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Artwork by Carly Skinner

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Welcome to the inaugural edition of the Melbourne University Classics and Archaeology Students Society newsletter, Orpheus!

When I took on the task of creating this newsletter, I never expected the overwhelming array of submissions we have received, displaying talent and passion across the club and the faculty.

I would like to thank everyone who sent us their work, and everybody who has been involved with MUCLASS since its creation just last year, whether it be through visiting our O-Week stalls, participating in Greek theatre workshops, or attending the Ancient Feast. In addition, I would like to pay homage to MUCAAS, the Classics and Archaeology club which came immediately before us, and the Melbourne University Classics Club before that, which published the original Orpheus. I hope that we can continue in their footsteps, and that this is just the first of many editions.

Enjoy!

Alice McInnes

Praetor (Secretary), 2013/4

SALVETE!

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

From MUCAAS to MUCLASS: A history of Classics and Archaeology clubs at Melbourne Dean Hallett

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Book Review: Imperium and Lustrum by Robert Harris Joe Constable

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The Slave Marc Bonaventura

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Practical Criticism of Euripides’ Andromache 898-956 Lin Li Ng

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Subject Reviews: Classics Honours Seminar 1 Stephanie Forrest Classical Mythology D’Arcy Crossley

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Classical Mythology Wordsearch D’Arcy Crossley

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The Brazen Wall: A Preview Stephanie Forrest

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Cover design by Carla Schodde

Background photo by Stephanie Forrest

Carmen ad Animos Naturae Andrew Adorno An Ode to the Classics Library and Winter Introverts Kyle Conrau-Lewis

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Ciceronian Disputations Carla Schodde

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Ancient Recipes: Roman Salad and Mesopotamian Palace Cake Alice McInnes

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Apotheosis: The Battle Between Physical and Social Power Brigitte Garofalo

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The Philistine Remains at Tel Es-Safi/Gath Reports from excavations in Israel Assoc. Prof. Louise Hitchcock

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Ode on a Tel Miranda Gronow

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This is by no means an exhaustive

history of all the classics orientated

student club activities at the University

of Melbourne, but rather in Herodotian

style, a combination of the things I

witnessed, read, gossiped about or

participated in during my time here.

I’m sure there are others out there with

other pieces to add to the story as well.

Given the natural fascination we all

have for the ancient past, it is fitting

that some of the forerunners of the

Melbourne University Classics and

Archaeo logy Stu dents So c ie ty

(MUCLASS) are recorded briefly for

our present bemusement and for

posterity.

MUCAAS was the Melbourne Uni

Classics And Archaeology Society. I like

to think that its origins, now lost in the

mists of time, may extend back to some

long forgotten mystery cult of antiquity.

In reality, the oldest reference to

MUCAAS (or perhaps some proto-

MUCAASian club?) I have come across

goes back to 2001. A newsletter of the

Australian Society of Classical Studies

from September 2004 notes that the

undergraduate Classics society at the

University of Melbourne has finally

settled on the name of MUCAAS. After

joining MUCAAS in 2006, my first

challenge was to find the legendary

MUCAAS rooms. This involved

entering the impressive fortifications of

Old Quad, scaling the great staircases,

navigating the Labyrinth while

avoiding the Minotaur, before arriving

at a discrete and occasionally locked

door to a seemingly empty tiny

storeroom in the upper west wing of

Old Quad. This kind of feat is one

which postgrads and lecturers

undertake daily, but to someone in their

first week of university life it was just a

little epic.

From MUCAAS to MUCLASS

Dean Hallet

A snapshot of recent Classics, Archaeology and Ancient World Studies

orientated student groups at the University of Melbourne.

Below: MARS guard of honour at the unveil-ing of the bronze bust of King Leonidas at ‘Sparta Place’, Brunswick in 2009.

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My persistence paid off, because I had

reached the first of the three rooms of

MUCAASia, Beyond the first lay a

further two rooms adorned with walls

covered in pictures of sites and artefacts

from the ancient world, a couple of

desks, bean bags, cushions and copious

amounts of theatre backdrops and

props. It was quite common to find

Classics tutors typing, translating,

working on theatre pieces and doing

the Latin crossword. It was from this

crenelated acropolis that MUCAAS

produced a periodic newsletter,

Orpheus, which contained submissions

from its members including essay

extracts, poetry, travel stories, reviews

of ancient themed movies or video

games, and fake advertisements for

things like second-hand chariots.

MUCAAS also ran trivia nights, movie

nights and dramatic reading nights,

which simply involved people getting

together to read aloud bits of ancient

literature in either the original text or a

translation, but to add their own

rendition of the text. This was simple

and yet extremely comical and

captivating.

There was always a passion in

MUCAAS for Classical theatre. There

was usually one play every semester or

two. Members translated Greek and

Roman plays, wrote and practiced

scripts, and produced backdrops,

costumes and props. By 2003 the theatre

element of MUCAAS had become a

small but sophisticated theatre

company in its own right, known as

Omniprop Productions. Over the years,

they performed a variety of ancient

plays, and even participated in the

Fringe Fest ival in 2008, with

Aristophanes’ Lysistrata.

MUCAAS was gradually superseded by Omniprop and ceased in its other activities. As many of Omniprop’s key members graduated or moved abroad to further pursue their study of Classics, it became increasingly hard to continue staging productions. By 2010 there were no regular campus-based signs of either group and the MUCAAS rooms were cleared out to make room for more post-grad work spaces. It was the end of an era. Omniprop still exists in name, but lies dormant, at least for the time being.

I had enjoyed a number of Omniprop’s

performances in my years at university,

but I had another interest: re-enacting

and living history. This involves trying

to replicate as closely (but safely) as

possible aspects of life in the past, from

costume and food to armour and

Below: Omnipop’s production of The Bacchae in 2007

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combat. In late 2008 a few MUCAAS set

about thinking how this could be done

at uni, and in 2009 the Melbourne

Ancient Re-enactment Society (MARS)

was born. MARS focussed mainly on

costume making and replicating the

equipment and fighting of Thracian

peltasts, albeit with wooden swords

and rubber-tipped javelins. In addition,

MARS held a number of DVD nights,

themed trivia nights, an attempt at

making Roman mulsum, and a visit to

the Pompeii exhibition at the

Melbourne Museum. In 2009 the club

was also asked to dress in costume and

armour for the unveiling of a bronze

bust to King Leonidas in Brunswick,

which, as it turned out, is a sister-city of

Sparta! All these events happened in

2009; by 2010 the club had become less

active. Ultimately MARS needed too

much space, cost and time to run on

campus and by 2011 MARS wound

down as a club.

And there you have it. As a new

member to MUCLASS, I leave the task

of its own origins and early history to

someone better suited to the task. What

will they say about MUCLASS in the

future? Only time will tell. No pressure,

but this could be the best Classics,

Archaeology and Ancient World

Studies student club to emerge at the

University of Melbourne in our day.

Book Review Imperium and Lustrum by Robert Harris

Joe Constable

Like so many classics students in the last decade I am writing my thesis on Cicero. I often ask myself why the small, pinched-faced politician from Arpinum has sparked such interest amongst classicists and people in general over the last two millennia. Why do we revere a man who was often ruthless, supercilious, naïve, and favoured the aristocracy? A man who was in many ways overshadowed and ultimately overcome by great men such as Caesar, Mark Antony and Augustus?

Robert Harris’ novels Imperium and Lustrum, fictional biographies of Cicero which initially generated my curiosity in the politician, answer these questions. Written from the perspective

of Cicero’s secretary, Tiro, they cover his education as an orator in Greece, rise to fame as a prosecutor, political success as consul and exposer of Cataline’s conspiracy to overthrow the Roman Republic, and ultimately his downfall and exile. From Harris’ absorbing account I have gleaned five discernible reasons for an enduring admiration and fascination of Cicero.

Firstly, Cicero lived during one of the most intriguing times in Roman history. Between 65-45 BCE there were two major conspiracies to overthrow the Republic, a culmination of the long-standing quarrels between patricians and plebeians in Clodius becoming tribune, and a civil war ending in

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relevant. He faces everyday issues such as balancing family and public life, dealing with his less-talented brother, and appeasing his overbearing spouse. Unlike many figures from the time, such as Cato and Pompey, who have so often been represented as ancient, one-dimensional figures, Cicero is brought to life with his everyday dreams and problems, and so he becomes a resident of the twenty-first century.

Moreover, he is depicted as an extraordinary man whose brilliant oratorical, legal and political skills should be venerated. On numerous occasions Harris shows how Cicero used eloquence and rhetoric to persuade a whole senate or jury of his views. An early example is his prosecution of Verres, in which he convinces a bribed jury to disregard their payoffs and convict the former Governor of Sicily for corruption by appealing to Rome’s legal system, which he declares as its greatest attributes. His political prowess is evident in his personal relationships

dictatorship. Although eventually eclipsed by Caesar, Harris shows us that Cicero was a major political player during these events. Most importantly, he emphasises Cicero’s bravery, determination and patriotism in quashing Cataline’s conspiracy. As readers we become immensely proud of Cicero when he is duly recognised and consequently referred to by Romans as the saviour of the fatherland.

