 (cited by R. Renehan, AJP 100 [1979], 473f.) may derive from Aeschylus and are not necessarily independent witnesses.]

I still wonder what reading he would have used in 1973, but it is a good reminder that the "more forceful" or "more colorful" reading is not necessarily the original one.

P.'s Prescience

2007-01-01T12:18:00.000-05:00

Forethought is an essential part of the Prometheus stories. In fact, the Greeks understood the name Προμηθεύς (Doric Προμᾱθευς, also in Attica Πρόμηθος) to come from προμηθής, προ + μητ/μανθ-, plan, know, and he had a brother Ἐπιμηθεύς, or Afterthought. In modern times some people have preferred other origins for his name: such as Sanskrit pramantha, firestick; or Pramatih, an epithet of Agni, perhaps meaning forethinker; or even Πραμανθεύς, an epithet of Zeus. Mark Griffith thinks that the original explanation of the Greeks is probably correct, and refers the reader to an article by V. Schmidt, Z.P.E. 19 (1975) 183-90, which I haven't yet seen.

In the drama, P. is given the role that Γῆ had in Hesiod's version, as the character who provided Zeus the advice which allowed him to lead the Olympians in overthrowing the Titans. One of the main threads in Prometheus Bound is the hinting and gradual revelation that P. has knowledge about the future of the reign of Zeus, and his refusal to share the information with the new ruler unless he is released from his bonds.

In lines 755 and 756, while speaking with Io, P. surprises her with these words:

νῦν δ᾽ οὐδέν ἐστι τέρμα μοι προκείμενον
μόχθων, πρὶν ἂν Ζεὺς ἐκπέσῃ τυραννίδος

[But now there is no determined end to my troubles, until Zeus is thrown from power.]

This might also have surprised the audience, and the word ἐκπίπτω becomes important in the rest of the play: see lines 757, 912, 948, 957, 996. Griffith writes: "With its implied passive sense (be thrown out, stronger than simply fall) it can be followed by ὑπό or πρός + genitive (as at 948), and thus reintroduces the idea of an external threat to Zeus' rule." We only have to wait until line 761 for Io to ask who will oust him. But her immediate response, at line 757, is this:

ἦ γάρ ποτ᾽ ἔστιν ἐκπεσεῖν ἀρχῆς Δία;

[What, can it be that Zeus is one day to be thrown from power?]

Since Zeus is the cause of Io's present woes, this is obviously a glimmer of hope for her, and P. assures her that it is in fact true (760):

ὡς τοίνυν ὄντων τῶνδε γαθεῖν σοι πάρα

[Well then, these things being true, it is possible for you to rejoice.]

Later, at lines 907-910, we learn more details about what lies in store for Zeus, when P. says (note the use of future indicatives now):

ἦ μὴν ἔτι Ζεύς, καίπερ αὐθάδης φρενῶν,
ἔσται ταπεινός, οἷον ἐξαρτύεται
γάμον γαμεῖν, ὃς αὐτὸν ἐκ τυραννίδος
θρόνων τ᾽ ἄϊστον ἐκβαλεῖ

[Indeed, hereafter Zeus, although stubborn of heart, will become humble, such a marriage he is preparing which will throw him from his throne and power into oblivion.]

And he predicts further (926-927):

πταίσας δὲ τῷδε πρὸς κακῷ μαθήσεται
ὅσον τό τ᾽ ἄρχειν καὶ τὸ δουλεύειν δίχα

[And having fallen upon this misfortune, he will learn how different it is to rule and to be a slave.]

The Chrous doubts these bold predictions (928):

σύ θην ἃ χρῄζεις, ταῦτ᾽ ἐπιγλωσσᾷ Διός

[Surely this is only what you desire, these curses you hurl at Zeus.]

But P. makes it clear that it is not merely wishful thinking:

ἅπερ τελεῖται, πρὸς δ᾽ ἃ βούλομαι λέγω

[I say even what will come to pass, as well as what I wish.]

