respondebat illa

January 2012 Update

2012-01-09T01:16:00.000+01:00

This blog has been quiet for a fairly long time. Sorry. So for future context this is what has happened:

1.) I handed in my dissertation and took some exams, thereby finishing my four years of undergraduate study.
2.) The internet is no place for false modesty - I got a first! Hurrah. Jubilations. I received a very pretty certificate with my name on, and even managed not to trip on stage when I graduated.
3.) I spent the Summer working in a bookshop (again), punctuated by a visit to CERN and very happily rounded off with some time spent cycling around the isle of Skye.
4.) I started an MA in Classics.
5.) Around the same time I was appointed a 'Classics Teaching Fellow in Schools', in charge of leading two ten week Classics courses (an hour a week) in local state schools, starting January. This is organised by the University of Bristol and funded by Classics for All (in their first allocation of funding for projects!) - as I've mentioned before, I went to a comprehensive and the accessibility of Classics has always been one of my interests/bugbears, so I'm very excited about the whole thing.

And since then I've just been working for my courses and worrying about the fact that I haven't a clue what to write my master's dissertation on. At the moment I'm spending most of my time in the library: I have a triple essay hand-in (12,000 words) in less than two weeks. I also start teaching the same week, so more on that later. Thanks for reading (if anyone is reading) and happy new year.

Translation #1

2011-05-08T16:46:00.001+02:00

ibant obscuri sola sub nocte per umbram

perque domos Ditis vacuas et inania regna,

quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna

est iter in silvis, ubi caelum condidit umbra

Iuppiter, et rebus nox abstulit atra colorem. (A.VI.268-73)

They went on through the shadows, silhouettes beneath the lonely night,

crossing the empty halls of Dis and his profitless lands;

it was like a forest path under the begrudging light of a waning moon

when Jupiter has masked the sky with shade,

and dark night stolen all colour from the world.

Guess who has their dissertation due this Thursday?

Multicoloured sheep: life imitates art.

2011-04-14T19:50:00.001+02:00

nec varios discet mentiri lana colores,
ipse sed in pratis aries iam suave rubenti
murice, iam croceo mutabit vellera luto;
sponte sua sandyx pascentis vestiet agnos.
(Vergil Eclogues IV.42-45)

Wool shall no longer learn to counterfeit varied hues, but of himself the ram in the meadows shall change his fleece, now to sweetly blushing purple, now to a saffron yellow; of its own will shall scarlet clothe the grazing lambs.

Roman empire 'collapsed because of the gays.'

2011-04-09T12:10:00.004+02:00

In the last few days reports coming out about the outrageous comments of Roberto de Mattei, vice-president of the Italian National Research Council. You can listen to his now infamous interview here, or there's a response from the Telegraph here.

All I can say about such bigoted and completely unsubstantiated claims is that I hope calls for his resignation are successful. Last month he went on record to say that the recent Japanese tsunami was just punishment from God. This would be offensive enough from a drunk in the street, but from the vice-president of the Research Council? Italian scholarship has no hope. Unlike the man shouting in the gutter, de Mattei apparently receives a salary of around €100,000 from tax-payers.

But it gets worse - or at least, more astonishing. The Daily Mail also picked up the story. They seem to be slightly confused about the issues involved, because apparently they interviewed some academics about whether or not homosexuality was prevalent in Ancient Rome (and received suitably dead-pan responses) before implying that yes, there did seem to be a lot of all this 'gay stuff' in Rome... and finishing with the awards given to de Mattei in recent years.

Historian Emilio Gabba, a leading light in Roman history, said: ‘It is highly improbable homosexuality led to the fall of the Roman Empire.’

Professor Lellia Cracco Ruggini, an expert on Roman history from Turin University, said: ‘There is no proof Rome had a high number of homosexuals. I can safely say Rome did not fall because it was gay.’ However research would seem to suggest homosexuality was rife in ancient Rome.

The 18th century expert Edward Gibbon wrote that ‘of the first 15 emperors, Claudius was the only one whose taste in love was entirely correct’.
Homosexuality is widely portrayed in ancient Roman art and was seen as acceptable 2,000 years ago.

Professor De Mattei co-operates with the Vatican’s Pontifical Council for Historical Sciences and has been awarded the Order of Knighthood of St Gregory the Great in acknowledgement of his services to the Roman Catholic Church.

I think words fail me. I've got to stop reading the Daily Mail.

Classics Crocodile

2011-04-06T22:30:00.001+02:00

Head on over to fuckyeahclassicscrocodile.tumblr.com for Classics memes, some of which seem very familiar. Perhaps because they echo my thoughts for the past five years.

Oh, English students. You know I'm only pretending to sympathise when you say you have to 'translate' Chaucer.

Latin Scrabble

2011-04-05T11:17:00.004+02:00

If we roll back the mists of time just a little, to say.. December 2006, I was a very anxious, very excitable sixth-former, trying to bond with a group of wannabe Classics students who had all decided to apply to the same Oxbridge college. There we were, sitting in the hallowed grounds, idly making conversation in an magnificent oak-panelled room. Coming from a school that was conceived as a '60s box and by now had more battered mobiles than permanent classrooms, I was in awe. We'd already sat through a two-hour translation exam in the great hall and the more confident among us strode out the doors discussing the fiendish use of a gerundive in the third line, proclaiming about their translation and generally making me wonder if I'd even had the same text. My feeling of unease grew as I ventured a comment about my surroundings, only to realise that I'd addressed a boy from Harrow. His response was that it was very much like this 'at home'. I shrank back in my seat, feeling like a strange sort of pauper. Was I actually from a different world? As far as I could tell, I was the only person from a non-selective state school and I felt gauche and very awkward.

So, in a desperate attempt to shift the subject away from 'our lives' - everyone else's seemed much more exciting and moneyed than mine (particularly as I was living in a caravan at the time) - I tried to focus on the one thing we had in common: our love of classics. By now it was about ten at night and our little seventeen and eighteen-year-old selves were pretty wearied from the stress of the day, so the group had thinned and only the slightly-too-bright-eyed obsessives remained. We started to rummage through the JCR's possessions and found a scrabble set. "Come on guys," I said, "let's play Latin scrabble."

Fatal words. Let's call it a desperate attempt to make myself seem like a quirky Oxbridge savant. And needless to say, it was a disaster. You can't really play Latin scrabble on a regular set and we started arguing about acceptable plays, then gave up after about five minutes - possibly after realising we weren't as smart as we thought we were. Maybe that was just me.

However, my complete failure stands in contrast with those who play successfully. I discovered the University of Toronto's page on Latin Scrabble a while ago, which not only sets out rules and permissible moves, but also includes a list of acceptable two-letter words and a pdf of the tile distribution so you can print off and create your very own set of tessellae. And oh the memories, they came flooding back...

Apologies for hiatus.

2011-04-03T12:15:00.001+02:00

It's been a while. I'm going to claim it's part of my unbalanced academic sense of self-worth - after sending off my applications in December/January, there was something of a backlash. After trying to make myself sound as intelligent and appealing as possible, rational thought attacked and went: 'yeah, right. Who are you kidding?' And then I completely failed to apply for UK MA programmes in time to get funding. Oops.

So I threw myself into January assessment. I spent five weeks obsessing over an essay I'd written - picturing the lecturers tearing it (and me) apart, criticising my ostentatious use of Solzhenitsyn (I know, I know..) and giving me a degree crippling mark. At the same time, rumours starting trickling in about US universities and I chained myself to the computer, hoping (or dreading) for a response. So February and the first half of March passed in this nervous frenzy of clicking 'refresh', avoiding writing my dissertation and crashing through increasingly bizarre elements of Sanskrit grammar and orthography.

It's got to the point where if I don't write my dissertation soon, I'm going to put myself through all kinds of hell in the final two weeks. It's the Easter holidays, and it's definitely time to get my Classics on. Which means my enthusiasm has to come back. Per forza.

On applications, I got accepted at the University of Washington in Seattle - but funding is looking extremely unlikely, and getting into debts I will simply never be able to pay doesn't appeal. It's a shame I guess, but it wasn't rejection across the board. I can live with that.

And I got the highest marks in that stupid essay that I've ever received. Assessment must be proportional to my stress-level or something. In which case, I'll rock this dissertation.

Back soon with something less rambling-and-self-involved!

I refuse to work today

2011-01-11T21:36:00.005+01:00

I decided to take the day off because I'm a student and I can. University doesn't start for another week. It was raining. It took a crafty turn -

For starters, I did some work on my cardigan:

All sense of scale in the picture is thrown by the fact that the ball of yarn is roughly the size of my head. It came bunched up in a skein so I spent an evening making a giant ball of wool. It was strangely therapeutic. I've never made a cardigan before, so I have no idea if it'll work or not. I hope so.

I sat down and sketched for a few hours - I've been trying to come up with something to go with this line of Alcman ('I know the songs of all the birds') but it didn't get very far. I like drawing trees more than I like drawing birds.. so I guess it's Daphne? I'm not sure where I'm going with this.

When I stepped out of my room for more coffee I discovered a mystery package on the threshold. It turned out to be an eBay impulse-buy (four balls of cotton yarn). After deliberation I decided to make some fingerless gloves. Since the gauge seemed to be fine with the pattern, I starting trying to think of classical modifications. Cue: messing around in excel.

Result: one small (but very fiddly) swatch. I like the key pattern - but I think I want a more traditional Norwegian-style design. I'll keep thinking.

Swatch abandoned, I called my Dad to wish him a happy birthday. Before long he brought up 'the painting', which is a kind of recurrent argument between us. He saw a half-finished picture of my sister in my room and he's been trying to convince me to give it to him ever since. He came to visit the other day and all but walked out with it under his arm. He claimed I'd never finish it, so I promised to complete it and send it to my sister for her third birthday (9th March). Slightly indignant, I got out my oil paints and set up in the living room. Since I hadn't done anything to it since September, I just reworked some flat areas with layers of colour to get the paint malleable. I went over the nose and mouth, but only to lighten bits here and smooth things up there. I've never had any training with paints (this is my first oil painting) so I'm probably way out technique-wise, but it's fun. Just infuriatingly slow, and my flatmate gets annoyed when I leave paints in the communal space. Or maybe it's the white spirit she objects to.

This is its current condition. I have doubts about whether I'll finish it in time, but we'll have to see. I think the eyebrows are my favourite part.

I feel better for a day off.

Lego Antikythera Mechanism

2011-01-02T14:35:00.000+01:00

Dante/La Double Vie de Véronique

2011-01-02T00:33:00.006+01:00

One of my New Year's resolutions is to read Dante. I keep putting it off and then feel stupid when my flatmates (who had to study Inferno as part of a Classical Legacies course) make reference to it - but I've only ever read selections. It's incredibly time-consuming, especially because I have this mistaken idea that I'll read it in Italian - actually all this means is that I'll never get round to it. But 2011 is the year to try.

I watched La Double Vie de Véronique in December and absolutely loved it. I can't really explain the premise - essentially, two women living different lives in different countries are inexplicably linked. To some extent they are the same person - not really understanding their double nature but somehow aware of the connection. That doesn't sound especially compelling, but believe me, it's beautiful. Music has an important role both in terms of the plot and the structure of the film - it links together the two (one?) protagonists, and has an unusually violent effect on them.

In one of the most dramatic scenes Weronika sings part of the 'Van den Budenmayer concerto' - apparently by a forgotten Dutch master, but actually composed specifically for the film by Zbigniew Preisner. The music continues to haunt Véronique throughout the latter part of the film, though she is unable to explain why.

The text is from Dante's Paradiso, and it is really is haunting. The music and words together send a chill down my spine.

O voi che siete in piccioletta barca,
desiderosi d'ascoltar, seguiti
dietro al mio legno che cantando varca,
[tornate a riveder li vostri liti:]
Non vi mettete in pelago, ché forse,
perdendo me, rimarreste smarriti.
L'acqua ch'io prendo giá mai non si corse;
Minerva spira è conducemi Appollo,
è nove Muse mi dimostran l'Orse.
Dante, Paradiso, II, 1-9.

O you who are in your tiny boat,
eager to hear more, following
behind my ship that advances, singing,
[go back, if you are to see your shores again.]
Do not put yourselves to sea, for if
you lose me, you too will be forever lost.
The waters I travel have never yet been crossed;
Minerva breathes, and Apollo guides me,
it is the nine Muses who show me the North Star.

I put the fourth line in brackets, because it is not included in the 'concerto'; I wonder if this is because there is no return for Weronika.

Another resolution is to blog more. I'm amazed I've kept this going for nearly two years, despite sporadic periods of inactivity. I've still not quite figured out the right balance, so for those that do read this occasionally, what sort of content do you prefer? More Classics? More personal? Less personal? More quotes? Less artwork? More language-based posts? Let me know if you have any ideas.

Happy New Year to all!

Beyond here lies nothin'

2010-12-29T16:41:00.005+01:00

My music tastes are fairly inclusive. I like jaunty blues. So I like Beyond here lies nothing'.

While procrastinating, I discovered the title was apparently inspired by a line from Ovid. I had a quick search to see if the internet would reveal where it was from, but could only narrow it down to an English translation ('Beyond here lies nothing but chillness, hostility, frozen waves of an ice-hard sea') and the Tristia.

Oh well. I checked the Tristia, and pulled out:

Longius hac nihil est, nisi tantum frigus et hostes,
et maris adstricto quae coit unda gelu.

.. which is nice.

I just don't like the video. Perhaps that's a little mild - I think the video is absolutely appalling. (Man returns to motel, opens bedroom, and finds an empty bed - bloodstained with ropes trailing from bedposts; woman tries to escape, they fight brutally, she eventually hits him with a car.. and then returns to kiss him.) Sorry, what? She's been tied up, beaten, probably raped.. and that's appropriate for a music video? And then she kisses her torturer - what does that say? - 'Oh, it was just a game'? 'Violence against women is acceptable - in fact, she probably enjoyed it'?

I just can't figure out where they were trying to go with it. There's no accounting for taste, but you'd think such bad taste would be universally recognised.

But I still like the reference to Ovid.

Book List 2010

2010-12-28T18:56:00.003+01:00

My applications for grad school in the US are all but finished, although I haven't yet decided where to apply within the UK. Despite the general air of panic following me these past few weeks, actually, everything is fine, and it's a relief to be on the other side.

In 2010 I decided to record the books I read:

	Title:	Author:
1	Storia Greca	Bettalli, Marco
2	The Western Way of War	Davis Hanson, Victor
3	La forza e l'astuzia - I Greci, I Persiani e la battaglia di Salamina	Strauss, Barry
4	Pride and Prejudice	Austen, Jane
5	The Stuff of Thought*	Pinker, Steven
6	Uomini che odiano le donne	Larrson, Stieg
7	Una storia della lingua latina*	Poccetti, Poli & Santini
8	La teoria dei colori/The Theory of Colours*	Goethe, Johann
9	Il deserto dei Tartari*	Buzzati, Dino
10	Sessanta racconti*	Buzzati, Dino
11	The Human Stain	Roth, Philip
12	The Good Soldier Svejk*	Hasek, Jaroslav
13	What’s Bred in the Bone	Davies, Robertson
14	Blind	Saramago, Josè
15	The Sheltering Sky	Bowles, Paul
16	The Shadow of the Wind	Ruiz Zafón, Carlos
17	We Need To Talk About Kevin	Shriver, Lionel
18	La ragazza che giocava con il fuoco	Larrson, Stieg
19	Polinnia	Assort.
20	Virgil: A Study in Civilized Poetry	Otis, Brooks
21	Apology of Socrates	Plato
22	The Almost Moon	Sebold, Alice
23	Death and the Penguin	Kurkov, Andrey
24	The Early History of Rome	Livy
25	Language and Reality	Devitt & Sterelny
26	Se una notte d’inverno un viaggiatore*	Calvino, Italo
27	The Voyage of the Argo	Apollonius of Rhodes
28	Daphnis and Chloe	Longus
29	La regina dei castelli di carta	Larrson, Stieg
30	Did the Greeks believe in their Myths?	Veyne, Paul
31	Seven days in New Crete	Graves, Robert
32	The Iliad*	Homer/Lattimore
33	A Country Doctor’s Notebook	Bulgakov, Mikhail
34	Frost in May	White, Antonia
35	The Kindly Ones*	Littell, Jonathan
36	The Last Dragonslayer	Fforde, Jasper
37	Goodbye to All That	Graves, Robert
38	The Gulag Archipelago*	Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr
39	Lolita	Nabokov, Vladimir
40	Doctor on Everest	Kamler, Kenneth
41	Her Fearful Symmetry*	Niffenegger, Audrey
42	Juliet*	Fortier, Anne

*unfinished..

It's nice to be able to review the year in books; it recalls where you were and what you were thinking when you read each one. The amount of stars are a shame, but I'll get back to them.

Of the 42, I'd already read The Early Days of Rome, The Iliad, Frost in May and What's Bred in the Bone. The book I'm least likely to ever finish is Una Storia della Lingua Latina, closely followed by Her Fearful Symmetry. I was given a copy for Christmas, but I'm already offended by its working of the creepy twin motif. The main - or indeed only - characteristics of FOUR characters is that they are a.) an identical twin, and b.) immensely troubled by it. Did I mention I'm an identical twin?

The book I enjoyed the most was probably Death and the Penguin. It's a charmingly surreal story about an obituary writer, his penguin (rescued from Kiev zoo) and their escape from organised crime. I also liked A Country Doctor's Notebook, which is a series of semi-autobiographical anecdotes from Bulgakov's time practising medicine in rural Russia. A lot of the stories deal with his fear and sense of responsibility - he had only just graduated from medical school and had very little experience. He also has to fight off wolves in the snow.

Stieg Larsson's trilogy was a lot of fun: I bought the first book in January as a challenge to myself. I'd been feeling down about my progress in Italian - I think languages are infuriating; everything you learn becomes ridiculously self-evident whereas your failings are always immediately obvious. So I bought this book - I could read the first page - and I told myself to sit down and read it. When I'd finished, I thought, I could complain.

It started out very slowly. I read ten pages at a time, stalling on unfamiliar words or expressions - but then something happened - it stopped giving me a headache, or being a chore - and I started really enjoying it. I wasn't thinking about English, or worrying about the words I didn't know. I just read and read and read. I stalled a little on the second - the first 100 pages detailing Lisbeth's breast enlargement and Mikael's sexual prowess were both redundant and painful. Once the plot got going, it was interesting enough. I had to stop and roll my eyes every so often, but my compliments go to Larsson: his books are perfect for reading in a second language. Everything is explicit, the writing is straightforward and they're page turners. I was a little sad when I finished the final book: they really marked a strange kind of private journey. All 2000 pages of it.