Harris also portrays Cicero as someone we can relate to. From the beginning, he faces the same problems as a present-day novus homo aspiring to top political offices: lack of wealth and familial connections. Harris illustrates how Cicero was an outsider amongst the elite, and how this chip on his shoulder stimulated him even further to success. A man who comes from humble backgrounds to be at the top of society is a common tale today. Moreover, Harris’ account of Cicero’s family life is

Cartoon by Kathryn Forrest

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The Cicero fan club.

Cartoons by Kathryn Forrest

and impeccable memory – he is said to remember the name of every man in the forum and share a witty remark with each of them.

Whilst this genius contributes to some of his unappealing traits such as hubris and ambition, he is forgiven because of his prevailing quality of political integrity. Harris details Cicero’s commitment to his main tenet: a Roman Republic where no one person has autocratic power. For example, when Caesar invites Cicero to join his alliance, Cicero rejects the invitation on ideological grounds, stating he does wish to be associated with a man who cares only for his own success, not that of the state. Of course, as Cicero realises at the time, the expedient decision would have been acceptance.

Lastly, this political dogma of a Republic in which all Roman citizens have a degree of liberty and are not controlled by a monarch is aligned with

current Western ideology. Whilst Caesar, Pompey, Augustus and future emperors are often remembered as power-hungry tyrants and compared to leaders such as Stalin, Mussolini and Hitler, Cicero is seen in a much more moderate and favourable light. This is evinced in Harris’ novels during the meetings between Cicero and Pompey, where the latter frequently expresses his desire for greatness and military domination. Cicero, on the other hand, evidently wants what is best for the state and its people.

Harris’ style is engaging and easy to read, and his research into the political events of the late Republic and the everyday life of Romans is scrupulous. Both novels provide an excellent insight into the pressures faced by an exceptionally gifted man internally, domestically and publicly, the hardships and callousness of politics, and the breakdown of the Republic.

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The Slave Marc Bonaventura

I was hurrying through the busy streets of Pompeii on a hot summer’s day, eager to reach my destination. The sun was gleaming like a beacon in the sky and my sandals were damp with perspiration. My tunic was starting to stick to my back. The sky was clear, and I wondered what could possibly ruin a day like this. I was a slave seeking a particular house, delivering a letter from my master Vibius. As I navigated through the winding streets, I passed all sorts of cheerful people: young children playing gladiators with toy swords, men entering and leaving taverns, women cradling infants in their arms, pedlars dragging carts and stable-boys leading mules.

The houses on either side of me loomed tall and uninviting with their small windows and stone walls. They gave me the impression of being boxed in, and I didn’t like it at all. At last I found myself standing before the right house. Suddenly I heard a woman shout behind me. I turned around, startled, and saw her pointing in the distance.

I wiped the sweat from my eyes as I turned my gaze toward the steep mountain several miles north of the city. An extraordinary cloud was rising high from the mountain, similar in shape to a tree. I saw it rise into the sky on a thick trunk which seemed to be spreading to form branches. As I squinted at the cloud, I saw that in some parts, the cloud was white, whereas in other parts there were dark patches of dirt and ash.

I stared, transfixed, as I had never seen such a sight before in all my fourteen years of life. Since when did clouds burst

out of mountains? Afraid of the bad omen, I decided to head back home, abandoning my errand. I rushed back through the streets, through crowds of people gaping in awe.

When I arrived home I saw that my master Vibius was already outside the house, watching the mountain. He was middle aged, unmarried, and his short tidy hair was greying. As I approached, he broke his gaze and turned to me.

‘Tacitus, my boy, shouldn’t you be delivering my letters?’ he asked sternly, raising an eyebrow.

I pointed to the mountain, but he didn’t seem to care.

‘So?’ he said, ‘since when has a cloud been an excuse not to work?’ I felt like replying: “Since when has a cloud come out of a mountain?” but I couldn’t. He held his gaze so I knew I had no choice but to continue on with my work. As I made my way to the house where I was before, more and more people were coming out of their houses and staring mesmerised at the colossal cloud. I sighed; somehow I had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

I was taking shelter underneath the colonnade of the Temple of Venus, which was raised on a large podium. Since she was the patron goddess of Pompeii, I thought that she would protect me best. Why did I need protection? The cloud had slowly spread southwards with the wind and was now looming above Pompeii. It was smothering the sun like a blanket, and fear was now gripping every

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part of me. Was this just a passing storm, or something more sinister?

I would have been in total darkness if it weren’t for the torches on the walls of the temple. Not that they really helped; all they did was project strange shadows onto the walls and pillars, only adding to my fear. How long would the storm last? How long could we last without sunlight? I wasn’t sure, but I prayed for the best. I wanted to go home, but I wasn’t sure whether I would be able to find my way back in the darkness, as I didn’t have a torch.

The streets were now empty; everyone had bolted themselves in their houses, waiting for the storm to pass. They were hiding like dogs hide from thunderstorms; they were afraid of what was brewing outside their home. I hoped that the storm would pass, for the eerie silence of the streets was unsettling my nerves, and the whispering wind was driving me mad.

Suddenly I heard the pitter-patter of rain on the roof of the temple. I released a long sigh; I didn’t know why but the rain made me feel more comfortable, it didn’t make me feel so alone. It also took my mind off the shadows.

After several peaceful minutes of listening to the rain, I noticed that the ground was considerably darker than before. What was going on? I walked to the edge of the colonnade and stuck out my hand. I was astonished to feel small light stones filling up my hand. It was raining stones?

I let the stones fall to the ground and headed back under cover, trying to get a grip on myself. Darkness and falling stones were not a good combination. The storm had to pass soon. I bent double and coughed violently. After recovering, I went into another dry coughing fit. What

was this? Strong fumes were choking me, tearing at my lungs, drowning me as if I had dipped my head into a bowl of water. My throat remained parched no matter how many times I swallowed and my sore eyes began to water. The fumes must be related to the stones falling. I was afraid and I feared death for the first time. There was nothing I could do but wait. It was too dangerous to head home through the stones.

And so I waited for the storm to pass. The city had now erupted into a state of panic due to the raining stones. I watched it all, of course. It was rather like watching an ants’ nest on a sunny day. I saw people running here and there, carrying torches, shouting at the top of their lungs and bumping into each other. I heard children crying in their mothers’ arms. I saw dogs and cats dashing through the street, forgotten. I felt sorry for the terrified people, trying frantically to escape. Many of them were carrying small statues of gods or coin boxes, trying to flee with what they could. Pompeii was now a city engulfed in fear. Most of the people were heading to the harbour, from what I could gather. I felt like going with them, but I would never abandon my master.

Suddenly the doors to the temple opened behind me and several priests rushed out, carrying statues, coin boxes and precious relics. When they spotted me under the colonnade, the colour drained from their faces. They exchanged guilty looks, and at that moment I realised they were abandoning the temple.

‘Hey, I recognise you,’ one of the priests said, the colour returning to his face, ‘you’re the slave with his tongue cut out. The one Vibius bought at the market. Don’t worry, he can’t talk against us.

Background Artwork by Carly Skinner

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Come on, let’s go to the harbour.’ The priests hurried away into the crowd of people, leaving a trail of spilt coins behind them.

I never thought the priests would desert their own temple, but it had been raining stones for quite some time and many of the roofs of the houses were beginning to collapse under the weight. I guess they must have thought the temple would collapse too.

The stones were becoming heavier, and the choking fumes stronger, so I decided I had no choice but to risk the journey home. I grabbed one of the torches off the temple wall. Pulling my tunic over my head, I hurried through the people, trying to find the right street.

I continued on my way and eventually reached the house. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. This was unusual; usually Vibius would have answered straight away. I tentatively opened the door and my heart lurched. The roof had collapsed on Vibius, whose chest and head were protruding from the rubble.

I rushed to his side with tears in my eyes but I knew it was too late, he was dead, crushed by the very roof that was there to protect him. The rubble was so thick that I couldn’t move it, and Vibius’ body was stuck. I cradled his head in my hands, as my tears leaked onto his face. My master, my kind master who had taken such great care of me after what my previous master in Greece had done to me… gone. There was no sign of the other slaves, they had obviously fled.

Then, at that moment when all hope was gone, Vibius stirred. His eyes were unfocused and he appeared dazed, rather like a drunk man. When he saw who I was, he uttered five slurred words:

‘Tacitus, you are free, go.’ Then he released a long sigh and his spirit raced down to Hades’ Halls. I returned to the shrine of the household gods, removed the small statue, and placed it by Vibius. I would have buried him, but it was impossible to remove the rubble.

Suddenly I was startled by a loud bark. Cerberus, Vibius’ dog, raced around the rubble and stood by his side, snarling. I beckoned repeatedly for Cerberus to follow me, but it was no use, he would guard his master to the end like an honourable pet.

There was nothing else I could do, so I decided to go to the harbour, maybe I could still survive this storm. I left the

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house and struggled on through the city towards the sea gate, one hand over my mouth, the other stretched out before me. By now, many of the roofs had collapsed and the fumes were denser than ever.