But P.'s confident predictions are hard to reconcile with his fears and anguish, and readers have long been unsure about how certain P. can be about the future of Zeus. These events are taking place shortly after Zeus comes to power, but Io and the Chorus are surprised to hear about his eventual downfall. We don't have access to the following play, and so we cannot be sure how the dramatist ended matters between Zeus and P., whether Heracles merely kills the eagle (which we know from a fragment) or actually releases P. from his bonds, or whether Zeus releases P. in exchange for the information about the threat to his sovereignty.

But something that is not discussed in detail in any of the literature that I've read so far is the question of how the fifth-century audience would react to these predictions. Since these events took place in the very distant past, and Zeus was still the most powerful of the Greek gods in classical times, surely they would have known immediately that P. prophecies were not fulfilled. In his introduction to the play, Griffith writes: "The audience are thus kept uncertain as to how the plot will unfold, though they naturally tend to assume that predictions made in a tragedy will turn out to be true, especially if they are made by the son of Themis." And in his commentary to lines 907-940, he says: "Nobody can be quite sure (Chorus, Zeus, audience, perhaps not even P. himself) how much of what he predicts is certain and inevitable (Zeus will fall), how much contingent upon future decisions (Zeus will fall unless...)." The audience must have known that Zeus does not in fact fall from power, and that leaves us wondering if P. was mistaken or maybe even deliberately lying. Perhaps in his desperation he decides to pretend that Zeus will be overthrown unless he is released, and we know that Zeus must overhear P.'s words, since he sends a messenger to P. to investigate further. This would suit P.'s reputation for cleverness. Of course, it might simply be that P. is right about what will happen to Zeus, but that Zeus releases him from his bonds in exchange for the information, and so avoids being overthrown.

The Infamous Eagle

2006-12-17T19:47:00.001-05:00

Toward the end of Prometheus Bound Hermes describes the further punishment that P. will suffer. First, he tells us, Zeus will shatter the cliff with lightning, and entomb his body (reminiscent of Typhos) while he remains chained. It is only then that we finally hear about the infamous eagle which will repeatedly devour P.'s liver (1020-1025):

μακρὸν δὲ μῆκος ἐκτελευτήσας χρόνου
ἄψορρον ἥξεις εἰς φάος: Διὸς δέ τοι
πτηνὸς κύων, δαφοινὸς αἰετός, λάβρως
διαρταμήσει σώματος μέγα ῥάκος,
ἄκλητος ἕρπων δαιταλεὺς πανήμερος,
κελαινόβρωτον δ᾽ ἧπαρ ἐκθοινήσεται.

[And after a long period of time you will come back into the light, and then the winged dog of Zeus, the bloodthristy eagle, will violently shred great chunks of your body, an unwelcome feaster creeping all day long, and will eat at your chewed-black liver.]

The word δαφοινός, according to Griffith, can be taken in three ways. It could mean blood-red or tawny as at Euripides Alcestis 581, where it is used of lions, or at Iliad 2.308: δράκων ἐπὶ νῶτα δαφοινός, a blood-red serpent on the back. This might simply refer to a golden eagle. It could also imply blood-spattered, something like Iliad 16.159: παρήιον αἵματι φοινόν, jaw red with blood. It might also imply blood-thirsty or murderous (see LSJ under φοίνιος II). For this Griffith cites the Hesiodic Shield of Heracles at line 250, where the Κῆρες δαφοιναί are given the description: πᾶσαι δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἵεντο αἵμα μέλαν πιέειν, they were all eager to drink dark blood. There is probably no need to try to pick one of these over the others: all of them contribute nicely to the image here.

West on Textual Discrepancy

2006-12-16T09:35:00.000-05:00

In his book on editorial technique West has a very readable introduction to the various causes of textual discrepancies. What follows is a summary of a brief introduction.