The final book - Juliet - was another Christmas present. It's set in Siena, which is fun. What's not so fun is the trope about the American girl who returns to her 'homeland' and finds long-lost relatives welcoming her back into the fold and telling her she has her mother eyes, etc. She's also searching for buried treasure, is somehow Juliet Capulet reincarnate and has twin issues. As I said, I'm not a fan of the twin issues.

The first book on the list has a strange place in my heart: it was a manual for my Greek History class, and I spent hours and hours poring over it, memorising dates and figures. Greek History was one of the classes I enjoyed the most in Italy, and I later asked Prof. Bettalli - who wrote the book - to write me a reference for grad school. I received an email from him this morning, lending a strange kind of circularity to the year.

So - happy new year to all! What were your favourite books of 2010?

On spies.

2010-11-19T10:22:00.001+01:00

Per i russi sei un disertore, e sei anche sospetto di essere una spia. Magari lo sei. La faccia non ce l'hai, ma se tutte le spie avessero la faccia da spia non potrebbero fare le spie.

Se non ora, quando? Primo Levo

As far as the Russians are concerned you're a deserter, and furthermore, you're suspected as a spy. Perhaps you are. You don't look like a spy, but if all spies looked like spies they wouldn't get any spying done.

After hearing a word many times within a short space of time, a strange phenomenon occurs wherein the word is completely stripped of its meaning and becomes an unfamiliar jumble of letters or sound. On writing this post, I think I've reached the threshold. I liked this passage though.

Solzhenitsyn's Salamander

2010-11-18T12:31:00.007+01:00

As I said, I'm currently working on a presentation exploring the oppression of memory via Tacitus. I wanted to start with the opening anecdote from The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, but then when I actually read through the material set for the class, I realised the entire story was paraphrased, partially quoted, and discussed. My oh-so-brilliant idea was not that original (and not that brilliant). Along the same lines, I've just started reading The Gulag Archipelago and I was particularly struck by the preface, where Solzhenitsyn discusses his relationship with the past through an anecdote. I read it through three times one after the other, trying to pin the metaphor down. I have no intention of wedging it into my presentation, but I really like it.

In 1949 some friends and I came upon a noteworthy news items in Nature, a magazine of the Academy of Sciences. […] In the course of of excavations on the Kolyma river a subterranean ices lens had been discovered which was actually a frozen stream – and in it were found frozen specimens of prehistoric fauna some tens of thousands of years old. Whether fish or salamander, these were preserved in so fresh a state […] that those present immediately broke open the ice encasing the specimens and devoured them with relish on the spot.
[…]
We understood instantly. […] We understood because we ourselves were the same kind of people as those present at that event.
[…]
Decades go by, and the scars and sores of the past are healing over for good. In the course of this period some of the islands in the Archipelago have shuddered and dissolved and the polar sea of oblivion rolls over them. And someday in the future, this Archipelago, its air, and the bones of its inhabitants, frozen in a lens of ice, will be discovered by our descendants like some improbable salamander.
[…]
I would not be so bold as to try to write the history of the Archipelago. […] Perhaps I shall be able to give some account of the bones and flesh of that salamander – which, incidentally, is still alive.

Cognitive Dissonance in Tacitus

2010-11-16T17:09:00.004+01:00

Over the next few days I thought I'd write up a few notes from the presentation I've been preparing recently. Unfortunately, they are colossal digressions and mostly irrelevant to the topic at hand. Jamming them awkwardly into an already full twenty-minute presentation would only look self-serving, incredibly pretentious and slightly ridiculous - so my plan is to 'vent' them here.

The first is that I love the theory of cognitive dissonance. It's an attractive theory, because it makes me imagine subterfuge at play in my head, personified with spies in slinky jumpsuits. Cognitive dissonance is essentially the idea that when you are faced with two opposing 'signals', you tend to try to reconcile them. The story goes that Ben Franklin tried to ameliorate relations with a particularly frosty senator by asking him a favour. The book lent, his attitude towards Franklin improved. According to cognitive dissonance, the reason was that the senator had two conflicting feelings: (1) I dislike this man, and (2) I only do favours to people I like. After a few rounds in his head, he gradually became reconciled towards the view that Franklin must be fairly decent after all. (Hence the slightly counter-intuitive theory that if you want to curry favour, get someone to do something nice for you.)

My presentation is on tyranny and the oppression of memory, with reference to Tacitus (specifically, the opening of Agricola, and the Cordius Cremutius section from the Annals). However, in my broader reading, I came across the ever-so-familiar axiom from Agricola 4:

proprium humani ingenii est odisse quem laeseris

it is human nature to hate those you have injured

I remember hearing this quote quite a few years ago - as a morose teenager, I used to collect quotes - and I'd wondered why. It would be logical to hate someone you are about to injure, or, if you have injured them through hate, to continue to hate them - but why should you hate those you have injured? Are there no circumstances in which you might pity them? Or hate yourself? Or feel indifferent?

Reading it again, it immediately struck me as a wonderful example of cognitive dissonance in action. You hate those you have injured, because part of you is desperately trying to overcome the dichotomy between 'I am a good person who does not do bad things to good people' and 'I have done a bad thing to a good person'. Somewhere along the line, you start to think 'actually, maybe he or she deserved it.'

Of course, there are many reasons to hate (or not) those you have injured. Cognitive dissonance is extremely difficult to discern, because it is not a conscious phenomenon. That said, I think it does go some way to explain why - in my view - it is more difficult to be forgiven than to forgive, and an insight into the sick mindset of cyclical domestic violence.

Coming tomorrow: Solzhenitsyn's Salamander

Post-grad

2010-11-10T20:39:00.001+01:00

I've been a bit quiet recently. Part of the reason is that I've been battling through the ages old 'should I - shouldn't I?' postgraduate dilemma.

I've decided to apply to the US as well as the UK, which is difficult on many levels. It's something like the stages of grief, but I would group them as follows:
1.a) Indecision (Should I do it? Five years is a long time. And it might be longer.)
b.) Irrational panic (What if I never come back?!)
2.) Self-doubt (I'm not good enough! Why am I even trying?!)
3.) Rational panic (Do I even know three people to act as my referees? Visas?!)
4.) Headache-inducing confusion. (What do you mean Rhode Island isn't an island? How I am supposed to pick universities?)
5.) Renewed self-doubt (Lecturer: well, I suppose you could try, but..)
6.) Intermittent bursts of confidence (Why yes, I did spend last year translating pages and pages of Latin and Greek in my free time. And actually.. I speak Italian and my German's okay. And I delivered a paper at an international conference. Maybe someone will want me.)
7.) Apathy (I'm just going to pretend it doesn't exist.)
8.) Blustering false confidence (Well, I might as well try! I'll regret it if I don't! What will be will be!)

And that's pretty much as far as I've got. I think I'm back in the 2nd stage, but I've signed up for the GRE ($190, and I have to travel to London to take it..), so there's no backing out now...

Seize the dictionary

2010-10-16T15:16:00.000+02:00

A quick repost from regretsy, since it made me smile. I almost want one. You know, if it didn't look like a bad tattoo from Florida.

'Dissertation'

2010-10-09T17:59:00.002+02:00

I've just been re-reading the 'introduction' to my 'dissertation', and have come to the 'conclusion' that I am 'unable' to write anything without a copious amount of 'superfluous' quotation marks. I'm going to have to 'search and destroy' before I meet my 'supervisor'.

I've already met him once this term, but we had the awkward sort of encounter you get when you're surreptitiously writing your name on a sign-up sheet on someone's door and they suddenly open it to find you standing there halfway through an ascender, pen in hand and just a little too close for comfort.

You then feel compelled to explain the damn obvious -

'I was.. ah.. signing up.'

Which, in turn, means they have to acknowledge the damn obvious.

'..Yes..'

Babylonian and Assyrian recordings archive

2010-10-04T20:23:00.005+02:00

Courtesy of Cambridge, there are some Babylonian and Assyrian recordings available online, along with transcripts and translations.

It makes me wonder how English (or any other natural language) might be reconstructed in the distant future, assuming transmission, the survival of the human race and an infinite number of other variables. I have little hope for English, because so much of its pronunciation is counter-intuitive and involves a process of trial, error and the presence of someone who knows how 'paradigm' or 'amenable' should be pronounced. To say nothing of shifts in pronunciation across time and space, and free variation - which is the nice way of saying 'tomayto, tomarto'. Or, why I pronounce 'dew', 'due' and 'jew' as homophones, but my friend from the US happily makes a distinction. Similarly, I say territry and he says terri-TOR-ree.. but that wouldn't make an jazz standard.

I'm currently reading Seven Days in New Crete - I found it in a second-hand bookshop, and was curious how a classicist (Robert Graves) might approach speculative fiction. It describes a moneyless 'utopia' - New Crete - through the eyes of a man brought forward through time for consultation. The first chapter begins:

'I am an authority on English,' the man in the white suit said in a curiously colourless accent and with a good deal of hesitation, like an authority on Sanscrit trying to talk conversational Sanscrit. 'I hope that you will pardon us for having brought you so far i.e., so many generations ahead of your epoch. You are Mr. Edward Venn-Thomas, are you not?'
I nodded, still a little confused by the sudden change of scene, but wide awake.
'Do I speak with correctitude?' he asked anxiously.
'With great correctitude,' I assured him, trying not to smile, 'but without the modulations of tone that we English use to express, or disguise, our feelings.'
'It is convenient to disregard such trivia; I understand that the scholars of your day similarly disregarded the modulations of ancient Greek. But I must not trouble you with fine points like these.'
'No trouble at all. The finer the point, the happier it makes me. I'm even ready to discuss ancient Greek modulations.'
'You are very kind, but I am not an expert on Greek, I regret. However, Sir, there is one question that my colleague Quant and I have been debating during the last few days - we are entrusted, you must know, with the revision of the English Dictionary. On the evidence of the Liverpool find of Christmas cards, in which occurred such couplets as:

Just to hope the day keeps fine
For you and yours this Christmas time,

and:

I hope this stocking's in your line
When stars shine bright at Christmas-time.

I hold that "Christmas-time" was often pronounced "Christmas-tine", and that this is a dialect variant of the older "Christmas-tide". Quant denies this, with a warmth that is unusual in him."
'Quant is right.'
'Oh, that is disappointing to me. I thought I had made a discovery of value.'

Subtle critique of scholarship there Graves.

Speaking of Sanskrit, I've been given permission to audit the beginners' class this year. Term starts on Monday - wish me luck.

New Words

2010-09-20T16:48:00.000+02:00

I'm happy with my command of the English language. I have a decent-sized vocabulary. I know the difference between ambivalent and indifferent. I'm down with hermeneutic frameworks and apotheoses. Eschatology, ersatz and tertium quid. It's all okay. I have three-quarters of an arts degree*. But as soon I tell myself that I can leave the dictionary on the shelf, I realise just how wrong I am. After reading English-language academia for the first time in what seems like forever, it's evident that there are thousands of words left to puzzle over and spell incorrectly.

New words I learnt today:
prosopography
heuristic
euhemerism
thaumaturge

I like the last one a lot. I wonder if I can wedge it awkwardly into the dissertation.

*and am still under the illusion this counts for something.

Vergilian Colour Concordance

2010-09-03T00:55:00.008+02:00

My dissertation is essentially about colour terminology in Vergil, so I've started work on a Vergilian Colour Concordance. It's relaxing in a strange sort of way.

So far I've got through six Eclogues. Topping the tables at the moment is viridis (6 instances) - the surprise runner-up is palleo (4 instances, all in participle form). The most vivid extract has been the single instance of sanguineus - 'he smeared his forehead and temples with blackberries the colour of blood' - (sanguineis frontem moris et tempora pingit 6.22), while the most appealing has been the image of the little green lizards hiding from the midday heat in the undergrowth (2.8). The run-away favourite is Eclogue 4, in which Vergil is dreaming of his bright new future, where all parts of the earth shall produce all things and 'wool shall not learn to counterfeit different colours, but of himself the ram in the meadows shall change his fleece, to sweetly blushing purple, now to a saffron yellow; of its own accord scarlet shall clothe the grazing lambs.' (nec varios discet mentiri lana colores / ipse sed in pratis aries iam suave rubenti / murice, iam croceo mutabit vellera luto; / sponte sua sandyx pascentis vestiet agnos - Ecl. 4.42-45) But that's a given. What's not to like about crimson lambs bouncing about like poppies on speed?

Medusa

2010-09-01T12:55:00.000+02:00

With the idea that if my hair consisted of sentient beings, I'd get them to plait themselves into the hairstyles I'm too clumsy to fashion for myself.

Drawn on the train home.

SUMMER PROCRASTINATION

2010-08-31T16:37:00.002+02:00

I'm back.

I returned to the UK a little over a month ago. In many ways I wasn't sad to leave Italy, because it felt as though my time had run its course and all was over. It was 'right' to return. That doesn't stop me from missing Italy; as out of place as I often was, it was familiar. I miss the language, the expressions, the way of phrasing things. I never expected to be bilingual - when I left school, all I could manage were a few words of German - and it feels strange; as though there's another person inside me who's been gradually growing and coming to life, and now she's motionless and silent. I wasn't fluent by any means, but it brought out a whole new side of me. It's strange.

The other thing is that a lot can change in a year. Almost everyone I know has graduated. Shops have shut down. Bars have changed hands. The library has introduced a self-service desk. My younger brother has left school, works full-time and drives a Ford Capri.

So, in short, I've been spending the last month getting over my sense of spatial, social and temporal displacement. Whilst battling this rather affected leviathan, I've been getting on with translation for the year ahead, reading for courses and my dissertation, watching the first three seasons of The Wire, dog-walking and painting. It's been fun. But I've decided that my personal crisis is now over, and I should probably get some actual work done. And blog, of course.

Dissertation introduction. Ready.. Steady.. Go!

Painting: Messenger

2010-07-16T22:49:00.008+02:00

There are times when you need to step back and decide that a piece of art is finished. There are also times when you can't stand to look at it any more. Or you realise that painting in one colour really isn't all that interesting, and if you squint your eyes to figure out which line goes where a second longer, they might very well start bleeding. Then it's also time to stop.

This is based on a photo I took in Rome a few years ago, which I always liked - the statue was on a high inset plinth, and seemed to be descending like a messenger. Without a head, I don't think the message would have gone very far - interpretive dance, maybe? - but it still struck me as interesting.

I don't normally draw from photos - I prefer life, or to make things up, because I have an inner snob that tells me I should use a photocopier if I want to copy a picture, 'because there's no skill in it'. There is - I'm just jealous of people who can draw photo-realistically, because I really don't have the patience or aptitude. However, it's too hot to spend long outdoors (I tried drawing the Torre del Mangia, but I had to give up after 30 minutes), and I'm not really competent enough to make things up entirely - the whole point of my sudden 'I should start drawing again' phase is that I should practise accurate observation. I've already gained plenty of bad habits - I need to sit down and learn important things like perspective and decent anatomy.

I also took pictures of it as I sketched/painted, so I've been flicking back and forward between destruction and creation like some kind of mad despot.

Now what?

2010-07-15T19:00:00.001+02:00

I've finished Italian university, and have a little less than a week before I fly home. All this free time is a bit of a shock to the system, though the two hours I spent queuing at the erasmus office in 35º heat cured me of my starry-eyed cheer.

I've been trying to get back into art because it's something I've always enjoyed; it's also nice to look back at a day and have something to show for it. The problem is keeping going - when it comes to hobbies, I'm notoriously fickle. A painting a day it is! Left is day 1.

Aside from that, I need to teach myself basic French over the summer - one of the key books I need for my dissertation has never been translated. I also need to keep going with German - hah.

I have an enormous reading list, which I'm quite excited to start. First up is Il deserto dei tartari (The Tartar Steppe) by Dino Buzzati, which my mad Italian co-worker recommended to me last summer, but I never really got around to reading..

I'm not really sure what else to do in Italy; I'm allergic to bright sunlight, so sun-bathing doesn't appeal. I suppose there's just going to be the final challenge of trying to get a year's worth of stuff into two suitcases.. hmm.

Anyway, posts on Classics soon!

Greek Exam, part two

2010-07-13T14:30:00.002+02:00

After three and a half hours of waiting, I was ushered back into the office. In a much shorter but equally disastrous exam, I was asked to translate a section of the Apologia. It didn't go so well. Then he sighed, and asked me what I knew about Sophocles. Well, not a lot.. because I was desperately trying to revise the archaic poets. I said he lived in the 5th century and had 7 extant plays. He asked me to list them, and I forgot Trachiniae. I also got Oedipus at Colonus mixed up with Iphigenia in Aulis and created a wonderful new play called Oedipus in Aulis. The assistant mimed horror and desperately tried to steer me back to something that made sense.

I wasn't asked on anything I'd actually revised. He stopped, shouted at me for a while and said that he doesn't understand how I can possibly have learnt so little. "What? What is it? What's the difficulty here?"

Anyway, then he sent me out the room so he could discuss me with the assistant, and they eventually gave me a very grudging pass-mark, after commenting on all my other exam marks and insinuating that either I cheated or I deliberately failed his exam to spite him.

So.. I've successfully finished the year, but on an extremely negative note. The only positive thing I can think of to add is that my Greek professor flatly refused to believe that Italian creates problems for me (which is ridiculous, but nevermind.)

Exam countdown

2010-07-12T19:46:00.001+02:00

On the basis on how well the first part of my exam went, I'm viewing tomorrow with extreme trepidation. I don't feel particularly emotional - which is good - because I hate being in prey of my irrational side, particularly when I am most in need of rationality. Besides, it's 35º outside. I need to conserve moisture.

I'm not sure what I've been doing for the past six weeks, because it doesn't seem to have helped me prepare the exam (the entire two month Greek course was on literary history, which seems counter-intuitive..)
Have I learnt the entire Apologia in Italian and Greek? No.
Have I learnt 80 archaic greek poems? No.
Do I know the linguistic quirks of the Greek dialects? No.
Do I know metre? Not really (aside from dactylic hexametre and elegiac distichs, I really need the scheme, a pencil and a few minutes to work it out).
Greek grammar? Hah!

Follow-up questions:
Can I translate Plato at sight into Italian? No.
Do I even remember what most of the 80 poems were about? Well.. war, sex and how awful it is to be old.

Hm. Better revise some more. I really hope he asks me about Mimnermus, (1) because I remember at least four of his poems, and (2) because no matter how much he shouts at me and makes me feel like protozoaic ooze, at least I can respond with a comment about mortality, old-age and death.

