In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 121.2 (2000) 324-328 [Access article in PDF] Michael C. J. Putnam. Virgil's Epic Designs: Ekphrasis in the Aeneid. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998. xii 1 257 pp. Cloth, $35. This is a book about ekphrasis, about the Aeneid, about ancient Greek and Latin literature, about poetry and poetics, and about the ways in which literature can affect the way we (...) live our lives. But most of all, it is a tremendous book on the Aeneid.The six chapters focus on notable points of ekphrasis: Dido's Murals, the Cloak of Cloanthus, Daedalus' Sculptures, Silvia's Stag, the Shield of Aeneas, and the Baldric of Pallas. The dominant figure characterizing ekphrasis in the Aeneid is synecdoche: that is, ekphrasis, Putnam shows us, serves as a mise en abîme in the Aeneid, in which the circularity of ekphrasis both interrupts and comments on the narrative linearity of epic (97, 204, passim). Ekphrasis and epic complement and analogize one another, and therein Virgil is teaching us about major themes of the Aeneid. The most abstract of these themes can perhaps be paraphrased as follows: epic poetry is linear, historical, teleological, and temporal; ekphrasis, something of a lyric mode within epic, is circular, repetitious, and atemporal. The linearity of history becomes a falsifying teleology, a deceptive myth of progress. This is counterbalanced by the ekphrases; their circularity, both in form and content, points to the circular, cyclical nature of history--there is, in the end, no progress (see, e.g., 31, 42, 46, 61, 154-55, 209).Most of what I think is important about ekphrasis is in this book; moreover, much that I had never considered before now seems obvious, after reading it. I cannot, however, summarize the book, and what follows is an exhortation, rather than an outline. The force of Putnam's analysis does not lend itself well to summary, even his own--it would be a mistake to read merely his introduction and conclusion. Reading Putnam I am reminded of William Blake's Assumption of Total Significance, as named and brought to us again by the linguist Háj Ross: this is the assumption that any and every aspect of a text (or other work of art) has the potential to be of the utmost importance. Putnam proves this by his own practice, tracing threads of meaning and resonance from the specific details of the language of the text, with interpretation both bold and securely grounded. In doing so, he shows and recommends a fruitful, almost Emersonian, faith in the individual passage as a microcosm (as synecdoche, as a mise en abîme), a faith borne out in spades by his analysis. At times, some readers will not accept his interpretations, but this is not a problem. Putnam invites [End Page 324] us to go with him on a slow, careful walk through the Aeneid; if we do not see what he sees, that is fine; but he tells us carefully, forcefully, and with great clarity why he himself sees it. Those who are rapid readers may thus not understand the significance of this book and may likely give it short shrift: the best of it cannot be skimmed. But then such rapid readers are very unlikely to understand or care about poetry, especially Virgilian poetry. The details of Virgil's language and the detail of Putnam's discussion are what will, in William Carlos Williams's phrase, "startle us anew."It is most useful, then, to give a sample, but it is not easy to choose. To my mind, the most compelling chapter is that on Daedalus. The association of Virgil and Daedalus is powerfully illustrated; Putnam argues that in Daedalus Virgil is giving us his own "spiritual and psychic" biography as an artist. Neither artist can idealize, neither can bring to completeness, neither can accept the tempting comfort of beauty, the "veneer of charm over terrible truths," and neither can help but see "nature's final pyrrhic triumph over art" (e.g., 84, 91, 94, 95). I quote an... (shrink)

We know of several Greek translators of works originally written in Latin. Of non-Christian, purely literary material, we know of six. First, there is Claudius' powerful freedman, Polybius, who turned Homer into Latin prose and Vergil into Greek prose. Then, under Hadrian we have Zenobius ‘the sophist’, who translates Sallust'sHistoriesand “so-called Wars’. The translation into Greek of Hyginus' Fabulae can be dated precisely, for its unknown author tells us that he copied it up on 11th September 207. Similarly, (...) the extant translation of Eutropius'Breviariumby Paianios, probably a pupil of Libanius, can be dated securely to about 380. The translation of the same by Capito, which survives in excerpts, is placed with some confidence at the beginning of the sixth century. The date and identity of the last of our translators, ‘Arrian the epic poet’, who rendered theGeorgicsof Vergil, is unclear. (shrink)