Miscopying is far from being the only cause of textual variation, and misreading is far from being the only cause of miscopying. This is how West opens the section, and he proceeds with the very first way in which a text may change: the author himself may make changes after a work has already begun to circulate. Aristophanes revised Clouds after the first production in 424/3, and both versions were around in Hellenistic times, and we have inherited the revision, according to West. The scholia to the Argonautica quote from an earlier edition (προέκδοσις). And Ovid tells us himself that the Metamorphoses was being circulated before he made his final revisions (Tristia 1.7.13). Besides the author, others may make conscious "improvements" to the text. This is most evident in the Greek tragedies, where the actors made changes to their copies. West says that this probably also happened to the plays of Plautus, but likely on a smaller scale, and the evidence is less clear. Slightly different is the way in which the rhapsodes handled the Homeric poems. And certain types of writing were considered open for alteration: commentaries, lexica, and grammatical works were treated differently from literary works. Also things of a technical nature, like the Hippocratic corpus, were revised or rearranged.

Changes could occur when a passage was quoted. Most of this was a result of inaccurate recollection, since ancient writers in general would quote from memory rather than unrolling a scroll and searching for a passage without the help of chapter divisions or the like. (This is not usually true of grammarians, however, who went through the trouble to look things up as a rule.) In addition, a writer might be quoting from another author or anthology, and so even when they copied directly, the passage may already have been tweaked. Quotations tend to become less accurate toward the end. And they may be deliberately altered to suit the context, such as changing γάρ to τοι at the beginning of excerpts, which happened often in anthologies, or simply filling out a line to neaten a verse.

Christian zeal could affect a text. For instance, in the Vienna ms. of Ps.-Hippocrates περὶ διαίτης, the names of Greek gods were removed, and θεοί was changed to θεός. The suppression of obscenity, however, was rarer than we might suppose according to West. In one group of mss. of Herodotus, the chapter on sacred prostitution (1.199) was omitted altogether. In one copy of Martial the copyist made changes such as adulter for fututor, and turpes for cunnos. One critic went so far as to change τῇ πιθόμην καὶ ἔρεξα in Iliad 9.453 to τῇ οὐ πιθόμην οὐδ᾽ ἔρξα, apparently unhappy with the confession of Pheonix that he seduced his father's lover at the request of his mother.

Natural changes in orthography are an issue in the transmission of texts. The Ionian contraction of ε and ο to εο often appears as ευ in our texts. And quoi and quom appear often as cui and cum. But in Hellenistic times, there was a counter movement which tried consciously to preserve or restore original dialect forms, and this resulted in many pseudo-Ionic being placed into texts of Herodotus and Hippocrates, and pseudo-Doric forms in the bucolic poets. Planudes and his disciples regularly wrote γίγνομαι and γιγνώσκω for γίνομαι and γινώσκω. And some consistent changes are made for no apparent reason, such as in a late copy of Apollonius Rhodius, where νύμφη is used in place of κούρη.

Emendation by scholars and scribes is more evident in the Middle Ages and Renaissance than in antiquity, and is a bigger problem, according to West. Ancient conjectures are usually recorded in scholia and other commentaries, but seldom appear to have entered the textual tradition. In West's words: the contribution of any individual must usually have been as evanescent as a pee into the river. In the Middle Ages there were fewer copies, and the scribes often had inferior knowledge of the language, so they would frequently change what they couldn't understand, and this could affect the "whole stream" or a branch of it anyway. In the copy of Lucretius from which all of our copies come, at 3.1, E tenebris tantis tam clarum extollere lumen, the intial E was left off on purpose, and a space provided for it where the scribe intended to return and write it ornamentally in red ink, but never got around to it.

And then there are semi-conscious or unconscious errors made in copying. Sometimes similar sounding words were mistaken, perhaps because the copyist repeated the words aloud to himself, and so words that were pronounced identically in later times could be confused, such as ἐπεὶ for αἰπὺ in Mimnermus 9.1, or εὖρον for Ἕβρον in Theocritus 7.112. The writing of e for ae, or v for b (less often the opposite), are considered cases of modernized spelling, according to West, but have the similar implications for the editor. Spoonerisms are common, for example, βαλών and λαβών, or suscipit and suspicit. Also, consonant clusters tend to be simplified, like ἔκλαξεν for ἔκλαγξεν, or astersi for abstersti.