I crossed the forum, the centre of business in Pompeii, with its magnificent colonnade to shelter shops and business. The darkness hid the large temple of Jupiter from my sight, but I knew its location at the northern end. I passed the porch and the portico of Eumachia’s clothworkers’ guildhall with its elaborate carvings and decorations. I also passed the law court and the temple of Apollo.

I was just about to leave the Sea Gate and head to the harbour when I heard a muffled cry. It sounded like a baby. I peered over the collapsed house beside me when I saw it. The baby was stuck among the rubble in the middle of the house. For a brief moment I considered abandoning it and saving myself, but I quickly put the thought from my mind and cursed myself for ever thinking of it. I dropped my torch and began the arduous task of rescuing the baby.

It was hard work, trying to climb over the rubble, removing chunks of stone and wood. But the baby was in danger of falling rocks and needed to be saved. After a lengthy period, several coughing fits and a headache from the incessant falling stones, I triumphantly raised the crying infant in my hands. It appeared unharmed but covered in dirt and grime.

I wrapped the blankets around it and hurried as quickly as I could though the gate to the harbour. The town watchman had abandoned his post and I didn’t blame him. The harbour was

not far away and I reached it with great relief.

I bent over and gasped for breath as I glanced towards the harbour. My heart sank, for all the ships had left, no, there was still one ship. I ran to the edge of the harbour, to get a better view. One ship was just leaving the harbour, no more than twenty feet out to sea. The wind was fierce, and I knew the ship couldn’t turn back.

I tried to jump up and down, waving my free hand. It couldn’t end like this, it just couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, after everything I’d been through, it just wasn’t fair. I wanted to scream, to yell, but I couldn’t. All hope had gone.

But then a man appeared at the back of the ship, looking at me. I didn’t know what to do, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I summed up all my strength, and heaved with all my might. The baby sailed through the air; it seemed to be airborne forever. It wasn’t going to make the distance, I had failed. Then man leant over the edge. He stretched further and further until I was sure he was going to fall off, but he held his balance. He caught the baby in his hands and disappeared back onto the deck. The ship gradually faded into the distance.

My knees gave way, and I held my chest and gasped for breath. The fumes were so strong, and the stones were pounding my body. I felt weak, and knew that it would soon be all over. As the fumes choked me, and my life wasted away like water in a child’s cupped hands, I had some time to think.

If I hadn’t spent so much time rescuing that baby, I would have made the ship, and would be sailing away into

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freedom. Vibius had freed me, but that meant nothing now. Would anyone remember me? Did it matter? I had saved someone’s life. I felt like a hero. Was it worth it? I thought so… I hoped so… Surely the gods had smiled upon me this day?

I collapsed onto my back in my dying moments. I stared up at the sky. What I saw wasn’t the normal night sky with the moon and stars. I saw an artificial darkness, like being closed in a room with no windows or torches. It was at that moment, lying on the harbour, with the choking fumes, the falling stones, the ferocious wind and the eerie

darkness, that I closed my eyes. I recalled a prisoner once telling me about a saviour who had also died in total darkness, sacrificing his life for others. As I drifted off, a peace descended upon me, a calmness I had never felt before. I remembered the same prisoner saying to the crowd awaiting his execution: ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for another’.

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Euripides’ Andromache tells the story of the fate of Andromache, the wife of Hector, after the Trojan War. In the play she is the concubine of Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles. Andromache incurs the jealousy and verbal wrath of Neoptolemus’ legi t imate wi fe , Hermione, who plots with her father, Menelaus, to murder Andromache. The subsequent events of the play stem from a hostile verbal exchange (agon) between Hermione and Andromache. Menelaus fails to murder Andromache and her son thanks to the intervention of Achilles’ father, Peleus, who takes Andromache and her son safely away. Meanwhile, Menelaus abandons Hermione to suffer in the consequences of her failed plan. In a hysterical scene with her nurse, Hermione voices her fears of what Neoptolemus will do to her after learning what she has done (up until this point Neoptolemus has been absent for the entire play, and will only appear as a corpse at the end). Hermione’s cousin Orestes then makes a perfectly timed entrance. It is their initial exchange, Hermione’s desperate appeal to him to take her away, and the Chorus’ subsequent admonishment of her speaking so strongly, and publicly against her own sex, that will be dealt with here. This passage is as much a commentary on female behaviour as it is about two people attempting to manipulate one another to get what they want.

Gender roles and relationships are key themes in this play. The story revolves around the hostility that arises between

a concubine and a legitimate wife. Various men become entangled in this prickly relationship: Peleus and Orestes assume the roles of exchangers, ferrying Andromache and Hermione from N e o p t o l e m u s ’ h o u s e ; a n d Neoptolemus’ relationships with Andromache and Hermione are under scrutiny. These relationships and questions of female conduct are explored through female speech. The ag on bet wee n Herm ione and Andromache has the power to set off a chain of events,1 yet it is also a reinforcement of appropriate female behaviour.2 Hermione’s appeal to Orestes is manipulative, but it is also an attack upon the conduct of gossiping women. It is imbued with statements of self-victimisation, and harsh criticisms of women and their womanly behaviour. However, her invective against woman has another function: it is carefully crafted rhetoric designed to work in her favour. By blaming other women’s poor behaviour for her own actions, Hermione presents herself as the victim of events. She deliberately criticises gossiping women to make herself more appealing to Orestes. To gain his support, Hermione uses an invective against women as rhetoric.

Before Hermione begins her verbal attack against women, Orestes engages her in a stichomythia to draw out from her the chain of events in order to gain her trust. In the stichomythia both Hermione and Orestes have ulterior motives. Hermione appeals to Orestes to gain his protection, but Orestes

Practical Criticism of Euripides’

Andromache 898-956 Lin Li Ng

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about what she has done as she is concerned about her own fate:

Hermione: κατὰ μὲν οὖν τόλμας στένω δαΐας,

ἃν ῥέξ’ἁ κατάρατος ἐγὼ κατά-

ρατος ἀνθρώποις. (837-9)

Hermione: Therefore, I groan because of the dreadful, bold acts,

which I did. Accursed, I am

accursed in people’s eyes.

However, in her appeal, Hermione is neither hysterical nor deluded; she is tactical and attempts to verbally manipulate Orestes. Like her talk of suicide, to her Orestes symbolises escape from punishment by Neoptolemus.

Orestes then introduces the idea that the only thing that could concern Hermione is her marriage-bed:

Orestes: τίς οὖν ἂν εἴη μὴ πεφυκότων γέ πω

παίδων γυναικὶ συμφορὰ πλὴν ἐς λέχος;(904-5)

Orestes: What misfortune, therefore, might there be for a woman,

since children are not yet born? Except in regards to the marriage-bed?

His words are again designed to lead Hermione to recall earlier events. He also points out the issue of a man being involved with two women:

Orestes: κακόν γ’ἔλεξας, δίσσ’ἕν΄ἄνδρ’ἔχειν λέχη. (909)

Orestes: You have spoken a bad thing indeed, that one man has two marriage beds.

already wishes to take her away; he is really there to gain her confidence. He leads her to begin her appeal, and to present herself as a victim:

Orestes: τί χρῆμα; πρὸς θεῶν ἢ βροτῶν πάσχεις κακά;

Hermione: τὰ μὲν πρὸς ἡμῶν, τὰ δὲ πρὸς ἀνδρὸς ὃς μ’ἔχει,

τὰ δ’ἐκ θεῶν του· πανταχῇ δ΄ὀλώλαμεν. (Euripides, 901-3)

Orestes: What is the matter? Do you suffer evil things from gods or men?

Hermione: Some from myself, and some from my husband,

And some from someone of the gods; and I have been destroyed everywhere.

Hermione responds directly to Orestes’ suggestions of who is responsible for her misfortunes: a god and a man (θεῶν, βροτῶν; θεῶν του, ἀνδρὸς). Whilst Orestes deliberately leads her into explaining what has happened, Hermione believes she is using his questions to her advantage. She makes herself look like a victim by assuring him that everyone is working against her, not knowing that Orestes does not in fact care, he just needs her trust.

Hermione includes herself as an author of her suffering (τὰ μὲν πρὸς ἡμῶν) to show that she is taking responsibility for her actions. However, she is not truly repentant; she is merely building the remorseful image of herself in order to convince Orestes that she deserves his help. That is not to say that she does not recognise the severity of her situation, particularly when we consider her earlier attempts at suicide, and talk of escape (802-65), but she is not as apologetic

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Hermione made the same statement earlier to justify her hostility towards Andromache (177 -80). Orestes’ statement is not necessarily genuine. He cunningly makes himself appear to be on her side. Euripides could be providing a warning that keeping a concubine could result in disaster. Hermione’s reactive plotting did disturb the oikos, but no one was really punished for Neoptolemus’ relationship with Andromache.3 Hermione’s excuse that she acted out of self-defence (ἠμυνάμην, 910), also suggests a warning. Even though the threat that Andromache posed is debatable, Hermione’s excuse nevertheless hints that having both a wife and a concubine could result in hostility.