Sappho 48

2010-07-11T23:45:00.007+02:00

Δέδυκε μεν ἀ σελάννα
καὶ Πληΐαδεσ, μέσαι δὲ
νύκτεσ πάρα δ᾽ ἔρχετ᾽ ὤρα,
ἔγω δὲ μόνα κατεύδω

The moon and the Pleiades have set -
The night is already half gone:
The hours pass
And I lie alone.

I'm having trouble sleeping at the moment.

Combining blogging and revision

2010-07-09T10:58:00.003+02:00

One of many current challenges is to learn the Apologia. I wish my Greek were in a state were I could give it a brief glance and know what it means, but even if it's not a particularly difficult text, the language and meaning is very exact, and I'm a long way from adequacy. That it's an argument rather than a narrative also complicates my last resort 'memorise everything' approach. For my last exam I had to learn two books of Iliad, which was a fair amount in itself - but at least it could be broken down into an easily memorised series of events. For example, book nine begins: state of mind of the Argives/wind simile/calling an assembly/Agamemnon speaks/silence/Diomedes - and so on. With the Apologia, it's more like 'oh, my accusers lied to you, because I can't speak well.. unless you think telling the truth is speaking well; they didn't tell the truth: this is shameful. I can't help it; I'm old, all this 'rhetor' speak is beyond me.. I don't deceive people...' and so on. I still think it's ridiculous. I've been learning Italian and Greek for three years apiece and unfortunately lack that spark of genius, so it's been slow work.

I've been trying to figure out a way that makes it even vaguely possible. So, this is how I'm trying to get my head around pages and pages of Greek text:

1.) First I read the entire thing in English.

2.) I read the Greek in small manageable sections, look up words I don't know or recognise, then write out the lemma and translation in Italian.

ὅτι μὲν ὑμεῖς, ὦ ἄνδρες Ἀθηναῖοι, πεπόνθατε ὑπὸ τῶν ἐμῶν κατηγόρων, οὐκ οἶδα: ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν ὀλίγου ἐμαυτοῦ ἐπελαθόμην, οὕτω πιθανῶς ἔλεγον.
(Plato Apologia, 17a)

πεπόνθατε = πάσχω
κατηγόρων - accusatori
ἐπελαθόμην (= ἐπιλήθω) - far dimenticare.

3.) I write up my notes, and then go through the text sentence by sentence, translating out loud, and making sure I know exactly what each word means. Then I check what I've said against the Italian translation I have, because I know that my way of phrasing things is wildly incorrect.

Che effetto hanno fatto a voi, o Atenisiesi, i miei accusatori, non lo so; quanto a me, parlavano così persuasivamente che non per poco mi hanno fatto perdere la nozione di me stesso.

4.) I repeat it out-loud while looking at the Greek, and desperately hope I remember some of it in the pressure of the moment.

And then it begins again. I am so unimpressed with the Italian exam system.

A thought for my North American friends

2010-07-05T09:47:00.002+02:00

And here it is:

"Seriously, no hedgehogs?"

Wikipedia makes me sad. I hope you enjoyed Canada Day and the 4th of July!

Classics FML

2010-07-04T11:34:00.001+02:00

For the uninitiated FML is a website where people post a statement about how awful their life is. Sometimes the statements are just depressing, but mostly it's a sort of insouciant gesture of defiance. It's for those moments when you roll your eyes and silently go 'you have GOT to be kidding!' For example:

Today, I received my passport in the mail. They got my birthdate wrong. Then I picked up my birth certificate that I had sent in with the application. Turns out my parents have been celebrating my birthday on the wrong day for 16 years. FML

On Facebook, there is now a FML: Greek Mythology Edition

Tiresias: Today, I am no longer a blind man. I am a blind woman. FML.

Paris: One apple, 3 goddesses. FML

Odysseus' crew: FML. FML. FML. FML. FML. FML. FML. FML. FML. FML. FML.

Have a look for yourself..

Palio, part 2

2010-07-03T12:50:00.146+02:00

The Palio di Siena is a biannual 400 year-old horse-race, run three times around the Piazza del Campo by horses representing ten of the seventeen contrade, or city wards. Jockeys must ride bareback, and do not need to be on the horse to win - it's the horse which wins, not the jockey. They're also encouraged to use their whips to hit each other, or other horses; anything goes, really. The winning contrada receives the Palio (a hand-painted silk banner, sacred to the Virgin Mary). Horses are allocated by lot, and the only opportunities the jockeys have to try out their horses are in the public prove in the days before. The horses have to be guarded twenty-four hours a day, because no matter what happens to your horse, you still have to race it. A rival contrada would not be above sabotage.. or so I'm told.
Anyway, I left at about 2:45, and ran into the Drago procession on Piazza Matteoli before they headed to the Duomo. At the Campo, the sand was being sprayed with water to soften the surface; they also sprayed the crowd, who were loving the impromptu shower - yesterday's temperature peaked around 34º. We settled down, and staked out our spot. There wasn't really anyone there to begin with, but there are worse things to do than sit and talk. If you look at the front of the Palazzo, you can see the ten flags of the contrade running (l-r: Giraffa, Torre, Leocorno, Nicchio, Bruco, Selva, Aquila, Onda, Istrice and Drago) , and above them the seven flags of the contrade not running (l-r: Oca, Chiocciola, Valdimontone, Lupa, Civetta, Tartuca and Pantera). Around 4.30, the mounted police marched through: one lap 'at leisure'; the second at gallop with swords out. Next, the Corteo Storico began, with processions from the Comune, each of the Contrade, and finally the Palio itself.

Part of the Torre procession (above), and (below) Istrice.

The ox-drawn carrozza bearing the flag of Siena and the Palio (above), and (below) the crowd waiting for the horses to line up. This was the most awe-inspiring moment of the day: after the horses came out, to cheers and shouts, the crowd - I mean, every single person - went completely quiet. There was no call for silence, just tens of thousands of people holding their breath and not saying a word while the Mossiere started calling out the order of the horses and instructing them, which sounded a lot like a school master chiding his pupils. (Leocorno, girati! Sei l'ultimo! ... Fuori tutto!) He had to restart the line-up at least three times, and the tension was almost tangible. Unfortunately, I couldn't see very well from where I was standing - I could really only see the opposite side of the Piazza, even though I was only three or four people away from the barrier. I watched the race later on youtube, but it couldn't capture the incredible movement of the crowd, and just how fast it really was. In fact, it was difficult to see exactly what was happening - we could see Onda in the lead for most of the race, followed by Selva - and noticed that there was a horse running scosso (without a jockey), but that was it. When the race was over - after, really.. about 75 seconds, we had to wait for them to bring out the flag of the winning contrada - Selva.

PALIO

2010-07-02T11:20:00.010+02:00

Good morning all -
Just a quick announcement: TODAY IS PALIO DAY!
My friends and I are heading to the Campo later on - I'm supporting Istrice (the Porcupine), M Drago (Dragon), H Torre (Tower; their animal is the elephant), A Nicchio (Shell), some of the others Giraffa; I'm told up to 40,000 people can fit in the Piazza del Campo on race day - it's going to be hot, sweaty and a lot of fun.
Photo-report tomorrow. In the meanwhile, have a look at wikipedia, the last Palio, or the opening scene of Quantum of Solace (footage from one of the 2007 Palios.)
RI.

UPDATE: VINCE LA SELVA!

Accents in Troy

2010-07-01T12:38:00.002+02:00

In the course of my recent adventures, I found this rather interesting statement from Andrew Jacks, the dialect coach who worked on Troy, in which he describes the efforts made to have a kind of accent continuity across both Trojans and Achaeans - and the importance of a divide between them. I haven't seen Troy, so I can't really comment - though I'm still disappointed by the Achilles/Patroclus 'cousin' thing.

In other news, debate is starting to kick up about Dr. Jay Kennedy's new musical interpretation of Plato*, both in the media, and in the classicists mailing list. I downloaded his work to read, but haven't yet had the time; in any case, I'm interested to see what the expert' make of it. My favourite media appropriation has been the Daily Mail , who ran a picture of a bust of 'Plato' with Zenon clearly inscribed on it. Their headline 'British scientist uncovers 'secret messages' hidden in Plato's ancient text' also shows a stunning lack of attention to detail - Kennedy is American. To be fair, it's the Daily Mail.

*structurally, of course, though if he wished to take Plato to the West End, I wouldn't complain.

Menzogna!

2010-06-30T11:50:00.023+02:00

Menzogne come up in Greek a lot. It's not a word I'd use much otherwise - it's a slightly more poetic way of saying 'lie'. Hence the Muses tell Hesiod: We know menzogne which are similar to the truth; when we will, we also know things which are true.

Anyway, whenever I hear the word, a little voice in my head shouts 'Menzogna!' I thought this was strange until I realised that it's Cavaradossi's voice from Tosca. It's grim, but the interrogation scene is one of my favourite parts. The only problem I have with Tosca is that I don't like Tosca. Actually, that's quite a big problem.

Music was essentially the reason I wanted to study Italian. It's almost a guilty pleasure, since opera is such an inherent class symbol.. but come on, I lived in a trailer for two years and grew up in clothes the neighbours didn't want.

You can listen to it here. The passage below begins at 5.40, and 'Menzogna!' is at 6.57. (Incidentally, this interrogation just reminds me of oral exams. To summarise what's going on, Cavaradossi is a painter, and Tosca's lover. Angelotti, a political prisoner, escapes from prison, and they give him food, and hide him in a well. Inevitably they get caught, and Cavaradossi denies all knowledge, refusing to give away Angelotti's hiding place. Scarpia has Cavaradossi tortured, and Tosca, hearing his screams, betrays Angelotti, who kills himself rather than be captured. Scarpia, who's already been trying to convince Tosca that Cavaradossi is unfaithful to her, declares that if she sleeps with him he'll arrange a mock execution. Tosca agrees, but once he sends the order, she kills him with a hidden knife. Meanwhile Cavaradossi sings a sad song about how he has never loved life so much as this - and yet he has to die. The next morning, he has his mock execution, and Tosca cheerily consoles him - until it turns out that Scarpia double-crossed her and the guns do indeed have bullets in them. C. dies, and Tosca jumps off the ramparts.

Scarpia:
Introducete il Cavaliere.
(Spoletta esce)
(a Sciarrone)
A me Roberti e il Giudice del Fisco.
(Sciarrone esce. Scarpia siede di nuovo a tavola.)
Spoletta e quattro sbirri introducono Mario Cavaradossi.
Cavaradossi
(altero, avanzandosi con impeto)
Tal violenza!...
Scarpia (con studiata cortesia)
Cavalier, vi piaccia accomodarvi...
Cavaradossi
Vo' saper...
Scarpia
(accennando una sedia al lato opposto della tavola)
Sedete...
Cavaradossi
(rifiutando)
Aspetto.
Scarpia
E sia!
(guarda fisso Cavaradossi, prima di interrogarlo)
V'è noto che un prigione...
(odesi la voce di Tosca che prende parte alla Cantata)
Cavaradossi (commosso)
La sua voce!...
Scarpia
(che si era interrotto all'udire la voce di Tosca, riprende)
... v'è noto che un prigione
oggi è fuggito da Castel Sant'Angelo?
Cavaradossi
Ignoro.
Scarpia
Eppur, si pretende che voi
l'abbiate accolto in Sant'Andrea,
provvisto di cibo e di vesti...
Cavaradossi (risoluto)
Menzogna!
Scarpia
(continuando a mantenersi calmo)
... e guidato
ad un vostro podere suburbano...
Cavaradossi
Nego. - Le prove?
Scarpia (mellifluo)
Un suddito fedele...
Cavaradossi
Al fatto. Chi mi accusa?
(ironico)
I vostri sbirri invan frugâr la villa.

Scarpia
Segno che è ben celato.
Cavaradossi
Sospetti di spia!
Spoletta (offeso, interviene)
Alle nostre ricerche egli rideva...
Cavaradossi
E rido ancor!
Scarpia
(terribile, alzandosi)
Questo è luogo di lacrime!
(minaccioso)
Badate!
(nervosissimo)
Or basta! Rispondete!
(irritato e disturbato dalle voci della Cantata va a chiudere la finestra: poi si rivolge imperioso a Cavaradossi:)
Dov'è Angelotti?
Cavaradossi
Non lo so.
Scarpia
Negate avergli dato cibo?
Cavaradossi
Nego!
Scarpia
E vesti?
Cavaradossi
Nego!
Scarpia
E asilo nella villa?
E che là sia nascosto?
Cavaradossi (con forza)
Nego! nego!
Scarpia
(quasi paternamente, ritornando calmo)
Via, Cavaliere, riflettete: saggia
non è cotesta ostinatezza vostra.
Angoscia grande, pronta confessione
eviterà! Io vi consiglio, dite:
dov'è dunque Angelotti?
Cavaradossi
Non lo so.
Scarpia
Ancor,
l'ultima volta: dov'è?
Cavaradossi
Nol so!

Scarpia:
Bring him in!
(Spoletta leaves)
(to Sciarrone)
Get me Roberti and the Giudice del Fisco.
(Sciarrone leaves. Scarpia sits back down at the table.) Spoletta and four officials bring in Mario Cavaradossi.
Cavaradossi
(furious, pushing forward)
This is an outrage!...
Scarpia (with studied politeness)
Sir, if you would care to sit...
Cavaradossi
You want to know...
Scarpia
(indicating a chair on the opposite side of the table)
Please, sit.
Cavaradossi
(refusing)
I'll wait.
Scarpia
So be it!
(he stares at Cavaradossi before interrogating him)
Are you aware that a prisoner...
(they hear the voice of Tosca, singing outside)
Cavaradossi (moved)
Her voice!...
Scarpia
(picks up where he left off when interrupted by Tosca's voice)
... are you aware that a prisoner escaped this morning from Castel San'Angelo?
Cavaradossi
No.
Scarpia
And yet, we understand that you met him in Sant'Andrea,
supplied him with food and clothes..
Cavaradossi (firmly)
That's a lie!
Scarpia
(remains unruffled)
... and took him
to your house...
Cavaradossi
I deny it. - What's your proof?
Scarpia (smoothly)
A reliable informer...
Cavaradossi
Of course. Who's accusing me?
(mockingly)
Your men searched my house and found nothing.
Scarpia
It shows he's well hidden.
Cavaradossi
You think I'm a spy!
Spoletta (interjects, offended)
He was laughing at our inquiries.
Cavaradossi
And I'm still laughing!
Scarpia
(thunderous, getting up)
This is a place of tears!
(threatening)
Watch yourself!
(irritably)
Now enough! Tell me!
(annoyed by the voices of the Cantata, he goes to shut the window: then he turns imperiously to Cavaradosi:)
Where is Angelotti?
Cavaradossi
I don't know.
Scarpia
You deny giving him food?
Cavaradossi
I deny it!
Scarpia
And clothes?
Cavaradossi
I deny it!
Scarpia
And refuge in your home?
And that he's hidden there?
Cavaradossi (emphatically)
I deny it! I deny it!
Scarpia
(almost paternally, calming)
Come, sir, think about it: this
stubbornness isn't going to help.
Out with it now, and you can avoid later torment.
I advise you to tell me
where is Angelotti?
Cavaradossi
I don't know.
Scarpia
Again,
for the last time: where is he?
Cavaradossi
I don't know!

Back to revision..

Greek Exam, part one

2010-06-29T19:35:00.000+02:00

I've been trying to think of the comic aspects of my Greek exam, but there aren't many. I don't know how I manage to get myself into these situations, nor why I deal with them so badly.

Fine, so I'm told to go first, because I'm the Erasmus student. We enter a tiny airless office, and I'm given a chair in direct sunlight. The professor and his assistant sit opposite me, and I realise that - as per the lessons - I can barely understand my professor. I don't know why; I don't think it's his accent. Perhaps it's something about his phrasing. He also seems to swallow his words. This means that I fail to answer basic questions about where I'm from. Not a good start.

So we begin, and it immediately goes wrong. I'm asked to say something about Homer's poetry, but I don't understand. In the context of what? Does he want me to talk about the epic tradition, or the way other poets used his work? About the Homeric identity thing? I make a fish impression, and ask him to repeat the question. "This is really basic, you know." He snaps, and asks me about Milman Parry. So I mumble something about analysing traditional Slavic poetry and comparative studies. He looks very unimpressed.

At this point, I realise that I wasn't supposed to read the sixth book of the Iliad, but the sixth book of the Iliad in the schools' commentary he'd written. "So, have you read this book? Why not? I can't believe you'd come to the exam without reading the book..." My level of shame and embarrassment is about as high as I think it can go - but then we arrive at metre. This doesn't go well. Reading in metre at sight doesn't come naturally to me, and even with practise I'm hesitant. By now the assistant is making gestures behind the professor's head, trying to indicate where the feminine caesura goes. I'm just embarrassed by this, but eventually give in and repeat the information he mimes at me. This just goes on, and on. I translate the passage I've read, badly, and then I get grilled on the grammar. The assistant is trying to be helpful, and reassuring, but I get completely stuck. I don't know, and all the explanation of what it looks like in Attic is just making it worse. I don't know.

Anyway, it's around this point that the feelings of panic actually turn into silent tears. My god, I thought this would stop at the age of six. The professor sighs profusely, tells me that it's obvious I haven't studied at all and exclaims a little more about my ineptitude. We keep going, until it gets to the point were I'm obviously too upset to say a word. The assistant gets me a glass of water, and they stare intently at me. I make an attempt to pull myself together, so when they ask me "well, what else have you prepared?", we keep going with the ninth book of the Iliad.

This goes a little better, but it doesn't help that the professor barely understands a word I say - the assistant keeps on translating my Italian for him. The assistant is assisting me more than him. More metre, more translation, more grammar.

Anyway, after an hour and a half, I leave. The assistant waves goodbye cheerily, and asks me if my name is Welsh. The professor informs me that I'll have to return on the 13th to take the rest of the exam, and looks like he hopes I'll get hit by a truck in the progress. The feeling is almost mutual.

Rinse and Repeat

2010-06-27T13:47:00.005+02:00

Quote of the day from Brooks Otis:

We should also note the relative irrelevance of large parts of Homer.

That sounds pretty stinging out of context. It's not much better in context - he's forming a comparative analysis of the chariot race in the Iliad and the boat race in the Aeneid. It dates him; it's too subjective. The whole book reads this way, including the title - 'Virgil: A Study in Civilized Poetry'. It belongs to an age where a man can write an entire book on what he thinks of Vergil with the dramatic vigour of a detective novel. It's not so much that I disagree with what he says; I just think that opinions don't seem to go too far on the page these days: it reads much more like a series of nostalgic lectures; like these observations have been growing inside him for some time, a seed planted the moment he first heard of Vergil, and after struggling through academia, and the ignorance of both students and colleagues, the world must know.