Non-phonetic mental associations can cause unintentional changes, such as πύλαι and θύραι, which are widely found as variants. A monk might mistake a word for another that is more applicable to his life, for example, καθολκήν for καθολικήν. The copyist may unwittingly write a word or phrase that he has recently copied in place of what the text before him reads. In one copy of Hesiod Theogony 454 the scribe has written χρυσοστέφανον for χρυσοπέδιλον, with lines 17 and 136 apparently affecting his train of thought. And in Ovid Metamorphoses 12.103, inritamina cornu is written as inritamenta malorum, probably with 1.140 in mind.

Word order may be altered for various reasons, especially when the copyist has a phrase or whole line in his head while writing. One particular type of transposition is called the vitium Byzantinum, which occurs in texts of Greek tragedy, where a paroxytone is moved to the end of the iambic trimeter, making it sound more like a Byzantine dodecasyllable. In one family of Plutarch mss. the rhythm at the end of a sentence conforms to the habits of Byzantine language. Sometimes copyists try to avoid hiatus in prose by changing the word order. A more common operation is the simplification of word order: for instance, Bacchylides 15.47, Μοῦσα, τίς πρῶτος λόγων ἆρχεν δικαίων, is changed at the end to ἆρχεν λόγων δικαίων. And at Ovid Am. 1.14.1, dicebam "medicare tuos desiste capillos" becomes dicebam "desiste tuos medicare capillos" in some manuscripts.

The change to more straightforward word order is one example of a wider tendency for simplification: unusual forms are replaced by more common ones; asyndeton is removed by the addition of a conjunction; things left implicit are made explicit. The copyist may be trying to fix what he thinks is a mistake, or perhaps just making the text more readable, or maybe he is simply writing what his mind expects to see there. He may mistake a note in the margin for part of the actual text. This often happens with glosses of rare words. In Hipponax fr. 72.7, ἀπηναρίσθη Ῥῆσος Αἰνειῶν πάλμυς, the rare word πάλμυς appears in only one ms. (as παλαμάς), and the others read βασιλεύς in its place.

There are mistakes of the visual type, such as haplography and dittography. Haplography is writing once what should be written twice, such as defendum rather than defendendum, and dittography is the opposite. Also there is the saut du même au même, which happens when the same phrase occurs more than once on the page, and the scribe, after writing the first, brings his eye back to the page at the second instance, and fails to copy what is in between.

Certain letters were confused in manuscripts, some of which I can't explain here because of the inadequacy of fonts. A few of the Greek ones are as follows, although the similarities can't be appreciated fully in computer fonts:

Α = Δ = Λ
Γ = Τ
Θ = Ο = ϲ
Η = ΕΙ
Η = Ν = Κ = Ιϲ
ΛΛ = Μ
ΑΙ = Ν
Τ = Υ

Some of the miniscules are:

α = αυ
α = ει
α = ευ
β = κ = μ
ε = ευ
η = κ
μ = ν
ν = ρ
π = σσ

The use of abbreviations caused confusion as well, and this became more common in miniscule scripts, when their use became much more common. And the lack of word division in early manuscripts was often a source of confusion, for example, Pindar Ol. 10.55, τὸ δὲ σαφανὲς, where the rare word σαφανὲς was not easily recognized, and so this sometimes appears as τὸ δ᾽ ἐς ἀφανὲς. And a mistake like this can lead to further mistakes, such as Aristophanes Ach. 832, where ἀλλ᾽ ἁμὶν was wrongly understood as ἀλλὰ μὶν, and then subsequently μὶν became μὴν in other manuscripts.