The theme of the “bed” is significant in

this passage. Three different words are used to refer to the marriage-bed: λέχος (905, 909, 933, 935), εὐνή (907), and λέκτρον (928). It highlights what the marriage-bed signified to women and men. For Hermione, and the alleged visiting women, the bed is a symbol of the state of a woman’s marriage. Orestes immediately suggests that it is the source of Hermione’s troubles, and the visiting women sneer that a concubine would never be allowed into their marriage beds (932-5). For women, who are legitimate wives, the state of their marriage-bed reflects the security of their marriage. For men however, the bed is about control of the oikos and the people in it, particularly women. If a man has two sets of reins, or two beds, the problem of losing command is heightened.

Artwork by Carly Skinner

MVCLASS—Orpheus

remember that she is prone to exaggeration and tall tales. Therefore, as she is the one making the invective, she magnifies the attitude. Hermione cleverly criticises, or invents, the behaviour of other women in order to establish herself as innocent, a victim of other women’s manipulative gossip.

Hermione then appears to admonish herself by admitting that there was in fact no danger posed to her by Andromache. Much of what she says alludes back to the agon. She asks herself why she needed to guard her husband (939), this refers back to Andromache’s accusat ion that Hermione guarded Neoptolemus from rain (227-8). She admits that she still ruled the home (940), which recalls Andromache’s question of whether she (Andromache) really wished to be in control of Hermione’s house (198). Hermione does not mention her barrenness and says that Andromache’s children would be illegitimate (941-2). This brings back to mind Andromache’s question of why anyone would consider her children to be legitimate (109-202). These deliberate references back to the agon are there to add to Hermione’s appeal to Orestes. She specifically recalls what Andromache pointed out to be the weakest points of her argument, and uses them to appear as if she has grown and reflected upon her actions.

Hermione goes so far as to categorise the types of gossiping women:

Hermione: ἡ μέν τι κερδαίνουσα συμφθείρει λέχος,

ἡ δ’ἀμπλακοῦσα συννοσεῖν αὑτῇ θέλει,

Hermione changes tactics and instead of merely responding to Orestes’ prompts she makes a verbal assault upon female gossip, blaming it for her plight. Hermione paints an exaggerated picture of her suffering, stating that Phthia despises her (923-4), and that Neoptolemus will punish her (927-8). Believing that she is persuading Orestes to help her, Hermione continues to build the image of herself as a guiltless victim by making an invective against women:

Hermione: κακῶν γυναικῶν εἴσοδοί μ΄ἀπώλεσαν

αἵ μοι λέγουσαι τούσδ΄ἐχαύνωσαν λόγους. (930-1)

Hermione: The visits of evil women destroyed me,

who, speaking to me these words, filled me with vanity.

Given her tendency to exaggerate, her irrational targeting of Andromache, and the fact that she is appealing to Orestes, Hermione’s claims of evil women’s visits are unlikely to be true or, at least, are exaggerated. Stevens argue that such visits would have been unlikely in Hermione’s time, and more suited to Athenian urban life.4 Euripides has removed context from the situation in order to add to Hermione’s tendency to exaggerate and overreact. Through Hermione’s invective, Euripides exhibits the fifth-century Athenians’ negative attitude towards female gossip. Stevens argues that we should not ‘draw inferences about the prison-like existence of women in the fifth century.’5 I am not arguing that Hermione lived a prison-like existence necessarily, but rather the image and influence of manipulative, chattering women comes across as so extreme because of Hermione. We must

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16

πολλαὶ δὲ μαργότητι· κἀντεῦθεν δόμοι

νοσοῦσιν ἀνδρῶν. (947-50)

Hermione: The woman making some unfair gain corrupts marriage absolutely,

Another woman having committed adultery wants someone to be sick with her,

Many women are so because of lustfulness; at this point the houses

Of men are sick.

If one compares this to Demosthenes’ list of women: hetaerae, concubines, and wives (Against Neaera, 59.122), Hermione is not speaking of the function of women based on status, but of what danger they can present. It is a loaded analysis of women. By demonising her visitors, Hermione presents herself as the victim. Given her focus on adultery and lust it suggests that if a woman was an adulterer, or if her speech was oriented around lust and adultery, her speech was seen as corruptive. Michael Lloyd takes Hermione’s assertion that all men should guard against these women (950-3) as a sign that she ‘has now abandoned her earlier independence, and accepts [Andromache’s] belief that women are inferior to men.’6 I disagree with this argument. She does not become Andromache, rather she utilises what Andromache previously said to build her appeal. Hermione uses Andromache’s words in an attempt to show that she has reformed her own character.

The Chorus reprimand Hermione for revealing such harsh truths about gossiping women:

Chorus: ἄγαν ἐφῆκας γλῶσσαν ἐς τὸ σύμφυτον.

συγγνωστὰ μέν νυν σοὶ τάδ’, ἀλλ’ ὅμως χρεὼν

κοσμεῖν γυναῖκας τὰς γυναικείας νόσους. (954-6)

Chorus: You have thrown your tongue in excess at your own people.

To be sure, these things are understandable for you, but nevertheless

It is necessary that women gloss over womanly illnesses.

Given that the Chorus almost intervenes into Hermione’s invective, it shows that Hermione has spoken inappropriately. If she was conducting herself as a proper woman she would not have resorted to such an assault on women. What is being said here is that what is involved in appropriate womanly conduct is measured speech, something which Hermione has not displayed, perhaps she has even demonstrated what she is attempting to condemn: gossip. It is difficult to say whether the Chorus are admitting that women manipulated Hermione with their visits, but it is clear that Hermione has spoken out of turn, whether it is because she is lying, or because she has revealed too much. Here Hermione’s rhetoric seems to fail her, while attempting to demean the behaviour of other women in order to ensure her own safety Hermione reveals her true nature. Despite her invective she herself is incapable of acting appropriately. We know her character and behaviour have not changed, and her denunciation of women is mere talk designed to manipulate and persuade Orestes.

In her appeal to Orestes, Hermione uses many exaggerated arguments to persuade him. She has a tendency to

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stretch the truth for her own benefit, which is evident in this passage. Her invective formulates a demonised view of women and gossip in order to make herself appear guiltless. Euripides uses this scene to continue the theme of female conduct, which is significant in the play, and to show that Hermione has still not learned how to conduct herself properly. She has absorbed lessons on good conduct, but instead of actually demonstrating good behaviour she uses the lessons to condemn others and save herself.

1. Laura McClure, Spoken Like a Woman Speech and Gender in Athenian Drama (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999). McClure identifies the agon as causing two subsequent agones.

2. Spyros D Syropoulos, "Women vs Women. The Denunciation of female sex by female characters in drama " Agora. Estudos Classicos em Debate 14, no. 1 (2012).

3. Andromache escapes with her life (750-65), and Neoptolemus dies in a situation not at all connected with the relationship between Andromache and Hermione (1149-52).

4. P. T. Stevens, Euripides Andromache (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971)., 203.

5. Ibid., 204. Stevens speaks particularly in relation to lines 943-6: ‘But never, never (for I will say it not just once)/Those who have mind must, for those who have a wife,/Allow the women to visit their wife in the house;/For they are teachers of evil.’

6. Michael Lloyd, The Plays of Euripides Andromache, ed. Christopher Collard, vol. 7, The Plays of Euripides (Warminster: Aris & Phillips Ltd, 1994)., 150.

Bibliography

Demosthenes. "Against Neaera." In Demosthenis

Orationies, edited by W. Rennie. Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1931.

Euripides. "Andromacha." In Euripides Fabulae,

edited by J. Diggle. Oxford: Oxford University

Press 1984.

Lloyd, Michael. The Plays of Euripides

Andromache. The Plays of Euripides. edited by

Christopher Collard. Vol. 7, Warminster: Aris &

Phillips Ltd, 1994.

McClure, Laura. Spoken Like a Woman Speech

and Gender in Athenian Drama. Princeton:

Princeton University Press, 1999.

Stevens, P. T. Euripides Andromache. Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1971.

Syropoulos, Spyros D. "Women Vs Women. The

Denunciation of Female Sex by Female

Characters in Drama ". Agora. Estudos Classicos

em Debate 14, no. 1 (2012): 27-46.

Artwork by Carly Skinner

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18

When I started down the path of Honours late last year, full of enthusiasm and with high expectations for 2013, I was disappointed to learn that the program for Classics had suddenly changed. There were many aspects to this change, but one that particularly annoyed me was that Honours students were no longer allowed to enrol in the same subjects as the undergraduates, as had happened in previous years. Instead, last semester, we Classics Honours students – all three of us – were required to enrol into an unexciting-sounding subject ominously titled ‘Classics Honours Seminar 1’, in which K.O Chong-Gossard and Parshia Lee-Stecum were somehow going to teach us both Latin and Ancient Greek. At the time, I privately doubted that such a patched-together subject would help me improve my Greek and Latin.

Now, looking back, I can honestly say that CLAS40034 was one of the best subjects I have ever done. It didn’t feel at all ‘patched together’; every week, we had a one-hour Latin seminar in Parshia’s office and a two-hour Ancient Greek seminar in K.O’s. It effectively functioned as two subjects in one – and somehow, it worked.