Seven mentions of Homer, Homeric characters or passages are contained in Fronto’s De orationibus and his five letters known as De eloquentia. Although these references might seem surprising in rhetorical texts, they form in fact a rather coherent corpus which features the famous epic poet in a singular fashion. His poems are however neither quoted nor commented upon at length. On the contrary the references are closely related to Fronto’s aims and thoughts and the poet as represented is different (...) from both the actual and the traditional Homer. He is deprived of his own characteristics and becomes a rhetor and one of the most important orators. He is thus to be considered and followed by someone trying to define which is the best oratorical style in general and the best type of eloquence for an emperor in particular. Even if this sort of metamorphosis is not without precedent in Latin literature and oratory, the Frontonian Homer, whose perfect style is a model of purity and naturalness, is a new Homer reflecting a second-century rhetorician’s thinking. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Latin Poets and Italian GodsDarja Šterbenc ErkerElaine Fantham. Latin Poets and Italian Gods. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009. xii + 229 pp. Cloth, $55.Which kind of gods and religious experience does Elaine Fantham study in her book on Latin poets and Italian gods? Instead of a fruitless quest for the origins of religion, Fantham examines minor gods in Latin literature. The idea for (...) writing a book on “Italian” gods stems from the laudes Italiae in Augustan literature and the range of the discussed passages on gods of Rome and Latium is impressive, from Virgil’s Aeneid, Ovid’s Fasti and Metamorphoses to Statius’ Silvae and Carmina Priapeia. This study of religious beliefs and literary representations of the gods reveals a vivid picture of ancient worship of the minor gods, especially as portrayed in Latin literature. In addition, Fantham pays attention to earlier Greek and Hellenistic models of the poetic representations of the gods in her discussions of different kinds of texts (elegies, epics, epigrams, inscriptions).My review will concentrate on the notion of religion and gods presented in this book. The first part of the book (“Honouring the Italian Gods”) consists of three chapters (“Rustica Numina: Country Gods of Italy and Their Reception in Roman Poetry,” “Virgil’s Gods of the Land,” and “Ovid’s Fasti and the Local Gods of the City”), which originally comprised a series of public lectures for a general audience. The second part, entitled “Counter-Examples, and the Triumph of Artistry over Fading Devotion,” consists of three further chapters (“Ovidian Variations: From Friendly Flora to Lewd Salmacis and Angry Acheloüs,” “Gods in a Man-made Landscape: Priapus,” and “Gods in Statian Settings”). Whereas the literary evidence presented in the first part concerns the worship of these gods, the second part with its “Counter-Examples” discusses poetic representations of the gods which according to the author do not have a direct connection to the religious life and worship of the gods; therefore, Fantham speaks of “fading devotion.”In her preface Fantham describes Ovid’s Fasti as “replete with echoes and reconstructions of primitive Roman worship” (ix). Virgil’s Aeneid and Ovid’s Fasti depict “the devotion and will to believe,” but non-Roman myths in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, in the second part, stand for “detached fantasy” (ix). Fantham’s stated purpose is to provide “a better sense of what was gained and lost when Rome’s increasingly cosmopolitan culture moved beyond Augustus’ renewal or re-creation of Italian religion to replace piety with fantasy and emotional detachment from Italy’s countryside and its gods” (xi). The underlying idea of the book is that the worship of the agricultural gods, nymphs, and forest-gods was a real, authentic religion of the Latins. But, Fantham’s is a modern conception of what real, authentic religion in ancient Italy was supposed to be. Unfortunately, this notion of religion does not take into account the recent research on Roman religion which concentrates on the epigraphic evidence (as well as many other kinds of textual evidence, including literary) and stresses the dominance of orthopraxy (correct ritual performance) over a close, emotional relationship between the god and the worshipper. Such work, acting as a corrective to the assumption of an [End Page 693] ancient, authentic, emotional relationship with the gods in supposed agricultural rituals as imagined by James Frazer at the end of the nineteenth century, could have been usefully incorporated (e.g., J. Scheid, Introduction to Roman Religion [Bloomington 2003] and M. Beard, J. North, and S. Price, Religions of Rome [Cambridge 1998]).In the first chapter Fantham outlines the evidence for the survival of cults of rustic demigods and stresses the fact that rivers and springs were conceived by the ancients as gods and nymphs and were worshipped in various cults. Thus, each river or spring was worshipped individually, and the traces of many different local spring nymphs or river gods remain in numerous inscriptions. The inscriptions dedicated to the nymphs presiding over healing springs range from fulfillment of vows to nymphs who healed a person to the defixiones in which the petitioner asks the nymphs to curse a rival. Fantham also presents various... (shrink)