The Critical Apparatus

2006-12-15T20:44:00.000-05:00

I did not always appreciate that mass of variants and Latin and curious symbols at the foot of the page in my Greek books. In fact, as so often happens with ignorance, I actively disliked it. But as I've learned more about the Greek language, and the precious course of transmission by which I have access to an ancient literature, and spent some time myself trying to puzzle out a particular piece of text, I've come to see what wealth lies compacted into those little word-hoards. In his book on textual criticism and editorial technique (1973) M.L. West points out that even seemingly trivial debates over variants such as δέ and τε, which might not change in the slightest the meaning of a particular passage, can be valuable in the long run for our knowledge of particles, for instance, or meter, or stylistics. And these things, in turn, may shed light on a passage where the reading of δέ or τε does indeed put the meaning at stake.

He aims his book not only at editors, but at readers like myself, who, even with some appreciation for the value of textual criticism, have been content to leave such work to the men and women we trust to have superior knowledge. In his words: "Unfortunately editors are not always people who can be trusted, and critical apparatuses are provided so that readers are not dependent upon them. Though the reader lacks the editor's long acquaintance with the text and its problems, he may nevertheless surpass him in his feeling for the language or in ordinary common sense, and he should be prepared to consider the facts presented in the apparatus and exercise his own judgment on them. He must do so in places where the text is important to him for some further purpose."

West relates Eduard Fraenkel's epiphany about the value of the critical apparatus, which was originally told in Fraenkel's introduction to Leo's Ausgewählte kleine Schriften: "I had by then read the greater part of Aristophanes, and I began to rave about it to Leo, and to wax eloquent on the magic of this poetry, the beauty of the choral odes, and so on and so forth. Leo let me have my say, perhaps ten minutes in all, without showing any sign of disapproval or impatience. When I was finished, he asked: In which edition do you read Aristophanes? I thought: has he not been listening? What has his question got to do with what I have been telling him? After a moment's ruffled hesitation I answered: The Teubner. Leo: Oh, you read Aristophanes without a critical apparatus. He said it quite calmly, without any sharpness, without a whiff of sarcasm, just sincerely taken aback that it was possible for a tolerably intelligent young man to do such a thing. I looked at the lawn nearby and had a single, overwhelming sensation: νῦν μοι χάνοι εὐρεῖα χθών. Later it seemed to me that in that moment I had understood the meaning of real scholarship."

On the Acquisition of Mosquensis

2006-12-07T14:47:00.000-05:00

The codex Mosquensis is a famous book that was found in 1777 by Christian Friedrich Matthaei in the library of the Synod in Moscow, and which includes part of Homer, and also the Homeric Hymns. It's famous because it contains our only copies of the hymns to Dionysus and Demeter, while all other manuscripts of the hymns open with the one to Apollo. In his edition of the Hymn to Demeter Richardson states simply that Matthaei "discovered" it, while Allen, in his edition to the hymns, says that he "acquired" it. But recently I read the History of Classical Scholarship by Wilamowitz, where he writes quite bluntly that the manuscript was "stolen" (gestohlen) without going into more detail. I'm curious about what actually happened. We know that he sold it to Ruhnken, the hymn's first editor. But I appreciate such details, and since I've mentioned this discovery before, I thought I would pass it on.

Prodelision

2006-12-03T16:55:00.000-05:00

It was only recently, while reading Prometheus Bound, that I encountered prodelision (or aphaeresis) for the first time. As you might guess from the name, it is like elision, but happens at the beginning of a word, when an inital short vowel is lost, following a long vowel or diphthong at the end of the previous word. I was surprised that I hadn't come across this before now, but today I discovered why, from reading Maurice Platnauer's article, Prodelision in Greek Drama, in Classical Quarterly (1960): PB is my first attempt at either tragedy or comedy, and it seems that this phenomenon, with few exceptions, is confined to drama. Here are a few interesting notes from the article.

It can be found very rarely in inscriptions or manuscripts of prose authors, such as Plato, but then almost always with ᾽κεῖνος and its cases. It happens not at all in Homer and Hesiod (and so presumably nowhere else in epic verse), and only rarely in lyric, and seems to show up first in fifth century tragedy. The frequency for the major dramatists is as follows: in Aeschylus about 1 in 250 lines, in Sophocles about 1 in 77 lines, in Euripides 1 in 154 lines, and in Aristophanes 1 in 43 lines. Although unusual, it can happen after a comma or colon; and it has been printed in some editions at the beginning of a line, but, according to Platnauer, this almost always turns out to be an impossible reading, or a case of false line division.