Because of the (very) small number of students, classes were intimate, and we were able to work through the readings at our own pace. We chose a rapid pace – in fact, I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that I read more Ancient Greek last semester than I ever had before. What’s

more, the subject was quite literally ‘made’ for us. K.O. and Parshia deliberately chose texts that were relevant to our thesis topics – whether it be Cicero, Euripides, or even (in my case) Theophanes. For the assignments, we were allowed to choose virtually any topic that we wanted. The essays that I wrote for this subject are easily some of the best (and most meaningful) ones I have written, probably because they were on topics that I found especially interesting. One thing that all three of us budding Classicists had been dreading since week 1 was the end of semester test – which, we soon learned, was to include an unseen, two ‘seens’ from any of the texts we ploughed through during the semester, and a critical analysis essay component. Sounds a bit absurd for 90 minutes, right? Well, when the time for the exam arrived after a whole semester of intense reading, it was relatively painless. Perhaps ‘fun’.

Overall, I really enjoyed this subject and – more importantly, I suppose – I easily learned more from it than I did from any of the second or third year Classics subjects. I highly recommend that anyone with Latin and Ancient Greek consider doing Honours in Classics. It is an amazing experience – very unlike the first three years of the degree - and allows you to find and focus on that area that interests you most. This subject is an important part of that experience.

Subject Reviews CLAS40034: Classics Honours Seminar 1

Stephanie Forrest

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This second year subject covers the

mythology of Ancient Greece and

Ancient Rome. All the well-known

authors are covered: Hesiod, Homer,

Euripides, Virgil, Ovid, Livy, and

others. For the beginning ancient

historian, this course provides a fun and

interesting look at the ancient world

through the lens of mythology. For

those who are pursuing a major in

Ancient World Studies this course is full

of valuable primary and secondary

readings. Every week a new topic is

addressed. Particularly watch out for

Monique Weber’s lecture on heroes and

monsters, K.O Chong-Gossard’s lecture

of female murderers and Parshia Lee-

Stecum’s Metamorphosis lectures.

Whether you played Age of Mythology

or you’re an archaeologist from way

back you’ll love Classical Mythology.

Achilles Aeneas Amun Apollo Ashur Gaia Heracles Homer Medea Odyssey Osiris Procne Pygmalion Romulus Titans Venus Zeus

Mythology Wordsearch D’Arcy Crossley

ANCW20015: Classical Mythology

D’Arcy Crossley

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20

In the beginning was the Patrician.

The Patrician John, in fact, surnamed Pitzigaudis – former-Magistros, former-Kuraistor, apo-Hypaton, vir glorissimus, and the bearer of many other titles I cannot list here. Even now, so many years after his passing, a temptation gnaws at me to waste much of this precious ink describing this wholly illustrious man. I yearn to tell you now of how he was unsurpassed in so many ways – in his lineage, his learning, his great judgment, his eloquence, and his loyalty to Romania and Christ. But this is no place for all that, and I am sure it will all become apparent in good time anyway. For now, you must know only this: that the story I am about to tell you is as much his as it is mine, and so you would do well to remember his name.

Now, it was not always apparent that the courses of our lives would become entangled in the way that they did. In fact, I might easily have spent all my days without ever coming across the man, and without even having heard his name. I often wonder what would have come of me, if that had have happened. Perhaps I would have been as a lowly servant until old age, utterly

ignorant of the trials and intrigue of the Imperial City. Perhaps I would simply have died young. But whatever the case, none of that was to be; for by God's Divine Will our lives were to cross at exactly appropriate time - and after that day, all things would be changed.

It happened in Constantinople on a pleasant afternoon in early April, some forty-five years before now. It was at that hour when certain men enjoy their afternoon siestas, and all seemed at peace - the birds were singing in the gardens, the insects were buzzing, the sun was high, and the ornate colonnades and the lush gardens of the Great Palace were quiet.

At that time, the aforementioned Patrician John Pitzigaudis - whose custom it had never been to indulge in siestas - was sitting alone at his desk in his Palace office, reading a dispatch to himself. It would have been the usual trivial matters, I am sure - some elderly weaving-woman complaining about taxes, the guard of a watch-post in Hellas describing the movements of the Skavinians, a bureaucrat advising on the state of roads, or perhaps one of his spies from Damascus describing the

The Brazen Wall: A Preview Stephanie Forrest

This is an opening scene from a story I have been writing, which I have called The Brazen Wall. Largely inspired by my research for my Honours thesis this year, the story is set in Constantinople—the heart of the Byzantine Empire—at the end of the seventh century, and depicts the early career of a certain Trajan who held the honorary rank of ‘Patrician’ (who probably did exist, but the history is far too complicated to explain here). It describes how Trajan – not yet a Patrician, but a young scribe from an impoverished family – is thrust into the center of a wholly ‘Byzantine’ power-struggle when he is employed by the ruthless aristocrat John Pitzigaudis.

Background photo by Stephanie Forrest

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latest developments in the civil war of the Hagarenes. Whatever the case, even as he was reading the letter, with his keen dark eyes scanning the page and the lips beneath the thick black beard forming silent words, trouble was stirring outside.

He first realised that something was wrong when he heard the commotion outside his office - the sound of many bureaucrats rising from their desks and moaning in fear and distress. Not a few moments after this abrupt warning, the heavy wooden door of his office was thrown open. In rushed his immediate deputy, the Magistrianos Paulos. His colourful cloak and robes were in disarray, his carefully polished face had paled.

“Magistros! The Theomater protect us. Magistros!”

After him came his private notarios, Nilos – who had been, on every other occasion that Pitzigaudis had seen him, an entirely ordinary-looking man, distinguishable only by his lack of distinguishing features. But not now. Now, his appearance was nothing short of alarming. He was being supported between two of the chartularies, and even as they rushed into the room his head was lolling backwards in a lifeless manner. He appeared to be unconscious, and thick, fresh blood was splattered over the front of his plain tunic.

The Patrician rose from his desk.

“What has happened?”

“We do not know,” one of the chartularies said, as they carefully laid Nilos' limp body on the floor in front of the desk. “We found him in the courtyard below the offices, struggling

to right himself against a column. We think he was on his way back here.”

The Patrician came around his desk in a few long strides and came to kneel on the floor beside his motionless notarios, looking over his broken body. “Has he not spoken?”

“Not at all,” the other chartulary confirmed, “He moaned a bit, but nothing more.”

The Patrician leaned over the wounded man. A thin, deep wound about the width of a small blade had been struck into his abdomen, barely visible beneath the mass of blood and soaked garments. Clearly, he had been stabbed.

Cool-headed as always, the Patrician glared at Paulos. “Magistrianos. Come here and use your cloak to stem his blood flow. You,” he said, nodding at one of the chartularies - the tall, dark one with the prominent nose - “Find a physician. Waste no time. As for you,” he said, turning to the smaller, paler chartulary, “Go outside and tell the rest of your colleagues outside the door to get back to work. What happens in here is none of their business.”

The chartularies immediately left the room, shutting the door behind them. Paulos - pale and trembling, and perhaps a little unhappy at the prospect of covering his clothes in blood – reluctantly came forward and removed his expensive, finely woven chlamys from around his shoulders, and pressed the corner against the wound in an attempt to stem the blood flow. Somehow, this must have done some good - for it woke Nilos, who suddenly began to splutter and wheeze, panic-stricken, his face pale. In another moment, his eyes shot open, and looking up, he caught his Master’s gaze.

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22

The Patrician peered back at the pain-stricken man, his face grim. “What happened to you?”

“I do not know, Master,” Nilos gasped. His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, and the effort of this alone made his whole body shudder with pain. “I was returning from the departments of the General Logothete, when somebody set upon me from the shadows.”

“Who?” the Patrician demanded. He leaned towards Nilos. “Who set upon you? Did you recognise them?”

“No - I barely saw them,” Nilos shook. “They wounded me, but I ran away. Then I came back here.”

The following moment he released a panicked moan, as a terrible agony was sent through him—an agony that made his whole body convulse with pain. At which the Patrician glared at Paulos and gestured for him to back away, and promptly took over the task of stemming the blood flow.

“The task that I set you,” he murmured, looking down at Nilos as he held the rag against the wounds. “Did you succeed? Did you found out what the charges were?”

Nilos was so overcome with pain that he could not even sound words, but he managed to make a gesture with his head towards his right hand. The Patrician followed the gesture. He had not noticed it before, but clutched tightly in Nilos’ right hand was a small dispatch in the form of a papyrus scroll – of the official kind, with the official lead seal still attached.

He looked at Paulos. “Read it,” was all

that he said.

Paulos did as commanded. He took the dispatch from Nilos' hand and carried it swiftly to the small, rough glass window in the stone walls on the other side of the room. There, unscrolling it, he began to read it to himself in the sunlight.

“Joannis – it is a dispatch from the Eparch of the City to the General Logothete, relating to the status of the prisoners in the Praitorion,” he said after a short time. “It seems that they are becoming short on space, and the cells are becoming cramped. And Sergios... the Patrikios Sergios was arrested on the grounds that he conspired against the Emperor's life, just as we feared – as evidenced by disrespectful remarks made towards the taxation officials.”