Although the influence of Homer on Western literature has long commanded critical attention, little has been written on how various generations of readers have found menaing in his texts. These seven essays explore the ways in which the Illiad and the Odyssey have been read from the time of Homer through the Renaissance. By asking what questions early readers expected the texts to answer and looking at how these expectations changed over time, the authors clarify the position of the Illiad (...) and the Odyssey in the intellectual world of antiqueity while offering historical insight into the nature of reading. The collection surveys the entire field of preserved ancient interpretations of Homer, beginning with the fictional audiences portrayed within the poems themselves, proceedings to readings by Aristotle, the Stoics, and Aristarchus and Crates, and culminating in the spritiualized allegorical reading current among Platonists of the fifth and sixth centuries C.E. The influence of these ancient interpretations is then examined in Byzantium and in the Latin West during the Renaissance. Contributors to this volume are Robert Browning, Anthony Grafton, Robert Lamberton, A.A. Long, James Porter, Nicholas Richardson, and Charles Segal. Robert Lamberton is Assistant Professor of Classics and John J. Keaney is Professor of Classics, both at Princeton University. Originally published in 1992. The Princeton Legacy Library uses the latest print-on-demand technology to again make available previously out-of-print books from the distinguished backlist of Princeton University Press. These editions preserve the original texts of these important books while presenting them in durable paperback and hardcover editions. The goal of the Princeton Legacy Library is to vastly increase access to the rich scholarly heritage found in the thousands of books published by Princeton University Press since its founding in 1905. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Gilgamesh among Us: Modern Encounters with the Ancient Epic by Theodore ZiolkowskiJohannes HauboldTheodore Ziolkowski. Gilgamesh among Us: Modern Encounters with the Ancient Epic. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2011. xvi + 226 pp. 3 black-and-white ills. Cloth, $35.This book surveys modern receptions of the Gilgamesh Epic from the earliest lectures and publications of George Smith to recent reworkings of the epic in Western literature (...) and art. The argument is divided into five chapters. After an introduction which outlines the contents of the poem and tells the story of its rediscovery, chapter 1, “The Initial Reception (1884–1935),” takes us from Leonidas Le Cenci Hamilton’s Ishtar and Izdubar of 1884 via the “Babel and Bible” controversy of the early twentieth century to the predominantly German reception prior to World War II. Several major figures make an appearance here, including Freud, Jung, Rilke, Hesse, Mann, Döblin, Canetti, and Pannwitz. Chapter 2, “Representative Beginnings (1941–1958),” takes up the thread of German engagement with the towering achievements of Hermann Kasack’s Die Stadt hinter dem Strom (61–64) and, especially, Hans Henny Jahnn’s Fluß ohne Ufer (67–74), an enigmatic re-imagining of the Gilgamesh story on a scale that deserves a monograph study of its own. Elsewhere, the reception of Gilgamesh continues with “four poets in English” (Lucas and Bridson in Britain; Olson and Corso in the United States; 48–59) and with the first musical settings, among them Martinů’s oratorio The Epic of Gilgamesh (75–77). Chapter 3, “The Popularization of Gilgamesh (1959–1978),” surveys new translations into the major European languages (79–80), and with them a range of popular responses. Ziolkowski notes a surge in adaptations for children, as well as other initiatives aimed at a wider public (81–82). It is against this background, he argues, that we need to see more ambitious experiments in musical and literary reception, including Per Nørgård’s opera Gilgamesh (105–7); Louis Zukofsky’s “canto 23” (which forms part of his larger poetic cycle entitled “A,” 85–88); Stanisław Lem’s review of an imaginary Gilgamesh adaptation in his A Perfect Vacuum (Doskonała Próżnia, 97–99); and the “fictional exuberances” of John Gardner’s The Sunlight Dialogues, Philip Roth’s The Great American Novel, and Rhoda Lerman’s Call Me Ishtar (99–105). Ziolkowski also draws attention to what he argues was the first overtly gay reworking of Gilgamesh, in Guido Bachmann’s novel of the same name (91–94). Chapter 4, “The Contemporization of Gilgamesh (1979–1999),” continues the theme of popularization in a political key: Ziolkowski takes us on a whistle-stop tour of late twentieth-century preoccupations, from successive crises in the Near East (109) to post-colonialism (109–10); the spread of psychoanalysis, both in a Freudian and a Jungian key (112–19); deconstruction (118–19); the rise of ecologism [End Page 669] (110, 123–35); and minority politics in the USA (135–38). Chapter 5, “Gilgamesh in the Twenty-First Century (2000–2009),” sets out to show that “Gilgamesh, who was born and flourished in the mid-third millennium b.c.e., is alive and well” (154). Ziolkowski identifies “a new focus” (167) on cultural and religious conflict in the wake of Samuel Huntington and the events of 9/11, although it must be said that the responses of Schrott and Begrich (171–78) do not fit this framework particularly well, and in practice much of the chapter seems designed to tie up loose ends. The book is equipped with a timeline of works discussed (199–205), end notes (207–20), and an index (221–26), but no bibliography.In lucid and unpretentious prose, Ziolkowski sets out what he sees as the most significant “Western” responses to the epic of Gilgamesh. He leaves the Near and Far East to “appropriately qualified scholars” (x): one hopes that others will take up the invitation, and that they will make connections with the materials explored in this book. Ziolkowski also passes over Latin America and the Caribbean—perhaps he felt there was nothing to say (for a possible starting point, see C... (shrink)

The so-calledLatin Iliad, the main source for the knowledge of the Greek epic poem in the Latin West during the Middle Ages, is a hexametric poetic summary (epitome) of Homer'sIliadlikely dating from the Age of Nero, which reduces the 15,693 lines of the original to a mere 1,070 lines (6.8%).