Prodelision is caused by the following vowels and diphthongs: ᾱ, ᾳ, η, ῃ, ω, and ῳ. Of these, η and ῃ are by far the most common. The only vowels suffering prodelision are α and ε, but α is much more common. Alpha privative is generally not prodelided, and most cases of prodelided alpha are with ἀπό and ἀνά and their compounds. The rare prodelision of epsilon will usually be found with the prepositions ἐπί, ἐκ, ἐς, ἐν, and their compounds, but sometimes with the syllabic augment.

It occurs in PB at lines 80, 440, 651, 741, and 773, or 5 times in 1093 lines, which is about 1 in 219 lines. Of the dramatists discussed above, this is closest to the frequency of Aeschylus.

A Fragment of Archilochos

2006-11-22T17:24:00.000-05:00

ΚΗΛΕΙΤΑΙΔΟΤΙΣΕΣΤΙΝΑΟΙΔΑΙΣ
κηλεῖται δ᾽ ὅτις ἐστιν ἀοιδαῖς

[Whoever exists is enchanted by song]

I've always liked this line. I discovered it some time ago in the edition of his fragments with commentary by William Harris. He comments on the structure of the line: the two ordinary words on the inside with two syllables each, and the two more colorful tri-syllabic words at the extremities, each with two diphthongs and a circumflex accent.

Hera's Vengeful Plans

2006-11-21T21:38:00.000-05:00

At Prometheus Bound 599-601, Io says:

σκιρτημάτων δὲ νήστισιν αἰκείαις
λαβρόσυτος ἦλθον, [Ἥρας]
ἐπικότοισι μήδεσι δαμεῖσα.

[With hunger pains of bounds I came rushing furiously, having been brought low by the vengeful schemes of Hera.]

Of Ἥρας Griffith writes: "two syllables are needed for responsion to 581. From 592 Ἥραι στυγητός, and a scholion to 600 δαμασθεῖσα μήδεσι καὶ βουλεύμασι τῆς Ἥρας, Hermann supplied Ἥρας."

The use of the genitive σκιρτημάτων confuses me. Griffith describes it as "(outrages consisting) of leaps, suggesting the movement of a heifer rather than of a human." I thought perhaps this genitive was one of cause or explanation, based on lines 571-573, where Griffith says of νῆστιν, "she is never allowed to pause to eat":

ἀλλά με τὰν τάλαιναν
ἐξ ἐνέρων περῶν κυνηγετεῖ, πλανᾷ
τε νῆστιν ἀνὰ τὰν παραλίαν ψάμμον.

[But, passing from the dead ones, he hunts me, the wretched one, and drives me hungry along the sands of the shore.]

The sense being that the hunger pains were caused by the constant leaping in fear. But still neither of these readings seem clear to me.

When I looked at the details of μήδεσι (line 601) in the dictionary, I was surprised to see that, in addition to the meaning of schemes, plans, etc., it can also mean genitals. It is interesting that the scholiast mentioned above thought it necessary to gloss this μήδεσι καὶ βουλεύμασι. The word δαμεῖσα is used of being subdued or conquered, or of the gods bringing someone low, and is used of animals, being tamed, brought under the yoke, which is appropriate to Io's situation here as ἡ βούκερως παρθένος. It is also used of being seduced or of a girl becoming subject to a husband. That reminded me of the word ὀπυίειν, which is used in the passive of girls being married, but it also carried a sexual connotation, according to Bain's article. I wonder if any of this would have entered the mind of the audience, contemplating Hera's sexual jealousy, and her domineering reputation.