“I see that our friend Theodotos has telling the Emperor stories once again,” the Patrician growled.

“Konstantinos, the former Kuropalates, has been arrested too,” Paulos said, as he unrolled the letter further. He let out a sudden horrified gasp. “God protect us – I can scarcely believe it. The former Count of the excubitores, Anastasios, was put to death last month on the same grounds.”

“God forbid – I never got word of a trial,” the Patrician said, crossing himself and staring at his deputy in disbelief. “I assumed he was still imprisoned along with the rest. Bless his soul – he was a good Christian, and a very able man.”

“Indeed. And that is not the end of it.”

“Yes?”

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Paulos hesitated, unscrolling the letter further. “Your Honour, it appears that the Strategos of the Anatolics Leontios was arrested only this morning, on the same grounds.”

At which the Patrician looked at him sharply, dark eyes flashing. “What is this? The Patrician Leontios? That is ludicrous – we all know that he is Romania’s most capable General.”

“I am only repeating what it says,” Paulos said. “It is the same story. He was seized and arrested only hours ago – apparently he disagreed with the Emperor over the advance into Armenia. Theodotos advised that he could not be trusted.”

The Patrician opened his mouth, about to make a response – but the next moment Nilos began to shudder and moan on the floor. Although still smarting because of the bad news, the Patrician turned his attention to his notarios. He pressed down harder against the wound, praying as he made a desperate attempt to stem the blood flow.

“I have sent for a physician,” he murmured over Nilos’ shuddering body. He crossed himself again. “Great and Sinless virgin, oh Theometer, preserve this man. You have served me loyally for all these years, Nilos. Do not die now, before me.”

But as if it were indeed an omen from the Theometer, the following moment a small trickle of blood began to flow from the corner of Nilos' mouth, into his beard; and the next moment, he had become a stream. Nilos was choking, his eyes rolling back in his sockets.

When he saw this, then the Patrician knew that he would die. With stiff and defiant fingers, he began to pull the ivory pendant from around his own neck - the one in the shape of a crucifix. With some difficulty, he succeeded in pulling it from his own neck and transferred it into Nilos’ shaking hands, closing Nilos’ dying fingers around it; and he closed his own hands around the other man’s.

“Magistros,” Paulos murmured in a small voice, as he watched this from the window. “Joannis. This is a warning. I think we all know that if the General Logothete has his way, it will happen to you next.”

But the Patrician said nothing to this. Instead, he also made the sign of the cross and prayed ceaselessly, while the last shuddered gasps rushed out of Nilos' body and death glazed over his eyes, and his soul abandoned the present life.

Photomanipulation by Carla Schodde

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24

Ad animos silvarum, avete!

Qui in silvas magnas habitatis,

Qui in ramos arborum dormitis,

Et qui tempus formosus celebritis

Cum floribus multis, saltatione et amore.

Ad animos maris, avete!

Qui pastores piscium estis.

Qui ad terram curritis

In equis undarum

Et ad mare iterum curritis

Carmen ad Animos Naturae Andrew Adorno

A Paean to the Classics Library and Winter Introverts

Kyle Conrau-Lewis

quam multum diligo tranquillam bibliotecam!

nunc est bruma dolens atque extera flamina fligunt.

interea tamen ipse apricor biblioteca!

hic intus calor est dum clamant frigida flabra.

hic est Maeonides Nasoque volumine tristis

Vergiliusque augustus, tellurem armaque dicens.

hic est Euripides Medeae crimina pingens.

Statius hic mihi nitens grandia carmina texit!

nox venit sero sed me non somnia tangunt.

biblioteca mihi domus atque mihi castellum.

Ad animos fluminum, avete!

Qui in montes incipietis

Et festinatis et festinatis

Ad os maris magni.

Ad animos agrorum, avete!

Qui uvam et fructus magnos facitis crescere

Et gaudet Bacchus,

Quod multum vinum bibet.

Artwork on this page by Kathryn Forrest

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To the spirits of the woods, hail!

Who in the great forests resideth,

Who in the branches of trees sleepeth,

And who the beautiful season celebrateth

With many flowers, dancing and love.

To the spirits of the sea, hail!

Who are the shepherds of the fish

Who to the land raceth

In a cavalry of waves

And then to the sea raceth back.

Ode to the Spirits of Nature Andrew Adorno

A Paean to the Classics Library and Winter Introverts

Kyle Conrau-Lewis

How much I love the peaceful library!

Now there is grieving winter and the outside winds batter.

Meanwhile I enjoy the library alone by myself.

Here inside is warmth while the cold winds scream.

Here is also the Maeonian Homer, and Ovid, sad from writing,

and august Vergil singing of land and wars.

Here is Euripides composing about the crimes of Medea.

Brilliant Statius is also here, who composed epic poems for me!

Night has come late but sleep does not take me.

The library is my home and the library is my castle.

To the spirits of the rivers, hail!

Who in the mountains beginneth

And hurry and hurry

To the mouth of the great sea.

To the spirits of the fields, hail!

Who the grapes and fruit make grow

And rejoiceth Bacchus,

For he doth drink much wine.

Artwork on this page by Kathryn Forrest

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26

(Marcus Tullius Cicero knocks on the door to Assoc. Prof. Parshia Lee-Stecum’s office, which is half-open.)

PARSHIA: Oh, please come in, Marcus.

CICERO: (lingers in the doorway, some-what affronted)

PARSHIA: Marcus? (glances at paper) Sorry, you’re Marcus Tullius Cicero, right?

CICERO: Well of course. I’m just aston-ished that anyone could be so barbaric as to call an unfamiliar by his praenomen.

PARSHIA: Oh, my apologies, cultural differences. How would you like me to address you?

CICERO: (puffs up his chest) I? Myself? How would I like myself to be ad-dressed? I, the saviour of the Republic, defender of the mos maiorum, father of the fatherland?

PARSHIA: (raises eyebrow) You’re ask-ing me to call you father of the father-land?

CICERO: Oh, no no! (chuckles in false modesty) No need to call me that. I will eschew all of those titles and honours. Just for you, of course. Call me Cicero.

PARSHIA: Right then, Cicero, take a seat, take a seat. I would like to talk to you about your paper.

CICERO: With pleasure. I hope you found it to your liking.

PARSHIA: I think your topic was about Roman attitudes to divination and augury?

Ciceronian Disputations Carla Schodde

CICERO: De Divinatione. That’s the one. And you liked my style? Very flowing and lucid, yet not too flowery like the Asiatic school...

PARSHIA: Oh the style? That was quite good, actually. But I have a few very pressing issues before that.

CICERO: ...You sound concerned.

PARSHIA: Indeed. Now I ask this with all due respect, but... is this the first time you’ve written an academic pa-per?

CICERO: (stands up) By the immortal gods! What sort of infernal delusion has vomited itself out of the under-world and taken charge of your senses? You should very well know I’ve written about half a library of Latin philosophy!

PARSHIA: Yes, yes, but I meant a re-search assignment. One which fulfils modern research standards.

CICERO: (sits back down) I beg your pardon. I suppose I am a little old-fashioned. That is to say, I hold fast to the paradigms of literature which have stood the test of time for centuries, never diminishing in their power or insight. But do tell me: I’d like to know how in Hercules’ name my work has failed these newfangled “modern re-search standards” you speak of.

PARSHIA: Right then, I’ll start with what surprised me the most. Why did you write this as a dialogue between yourself and your younger brother, Quintus?

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CICERO: That shouldn’t be any sort of surprise.

PARSHIA: Well, admittedly, it’s in keeping with your other work, Cicero.

CICERO: But you seem to be utterly baffled at my decision to write the the-sis in dialogue format.

PARSHIA: Of course I’m baffled. I have never, in eighteen years, marked an essay which was written as a dia-logue. Why did you think it would be a good idea to write this as a fictional conversation between you and your brother?

CICERO: Well, good sir. If you knew anything, you’d agree with me that the best philosophy was written in dia-logue. Haven’t you read anything by Plato?

PARSHIA: Yes, I have. I often recog-nised his themes in your work...

CICERO: Ah, so you see! I gave you philosophy of the highest calibre.

PARSHIA: And that gets me to the next rather critical issue. You... stole some of his arguments.

CICERO: Well yes, I just told you. I handed in the best philosophy I could find.

PARSHIA: Yes, I know Plato was rele-vant to your topic. The problem is that you took his work and didn’t reference it properly. In fact you didn’t reference anything at all.

CICERO: Now, I think you’re being a bit unfair there. I mean look at this part... (opens paper)

PARSHIA: This passage here? You just said that Plato wrote this. You didn’t cite the work, chapter and verse.

CICERO: Why? Would it be too hard for you to find exactly where Plato says this, if that’s so important to you?

PARSHIA: It’s not just important to me. It’s important to everyone who reads your work. As a community of scholars we need to be able to check the refer-ences in each other’s papers, so we can follow arguments back to their original sources. But you haven’t done that for me.

CICERO: Wow. So you really don’t trust me unless I put footnotes over every bit of secondhand text?

PARSHIA: It is a requirement.