In my case, we should be grateful that of the 1200 lines I've been set to learn from the Iliad, around a hundred are repeated verbatim. It really is a memory game.

"I say, I say, I say: I went to the curved-black-swift-ships and I brought with me.. seven shining cauldrons, ten talents of gold, three tripods un-touched by fire, twelve slave girls - and a partridge in a pear tree."

Hilarity.

The Alcman Litmus Test

2010-06-24T21:06:00.000+02:00

Based on careful research and observation, I've come to the conclusion that if I can listen to this recording of Alcman 58 with a straight face, I'm fit to continue working. If I make sad intermittent giggles, it's time to go home.

Semonides

2010-06-24T09:19:00.003+02:00

I'm in the midst of revision, but I thought I should write something to prove I haven't dropped off the face of the Earth. Admittedly, that's what it feels like. All my friends have now graduated, whereas I'm languishing here, facing another three weeks of exams.

I'd feel better if the exams counted for something/anything, but in fact.. they don't. If I pass, great; if I fail.. I'll have the task of convincing my university to let me return for final year. The other student here with me from Bristol has dropped out, so I don't want to make it two for two!

Anyway, I'm currently revising Greek. My first exam is on two books of the Iliad and most of the archaic poets (Callinus, Tyrtaeus, Mimnermus, Solon, Archilocus, Theognis, Xenophanes, Hipponax, Sappho, Alcaeus, Anacreon, Alcman, Stesichorus, Ibicus, Simonides, Pindar and Bacchylides.. it's hard enough remembering them all.) Semonides is actually the one poet I don't have to translate, but I did have to read about his exploits in the textbook. Nice guy. Especially the part where women are disgusting. Oh wait, that's the whole thing. Semonides, you crack me up. However, it does make me want to look at bees in a literary context.

Note to self: never again get yourself into the situation where your self-value is tied to your ability to translate Ancient Greek into Italian.

Father of History?

2010-05-19T23:04:00.002+02:00

Debate rages on. I love comics.

Agora in Italy Update

2010-05-16T12:29:00.001+02:00

The article previously cited was presumably just trying to stir the flames - though the online movement to bring Agora to Italy may or may not have been a contributing factor - as Agora has indeed had its release in Italy. It was showing here in Siena, but alas, I was busy.. and Robin Hood has now taken its slot.

Amores 8 and the end of the world

2010-05-15T12:05:00.002+02:00

Sanguine, siqua fides, stillantia sidera vidi;
Purpureus Lunae sanguine vultus erat.
I saw - if you can believe it - the stars dripping with blood;
The face of the moon was red with blood.
Ovid, Amores 8.11-12

Which taps into a certain apocalyptic formula:

sol vertetur in tenebras et luna in sanguinem antequam veniat dies Domini magnus et horribilis
The sun shall turn to shadow and the moon to blood before the day shall come of our Lord, great and terrible.
Joel 2.31

sol convertetur in tenebras et luna in sanguinem antequam veniat dies Domini magnus et manifestus
The sun shall turn to shadow and the moon to blood before that day shall come of our Lord, great and clear.
Acts 2.20

et vidi cum aperuisset sigillum sextum et terraemotus factus est magnus et sol factus est niger tamquam saccus cilicinus et luna tota facta est sicut sanguis
And then I saw, when the sixth seal was opened, a great earthquake and the sun was made as dark as a sack of hair-cloth and the whole moon was as blood.
Rev. 6.12

On the 11th August, 1999, a total solar eclipse took place across Europe. I was standing on a cliff in Cornwall. Even though it was too cloudy and obscure to see the moon moving across the face of the sun, I've never forgotten that eerie, terrifying sensation as earth and sea turned black as night at eleven o'clock in the morning.

On a separate note, terraemotus is the origin for the Italian word terremoto. As pointed out in my linguistics class, it wouldn't really work as an Italian compound, because the component words should be the other way around i.e. mossa-terra, or something akin. Whereas in English we like the 'head' word to go second, in Italian it comes first. So we have station-manager, but Italian has capostazione. Even with esocentric formations, like 'apribottiglia', it's still the reverse - we have 'bottle-opener'. Curious. But that's why terremoto is an exception to the rule.

(Vulgate extracts just to illustrate the similarities in lexis, etc.)

Attention span.. what attention span?

2010-05-12T23:09:00.001+02:00

I might need to borrow someone else's notes for the exam.

Excursion to Florence: Bacchus

2010-05-10T00:43:00.007+02:00

During my extended stay in England, I had ample time to realise that I should exploit being in Italy more. Between my work ethic and (almost) perfect attendance, I hadn't really been fulfilling the Erasmus student stereotype. Accordingly, I turned up two weeks late for the start of term. Mindful of the fear that I'm wasting the year, I hopped on the bus to Florence.

I was with my good friend M., who is also a classicist and doesn't mind when I'm bossy, so we went to the Archaeological Museum so I could ooh and ahh over the François Vase and then to the Bargello, because the statues are lovely and it's normally deserted. I meant to do the full tourist shuffle, but I got distracted by Michelangelo's Bacchus. He's just so beautiful and soft. For one thing, here's a Bacchus you can imagine being taunted as an effeminate stranger. Neither image conveys it well, but his mouth is open in a soft gesture - perhaps of recognition, but not of acceptance. His gaze is unfocused and distant, and he holds the cup in the air with a kind of casual insouciance, as if caught alone. He is delicate, but threatening - as if in a second, his gaze might clear, and his eyebrows narrow, and then the ground itself might shake. It taps into that wonderful incomprehensibility of things when drunk. He looks like someone you might bump into someone in a bar - perhaps you spill their drink a little - in their eyes is a split second of confusion, that moment where they are trying to understand what has happened, and no one can be sure if they are going to greet you with a cheery 'alright mate' - or punch you. It's the alcoholic equivalent of Schroedinger's cat. I find the only way I can look at something - really look at it - is to try and copy it for myself, so that's what I did. Apparently Shelley hated this statue, but then, I don't like him.

Anyway, posts should be back to normal soon. Between conferences, travelling, being in England, having exams and so on, my normally exuberant enthusiasm has been more subdued lately. I have lots of ridiculous anecdotes though, and some are even classics-related.

Voting (Or Not)

2010-05-06T19:23:00.000+02:00

After two weeks of silence, my sister decided to speak to me again just so she could needle me about not being registered to vote. And the fact I spelt 'bureaucracy' wrong on my facebook status.

I tried to register my proxy vote. I sent it first class, long before the deadline. By the time I realised that my designated proxy hadn't received anything from the Electoral Office, the deadline had passed and all they could say was 'well, I'm sure you'll end up on the system eventually'. I've been trying to get in touch with my mother for the past few days, but she never answers the phone and doesn't take three missed calls as a sign to ring back. I finally managed to speak to her today, and apparently she's called the office (and it's clear I can't vote). She seemed surprised I wanted to know.

So, no. I won't be voting. My sister can gloat all she wants. I remain convinced that no party will win a majority, they'll bicker like children, refuse to form a coalition or minority government, and we'll all be back to vote shortly. So maybe next time they won't lose my paperwork and I'll actually be able to vote in a general election.

USA photo report..

2010-04-25T16:35:00.000+02:00

I ended up staying in the US for a few extra days, since it seemed obscene and somehow offensive to travel to the other side of the world for a weekend. Here's the condensed version - I might re-edit to include captions if I feel like procrastinating.

Cornell Undergraduate Conference Report

2010-04-21T19:20:00.024+02:00

I was lucky enough to be involved in the inaugural (but hopefully to be annual) Cornell Undergraduate Classics Conference on the 10th April. Notes are made and photos are uploaded, so the time has come to make a report.

First, I have to point out that I had no idea what to expect on any level. I've been to a few conferences and seminar workshops, but only in the capacity of a very quiet undergrad, sitting at the back. My sum experience of presentation-giving was a ten minute spiel on reality and satire in the Satyricon which was only to my classmates.. and it was supposed to be five minutes long. So I was nervous. I'd probably have fallen over if I wasn't holding on to the lectern.

The conference kicked off on Friday the 9th, with a welcome reception in the (very impressive-looking) Classics department at Cornell, where we made awkward greetings and asked each other what our papers were about. That makes it sound quite painful, but of course it's always wonderful to meet other people who love classics. It's self-affirming and makes us feel almost normal. Conversation turned to what we were doing at university, and I was uncomfortably aware of the fact that I'm not really connected to any university at the minute. That sounds strange, because I'm actually enrolled at two - but no one at either university knows who I am. I was in Bristol the other day, and I realised that despite being in my third year, only two members of the faculty would recognise me by sight. This isn't really a criticism; it just fed into what was praying on my mind - that I hadn't discussed my paper with anyone. It wasn't on purpose; it's more that I don't know anyone that I thought would help me. I tried to get my tutor to have a look at it (belatedly), but he was too busy. So in the end, no one from Bristol read my paper or knew what I was talking about and no one from Siena even knew I was going... which - well, it's not great.

The next morning we gathered in the auditorium, where they'd arranged a buffet breakfast. I was delighted to find that cake is apparently an acceptable breakfast food in the US. One of the other students, Nick Geller, had also studied in Italy for a while, and he often found his Latin much better than his Italian. An interesting conversation followed about speaking Latin (thankfully not in Latin.. it was still too early), before we were instructed to take our seats and the conference began.

After a brief introduction by Stevie Hull, the keynote speaker - Prof. Cynthia Damon of Penn. University - presented a very interesting paper on the tensions between poet and historiographer in Seneca's Apocolocyntosis. And then - the student papers began:

First, the Greek Literature panel:

“Medea’s Word as Deterministic” (Adriana Vazquez, Stanford University

“Plato’s Doubly Mimetic Socrates” (Stephen Margheim, Baylor University)

“Cain in Exile: Homeric Echoes in Hebrew Literature” (Christopher Mercurio, Rutgers University)

Then 'Authorial & Narrative Voices in Classical Literature':
“Narrator and Narrative Persona in Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis” (Raquel Begleiter, Harvard University)

“The Return, Romans and Rome: the Perspective of Rutilius Namantianus” (Felipe Fernandez del Castillo, The University of Chicago)

“Authorial Intrusion and Self Representation in Anna Komnena’s Alexiad” (Robin Meyer, University College, Oxford University)

Next, Roman Literature:
“Competing Poetics in Persius’ First Satire” (Benjamin Jerue, The University of Michigan)
“Parallel Structure, Parallel Lives, Parallel Empires” (Margaret Clark, Middlebury College)
“A Carmen in a Canto: the Presence of Catullus 64 in the Opening of Ezra Pound’s Cantos” (Sebastian Momtazi, Durham University)
“Plautus’ Pseudolus and the Fourth Wall” (Nicholas Geller, The University of Chicago)

Finally, 'Art, Archaeology & Material Culture':

“Textile Variety in the Iconography of the Arkteia” (Michelle Barron, Amherst College)

“Shades of Blood: a Semantic Approach to Latin Colour Terminology” (Madeleine Fforde, The University of Bristol)

[Ready to speak.. (l-r) Raquel, Margaret and myself]

Since I was last, I had a lot of time to grow apprehensive. However, despite my nerves (and the powerpoint refusing to show my Munsell diagram), the reception to my paper was much better than I thought it would be - I pictured a venerable academic standing up and saying 'No. Just, no.' - but the questions I received were really encouraging. Perhaps I looked nervous enough to inspire compassion - I was grateful I'd written out more or less what I was going to say (though I tried to speak to the audience and look up as much as I could), because words completely failed me at the beginning. It got better as I went on, and by the end, I think (hope) I was able to answer questions in a vaguely coherent fashion, but who knows? Incidentally, my paper didn't actually have anything to do with art, archaeology or material culture, but it fit that category as well as any other.

About the talks themselves - well, it was striking what a large range was covered. I can't imagine any other conference where the requisite theme is 'anything to do with classics'. As with any event, some speakers were more confident than others, and some papers were easier to follow than others, but I really enjoyed listening to all of them, and getting such a whirlwind tour of antiquity. I was introduced to things I'd never heard of (Rutilius Namantianus, the Alexiad) and brought back to familiar works with new ideas.

All in all, it was a great experience - but surreal beyond belief. I still have no idea how I ended up on the other side of the world.. for classics. (It got even stranger when the 'after party' ended up in a frat house and they introduced me and my fellow Brits to beer pong. I'm sure that isn't a conference staple.)

USA report to follow!

LOLcat Odyssey

2010-04-20T00:55:00.001+02:00

One of my friends passed this charming rendition of Homer's classic my way. Okay, so something of the rolling hexametre is lost in translation, but I'm interested in all treatments of the classics. Let it not be said that I discriminate against internet memes.

I'm not in Italy, and this ominous ash-cloud doesn't seem to be shifting from above our heads.. I'm missing lessons, but at least I'm getting some work done here. I was planning on flying back to the UK next week for the Bristol undergrad conference (I know, such arrogant folly, all this flying about...), so I'll stay in the UK till then, and hope that I'll be able to travel back... just in time for my linguistics exam.

The joy of Labour

2010-04-16T15:02:00.000+02:00

I found this on the BBC's live election coverage:

1221: The BBC's Jane Hill says: PM now talking to 250 students at a sixth form college in Brighton. A sign above the college entrance is in Latin - and translates as "nothing without labour". Party officials insist it wasn't chosen for that reason!

Sneaky.

Thanks Dylan, the time has indeed come for a conference and general USA round-up! I made it back to the UK yesterday morning, before British air-space was completely shut-down by a rampant Icelandic volcano.. it remains to be seen whether I'll be back in Italy on Sunday. I hope so.

Ultima Britannia

2010-03-06T19:08:00.011+01:00

I was thinking of home this week, but not with nostalgia. In fits and starts, I'm realising that living abroad is beginning to change how I perceive my native land and language. What is natural and familiar to me is strange and foreign to others - I should have grasped the concept of cultural relativism long ago, but there's a tangible line between theory and reality. You can't suddenly strip away a mindset and replace it with another - home is always home, as they say, and most of who I am is based on it. But now when I'm day-dreaming and come falling back to reality with a thump! it's not (always) in English - and for someone who wasn't raised bilingually, it's a strange concept to come to terms with. Home isn't just home anymore, it's some drizzly country to the North.

In my Latin class we were reading Eclogues 1, which includes the passage:

At nos hinc alii sitientis ibimus Afros,
pars Scythiam et rapidum Cretae veniemus Oaxen,
pauperis toto divisos orbe Britannos.

But we far hence, to burning Libya some,
some to the Scythian steppes, or thy swift flood,
cretan Oaxes, now must wend our way,
or Britain, from the whole world sundered far.

The lecturer commented that the representation of Britain as a far-off rock on the edge of the world was a common theme in Latin poetry, so I did a little research, yielding:

ultimosque Britannos - Catullus Carmina 11
ultima Britannia - Catullus Carmina 29
in ultimos / orbis Britannos - Horace Odes 1.35

Whereas - of course - for me Britain is home. Particularly with England, it's very difficult to associate any concept of 'wildness'. It's about as wild and mysterious as a well-tended garden. The largest natural predators are badgers. But every so often there's a glimpse of something older, bleaker, purer, and for a fraction of a second I'm part of something strange and foreign.
I'm trying to embrace this sense of being 'other'; trying to get rid of this innate patro-centricty, and the better I understand it, the better I can understand things which seem foreign to me.

This isn't the only approach; something that caught my eye recently was The Progress of Poesy by Thomas Gray - and in particular verse six, where the Muses abandon Helicon for Rome - and then England:

Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep,
Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep,
Fields that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Maeander's amber waves
In lingering lab'rinths creep,
How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Mute, but to the voice of anguish!
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breathed around;
Ev'ry shade and hallowed fountain
Murmured deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power,
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,
They sought, Oh Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast.

If that's true, I wonder where they are now.

Part of the sea-encircled coast.

Exciting news in my world

2010-02-12T13:16:00.000+01:00

I received news this morning that the paper I submitted to the undergraduate conference at Cornell has been accepted. All at once this is unbelievably exciting and terrifying. I've never presented before - aside from in class - and I've certainly never presented my own research. Yet somehow I'll be flying out to the other side of the world to an Ivy League school to do so... well, words don't really express it. I'm absolutely ecstatic.

Plato endorsing footwear

2010-02-11T17:47:00.002+01:00

I have no issue with celebrity endorsements, but using Plato to promote shoes just makes me smile. Really?

At least it wasn't Socrates.

There was a severe frost, for the winter in that region is really tremendous, and everybody else either remained indoors, or if they went out had on an amazing quantity of clothes, and were well shod, and had their feet swathed in felt and fleeces: in the midst of this, Socrates with his bare feet on the ice and in his ordinary dress marched better than the other soldiers who had shoes, and they looked daggers at him.

Plato Symposium (trans. Benjamin Jowett)

It's currently snowing here but path towards higher good or not, I want to keep my toes... so I won't be following his example.

Beacons: Visualisation

2010-02-07T13:03:00.002+01:00

I've always loved the following passage from Agamemnon - Clytaemnestra describing the path of the beacon fire as it speeds to Argos, bringing news that Troy has fallen. Reading it in conjunction with this video-clip makes me forgive Hollywood for its many sins.

Clytaemnestra:

From Ida's top Hephaestus, lord of fire,
Sent forth his sign; and on, and ever on,
Beacon to beacon sped the courier-flame.
From Ida to the crag, that Hermes loves,
Of Lemnos; thence unto the steep sublime
Of Athos, throne of Zeus, the broad blaze flared.
Thence, raised aloft to shoot across the sea,
The moving light, rejoicing in its strength,
Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way,
In golden glory, like some strange new sun,
Onward, and reached Macistus' watching heights.
There, with no dull delay nor heedless sleep,
The watcher sped the tidings on in turn,
Until the guard upon Messapius' peak
Saw the far flame gleam on Euripus' tide,
And from the high-piled heap of withered furze
Lit the new sign and bade the message on.
Then the strong light, far-flown and yet undimmed,
Shot thro' the sky above Asopus' plain,
Bright as the moon, and on Cithaeron's crag
Aroused another watch of flying fire.
And there the sentinels no whit disowned,
But sent redoubled on, the hest of flame
Swift shot the light, above Gorgopis' bay,
To Aegiplanctus' mount, and bade the peak
Fail not the onward ordinance of fire.
And like a long beard streaming in the wind,
Full-fed with fuel, roared and rose the blaze,
And onward flaring, gleamed above the cape,
Beneath which shimmers the Saronic bay,
And thence leapt light unto Arachne's peak,
The mountain watch that looks upon our town.
Thence to th' Atreides' roof-in lineage fair,
A bright posterity of Ida's fire.
So sped from stage to stage, fulfilled in turn,
Flame after flame, along the course ordained,
And lo! the last to speed upon its way
Sights the end first, and glows unto the goal.
And Troy is ta'en, and by this sign my lord
Tells me the tale, and ye have learned my word.