The Springs of Troy

2006-11-20T18:12:00.000-05:00

In the digs of 1997 and 1998 at Troy, Korfmann's team discovered a cave cut deep into the hill, on the western side of the lower town. The main tunnel is the widest, and stretches nearly 43 feet long, but there are three more narrow tunnels branching from it, one of them exceeding 328 feet in length. An underground reservoir was tapped so that the overflow was channeled outside and stored in tanks. When it was discovered, the channel on the left side alone still delivered almost 8 gallons per hour. In May 2002, in the journal Archaeometry, Mangini and Frank, leaders of the radiometry team from Heidelberg Academy of Sciences, concluded that the oldest layers of calcite growth on the walls date to 4350 (+/- 570) years old, and that the tunnels were probably constructed shortly before that, sometime in the 3rd millennium, during the period of Troy I-II. They were also able to determine that the system was used during the period of Troy VI-VII (1700-1150BC), and later as well in the 8th century, and even Romans times.

This discovery wasn't made until after most scholars had come to agree that the city of Wilusa, mentioned by the Hittites, was in fact the same city that we know as Troy. But it was quickly pointed out anyway that the so-called "Alakšandu Treaty" between the Hittite King and Alakšandu of Wilusa, in paragraph 20, invokes the god of the subterranean watercourse [(Dingir)KASKAL.KUR] of the land of Wilusa (Latacz, 2001, English version Troy and Homer, 2004).

Nestor's Cup Revisited

2006-11-17T17:52:00.000-05:00

In his article, Grated Cheese Fit for Heroes, JHS, 1998, M.L. West considers the Nestor's Cup inscription, dating from 735-720, in light of the trend to place Homer's Iliad in the eighth century as well. West thinks that this makes it more plausible that the poet of the Nestor's Cup inscription was not echoing Homer directly, but an older common source for the drinking episode involving Nestor. He presents two related elements to the reader: one metrical, and the other archaeological.

The metrical issue involves these lines, Iliad 11.638-640:

ἐν τῷ ῥά σφι κύκησε γυνὴ εἰκυῖα θεῆισιν
οἴνῳ Πραμνείῳ, ἐπὶ δ᾽ αἴγειον κνῆ τυρόν
κνήστι χαλκείῃ, ἐπὶ δ᾽ ἄλφιτα λευκὰ πάλυνε.

[In it the woman, like the goddesses, mixed Pramnian wine for them, and over it she grated goat cheese with a bronze grater, and sprinkled white barley on it.]

The word κνῆ in line 639 is extremely unusual, according to West, being a long monosyllable in the biceps position of the fifth foot. Around 100AD, Heraclides of Miletus reports the variant κνέε, which he says was found in "some of the Aristarchean texts" (τινὲς τῶν Ἀρισταρχείων ἐκδόσεων). Despite the fact that West thinks this reading was a conjecture designed to eliminate the unusual metrical situation, and probably not genuine, he does suspect that κνῆ is a contraction of two short syllables. To the point, West suggests that when this hemistich was first used, the verb was *κνάε instead, and that it would have been contracted to *κνᾶ. He thinks our reading, κνῆ, was an Atticism in transmission, based on the spoken Attic ἔκνη. Therefore, the description of the cheese grating must have been introduced before the contraction of αε to ᾱ, which, according to West, would put it at least as far back as the first half of the 8th century, and "very probably" the ninth.

This is where archaeology enters the picture. Euboea played an important part in the development of the epic between 950 and 750, and David Ridgway has discovered bronze cheese graters, along with weapons, in warrior graves of 9th century Lefkandi. Ridgway says: "I submit that bronze cheese-graters at Lefkandi make perfectly good sense as part of a warriors' personal property. A grater could have been regarded as essential to both the preparation of an effective pain-killer and to the kind of serious non-medicinal drinking that is not uncommon in military circles" (Nestor's cup and the Etruscans, Oxford Journal of Archaeology, 1997). West points out that a grater would also be useful for grating hard cheese into dough or over meat, and not simply for drinking. He theorizes that the Nestor's Cup tradition goes back to Mycenaean poetry, but that an epic poet of 9th century Euboea was the first to introduce the grated cheese, following a custom that he knew in his own time. He thinks too that the function of the cup had changed, from a large personal cup that only Nestor could lift, to a mixing bowl, with the underlying suggestion that "heroes from the past drank from cups as large as mixing-bowls are now."