CICERO: It’s almost like you don’t re-spect me as a Roman. I did read a lot, but I’ve never seen anyone cite the way you ask. What exactly do you mean by “chapter” and “verse”?

PARSHIA: Haven’t you seen the little numbers on the side of the Loeb texts?

CICERO: ...Loeb texts?

PARSHIA: Well, not just the Loeb edi-tions, any published texts should have numbers indicating the divisions of sec-tions.

CICERO: Well, not the scrolls in my li-brary.

PARSHIA: Where did you get your texts from?

CICERO: Oh, some of them were gifts, some were inherited, some I bought from the local bookshop on the Palatine, next to the fullery. They have sales on after Saturnalia.

PARSHIA: So you’ve been using texts that don’t have any versification?

CICERO: Well, you show me a better text than the ones I have at home.

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PARSHIA: All right then, here’s the Loeb edition of Plato’s Republic.

CICERO: Sweet Hercules. (tosses it in his hands) What a strange device. (flipping it open and turning the pages back and forth) Is this what they call a... a codex?

PARSHIA: It’s a book.

CICERO: And what kind of foreign script is this? (points on the page)

PARSHIA: It’s lower case Greek letters with polytonic accents.

CICERO: “Lower case”? “Polytonic ac-cents”? I’ve never seen that before. It’s like gibberish to my eyes. Oh but look! There are spaces between the words, and dots at the end of sentences, so

even a child of yours could follow along.

PARSHIA: You don’t need to be pa-tronising.

CICERO: So what are these funny symbols down the side?

PARSHIA: Yes, those. They’re Hindu-Arabic numerals, indicating chapters and verses.

CICERO: Barbarous codes. Foreign let-ters. I don’t think I can master this sys-tem quite yet. (snaps book shut, and gets an idea) Ah! But my slave could work on this, and he’ll put in those “chapter and verse” numbers, and it’ll all be well.

PARSHIA: Oh, well, this is a little awkward. That would usually count as collaboration, and we don’t allow that for graded assessment. But maybe if we argue you’re from a culturally disadvantaged background, the board might let you get outside help for the citation and bibliography.

CICERO: Now I think you’re being pa-tronising, calling me culturally disad-vantaged. I’ll have you know I had the best education a Roman citizen could ever have.

PARSHIA: But you can’t read a Loeb.

CICERO: My slave Tiro will work it out. He’s brilliantly clever, and I never need to credit him for anything.

PARSHIA: (shifts uncomfortably) Ahem. Moving on, I have some more peculiar observations.

CICERO: Oh yes?

PARSHIA: You know this is meant to be an academic paper, for a scholarly audience.

Cartoon by Kathryn Forrest

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CICERO: I believe I delivered the most majestic writing I could muster, worthy of noble Romans.

PARSHIA: You made a lot of pop cul-tural references.

CICERO: Your point?

PARSHIA: Well, I’m not sure if the co-median Plautus is the best kind of re-source for a philosophical treatise.

CICERO: Everyone likes Plautus. I could have done Terence, but he’s a bit more classroomy, if you know what I mean.

PARSHIA: But why insert lines of com-edy? Did you ever ask yourself, “is this really necessary? Am I just putting in a reference to slapstick because I can?”

CICERO: I heartily disagree. Comedy is a great rhetorical device. Keeps my au-dience awake.

PARSHIA: So was that the reason you also put in that quip about the eating habits of the Pythagoreans?

CICERO: (sniggers) You saw that, didn’t you?

PARSHIA: I quote: “the Pythagoreans were forbidden to indulge in beans; for that food produces great flatulence and induces a condition at war with a soul in search for truth.”

CICERO: And even then, it didn’t stop them from being a bunch of windbags!

PARSHIA: Yes, you made that joke too.

CICERO: Ah, I can’t help but laugh at my own brilliance.

PARSHIA: You didn’t think it would be at odds with the tone of an academic paper?

CICERO: Quite the contrary. There’s

nothing worse than boring philosophy! If I ever write anything that’s dull or laborious, it’s fit only for the rubbish pile.

PARSHIA: Yes, I’ve already said that your style is very good. But you needed to make it absolutely clear how your arguments advance and support a contention. I think that sometimes gets a little lost in your dialogue.

CICERO: Like where?

PARSHIA: Like where you took an ex-tended quotation from your own epic poem that you wrote about yourself.

CICERO: Ah, On My Consulship. I don’t see any problem with that. It was completely in character for my brother to recite my own epic poem to me.

PARSHIA: Your younger brother, Quintus Cicero, the one whose career would be eternally overshadowed by your fame – he would have recited these lines to you?

“You, being consul, at once did observe the swift constellations,

Noting the glare of luminous stars in direful conjunction:

Then you beheld the tremulous sheen of the Northern aurora,

When, on ascending the moun-tainous heights of snowy Alba-nus,

You offered joyful libations of milk at the Feast of the Latins...”

CICERO: Stirring words, if I may say so myself. Oh, I just did.

PARSHIA: (raises eyebrow)

CICERO: What, you... think it wasn’t in the best taste?

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PARSHIA: Well you tell me.

“Torn from these studies, in youth's early dawn, your country recalled you,

Giving you place in the thick of the struggle for public prefer-ment;

Yet, in seeking surcease from the worries and cares that oppress you,

Time, that the State leaves free, you devote to us and to learn-ing.”

CICERO: I’m getting tears in my eyes just listening to it.

PARSHIA: I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t sound professional enough for an aca-demic paper. We usually advise against even using the first person pronoun.

CICERO: I can refer to myself in the third person.

PARSHIA: (sternly) Cicero.

CICERO: (drops voice) And what are you, barbarous academic, going to do about it?

PARSHIA: I can’t let your paper pass unless you make major changes to it.

CICERO: I get it.

PARSHIA: You get it?

CICERO: You’re jealous.

PARSHIA: Go on. (starts to smile)

CICERO: You’re jealous because no one is ever going to read your work to find out about you. They only read your pa-pers to hear more about people like me, the great Roman and Greek authors and statesmen. And in thirty years time your theories will be obsolete, but for thousands of years everyone is going to remember that year I, Cicero, was con-sul, and recite my poem again and again, and again and again and again!

PARSHIA: Are you done?

CICERO: Yes. I have no more need to associate with this newfangled modern research. I’m a classical author, and by the immortal gods I’m proud of it. Good day to you sir.

PARSHIA: Don’t forget to take your scroll case on the way out.

CICERO: Good day!

PARSHIA: And one last thing.

CICERO: Why yes?

PARSHIA: (smiles) Your epic poem sur-vives only in fragments.

CICERO: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Translations of De Divinatione from the Loeb Classical Library, vol. 20, English translation by W. A. Falconer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1923.

Carla Schodde runs a Classics and Medieval themed blog, Found in Antiquity. Check out other articles by her at foundinantiquity.com

http://www.foundinantiquity.com

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Ancient Recipes Alice McInnes

Roman Salad

This recipe comes from the writings of Lucius Junius Moderatus Columella, in the

first century CE. The Romans ate such salads as an entrée to a main meal.

Ingredients

1 bunch coriander

1 bunch parsley

1 bunch mint

1/3 of a leek

5 sprigs thyme

100g feta cheese

3 tbsp white vinegar

5 tbsp olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Method

Wash and finely chop herbs and leek and place in mixing bowl.

Crumble feta into herb mixture.

Mix oil and vinegar, and add to bowl. Season to taste.

Mix well and serve with bread or biscuits.

Mesopotamian Palace Cake

Ingredients

1 cup dates

1/3 cup raisins

2 teaspoons ground fennel or aniseed

1/3 cup cottage cheese

125g unsalted butter

2 eggs

1/3 cup milk

1/3 cup honey

1 1/2 cups plain flour

Method

Preheat the oven to 160oC.

Finely chop dates and combine with raisins, and spice. Press the cottage cheese through a strainer to break up the curds.

Melt butter, beat eggs and combine with cheese and milk. Slowly stir into the flour, moistening thoroughly.

Finely chop dates, and stir into the mixture, along with raisins and spice.

Pour the batter into a greased cake tin and

bake for 45-55 minutes, or until a toothpick

inserted into the centre comes out clean.

Adapted from Kaufman, Cathy K. Cooking in Ancient Civilisations. Westport: Green-

wood Press, 2006.

Adapted from Columella, Re Rustica, 12.54, online at www.press.uchicago.edu/Misc/

Chicago/233472.html

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Apotheosis:

The Battle Between Physical Power and Social Power Brigitte Garofalo

Greek and Roman accounts on the apotheoses of Hercules and Romulus – while having some similarities – broadly differ in the importance they attribute to physical power and social power. Each apotheosis arises from different beginnings: one immortal, the other mortal. Their pre-deification period highlights the varying ways of achieving deification. Finally, the justifications given for each apotheosis are different, and reward different virtues – one, physical superiority, the other, political and social superiority. However, though differences between accounts are evident, it is important also to note the similarities, highlighting the trends in mortal to immortal transformations.