Enjoy!

Alcibiades: The Greatest Film Never Made

2010-02-04T17:23:00.032+01:00

Dear Studio Bosses,

I've got this great idea for a film. You should totally buy it from me. It's a biopic, but there's loads of sex, violence and sea-battles. I mean loads. And hand-to-hand fighting. It's a decapitation-a-minute comedy romp set in Ancient Greece. Your publicists really won't have to do anything, I mean, this is a movie that'll sell itself. People will be flocking the aisles for those sea-battles. Really.

A plot? Well, it's about this guy, Alcibiades. He's hilarious, but troubled. So, picture the scene - the whole world is at war in a fierce ideological power-struggle between the oligarchic Peloponnesian league and the democratic Delian league. Too much detail? That's cool; we can always simplify it. Democracy = good. Everything else = bad. So Alcibiades, he's this Athenian thirty-something. A good guy who likes a party - I think we can all identify with that. He tries to save Athens with a risky stratagem, but gets spitefully trapped by his political enemies.. I mean, what's a guy with a fond appreciation for other men's wives to do?

But seriously, if you're under attack, and your city's under attack, I think it's totally reasonable to defect to the enemy, help destroy hundreds of your own ships and impregnate the Spartan king's wife. And you know, after a while the war kinda lost momentum, so he was doing them all a favour by dragging the Persians in. And then defecting to Persia. And then defecting back to Athens. Seriously - and there's a great ending.. just as the war's about to end.. BANG! Persian hitman. Dramatic. Effective. We could cut to the Spartans comparing a bust of him and looking at the kids, and being like 'wow! you totally did!' It would be Oscar worthy. You could start writing your speech before production began. Awesome.

The male-lead, well, I don't mind, as long as he's good-looking. Troubled, but not in that Colin-Farrell kind of way - lawsuits are too expensive. Large budget is a must - if we can't actually re-stage the Sicilian Expedition, I want $60m worth of CGI triremes. Just ask those guys from 300 if we can have their costumes. Don't worry about hiring a script-writer, let's just fill most of the scenes with incoherent shouting about patriotism and mis-quote ancient sources. If that fails, we can always cut to gratuitous nudity.

Love and kisses,
Respondebat Illa

Multitasking with Propertius

2010-02-04T14:21:00.000+01:00

Cum tibi nec frater nec sit tibi filius ullus,
frater ego et tibi sim filius unus ego.

Since you have neither a brother nor a son,
Let me be both brother and son to you.

Propertius Elergiae XVIIID, Liber II

Romantic, proprietary or slightly-more-than-an-undertone of incest?

It reminded me of the chorus:

I'll be your father / I'll be your mother
I'll be your lover / I'll be yours
I'll Be Yours, Placebo (from the album 'Sleeping with Ghosts')

Nihil sub sole novum.

Subconscious calling!

2010-01-23T10:41:00.002+01:00

Hello! This is your subconscious calling! Just letting you know that if you continue to completely ignore your conference paper with only a few weeks before the abstract is due, I will subject you to dreams where you have to present it and justify its as-of-yet non-existent content. Yes, there may well be a slightly fantastical element, and a post-apocalyptic setting, but just remember, the panic is real! If the edge wears off, I can always add in an inexplicable speech impediment, or alternatively make you naked in front of your peers.
That is all!
Goodbye now!

The Quick and the Dead

2010-01-22T11:53:00.004+01:00

Quick:
PIE *gwiwo- 'to live' (hence, bio-, vivo-)
O.E. cwic 'living, alive'
M.E. quyk

hence:

quicksand
quicksilver (c.f. argento vivo in Italian)
quickening (in pregnancy, not in Highlander)
the promise of judgement for both the quick and the dead.

(By analogy, the Kwik-E-Mart from The Simpsons should be a slave-market, brothel or at least a purveyor of human flesh.)

What's interesting is also that up until a certain age most children don't think plants are alive - because they don't move. Not quickly, anyway.

Maybe I should start living life that little bit faster.

When classics jokes go awry..

2010-01-19T10:32:00.001+01:00

In my first year, someone suggested we print 'a good classicist never declines sex' on a series of hoodies, with the idea that we would sell them around the department. Unfortunately, the joke being what it is, the hoodies are pretty much unwearable. Most of the other departmental societies have the same dilemma (although at least their innuendos make sense) - do Arch & Anth students really want to dig out their hoodies in ten years time to proclaim 'we like a good bone'?!

Other subjects demonstrated remarkably good taste, which turns out to be a rare commodity in university societies. Geography rather sensibly picked 'you'd be lost without us' and Neuroscience - my absolute favourite - 'it's not rocket science'.

Hindsight wins again.

Classical disputes at choir and respondebat illa 2.0

2010-01-17T18:08:00.003+01:00

We started singing Carmina Burana on Friday, a lovely yet challenging work which has the dubious honour of being the most widely-played piece of music composed in Nazi Germany. Spin that as you may, Orff's version is set to the medieval collection of poems of the same name. Most famous is the opening section, Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi, and the weight of the wheel of fortune turning thunders throughout the work, finally reprising at the end.

The manuscript has the wheel of fortune as its frontispiece, with four captions: regnabo, regno, regnavi and sum sine regno - I shall reign, I reign, I have reigned and I am without a kingdom. Pretty epic stuff.

About halfway through the rehearsal we got into a bizarre standoff about the Latin pronunciation. It began when my friend L asked whether we should be singing a soft or hard 'g', since the music was profane, and before the maestro had time to react - BAM! heavy-set Italian soprano starts screaming at L about how wrong she is, and how the Romans themselves never pronounced 'g' hard, and how she'd studied Latin and how she knew better than everyone else and the only way of pronouncing Latin was the Italian way. This went on for quite a while, and got more and more ugly, until finally everyone saw that they just had to stop talking and hope the blonde bulldog did too. Later A (half German, half Italian and a classicist - just to cover all angles) listened to the recording on her ipod and reported to me and L that they did indeed pronounce the 'g' hard. But really, why stick your head above the pulpit?

What was strange was the sheer aggression that came out, and it's not the first time this has happened. Before Christmas, I got a thorough telling off from the woman I was sitting next to, because I pronounced 'patres'.. well, 'patres', instead of 'padres'. All the stranger because she's called Svetlana and is a native of St Petersburg. She still torments me every rehearsal by repeating what I say with extended rolled 'r's and generally making fun of my Italian.. even though she has a thick Russian accent.

Oh well.

Also, respondebat illa is new and shiny! I've been meaning to update the layout for a while and finally got round to it today. Hurrah.

We've all had days like this..

2010-01-16T12:30:00.008+01:00

Sorry for the poor quality - I only had my phone to hand.

Sex, art and Athens

2010-01-15T14:54:00.000+01:00

Ooh, a new exhibition on Eros in Athens. Is it bad that I looked up the cost of flights?

The Guardian has a pretty review with lots of pictures.

Actually, it opened a month ago, so it's old news. But it runs til April!

Love Poetry: Propertius versus Leonard Cohen

2010-01-13T14:19:00.016+01:00

militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido;
attice, crede mihi, militat omnis amans.
Ovid Amores 1.9, 1-2

Love is war, as well we know. The semantic field is littered with harsh and violent terms, of conquest and defeat and wounds and suffering. We hear about the controlling power of love - and how it enslaves all mankind... yet every so often, something pops up to suggests that the controlling force of love is based in gentleness and not force (physical or otherwise).

Take it away, Leonard Cohen and Propertius!

quod si nec nomen nec me tua forma teneret,
posset servitium mite tenere tuum.

If neither your name nor beauty kept me true,
your gentle bondage could hold me.

Propertius Elergiae 2.20, 19-20

I call to you, I call to you
But I don't call soft enough
There ain't no cure
There ain't no cure
There ain't no cure for love.

Leonard Cohen, Ain't No Cure For Love

While I'd happily extol the description as representative of love's timid and wayward nature, I suspect it's referring to the women involved... which probably reinforces the dominance/submission issue, but... I'll ignore that. (And really, servitium, Propertius?)

Both men insist they can't be fooled -

credam ego narranti, noli committere, famae:
et terram rumor transilit et maria.

I shall believe what gossip tells me, so behave! - rumour leaps both land and sea.

Propertius Elergiae 2.18D

Everybody knows that you love me baby,
Everybody knows you really do -
Everybody knows that you've been faithful -
Give or take a night or two,
Everybody knows you've been discreet,
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes...
And everybody knows.

Leonard Cohen Everybody Knows

- but they probably were. Oh, what a romantic I am!

Round Three: 'eternal connections'

ossa tibi iuro per matris et ossa parentis
(si fallo, cinis heu sit mihi uterque gravis!)
me tibi ad extremas mansurum, vita, tenebras:
ambos una fides auferet, una dies.

I swear to you on the bones of my mother and father -
if I lie, may the ghost of each come back to haunt me!
- that I will remain faithful to you, my love, to my final hour:
a single love; a single end shall take us both away.

Propertius Elergiae 2.20, 15-18

I'm not looking for another,
As I wander through my time -
Walk me to the corner,
Our steps will always rhyme.
You know that my love goes with you
and your love goes with me -
It's just the way it changes,
Like the shoreline and the sea.

Leonard Cohen Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye

Thus ends the love-boat.

Jocasta Robinson?

2010-01-11T08:27:00.003+01:00

Life meets art in the latest political scandal from N. Ireland, and the papers have been happily seizing the opportunity to make reference to The Graduate after it has emerged that Iris Robinson [wife of Peter Robinson, first minister of Northern Ireland, and until now, an MP in her own right] illegally secured a £50,000 loan for her (then) 19 year-old lover, Kirk McCambley. She was 59 at the time.

My friend passed me this article:
Iris Robinson's affair has something of the Greek tragedy about it
In it, a psychologist discusses (in what seem to me to be wildly inaccurate terms) the Oedipus Complex, which is interesting enough. Some parts are more grating than others -

If you look up in the original Greek myth the son actually kills the father to be with the mother. So you could use the Greek myth as a way of explaining this. It is a widely accepted formulation within psychoanalysis and understanding this type of difficulty.

- such as the smug implication that Oedipus killed his father in order to be with his mother, which is false.

Similarly, the assertions that the whole affair is a 'tragedy' leave me bemused. Certainly, there's a reversal of fortune, but knowingly doing something stupid and then being caught 18 months later doesn't get the tag in my opinion. Iris Robinson is also a very difficult character to feel any kind of sympathy or empathy for. Her apparently strong religious views have led to outspoken comments against homosexuality for some years. In a famous quote from the parliament minutes in 2008:

There can be no viler act, apart from homosexuality and sodomy, than sexually abusing innocent children.

Really? Worse than child sex abuse? The Belfast Telegraph followed it up, and instead of redacting or apologising, she had this to add:

“Let’s look at it. Can you think of anything more vile than man and man or woman and woman and sexually abusing children? What I say I base on biblical pronouncements, based on God’s word. I am amazed that people are surprised when I quote from scriptures. It shows the churches either aren’t preaching God’s word or are watering it down,”

Mrs Robinson added: “I cannot think of anything more sickening than a child being abused. It is comparable to the act of homosexuality. I think they are all comparable. I feel totally repulsed by both.”

As commentators have mentioned, the Bible also had something to say about adultery.

However, fate does have a sense of humour: Iris Robinson's lover, Kirk McCambley, becomes instant gay pin-up

Still, if this is a tragedy of the 21st century, then we are the chorus.

Earthbound feathers

2010-01-06T18:52:00.005+01:00

In 4.7 Herodotus notes:

The region above this land [Scythia], towards the north, is inaccessible to anyone trying to get very far into it, nor is it open to view, because both the land and the air are full of feathers, which obscures one's vision.

Later, he clarifies:

Now here is my own opinion concerning the feathers that the Scythians say fill up the air and obstruct both visibility and travel through their country, In the upper regions of this land, snow falls continually, although, as is reasonable to expect, less in the summer than in the winter. Whoever has observed heavy snow falling knows what I mean when I say that snow resembles feathers, and so I think that the Scythians and surrounding peoples describe the snow as feathers because they note the similarity between the two. (4.31, both translations Andrea Purvis)

I remember reading these passages a few years ago - they always spring to mind whenever I see heavy snow.

Holiday Update

2009-12-27T12:15:00.008+01:00

I've been AWOL for a while. Life, of course, has been stumbling along. I started and finished my 50k 'novel' in November (a horrendously awful and self-gratuitous work of fiction, involving a palimpsest of a 'lost' Aristophanic comedy. Funny for all the wrong reasons.) - but in the process lost all impetus to translate in my free time, mostly because I didn't have any. After that, exams hit, and I realised that while I absorb information readily enough in English, Italian doesn't seem to stick so easily, and so there was a sudden panic to learn Filologia Classica and Storia Greca. I passed my Greek History exam; the Philology remains to be seen (I went to take the spoken exam and after twenty minutes and varying degrees of success, I got thoroughly stumped by being asked the difference between the author's manuscript and the archetype on a stemma. And while I know the answer and the appropriate vocabulary, everything was just running round and round in my head in a blur of English, Italian, anxiety, trying to figure out which tense and which words to use... and I came up with a complete block. My lecturer then suggested I return and take a written exam. So I returned two weeks later, and the test was very kindly written.. yet I don't think I did as well as I should have and I'm slightly concerned I've failed that too.)
I also took a 'Introduction to Greek Literature' in November/December, and nearly imploded with frustration. I've never had a lecturer that talks and talks without pause for three hours. And the digressions.. twenty minutes on why you should use the article with surnames in academic papers, lest the poor reader be confused as to whether the 'L. Rossi' listed in the bibliography is male or female. I mean, really? Should it make a difference? In my staunchly English mindset, this preoccupation with genders strikes me as bizarre, probably because I didn't have to spend my formative years learning whether inanimate objects were masculine or feminine.
I would have thought he might have made the course more accessible, considering there were only nine students, two of whom were foreign, but no. In fact, every so often he'd comment on the fact that the foreigners were probably completely stuck by now and launch into another tirade. Fortunately it's not just me - the others decided we should all get together in January and revise together in the vain hope that at least one of us understood something.
Anyway, with all this, I wasn't in an especially positive mindset. My flatmate taught me to knit, so I furiously knit a hat for my sister. And then two mittens (both right-handed), one arm-warmer and a pencil-case. On top of this, I've been trying to get the primary sources together for a paper I'm supposed to be writing (and in fact, should be doing now.) All in all, that's why I haven't been updating, but will be back in the New Year. I hope that anyone/everyone reading this has had a lovely Christmas and all the best for the New Year!

Getting into trouble with Catullus 16

2009-11-23T19:10:00.005+01:00

Thank you, Daily Mail.
Apparently, a millionaire emailed a young woman with the first line of Catullus 16. She's now giving evidence at a law-suit filed by one of her friends who claims she was 'hounded out of her job'. The rest of the trial must be so dull, even the DM can't spin a story out of it.

I quote:

Asked about the sexual email she said:: 'I knew he was a classics scholar and I asked if he could help on a quote from a book I was then reading.
'This was 'ego autem dico vobis diligite inimicos vestros'. I knew no Latin but had no reason to believe that this was in anyway a provocative quotation.
'The quote translated as ''But I say to you, Love your enemies: do good to them that hate you."'
'On March 1, 2006, Mr Lowe responded with the words ''irrumabo vos et pedicabo vos' which he added was 'not very polite'.
She said: 'I was intrigued and used the internet to obtain a translation.
'What he had said literally translated as 'I will face f*** you and will b****r you.''

Immediate comments:

Money may buy you a good lawyer, but apparently £100m doesn't buy you common sense.
Similarly, a Classics degree doesn't do anything for major personality flaws.
Why can't the Daily Mail succeed in publishing an English translation of a Latin phrase without the next sentence tacked onto it?
I wonder if she - or indeed, the Daily Mail - read the rest of the poem..
Was he trying to demonstrate an alternative interpretation of 'love your enemy' - or is this just how he gets his kicks?
I was once reading The Garden of Priapus on the train, which has a large section on Catullus 16. About ten minutes in, I realised just how offensive it was and spent the rest of the journey eying my fellow travelers, wondering what they'd read over my shoulder and to what extent they were judging me for it. Nothing's obscene in the classroom, but in the real world.. even I have shame.

Reading List - Week 4: Aristotle & Propertius.

2009-11-18T16:29:00.003+01:00

This week:

Aristotle, Poetics
Propertius, Elergies

I haven't finished everything I wanted to read for last week, even though I'm supposed to be studying Suetonius (ugh) and Pindar this week. Never mind. I'll catch everything up at the weekend.

Stress of the week:

I met my coordinator at the beginning of term, and she refused to let me take a general Latin literature class because she said it was too simple. So I was left with a 6 credit deficiency in November. Hardly any courses start in November so I went through the outline of EVERY course that did, and eventually came to the conclusion that the only course that fitted with my timetable and was relevant to my degree was 'Critica del Testo'; a postgrad philology class. (Since almost everyone signs up for a five year course = 3 undergrad + 2 postgrad, it's not really a big deal; I think it's just more specific.) I didn't clear it with my coordinator, since she'd been encouraging me to take postgrad Latin, and I wanted to see what the course was like first, but anyway - after emailing the lecturer, since the classroom wasn't listed online - I went along, and realised that I was the only student.

So we sat down, and he asked me a series of questions - how long I'd been studying Greek and Italian; what I'd be studying in England; whether I spoke French/German/Arabic/Latin (intellegisne?) - then announced that we might as well try and see how it goes.

Two hours later, I must have passed some kind of test, because he told me to come back on Wednesday, and that we'd have two 2,5 hour sessions a week instead of three 2 hour classes. (Intense doesn't quite describe it.)

Today was the second lesson, and as of yet, no one else has turned up. My flatmates don't seem that surprised - apparently, postgrad classes are really small and if he didn't put the place on the internet, well, no one's going to go. I still don't fully understand why he's willing to teach the class with only one person in it. That just doesn't make sense. Awkward.

Also: I thought it would be a theoretical course, but instead it's a highly detailed look at how to construct a critical edition of Hippocrates' Epidemics 2. By detailed, I mean every word and its variants.