A Bit of Pindar: Pythian 3.80-83

2006-11-09T13:27:00.000-05:00

εἰ δὲ λόγων συνέμεν κορυφάν, Ἱέρων, ὀρθὰν ἐπίστᾳ, μανθάνων οἶσθα προτέρων:
“ ἓν παρ᾽ ἐσλὸν πήματα σύνδυο δαίονται βροτοῖς
ἀθάνατοι.” τὰ μὲν ὦν οὐ δύνανται νήπιοι κόσμῳ φέρειν,
ἀλλ᾽ ἀγαθοί, τὰ καλὰ τρέψαντες ἔξω.

[If you know the true peak of learning, Hieron, you have known the old saying: "along with one good the immortals distribute two woes to mortals." Fools are not able to endure calmly what happens, but the noble turn the good outward.]

Pindar and Simonides on Style

2006-11-07T09:18:00.000-05:00

This comes by way of Bowra's Pindar (1964), pages 193-194. He gives us a fragment of Simonides (fr. 602/97 P.), which he explains as praise for a traditional style:

ἐξελέγχει νέος οἶνος οὔπω
τὸ πέρυσι δῶρον ἀμπέλου·
κούρων δ᾽ ὅδε μῦθος κενεόφρων.

[The fresh wine doesn't yet outdo the previous year's gift of the vine: this is the empty-minded claim of youths.]

Bowra compares Pindar's Olympian 9, lines 48-49:

αἴνει δὲ παλαιὸν μὲν οἶνον, ἄνθεα δ᾽ ὕμνων
νεωτέρων.

[Praise an aged wine, but the blossoms of fresher songs.]

He suspects that Pindar is deliberately responding to his older contemporary, and boasting of his innovative style.

ἰπούμενος and the Authorship of Prometheus Bound

2006-11-05T18:52:00.000-05:00

Prometheus Bound 363-365:

καὶ νῦν ἀχρεῖον καὶ παράορον δέμας
κεῖται στενωποῦ πλησίον θαλασσίου
ἰπούμενος ῥίζαισιν Αἰτναίαις ὕπο.

[And now a helpless and sprawling form, he lies near the straights of the sea, being crushed by the foundations of Aetna.]

The helpless form is Typhos, whose imprisonment beneath Mt. Aetna by Zeus was supposed to explain the volcano's eruptions. In the 470s an eruption destroyed the city of Catana in Sicily, which was rebuilt and renamed after the volcano by Hieron, the leader of Syracuse. He threw a large celebration for the new city late in the decade, where Pindar's Pythian 1 was performed (and maybe the Persians of Aeschylus, according to Griffith). This passage of Prometheus Bound (363-372) has often been thought to echo Pindar's song, which describes the eruption.

Griffith also draws our attention to Pindar's Olympian 4, lines 7-8:

ἀλλ᾽, ὦ Κρόνου παῖ, ὃς Αἴτναν ἔχεις,
ἶπον ἀνεμόεσσαν ἑκατογκεφάλα Τυφῶνος ὀβρίμου,

[But, O son of Kronos, you who hold Aetna, the windy weight on the mighty, hundred-headed Typhos...]

In addition to the subject matter, he points out the word ἶπον, which refers to the piece of wood in a mousetrap that falls to catch the mouse, and so of a crushing weight, such as a fruit press (Griffith). Recall line 365 of Prometheus Bound above, where the derived ἰπούμενος is used of the same weight confining Typhos. The word is rare enough, says Griffith, that one of the passages probably depends on the other. If we claim that the Prometheus poet is following Pindar's Olympian 4 here (as is suspected about Pythian 1), and not the other way around, then this would support the case against Aeschylean authorship of Prometheus Bound, since that poet's death is usually placed in the year 456, while, by Bowra's chronology (1964), Olympian 4 was composed in 452.