In comparing accounts on the apotheoses of Hercules and of Romulus, the first striking difference is that they were each initiated by different sectors of ‘society’: the former, by the gods, the latter, by the people. In the account of Hercules’ deification, the gods have complete influence over his elevation. Ovid directly highlights the approval of the gods, when he states that ‘The gods agreed, and even royal Juno’ (Ovid, Metamorphoses 9.260). By contrast, Romulus’ induction was caused by the will of his people, and not as directly carried out. The disappearance of Romulus and the political controversy within the senate1 influenced ‘a few voices [to] beg[i]n to proclaim Romulus’s divinity’ (Livy, Ab Vrbe Condita, 1.16). The decision of

deification was in Hercules’ case generated by deities, while that of Romulus arose out of political and civilian initiative.

A further notable difference between the two accounts is in the events preceding the deification: while one emphasises the weakness of the demigod, the other emphasises his influence. Strength, however, defines Hercules, and the events before his deification contrast with this. Ovid’s description of Hercules - ‘like a bull bears a hunting-spear lodged in its body’ (Metamorphoses, 9.205–206) - depicts suffering, and additionally, associates Hercules with animal-like qualities: ‘that man, growling groans’ (Metamorphoses, 9.207), thus suggesting that Hercules has become vulnerable and wild. Conversely, the narrative leading to Romulus’ deification exposes more about his relationship with the populace. We hear that the senate issues2 influenced Proculus to ‘declare that [Romulus] had been carried up on high by a whirlwind’ (Livy, Ab Vrbe Condita, 1.16), thus unifying Romans. In each case, it can be seen that the apotheoses arise out of differing events: one, accidental poisoning showing vulnerability, and the other, a sudden disappearance influencing a political manoeuvre.

Similarly, justifications for the apotheoses differ in both accounts: while Hercules is rewarded for his physical strength, Romulus is granted

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divine status due to his political strength and ties to the heritage of Rome. Hercules possesses physical superiority beyond human limits3, and his deification acknowledges this: as Ovid writes, ‘he has earned that favour by his deeds’ (Ovid, Metamorphoses, 9.245). Conversely, Romulus receives divine status due to his founding of Rome and, evidently, his ruling of the city. Therefore, Romulus’ ties to Rome cause Livy to claim that upon his disappearance Romans ‘felt like children bereft of a father and for a long time stood in sorrowful silence’ (Livy, Ab Vrbe Condita, 1.16). Naturally, then, Romulus would become ‘the father’ (Livy, Ab Vrbe Condita, 1.16) of Rome. Though Hercules and Romulus ultimately achieve identical status, their journeys to divinity are different.

Despite these differences, however, there are certain similarities evident in the apotheoses. In both cases, Hercules and Romulus have divine connections pre-apotheosis. As the son of Jupiter, Hercules is pitied by his father. Jupiter decrees that ‘only his mother’s heritage, / His mortal part, will feel the fire; that part / Which comes from [Jupiter], no flames will ever master’ (Ovid, Metamorphoses, 9.250). Jupiter thus raises Hercules to divinity for protection. Similarly, Romulus, the son of Mars, has an ancestry tracing to the Trojan prince Aeneas, son of Venus. His apotheosis was foreshadowed in Aeneas’ journey to the underworld, as seen in a well-known passage in Virgil: ‘See Romulus the great…Born from a god, himself to godhead born’ (Virgil, Aeneid, 6.777 – 787). For Romans, this would have provided further explanation for Romulus’ deification. Hercules and Romulus share a common feature: both are connected to a deity.

This connection, in both cases, gives validity to the apotheosis.

In conclusion, the apotheoses accounts of Hercules and Romulus show differing pathways to becoming divine. Firstly, Hercules’ apotheosis is an initiative of the gods, whereas Romulus’ is one of the people. Secondly, examining pre-deification events expose Hercules as defeated, while Romulus’ disappearance causes anxiety from his people and his senate. Thirdly, while the justification for Hercules’ apotheosis is his inhuman strength, Romulus’ is leadership. Nonetheless, both accounts share a divine connection, a feature fundamental to apotheosis. Overall, the accounts aim at appreciating and highlighting different features of man: human and social superiority.

1. See: Plutarch, Life of Numa Pompilius, 2.2 – 3.

2. See: Dio, Roman History, 1. Dio contends that without a king, the Romans felt unease and civil unrest arose. Similarly, he contends that the senators of Rome disapproved of Romulus’ power and after seeing the response to his disappearance decided to pronounce him a god, putting aside their anger to unite the Roman people they were now accountable for.

3. The 12 Labors of Hercules, see: Pesudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheke, 2.5.1 – 2 and 2.5.12.

Bibliography

Dio, Roman History, trans. E. Cary (Suffolk, 1924), 1.

Ovid, Metamorphoses, trans. A. D. Melville (Oxford, 1986), 9.159 – 280.

Ovid, Metamorphoses II, trans. F. J. Miller (London, 1958), 9.204 – 210.

Livy, Ab Vrbe Condita, trans. A. De Selincourt (Harmondsworth, 1971), 1.16.

Plutarch, Life of Numa Pompilius, trans. J. Dryden (London, 1683), 2.2 – 3.

Virgil, Aeneid, trans. J. Dryden (London, 1997), 6.777 – 787.

Artwork by Carly Skinner

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Every July for the past seven years has been spent with a team of University of Melbourne students working in Area A, in the early Philistine sector of Tell es-Safi/Gath, in collaboration with Prof. Aren Maeir of Bar-Ilan University and specialist members of the excavation project. The Tell es -Safi/Gath Archaeological Project is a long-term collaborative project begun in 1996 under the direction of Prof. Aren M. Maeir as a consortium involving foreign research partners. It is aimed at studying the archaeology of one of the largest and most important multi-period sites in Israel, which was the

location of Gath, the city associated with the giant Goliath in the Old Testament, and one of the five main cities of the Philistine Pentapolis. For the last six years, I have been directing excavations in the early Philistine part of the site, Area A, where I lead the largest Australian project in Israel with support from the Australian Research Council.

Area A has yielded many interesting finds over the years, including stratified and highly varied deposits of animal bones (including fish, dog, pig, cattle, tortoise, and sheep/goat). Several of these deposits were associated with symbolic items including a burnt bull figurine, an iron blade, a terracotta

The Philistine Remains at Tell es-Safi/Gath: Their Regional and Transcultural Connections

with the Aegean and Cyprus

Assoc. Prof. Louise Hitchcock

Below: The Australian team at Tel Es-Safi/Gath

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mold for making plaques of the goddess Astarte, and feasting ware including Mycenaean IIIC and b i c h r o m e P h i l i s t i n e p o t t e r y . Widespread studies of the concept of “fragmentation” and symbolic aspects of discard activities, suggest that the fragmentary nature of symbolic objects that were deposited in pits and dumps points to the deliberate deposition of fragments, whereby joining pieces might be kept as a token of the event to evoke memory. The eating and drinking activities that preceded these depositions took place in large, open areas focused around outdoor hearths. Such gatherings served as contexts for promoting corporate identity and would have evoked feelings of nostalgia that were heightened by shared symbolism displayed on Mycenaean style pottery, and the effects of alcohol consumption. The regular renewal of hearths may have represented competition for status among different clan based factions on the site, through the creation of features that were focal points of communal gathering.

As new discoveries continuously challenge our ideas about the Philistines, the earliest Iron Age architecture at Tell es-Safi/Gath reflects different cultural and regional traditions within a simple village lifestyle. In Area A, a partially excavated domestic structure with a complicated history of construction and reuse is built on modest foundations of small stones. Although Iron IIA rebuilding of the 9th c. BCE disturbs the ground plans of our Iron I architecture, this year marked the discovery of our

first complete early Iron Age room as well as a substantial mud brick wall. The room contained several loom weights, a scarab of Thutmosis III bearing the inscription Men-Kheper-Re, and a faience amulet of Thoth. Just outside the room, an intriguing ivory object with engraved designs was uncovered toward the end of the excavation. It was taken out in a block of soil in order to preserve its micro-climate, that is, to keep it from drying out and crumbling. In two months time, it will be excavated by a conservator, so stay tuned for further updates.

There is clear evidence of architectural reuse with older walls being extended, floor levels being raised to cover some earlier walls, while continuing to make use of other associated walls. This apparent emphasis on the modification and reuse of existing structures

Volunteer Sarah Klavins works with a conservator to excavate the ivory object.

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sugge st s a co nt in ue d, mu l t i -generational use of architecture that elsewhere has been termed “curation,” which promotes cultural continuity with the past. In contrast, the Iron IIA structures of the 9th c. BCE, while maintaining a similar orientation to their Iron I/IIA counterparts, represent a dynamic change and possibly a reorientation in the nature of the community at Tell es-Safi/Gath. It is marked by the creation of new buildings constructed on massive stone foundations. However, these 9th c. walls also show a concern with maintaining links with the past through the reuse of stone, as shown in the discovery of a reused column base while dismantling a 9th c. wall. The column base suggests an earlier public building at Tell es-Safi in addition to the “temple” with

columned hall excavated to the east of us several years ago. Intensive scientific sampling in our area of olive pits and other botanical remains has also uncovered strata from the Late Bronze Age and several strata of the 10th century, which will make Area A of key importance for establishing the history of the