Relevant information: I've studied Greek for two years. Two. The first was a blur of grammar (and we missed a lot); the second was desperately trying to read through Plato, Euripides and Homer. I've been trying to get better - hence the reading - but still. I don't know anything.

So while it's incredible tuition, it's a massive leap upwards and I don't really know what I can do to suitably improve my Greek apart from studying like a crazy person. And it's just.. what the hell have I gotten myself into now..? Why couldn't I just stick with my nice easy first year courses where I could hide behind other people..?

Sigh. That novel thing is still going on, though adherence to the plot is getting weaker and weaker. 28,000 words in 17 days, and I care less and less about what I write, so long as that tally goes up. I swear, I'll never complain about a 2500 word essay again.

Saint Martin and Cheese

2009-11-12T16:43:00.007+01:00

It reads: IN HONORE SANCTI MARTINI EPI TURON

I used to pass by this church every day, and every day, I'd look at it and wonder two things:
1.) Why is half the sentence in Latin and half in Greek?
2.) What on earth does Saint Martin have to do with cheese?

Unfortunately, I still haven't figured the first one out. The answer to the second question, sadly, is that he doesn't. He's from Tours, which was originally Turones, then Civitas Turonorum. I can only guess that TURON is the Greek accusative form. But why Greek, and why EPI + accusative for a place?

Classicists, help.. - what am I missing?

edit. alas, if only I'd been organised enough to post this yesterday, on St. Martin's day..

Reading List - Weeks 2 & 3: Augustine & Bacchylides; Quintillian & Aristophanes

2009-11-09T23:00:00.004+01:00

This week:

Quintillian, Istitutio Oratoria bks 1, 10
Aristophanes, Frogs, Archanians & Birds

Last week:

Augustine Confessiones, 1-4
Bacchylides Epinicians 3 & 5

I should have written something to go along with this post, but my energy's been lacking recently. I say lacking; I actually mean that I signed up to NaNoWriMo - a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. The result so far is that I have 16009 words (about six of which make sense), my eyes hurt and I've started listening to Progressive Trance music. I keep making changes, but since I don't want to completely rewrite 1000-word sections, I haven't done anything to the text. So people's names change from one scene to the next, and major plot devices are inexplicably never mentioned again after the first or second chapter. It's all getting a bit out of hand.

Anyway, I'm drawing a line under these past two weeks; hopefully I can write up my notes when some semblance of coherent thought returns!

Latin Jabberwocky(s)

2009-10-30T19:44:00.008+01:00

I came across a copy of the Jabberwocky in Latin a while ago when I was still working in a bookshop. It was a lovely book and contained several other Latin renderings, but being an impoverished student I balked at the price tag (£90; it was out of print). Still, I couldn't resist photocopying Jabberwocky in a quiet moment:

Jubavocus, by H. Watson

Torrida nona fere est; triviorum in gramine toves
Gyrantes terebrant, grex agilubris, humum;
Stant borogrovi habitu trinuti solaria iuxta,
Voce vagae currunt mubiliente ratae.

'Iubavocum, fili, cave formidabile monstrum,
Horridus et mala mordet et unque rappit;
Iubiuba vitanda est omni ratione volucris,
Terribili et forma frumeus Harirapax.'

Vorpalem gladium dextra tenet ille prehensum
Manxosamque diu querit ubique feram;
Denique tumtummae requiescit in arboris umbra
Et grave susceptum mente revolvit opus.

Plurima dum stomachax versat, venit ecce tremendus,
Cui diro igne micant lumina, Iubavocus!
Per nemora horrendo ruit ut tulgentia flatu!
Ut reboant vocis bulburiente sono!

'Hoc cape, et hoc iterum!' sic ictibus adiicit ictus
Et gladio crepitans terque quaterque ferit.
Vulneribus confecta cadit fera, et ille quadrumphans
Cum capite absciso victor ab hoste redit.

'Anne tua est vero monstrum virtute subactum?
Dem tibi complexus, o radiose puer!'
Exultans pater 'Euge! καλῶς κάλλὶστα' freminnat
'O iam iam philacris nec sine laude dies!'

Torrida nona fere est; triviorum in gramine toves
Gyrantes terebrant, grex agilubris, humum;
Stant borogrovi habitu trinuti solaria iuxta,
Voce vagae currunt mubiliente ratae.

A quick google search revealed another three Latin translations - Gaberbocchus, Mors labrochii and Gabrobocchia, but this remains my favourite because it seems to preserve the spirit of the original in a way the others don't. I think Jabberwocky's appeal lies in the fact that even though a great part of it doesn't make sense, it sounds like it should (much like entire chapters of Ulysses). In translation the 'story' isn't important, but the way it can be adapted to the parametres of another language, in terms of grammar, semantics and spirit. And what could be a better spiritual heir (ancestor?) for 'Callooh! Callay!' than 'καλῶς κάλλὶστα'?

Distribution rights of Agora in Italy

2009-10-26T15:18:00.007+01:00

While browsing Wikipedia, I stumbled across the page for Agora. I heard something about the film a while ago, since there's always a buzz about elaborate historical fiction and films in which martyrs meet a brutal end. And while I wasn't expecting an accurate history lesson (and was ready to snort my disapproval at any moral posturing), I was really looking forward to seeing how the production team had tried to bring Alexandria alive.

Except apparently no one wants to distribute it in Italy. According to La Stampa, anyway. All the other references I can find seem to link back to it without any real evidence, so it may just be speculative journalism. On the other hand, the line between state and religion is definitely tenuous and Italy is not renowned for its freedom of expression. (It came a dismal 24th out of the 25 countries in Western Europe in the Freedom of Press report, and was one of only two classified 'partly free' instead of 'free'.)

In short, I really have no idea if I'll get to see this film in the cinema - but I hope so.

I did a quick translation for anyone who's interested and doesn't read Italian - sorry if it's a bit clunky.

The day after tomorrow it'll be in Spanish cinemas and on the 26th November in Israel; it'll also come out on the 18th December in the United States and - probably - next January in France. Surrounded by controversy and certain to spark discussion is the film 'Agora' by director Alejandro Amenabar, a portrait of Hypatia, the Alexandrian mathematician and inventor of the planisphere and astrolab. But above all, [the film is] a bitter accusation against religious fundamentalism.

The rights have also been acquired to bring it to the big screen in Taiwan, in Thailand and in Greece. Yet in Italy - for the moment - everything is quiet. The producers watched it with attention at Cannes in May, where it was shown outside the official competition. Then a long pause for reflection followed. So long and so quiet that they must have thought about much more than just a simple valuation of its economic viability. And on the internet voices have begun to circulate ever more insistent of the pressures that prevent the film being shown in Italian cinemas.

At a certain point, these voices passed on a petition of dissent to the producers and distributors of the film "to prove to you and the media that a great many people exist" who are waiting to see the film. The petition was passed from site to site and from group to group on Facebook. In just a few days it exceeded more than 700 signatures, also helped by the recent release of a book on Hypatia ('Hypatia, Alexandrian Scientist', La Lepre edizioni). "Today the church is trying to censor yet again the work of this 'uncomfortable' figure," explains Mario on Facebook, inviting others to sign the petition.

I don't want to talk of censorship - added Jan Klaus Di Blasio, the author of the petition, - but it must be done to reflect the lack of texts on Neoplatonism and Hypatia. For example, volume 8 of the History of Greek and Roman Philosophy series by Giovanni Reale, Bompiani, is the only volume not available - with the title 'Plotinus and Pagan Neoplatonism'.

Piergiorgio Odifreddi, mathematician, essayist and above all, a man in fierce opposition to the church, has also signed. "The figure of Hypatia is a key example. She was a mathematician, a highly educated woman - hers was the first battle between science and faith. She lost and became the first martyr of science at the hands of men sent by the bishop of Alexandria, Cyrillus. 1600 years have passed, but we're still at the same point."

Sure enough, the film tells the tale of Hypatia (Rachael Weisz, the oscar-winning English actress of the Constant Gardener), in 4th Century Alexandria, a remote province of the disintegrating Roman Empire, where three religious groups clash. Christians, Jews and the followers of the pagan cult of Serapis kill each other with slings and knives. None of this matters to the youthful wisdom of the female philosopher, mathematician and astronomer, who wishes to stop them. Wicked Christians, bloodied Jews and pagan students-of-astronomy-cum-soldiers turn one against the other while the Romans stand and watch. "There are a lot of similarities between the past and today," admitted Amenabar at its presentation at Cannes. "This film is not against one religion or the other, but against extremism, fundamentalism and orthodoxy." But nevertheless, Christians are not shown in an especially positive light: the key figures belonging to the religion of Christ being the monks who feed the poor with one hand and with the other unleash massacres.

(Flavia Amabile, La Stampa)

Reading List - Week 1: Persius & the Homeric Hymns

2009-10-25T10:34:00.008+01:00

Due to a combination of disorganisation, self-doubt and chance, I'm not taking any language courses until February. (Instead, I have: Classical Philology, Greek History, 'Introduction' to Greek Literature, and whatever else I can find that starts in November) For whatever reason, the one Latin course suitable clashed mercilessly and I didn't feel up to Callimachus in either Greek or Italian (though with hindsight, I should have just signed up for it, to hell with my (in)competence.) So aside from trying to breathe life into a research project (which seems ever more futile), I decided to set myself some work to do in my own time.

This week:

Persius - Prologue & Satire 1
Homeric Hymns, 1-4, 9

Persius:
In Latin: Prologue, Satire 1, 1-14, 126-134
Difficulty: I really hope that Persius is just objectively pretty difficult, because I even when I understood all the words, my eyes just boggled a bit at the sense.
Content: Interesting...
Comments on the author: Juvenal in a biker jacket.
Quote: inde vaporata lector mihi ferveat aure (1, 126) - So let my reader be set aflame, with ears cleansed by steam (Cartoonists obviously read the Classics for inspiration)

Homeric Hymns:
In Greek: II (1-14, 51-89), IX
Difficulty: I didn't think it was too bad, though my Greek is dreadful. After 20 lines or so, I realised that the same words and phrases were coming round again.
Content: 10/10
Comments on the author: Don't forget to write your name on your work.
Quote: Ἠέλιον δ᾽ ἵκοντο, θεῶν σκοπὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν, στὰν δ᾽ ἵππων προπάροιθε καὶ εἴρετο δῖα θεάων: (II, 62-63) - They went to meet Helios, watchman of gods and men, placed themselves in front of his horses and the divine goddess asked him: &c (I thought of Emily Davison - like Demeter, no one would help her cause - except, of course, in her case, the horse didn't stop. I wondered if maybe she'd read it, since she was one of the few women of the time who'd gone to university.)

Lasting impressions: there should be an epithet amnesty, where all untranslatable titles can be discretely left at a police station without fear of prosecution. 'Far-seeing', yes 'Slim-ankled', no. (Though did you hear Louboutin thinks Barbie has fat ankles?) And how on earth do you translate 'deep-bosomed' into something that sounds vaguely reverential and less like you've carefully examined the shape and size of Oceanus' daughters' breasts?

Next week: Augustine, Confessiones, Bks 1, 4 and Bacchylides, Epinicians 3, 5

L. Anneus Cornutus and Italian names of Greek and Latin Figures

2009-10-23T19:22:00.010+02:00

I don't have much to say, but I've been reading Persius and I was especially gratified to find that his friend (and the supposed publisher of his work after his death) was called Lucius Anneus Cornutus. This is because after two months in a foreign country, I'm feeling slightly homesick for the names I'm used to, in all their anglicised glory. I can't help preferring Thucydides to Tucidide, Herodotus to Erodoto and Photius to Fozio. I like Homer, rather than Omero, and Aeschylus rather than Eschilo. Even the names ending in vowels are modified - Cato, Cicero and Plato become Catone, Cicerone, and Platone - which always trips me up (though I respect that fact that -one as a suffix normally means 'bigger' - I like the idea of a godzilla-size Plato stomping through the streets of Athens.)

Anyway, when I saw the name 'Cornutus', I was delighted, because 'Cornuto' is particularly offensive in Italian. Unfortunately, Persius isn't part of my official studies, but I think it could lead to some potentially interesting classroom situations, especially if the students aren't paying attention.

On a side note, I have to concede that Italian names are sometimes closer to the original - Vergilio rather than Vergil/Virgil, Pompeo rather than Pompey... but Senofonte for Xenophon is never going to win me over..

edit. I tell a lie. Vergil in Italian is actually Virgilio. Oh well.

Quintillian and the 'art' of memory - Simonides

2009-10-10T10:44:00.009+02:00

The tale of Simonides came up in my Greek History lecture last week to demonstrate the importance of patronage. At least, I think so. At first the name wasn't familiar, but as I was sitting there, trying to piece together the tale and its relevance, I realised I'd heard it before when idly researching mnemonic technique (as you do while procrastinating..)
This is Quintillian's account:

He [Simonides] had written an ode of the kind usually composed in honour of victorious athletes, to celebrate the achievement of one who had gained the crown for boxing. Part of the sum for which he had contracted was refused him on the ground that, following the common practice of poets, he had introduced a digression in praise of Castor and Pollux, and he was told that, in view of what he had done, he had best ask for the rest of the sum due from those whose deeds he had extolled. And according to the story they paid their debt. For when a great banquet was given in honour of the boxer's success, Simonides was summoned forth from the feast, to which he had been invited, by a message to the effect that two youths who had ridden to the door urgently desired his presence. He found no trace of them, but what followed proved to him that the gods had shown their gratitude. For he had scarcely crossed the threshold on his way out, when the banqueting hall fell in upon the heads of the guests and wrought such havoc among them that the relatives of the dead who came to seek the bodies for burial were unable to distinguish not merely the faces but even the limbs of the dead.
(Quintillian Institutio Oratoria XI.2.11-13, Loeb translation)

The tale continues that Simonides is correctly able to identify the dead by recalling where they were sitting and thus is the first exponent of the 'method of loci' - linking mnemonic signifiers with spatial references. Quintillian explains:

[Having thought of a place,] the next step is to distinguish something [...] by some particular symbol which will serve to jog the memory; this symbol may have reference to the subject as a whole, it may, for example, be drawn from navigation, warfare, etc., or it may, on the other hand, be found in some particular word. [...] These symbols are then arranged as follows. The first thought is placed, as it were, in the forecourt; the second, let us say, in the living-room; the remainder are placed in due order all round the impluvium and entrusted not merely to bedrooms and parlours, but even to the care of statues and the like. This done, as soon as the memory of the facts requires to be revived, all these places are visited in turn and the various deposits are demanded from their custodians, as the sight of each recalls the respective details. Consequently, however large the number of these which it is required to remember, all are linked one to the other like dancers hand in hand, and there can be no mistake since they what precedes to what follows, no trouble being required except the preliminary labour of committing the various points to memory.
(Ibid. XI.2.19-20)

It sounds great, until he points out that it's fairly impractical unless you want to learn a list of names or places. For a speech, unfortunately, it serves only for memorising general themes and their order. His advice:

[...] if anyone asks me what is the one supreme method of memory, I shall reply, practice and industry. The most important thing is to learn much by heart and to think much, and, if possible, to do this daily, since there is nothing that is more increased by practice or impaired by neglect than memory.
(Ibid. XI.2.40)

Back to the drawing-board for me then.

His list of mnemonic feats is also quite fun:

Themistocles - fluent in Persian after only a year's study
Mithridates - reputedly spoke twenty-two languages
Crassus 'had such a complete mastery of five different Greek dialects, that he would give judgement in the dialect employed by the plaintiff in putting forward his suit'
Cyrus (apparently) knew the name of every soldier in his army
Theodectes 'is said to have been able to repeat any number of verses after only a single hearing'.

He adds: I remember that it used to be alleged that there were persons still living who could do the same, though I never had the good fortune to be present at such a performance. Still, we shall do well to have faith in such miracles, if only that he who believes may also hope to achieve the like.

Re Gilardin

2009-10-06T21:38:00.004+02:00

As part of the language course I was taking last month we had a series of 'culture' lectures. Unfortunately they were more interesting in theory than in practise, especially the folksong lecture (I like folksongs as much - probably more - than the next person, but after two hours, 27 folksongs in dialect and no break, I was counting the seconds to my escape.)

However, there was one song I really did like - Re Gilardin (number 15). The Piemontese dialect is much closer to standard Italian than others, although it's somewhat mixed with French due to its location (e.g. buon giur, which is the verbal lovechild of bonjour and buongiorno, or marì as opposed to marito.)
Listen to it here.

Re Gilardin lü 'l va a la guera
lü 'l va a la guera a tira di spada

o quand l'è stait mità la strada
re Gilardin l'è restaj ferito

Re Gilardin ritorna indietro
dalla sua mamma vö 'ndà a morire

E o tun tun picchia a la porta
o mamma mia che mi son morto

O pica pian caro il mio figlio
che la to dona l'a g'à 'n picul fante

O madona la mia madona
cosa vol dire ch'i sonan tanto

O nuretta la mia nuretta
i g'fan 'legria al tuo fante

O madona la mia madona
cosa vol dire ch'j cantan tanto

O nuretta la mia nuretta
i g'fan legria ai soldati

O madona la mia madona
disem che moda ò da vestirmi

Vestati di rosso vestati di nero
ma le brunette stanno più bene

O quand l'è stait ans l'üs de la chiesa
d'un cirighello si l'à incontrato
buon di buon giur a voi vedovella

O no no no che non son vedovella
c'o 'l fante in cüna e 'l marito in guerra

O si si si che vui sei vedovella
vostro marì l'è trej che 'l fa terra

O terra o terra aprati in quattro
voglio vedere il mio cuor reale

La tua bocca la sa di rose,
'nvece la mia la sa di terra

(Liberal) translation:
King Gilardin goes to war, sword in hand, and while there he is mortally wounded; he returns home, wanting to go to his mother to die. He knocks on the door and cries, 'Oh my mother, I'm dead.' She replies: 'Knock softer, dear son, for your wife has just given birth to a tiny child.'
The wife cries: 'O mother-in-law, why are the bells ringing so much?', and is told: 'My daughter-in-law; they're celebrating your child.'
- 'Mother-in-law, why do they sing so much?'
- 'O my daughter-in-law, they're celebrating the soldiers.'
- 'Mother-in-law, tell me how I should dress.'
- 'Dress is red, dress in black... but that darker shade would be better.'

The wife goes to church and meets an altarboy, who greets her: 'good day, widow.' She cries: 'Oh no, no, no - I'm not a widow! I have a child in its cradle and a husband at war.'
- 'Oh yes, yes, yes... you are a widow; your husband is three days in the ground.'
- 'O earth, split open in four parts - I want to see my true heart!'

Gilardin: 'Your mouth tastes of roses - while mine tastes only the earth.'

Greek & Latin Podcasts

2009-10-06T17:33:00.002+02:00

A wonderful resource here, courtesy of Haverford College. I love hearing ancient Greek - my Greek Professor last year used to recite to us in metre. And then he'd get us to try... which was funny for all the wrong reasons..

Verba mihi desunt - Ovid in Exile

2009-10-04T15:58:00.010+02:00

Verba mihi desunt eadem tam saepe roganti
iamque pudet uanas fine carere preces.
Taedia consimili fieri de carmine uobis,
quidque petam, cunctos edidicisse reor.
Nostraque quid portet iam nostis epistula, quamuis
charta sit a vinclis non labefacta suis.

Words fail me, at asking the same thing so often,
and I'm ashamed my useless prayers are without end.
You've become weary of my monotonous verses,
and I ask what you've all learnt my heart, I suppose.
You already know what my letter brings, though
the wax has not yet been shaken from its ties.

Ovid Ex Ponto III, VII 1-6 (trans. A. S. Kline)

I was looking through Ex Ponto today because I could feel a bit of self-pity approaching, and nothing cures self-pity like four books of exile poetry. The above passage immediately jumped out at me; while I appreciate Ovid didn't want to spend the rest of his life at Tomis, what really dismays me about the vast majority of Ex Ponto and Tristia is that he wheedles, flatters, blames and threatens anyone and everyone to do whatever they can to cut short his exile, and the charismatic persona hitherto seen in Amores vanishes. I've always preferred him for style over substance, yet his style is swamped with desperation and the substance is even worse.

However, in this passage he seems to acknowledge this to himself - he admits, he knows how he sounds, and what it has done to his writing. The opening line - verba mihi desunt - seems to sum up his desperation much better than the whole of his poetry.

La Civetta; Athene's Legacy in Siena

2009-10-03T16:09:00.011+02:00

Siena is through and through a medieval city. It was founded long before (legend has it, by the sons of Remus), and has seen every age since, but it's still a medieval city.

Every year the seventeen contrade (districts of the city) compete in the infamous Palio, which is a break-neck bareback horse-race around the main piazza, the piazza del campo. There are two races a year - 2nd July and 16th August - and each race includes ten contrade, chosen by lot. Each contrada submits a horse and a jockey, and the horses are then put into another lot and allocated randomly to the ten jockeys. The first horse past the finishing post wins, whether he still has his jockey or not.

Prizes: the Palio, a banner dedicated to the Virgin Mary (as is the entire festival), but more importantly, the glory. Each contrada has enemies, allies, bets to settle, pride to be won or lost and its honour to maintain. If you live in a winning contrada, it's fair to say that you probably won't get any sleep for a month, and you'll still be woken up at 11:30 each night for another two or three. I was staying in the contrada del leocorno (the unicorn) last month, which was just about far enough away from the drums and screaming, but I had friends staying in the civetta (the little owl), Siena's newest victor. They were always a bit tetchy in the mornings.

Once, I made the mistake of making a comment about how I liked little owls in the presence of an acquaintance who was staying in civetta heartland, and she started screaming about how she couldn't take it anymore. Apparently, her entire flat is decorated with owls, and they keep on looking at her. Even on the serviettes. Even in the bathroom. And in the walls.

Anyway, la civetta's victory has been celebrated all the more fervently this year because in 2005 they became the contrada with the greatest losing streak (their last victory was in 1979) and hence became the nonna (grandmother) of Siena. The photo to the left is one of many victory parades, with the two civetta flags in front and the Palio behind.

There aren't really words to describe the race. Just watch it.

Technically speaking, a civetta is a Little Owl (Athene noctua), as opposed to just.. a small owl. In Italian, a civetta is also a rather coy woman, and there's even the verb 'fare la civetta', which is to flirt. (Or, to 'do the little owl'. It's still better than flirtare.) Italian wikipedia claims it's because of the way civette flutter their wings, but its still wonderfully incongruous as Little Owls are, of course, the symbol of Athene.

Still, what is lovely about Siena at the moment is that everywhere you walk, the Little Owls watch over you from their position on the flags along the street, a new, modern Little Owl, who flirts as well as bringing peace and knowledge.

Ancient News Link Round-Up

2009-10-03T15:22:00.003+02:00

After a misguided attempt to 'tidy' my computer, I discovered a small cache of Classics-related news articles from the BBC, which I present now, for edification and/or delight:

Roman 'disaster' that shaped Europe
- A brief look at the catastrophic Roman loss in the Teutoberger Forest, and whether the effects are still reverberating about Germany/the West today.

Dead Parrot sketch ancestor found
- The philogelos is always good for a laugh - or maybe an unflattering snort, since the jokes don't really translate well - but at least a tenuous link to Monty Python is journalism gold.

Who owns our ancient past?
- A more serious article in light of the ongoing Elgin Marbles dispute, and other, more recent, controversies surrounding ancient artifacts.

Councils ban use of Latin terms
- Quote: A Campaign spokesman said the ban might stop people confusing the Latin abbreviation e.g. with the word "egg".

Thank goodness. We can all sleep safely now.

Naples sex strike over fireworks
- Life imitates art.

Ancient Persians 'gassed Romans'
- Nihil sub sole novum; apparently this includes war atrocities.

What can Boris learn from the Classics?
- Pointing out the incredibly obvious with classical examples. Mixed in with some snide comments about classics in the education system.

That's all for now. I'm still trying to get my head around translating from Latin/Greek into Italian. My flatmate's leant me her Latin-Italian dictionary, so it's time to get some Caesar on..

Fear and Loathing in Siena

2009-09-20T21:44:00.002+02:00

It would be too easy to complain about the last few weeks, when in fact I've had a great deal of fun and met some really interesting people. It's only marred by the difficulty I've had in finding a place to live. I wish the university had sent me some kind of help, or even a brief email saying 'finding accommodation is hard; good luck with that'. As if it's easy to ring strangers, talk in Italian, convince them to let you see the room and then that they want to live with you - even if there were lots of free rooms. As it is, Siena is a tiny city with nearly half its population students. Therefore, rooms are difficult to come by, and single rooms like gold dust.

So anyway, for the next year I'll be sharing a tiny, tiny room with a stranger. We have a view of a wall. But it should be fun, because she's a concert pianist and so she'll probably turn out to be a little bit mad. There are only three of us in the flat (me and two Italians), and they seemed slightly desperate to get me to live with them, and I don't know why. It made me suspicious, because a hapless English girl isn't exactly the flatmate jackpot. Maybe I'm paying too much for the room. Whatever. I need a roof over my head.

Anyway, on the language front, total immersion has been wonderful. My comprehension of the language is much, much better, and my drunk Italian is passable (up to a point; then it becomes incomprehensible, much like my drunk English). My sober Italian is still poor and inspires native Italians to repeat numbers to me in English. My vocabulary is now furnished with words such as 'lean upon', 'murmur' 'tear to pieces', 'sneak away', 'gossip', etc, after deciding to read Twilight in Italian because I was too embarrassed to read it in English and I really wanted something light and fluffy. I'm 260 pages in, and disappointed that the plot hasn't progressed further than Bella going 'he could kill me, but he's so pretty'. Nevermind.

Hopefully I'll get back to normal posts soon. I brought a treasure with me (a Latin translation of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky) which definitely deserves a post to itself, so more anon.

Emigration... sort-of.

2009-08-27T20:08:00.002+02:00

I'm moving to Italy on Monday, and I'd love to say that I'm all calm and cool, but in fact I'm terrified. Not of any specific thing, but of the idea as a whole. I've been working 9 - 5:30 every day this summer, so I haven't really kept up with my Latin or Greek, let alone Italian, and now I'm theoretically off to study the first two in the third. I mean, what the hell am I thinking?
Rationally, I'm sure everything will be fine. People do this every year. But, being true to myself, I know I won't feel any better until I'm actually on the plane.

Hawks vs. mini football men; Welsh vs. Linnaeus...

2009-07-31T08:45:00.024+02:00

Two things I've discovered/realised/thought about this week:

Subbuteo is a Latin word, and not just a bunch of little plastic footballers.

It turns out Subbuteo was originally envisioned as 'Hobby', but the patent office refused on the grounds of vagueness. Undeterred, its creator Peter Adolph looked up Hobby in a bird manual and picked the Latin name, falco subbuteo. Interestingly enough, none of the articles which made light of this whimsical fact sought to explain what subbuteo actually meant. Here's the answer (sort of) - subbuteo is from buteo, butire, which is 'to cry like a bittern', apparently. As far as I can gather, the Hobby has a tendency to muffle its words. Make of that what you will.
Welsh words have made it onto the Linnaeus Classification system.
Hurray. This would be even better if the animal in question were small and fluffy. Sadly, it's not. Selenochlamys ysbryda - taken from the Welsh ysbryd (ghost) is.. a slug. The ghost slug. And it has sharp, pointy teeth.

Reorganising the world

2009-07-25T21:20:00.007+02:00

I'm reorganising the foreign topography section at work. The previous system didn't make a lot of sense. It jumped about from Spain to Denmark, Portugal to Antarctica and then Africa to the chalk downs of Southern England. Somewhere along the way, the entire continent of America has been lost (aside from the West Indies), and Germany is no where to be found. Mysterious. If I get really bored tomorrow, I'll move the Atlantis books into foreign topography and see if anyone notices.

Book titles have been disappointingly sane recently, but here are the rankings so far:
3.) Ports and Happy Places (and the sequel: More Ports! More Happy Places!)
2.) Cousin Hunting in Scandinavia
1.) Prawnography: A Candid Guide to the Greater Enjoyment of Prawns and Shrimps

Anyway, I have to be grateful that I have books and not scrolls to organise. Also, that I don't rely on fire to see said scrolls - given how clumsy I can be. I'd love to know how an ancient filing system would have worked. Alas, Ancient Archives and Archival Traditions probably has the answers, but it's too expensive and I'm a hundred miles from a decent library. There's a detailed review in the TES, but I suspect that even I coughed up £80 or so, it would only reaffirm that I know nothing. Actually, Classics seems to do this to me a lot - after two years at university, all that's happened is I've realised that I don't know anything. Given that tuition is 3k a year, £80 suddenly seems like a bargain.

Sanskrit

2009-07-23T13:13:00.006+02:00

I started reading about Sanskrit the other day, pretty much by chance. There were a few books behind the front desk at work - a grammar and a dictionary - so I had a leaf through at a quiet moment. I hadn't really thought about Sanskrit before, but now I'm hooked. Not even because I have a faux-mystical or religious reason to learn it (apparently my step-mother's yoga instructor writes the characters very nicely on the whiteboard), but because what I really like about Classics is linguistics. Still trying to figure out why.

Shame on me for not practising my Greek more.
Look at these lovely cognate words:

S: पिता (pitā)
Gr: πατήρ (pater)
L: pater
E: father

एक
éka-

ena
unus
one

द्वि
dva-

duo
duo
two

त्रि
tri-

tria
tres
three

चतुर्
catúr-

tessera
quattuor
four

पञ्च
páñcan-

pente
quinque
five

षष्
ṣáṣ-

hexa
sex
six

सप्त
saptán-

hepta
septem
seven

अष्ट
aṣṭá-

okto
octo
eight

नव
návan-

ennea
novem
nine

I've been trying to learn Devanagari, but it's slow work. I made flashcards at work when I ran out of useful book-related things to do. Hopefully I can plead my way onto a Sanskrit course for theology students once I'm back in Bristol, since I won't be able to include it in my official programme of studies.

That's a long way off. Next month I move to Italy for a year.

Adventures in a bookshop

2009-06-27T23:00:00.003+02:00

I'm working in a bookshop this summer. Not a new bookshop, but a huge, tumbledown second-hand bookshop. It's been neglected for a long, long time - since it was first converted into a bookshop I doubt a penny has been spent on upkeep - but now it's finally passed into new ownership. Our boss is completely overhauling the shop, so the basement and upper floor are out of action and out of grounds. Theoretically. The basement's always been a little creepy - low ceilings, broken lights, miles of dusty shelves - but the upper floor has taken on a new, ghostly, atmosphere. The air is thick with dust, and the shelves are covered with plastic sheets.. it echoes. I was up there most of yesterday on a fool's errand, moving books from the upper floor to the basement, so I took the opportunity to sneak about and have a look at the classics books. I was towards the far end of the shop when I heard a loud rasping sound - and then again, and again. Someone breathing, I thought - but I looked towards the stairs and there was no one there. I don't believe in ghosts, but the hairs on my neck were on end, and my heart-beat quickened. It seemed to be getting faster, so I walked towards it, wondering if I was about to be eaten by the bookshop demon my colleagues had forgotten to warn me about. Only... no - reality strikes. It's the rocking chairs in the children's department immediately below - proudly shipped by my boss all the way from Oregon - ominously creaking. Damn. And there I thought I would have an interesting story to tell about my day.

Aside from getting creeped out by rasping noises, I don't have a huge amount to report. I've been working continuously for the last week which is why I haven't had a lot of time for writing. I spend my evenings in a near comatose state watching Grey's Anatomy. I haven't been reading a huge amount, despite being surrounded by several million books. But I get a 50% staff discount, so hopefully I'll put my day off to good use. Or at least recover enough to stop watching medical dramas in my spare time.

Life roundup and Latin semantics resources

2009-06-18T12:00:00.004+02:00

It's that time of year when I realise everything I own has multiplied and no longer fits into the boxes I brought with me. Since I'm moving to Italy for a year and most of the people I know here will graduate before I get back, I've had to say a lot of goodbyes. I'm sure I'll be seeing Bristol again soon though, since I have no decent library near where I live and I've mistakenly (or at least misguidedly) started a research project which is nigh-on impossible without it.

I can't quite fathom why I started this project, since I don't even have to write a dissertation for nearly two years, but I'm really enjoying it so far. I'm interested in linguistics and I wanted to explore that, since it hasn't really appeared on the curriculum so far. Since it's just for the experience and not for an end-result, it's oddly relaxing. More details on how I get on later, once I'm packed, and have time to procrastinate.

Latin semantics resources:

Latin Syntax and Semantics (Harm Pinkster)

Latin Practise: Widow of Ephesus

2009-06-09T23:14:00.006+02:00

I've been trying to keep up with my Latin even though the term's over - next year's going to be difficult enough without me getting hideously out of practice - so I started translating the Widow of Ephesus today (Petronius Satyricon 111), since it's short and self-contained. It was also the only part of Fellini's Satyricon that made any kind of sense, so it earns my begrudging respect for that. My Classics friends and I almost cheered when we finally saw something we recognised after an hour of narrative wasteland.

It's a short story (read it here), but is essentially a misogynistic morality tale. Aha, but what did Petronius really mean? Who is he inviting the audience to laugh at? That's a dissertation, right there. Not for me though, because I really don't want to be embroiled in gender studies. It's scarily engrossing, and seems to attract only female students.

Anyway, I did a brief search for related themes, and I found this, where D.L. Ashliman sets out a selection of similar tales from different branches of folklore. It's amazing - the way a common mytheme can develop in several places, apparantly in isolation. Perhaps that was why Fellini made this part of the Satyricon that little bit less incomprehensible than the rest.

(Watch it here. I couldn't find a version with English subtitles, sorry.)

Ascham on the importance of Latin and Greeke

2009-06-04T23:45:00.011+02:00

[..] He was most earnest with me, to haue me say my mynde also, what I thought, concernyng the fansie that many yong Ientlemen of England haue to trauell abroad, and namely to lead a long lyfe in Italie. His request, both for his authoritie, and good will toward me, was a sufficient commaundement vnto me, to satisfie his pleasure, with vtteryng plainlie my opinion in that matter. Syr quoth I, I take goyng thither, and liuing there, for a yonge ientleman, that doth not goe vnder the kepe and garde of such a man, as both, by wisedome can, and authoritie dare rewle him, to be meruelous dangerous. And whie I said so than, I will declare at large now: which I said than priuatelie, and write now openlie, not bicause I do contemne, either the knowledge of strange and diuerse tonges, and namelie the Italian tonge, which next the Greeke and Latin tonge, I like and loue aboue all other: or else bicause I do despise, the learning that is gotten, or the experience that is gathered in strange contries: or for any priuate malice that beare to Italie: which contrie, and in it, namelie Rome, I haue alwayes speciallie honored: bicause, tyme was, whan Italie and Rome, haue bene, to the greate good of vs that now liue, the best breeders and bringers vp, of the worthiest men, not onelie for wise speakinge, but also for well doing, in all Ciuill affaires, that euer was in the worlde. But now, that tyme is gone, and though the place remayne, yet the olde and present maners, do differ as farre, as blacke and white, as vertue and vice.
Roger Ascham, The Scholemaster (1570)

I found a reference to Ascham in a book I'm reading at the moment; he seemed like an interesting character so I looked him up. This passage caught my eye, since I'm going to Italy for a year of study. Fortunately I'm not a 'yonge ientleman', so I've decided his rebuke is not applicable. Besides, his criticism of Italy is far too periodic.

This was actually the quote I was looking to expand:

[...] the prouidence of God hath left vnto vs in no other tong, saue onelie in the Greke and Latin tong, the trew preceptes, and perfite examples of eloquence, therefore must we seeke in the Authors onelie of those two tonges, the trewe Paterne of Eloquence, if in any other mother tongue we looke to attaine, either to perfit vtterance of it our selues, or skilfull iudgement of it in others.

I'm always on the look out for justifications of Classical philology, because it's so easy to dismiss as irrelevant. Obviously I don't think it is, but there's an ongoing debate about whether Latin should be taught in schools, and of what value a Classical education is nowadays. See Charlotte Higgin's blog at the Guardian, for example. I've always felt fairly strongly about the argument for Latin in state schools because I went to a comprehensive (we had a two year 'introduction' in school time, but I took GCSE and A level Latin outside of school because not enough students wanted to take the courses). I'm endlessly frustrated by the debate, especially since the government seems to oppose it at every step. One of the worst things they could have done was to remove modern foreign languages from the mandatory GCSE curriculum, yet they did just that in 2004 or so.

It's little wonder that with so many subjects streamlined from the curriculum, 'unpopular' subjects like Latin are losing any kind of foothold. It's ridiculous: Classics is constantly being denounced as elitist, but of course it is, because at least 90% of all students in Britain have little or no access to the prerequisite education of Latin.

There are programs being targeted at primary schools and state schools, and with Boris Johnson heartily praising Classics, it is being dragged into the public eye (although since he went to Eton and then Balliol, he does embody a public school education.) In my final year of school I ended up 'teaching' Latin to year seven students for half an hour a week in one of their English lessons. (I think I was officially an assistant, but for some reason I was given control over what was done in class. It was fun. We played Latin bingo, and went through animals in Latin. I'd forgotten this even happened until today, so we probably did other stuff too, you know, like grammar.) The purpose of these classes was to convince enough students to elect to study Latin for GCSE, two years later, that they could actually run the course (with no study of Latin between those times, somewhat problematically). I accept that perhaps Latin only appeals to a minority of people, but with the huge benefits in regards to learning modern foreign languages and even understanding English grammar - not to mention the great pleasure I, at least, derive from the Classics - it seems a shame that it's not more widely available.

Rant over.

Golden Skulls and Hamlet

2009-06-03T23:48:00.010+02:00

And not only the others fell, but Crassus also was slain, either by one of his own men to prevent his capture alive, or by the enemy because he was badly wounded. This was his end. And the Parthians, as some say, poured molten gold into his mouth in mockery; for though a man of vast wealth, he had set so great store by money as to pity those who could not support an enrolled legion from their own means, regarding them as poor men. Of the soldiers the majority escaped through the mountains to friendly territory, but a part fell into the hands of the enemy.
Cassius Dio, Roman History XL.27 (Loeb translation)

An enemy pouring gold into the captured head of an extremely bellicose millionaire.. if that's not a gloriously ironic embelishment, I'm not sure what is. The skull alone would be decorative, never mind the tale.
Plutarch has his own colourful description of what happened to Crassus' head:

Now when the head of Crassus was brought to the king's door, the tables had been removed, and a tragic actor, Jason by name, of Tralles, was singing that part of the "Bacchae" of Euripides where Agave is about to appear. While he was receiving his applause, Sillaces stood at the door of the banqueting-hall, and after a low obeisance, cast the head of Crassus into the centre of the company. The Parthians lifted it up with clapping of hands and shouts of joy, and at the king's bidding his servants gave Sillaces a seat at the banquet. Then Jason handed his costume of Pentheus to one of the chorus, seized the head of Crassus, and assuming the role of the frenzied Agave, sang these verses through as if inspired:

"We bring from the mountain
A tendril fresh-cut to the palace,
A wonderful prey."
Plutarch, Life of Crassus 33 (Loeb translation)

I'm reminded of the RSC Hamlet last year, where it turned out a real skull was being used. Times change, since it wasn't the head of a conquered enemy, but the rather odd bequest of a pianist.

Here're some more gold plated skulls, this time courtesy of the Sycthians (and several hundred years earlier) which may provide a basis for the legend, especially given the relative proximity of Scythia and Parthia (and hence the possible confusion to a Mediterranean xenophobe):

The skulls of their enemies, not indeed of all, but of those whom they most detest, they treat as follows. Having sawn off the portion below the eyebrows, and cleaned out the inside, they cover the outside with leather. When a man is poor, this is all that he does; but if he is rich, he also lines the inside with gold: in either case the skull is used as a drinking-cup. They do the same with the skulls of their own kith and kin if they have been at feud with them, and have vanquished them in the presence of the king. When strangers whom they deem of any account come to visit them, these skulls are handed round, and the host tells how that these were his relations who made war upon him, and how that he got the better of them; all this being looked upon as proof of bravery.
Herodotus, Histories 4 (trans. George Rawlinson)

Facebook Aeneid

2009-06-02T20:45:00.005+02:00

'Epic' Facebook Feed, courtesy of Erika Grace Carlson

Wow, I wonder if Vergil will be my friend on facebook.

Unfinished artwork

2009-05-26T21:15:00.006+02:00

My brain is buzzing; my final exam of the year is tomorrow and I'm completely saturated with names, dates and anecdotes. So a quick post, and not a taxing one.

Before I realised that classics completely owned me, I wanted to be an artist. I haven't really drawn much over the past few years so I'm badly out of practise. In fact, this is almost the only thing I've drawn this year, and even this isn't finished. I'm hoping I can get back into things this summer, because it's starting to bother me.

Anyway, here's a sleeper. It's not me, but you can tell she's a classicist because she dreams in pseudo-Greek and acanthus leaf clouds.

Swallows and Cicadas in Plutarch

2009-05-25T23:00:00.007+02:00

Re: my post on Alciato's interpretation of a Greek Poem from the Anthology on the apparent kinship between swallows and cicadas, I found another interpretation of their relationship in Plutarch. I'm not saying they're in any way related, but I was surprised to come across more swallows and cicadas. Admittedly, I don't think about cicadas much - having been brought up in a cicada-free zone - so any reference to them is vaguely surprising.

Picture the scene:
All sorts of digusting omens have sprung out of nowhere, conveniently foreshadowing Sulla's insane bout of proscriptions..

And while the senate was occupied with the diviners on these matters, meeting in the temple of Bellona, a sparrow flew in, in plain view of everyone, with a cicada in its beak, dropped part of the cicada and left it there on the ground, and flew away with the rest. The diviners interpreted this as signifying conflict and dissent between the landowners and the common urban masses, on the grounds that the masses were noisy, like a cicada, while the land owners were rustic country folk.
Plutarch, Sulla 11 (trans. Robin Waterfield)

So, pace Alciato, maybe they aren't so similar after all. Personally, I wouldn't group the two together, but I also enjoy the fact I'm arguing against a plea for scholarly unity.

A.E. Housman - Fragment of Greek Tragedy

2009-05-24T20:21:00.006+02:00

We were reading a passage in Apuleius a few weeks ago when my Latin lecturer brought up A.E. Housman's 'Fragment of Greek Tragedy'. Cupid was 'launching his winged oarage', which is what apparently brought it to mind - thanks, Apuleius. However, in the confusion of exams, essays and some semblance of a personal life, I promptly forgot about it. I'd even forgotten about that hideous love of 'oarages' and 'shipwrecks of misfortune' in Tragedy - until now. Rediscovering Housman - who was a Classicist just as much as a poet - was probably the highlight of my day. Don't judge me; I've been revising.

Eccolo.

CHORUS: O suitably-attired-in-leather-boots
Head of a traveller, wherefore seeking whom
Whence by what way how purposed art thou come
To this well-nightingaled vicinity?
My object in inquiring is to know.
But if you happen to be deaf and dumb
And do not understand a word I say,
Then wave your hand, to signify as much.

ALCMAEON: I journeyed hither a Boetian road.
CHORUS: Sailing on horseback, or with feet for oars?
ALCMAEON: Plying with speed my partnership of legs.
CHORUS: Beneath a shining or a rainy Zeus?
ALCMAEON: Mud's sister, not himself, adorns my shoes.
CHORUS: To learn your name would not displease me much.
ALCMAEON: Not all that men desire do they obtain.
CHORUS: Might I then hear at what thy presence shoots.
ALCMAEON: A shepherd's questioned mouth informed me that--
CHORUS: What? for I know not yet what you will say.
ALCMAEON: Nor will you ever, if you interrupt.
CHORUS: Proceed, and I will hold my speechless tongue.
ALCMAEON: This house was Eriphyle's, no one else's.
CHORUS: Nor did he shame his throat with shameful lies.
ALCMAEON: May I then enter, passing through the door?
CHORUS: Go chase into the house a lucky foot.
And, O my son, be, on the one hand, good,
And do not, on the other hand, be bad;
For that is much the safest plan.
ALCMAEON: I go into the house with heels and speed.

You can read the rest here.

Exercises from Pliny

2009-05-23T18:31:00.006+02:00

A friend of mine asked me to teach him some Latin a while ago. Whether or not it'll actually happen is anyone's guess: he's just started going out with one of my flatmates, and obviously, priorities are important.

Anyway, I've been looking through the material I have to teach basic Latin regardless, primarily because it doesn't involve political crisis in the Late Republic, which I am now sick of. Aside from Unit 1 of the Cambridge Latin Course - I remember being vaguely horrified by the fact that everyone is suddenly wiped out by natural disaster at the end. I should have known; it was set in Pompeii - I found a small book of abridged anecdotes from Pliny's letters. I really like these, in no small part because the stories are so short and full of ghosts and legacy-hunters.

Here's the first story:

Est in Africa colonia mari proxima:
adiacet stagnum, quo infertur mare.
Hic pueri piscantur, navigant, natant.
Inter pueros natat delphinus.
Delphinus puerum quendam sequitur:
tandem eum perfert in mare, mox ad litus reportat.
Alii pueri dextra laevaque natant.
Omnes confluebant ad spectaculum,
postremo locus ipse quietem suam perdebat,
et incolae interfecerunt delphinum.

In Africa there is a colony near to the sea; next to it is a lake which the sea sweeps into. Here boys fish, sail and swim. A dolphin swims among the boys. The dolphin follows one of the boys: however, when it carries him into the sea, it soon brings him back to the shore. Other boys swim to the left and right. Everyone gathered at the sight, until finally the very place lost its quiet nature and the inhabitants killed the dolphin.

Aww. I'd forgotten this, but it's true. Almost every Latin sight-translation ends with death.
This one begins with death (from a little further on in the book):

Me rogas ut tibi de avunculi mei morte scribam, quo verius posteris possis tradere.
Gratias ago: intellego enim te morti eius immortalem gloriam daturum esse.

You request that I write about the death of my uncle for you, by which you may report more truthfully for posterity. I thank you: for I understand that the immortal fame of his death shall be given [in your writings].

Again, Pompeii. (And Pliny the Elder)

Actually, I went to a talk on Pompeii last night by Mary Beard, which was very interesting. It wasn't as detailed as I'd have liked, since it was a public talk (and there were people of a nervous disposition present), but she's a really good, engaging, speaker and probably the most (in)famous living classicist in the UK, so I had to go.

Oh, and at Kelly (of Aspiring Polyglot)'s suggestion, I now have a Latin twitter account. So please forgive my mistakes: I'm awful at writing Latin, but the aim is to improve.

Reflections on mirrors in the ancient world

2009-05-22T14:05:00.001+02:00

βλέπομεν γὰρ ἄρτι δι᾽ ἐσόπτρου ἐν αἰνίγματι
For now we see as through a mirror, darkly.
(1 Corinthians 13:12)

Even I recognise this quote, despite my secular upbringing. Perhaps that has something to do with the amount of speculative fiction based upon it. It's usually translated as 'through a glass, darkly' since that's the translation in the King James, but I prefer 'mirror' since it's less ambiguous. Even if I'm not completely sure exactly what defines an ἐσόπτρος, I'm perfectly content with speculum in the Vulgate (videmus nunc per speculum in enigmate), so, yeah: mirror.

The reason I'm bringing this up is because in yet another idle moment, I was thinking about mirrors and how conscious we are of our appearance. I don't necessarily mean that we're any more preoccupied than earlier generations (though judging by some of my friends, that might be the case), but that we have a much greater understanding of what we look like. I look in the mirror everyday, and I have a fairly good idea of what I look like - aided, of course, by the irritating amount of photographs people post on facebook - and unusually, I admit, I also have an identical twin to help me out (though mostly this just causes confusion). However, this wasn't an option open to the majority of people in the ancient world. Mirrors wouldn't have been widely available, and even those that were wouldn't have had a similar clarity to their modern counterparts. Silvered glass mirrors were developed by the Phoenicians and Romans, but otherwise mirrors would have been fashioned out of highly polished - but unevenly surfaced - metals. Even glass in antiquity would have been translucent, and difficult to see clearly in. I'm not discounting still water, but again, the reflection is often indistinct.

The Aztecs used highly polished obsidian as mirrors, and - more interestingly - used the same material in the eyes of their idols. The concept of eyes as mirrors is perhaps not so welcoming today - we speak of eyes as 'windows to the soul', of looking deeply into someone's eyes - but eyes really do provide the best - or certainly, most readily available - natural mirrors. If you were an ancient peasant, aside from a watery glimpse at yourself in a lake, you would only be likely to see yourself clearly as a reflection in the eyes of your family or lover.

I think it's obvious Saint Paul's comments don't reflect an age where mirrors are clear, but I like the idea that they hold secrets, especially if looking into someone else's eyes.

Source: Krebs, R.E. & C.A., Groundbreaking Scientific Experiments, Inventions, and Discoveries of the Ancient World (Greenwood Press 2003)

Pace: academic convention

2009-05-19T12:26:00.000+02:00

I've been absentmindedly looking at the Greek Anthology recently, and stumbled across a website run by Memorial University, Canada, which preserves the emblems of Alciato, the 16th century jurist and writer. Apparently he was interested in the Anthology, and based several of his emblems upon them.

I particularly like emblem 180 (above), based upon 9.122:

Anonymous, by some assigned to Evenus (Loeb translation)
To a Swallow

Honey-nurtured child of Athens, is it a prattling cicada that thy prattling self has caught and carries for a feast to thy winged brood? Dost thou, the chatterer, prey on the chatterer; thou, the winged, on the winged; thou, the guest of summer, on the guest of summer? Wilt thou not drop it at once; it is neither meet nor just that singers should perish by mouths skilled in song.

Alciato changes the text slightly and reads in the moral 'it is a sacrilege for scholars to malign scholars', which natually, I enjoy. I love it when scholars shown genuine antagonism in their work and then haughtily state pace their opponent. For me, this has less to do with the propect of debating a minor (or major) point and more to do with the sheer bloodymindedness and security some academics have: I can't help but admire that level of self-confidence.

An ancient parallel with Indiana Jones?

2009-05-18T18:40:00.005+02:00

The Romans once chose three ambassadors to Bithynia, of whom one was gouty, another had had his head trepanned, and the third was deemed a fool. Cato made merry over this, and said that the Romans were sending out an embassy which had neither feet, nor head, nor heart. His aid was once solicited by Scipio, at the instance of Polybius, in behalf of the exiles from Achaia, and after a long debate upon the question in the Senate, where some favoured and some opposed their return home, Cato rose and said: "Here we sit all day, as if we had naught else to do, debating whether some poor old Greeks shall be buried here or in Achaia." The Senate voted that the men be allowed to return, and a few days afterwards Polybius tried to get admission to that body again, with a proposal that the exiles be restored to their former honours in Achaia, and asked Cato's opinion on the matter. Cato smiled and said that Polybius, as if he were another Odysseus, wanted to go back into the cave of the Cyclops for a hat and belt which he had left there.
- Plutarch Life of Cato the Elder 9 (Loeb translation)

I can't help but like Cato the Elder.

Reading vs translating

2009-05-17T23:43:00.003+02:00

I've been learning Latin for more than a third of my life, and when I compare it to other languages like Italian, my heart sinks. Why is it that I can read, understand and occasionally speak (broken) Italian after two years, but still have such difficulties after studying Latin for nearly eight? Latin is a difficult language, and the fact that it isn't (commonly) spoken or written doesn't help, but I still find it hard to justify. Although I've learnt a lot in the last few years, and I think perhaps especially this year, I'm not nearly as proficient as either I think I should be or should like to be.

I think it's partly just the mindset of translation over reading. I need to shake it off. One of my projects for the Summer is to copy out the Aeneid by hand, and I'm hoping this will help me read the text more more naturalistically - focusing on the meaning and not the translation - as I do it. (Incidentally, I know it sounds like a strange thing to do, but it's quite relaxing to write before I go to sleep. I'm also fairly interested in paleography and the transmission of texts - hopefully I'll get to study a unit in Siena next year - and I'm aiming for an empathetic insight into the way scribes write, miss lines, misspell words, get bored etc.)

I need to read Latin, and not to read the (slow) English translation my mind is providing of the Latin text, because it's hindering me. I've reached a decent-enough level, but I can't get to the next 'stage' without changing the way I treat Latin. Obviously I need to keep my mind open and inquisitive (what case is this in? why?) but I have to stop translating and start reading!

Chrysanthemums

2009-05-14T23:25:00.003+02:00

Why should this flower delay so long
To show its tremulous plumes?
Now is the time of plaintive robin-song,
When flowers are in their tombs.

Through the slow summer, when the sun
Called to each frond and whorl
That all he could for flowers was being done,
Why did it not uncurl?

It must have felt that fervid call
Although it took no heed,
Waking but now, when leaves like corpses fall,
And saps all retrocede.

Too late its beauty, lonely thing,
The season's shine is spent,
Nothing remains for it but shivering
In tempests turbulent.

Had it a reason for delay,
Dreaming in witlessness
That for a bloom so delicately gay
Winter would stay its stress?

- I talk as if the thing were born
With sense to work its mind;
Yet it is but one mask of many worn
By the Great Face behind.

- The Last Chrysanthemum, Thomas Hardy

I bought chrysanthemums today, then walked home with them in the rain. It's early in the year but it felt like Autumn today. Maybe this poem isn't too inappropriate. I like the Victorian ethos of trying to fit logic and order to everything, questioning and interrogating animate and inanimate objects, and then ultimately ascribing it to God in neatly rhyming verse. I think Hardy was aware of this though, and I'm impressed he managed to put 'corpses' into a floral poem. But then, this is Hardy. I want to read Jude the Obscure some day, but after I got my sister to explain exactly what happened in it, I'm not sure I can face the sheer misery of 'we are too many'.

Take that, Annibale!

2009-05-13T15:31:00.007+02:00

I waved goodbye to my Italian project today after a thorough grilling in my speaking exam. I wrote about Hannibal: the result is that I now possess the appropriate Italian vocabulary to start a small land war. Worrying, right? I'm moving to Italy for ten months in October, so I'm going to make it a point of honour to try and include the following in conversation:

pitched battle (battaglia campale) 20pts
siege/siege engines (assedio/macchine d'assedio) 5pts/30pts
to take by storm (espugnare) 5pts
ambush (imboscata) 5pt
lay an ambush (tendere un'imboscata) 10pts
army (escercito) 5pts
defeat (sconfitta) 2pts
city state (cittá-Stato) 5pt
infantry/cavalry (fanti/cavalieri) 10pts/5pts
outpost (avamposto) 20pts
supply (fornitura) 10pts
Hannibal (Annibale) 5pts
the carthaginians (i cartaginesi) 30pts

I'm not even sure macchine d'assedio is correct, since neither my dictionary nor the internet were especially forthcoming, but it makes relatively coherent sense. More sense than my spoken Italian, which is beginning to worry me. Still, I realised in my exam today that even if what I say is broken, the fact that I can discuss an obscure subject for 15 minutes suggests that not all is lost. I only started learning Italian a year and a half ago, which isn't really soon enough to lose hope at my pathetic lack of fluency.

I rule that 5pts should automatically be deducted every time I use a word in connection with politics or love, or in a badly-crafted metaphorical sense. 70 points or higher is respectable; all else is a shocking sconfitta.