While different in their approaches, structure and intended readership, the four books reviewed here are connected by their common aim of responding to traditional views of elegy as a minor, ‘softer’ genre, which stands in binary opposition to the magniloquence of epic. These books thus build upon long-established developments in the field of Latin literary criticism, which have contributed to a general reassessment, and deconstruction, of the taxonomic categorisations of Latin texts, and Latin poetry more specifically, (...) pointing out its generic fluidity (e.g. J.E.G. Zetzel, ‘Re-Creating the Canon: Augustan Poetry and the Alexandrian Past’, Critical Inquiry 10 [1983], 83–105; G.B. Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation: Genre and Poetic Memory in Virgil and Other Latin Poets, ed. tr. C. Segal [1986]). Notably, R.O.A.M. Lyne's study on Virgil's Aeneid (R.O.A.M. Lyne, Further Voices in Vergil's Aeneid [1992]) exemplifies this renewed interest in identifying unaligned and ambiguous perspectives (‘further voices’), especially within poetic texts composed in the Augustan or early imperial period. It is no surprise that the elegiac contents have catalysed these underlying streams of ambiguous, unsettled and self-reflective discourse, which – once allowed into the literary landscape of Latin poetry – shake generic boundaries. That Virgil did not write anything that can be formally regarded as elegy, stricto sensu, makes his oeuvre a promising space of enquiry for oblique and subterranean elegiac resonances. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Powers of Expression, Expressions of Power: Speech Presentation and Latin LiteratureEllen OliensisAndrew Laird. Powers of Expression, Expressions of Power: Speech Presentation and Latin Literature. Oxford Classical Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. xx + 358 pp. Cloth, $85.Prospective readers should not be put off by the title of this ambitious book. Though "speech presentation" (the use of direct discourse [DD], free indirect discourse [FID], etc.) may (...) seem a rather narrow and technical topic, Laird makes a persuasive case for its manifold significance. And while he foregrounds "Latin literature," Laird ranges freely across centuries and genres, drawing on texts as diverse as the Hittite SongofUllikummi, Sannazaro's DepartuVirginis, and a 1994 story in the DailyTelegraph. The result is a thoughtful and engaging study from which readers of very different interests and stripes will be able to profit. Three chapters on the theory of narrative representation and speech presentation are followed by another three exploring representational strategies in (mostly Latin) historiography, epic, and the novel; a final chapter treats the speeches of divine messengers in epic as "allegories of representation." The book is framed by a brief introduction and conclusion, the latter capped by a suggestive coda pointing to the multiple lines of research, across various disciplines, which might be opened up by a more scrupulous consideration of speech presentation.In the introduction, Laird outlines the benefits, practical and theoretical, of focusing on speech presentation: "First, [speech presentation] can throw light on the themes and stylistic features of particular texts. Second, functions of speech [End Page 596] presentation bear on broader concerns including form and content, representation, genre, ideology, and intertextuality" (xv). These claims are amply justified in the ensuing chapters. Laird's theoretical orientation generates an abundance of local insights. He suggests that Tacitus' contrasting introductions to the speeches of Calgacus and Agricola--the distancing locutusfertur versus the confident itadisseruit (Agr. 29.4, 33.1)--help differentiate barbarian from Roman by implying "that Agricola's oration possesses a greater ontological stature than Calgacus'" (126); that Encolpius' exploitation of what Laird dubs "angled narration of dialogue" (reserving DD for his interlocutors' speech and ID for his own) produces the effect of narratorial transparency in the Cena (217-20); that the use of direct discourse for Mercury's message and indirect for Fama's in Aeneid 4 "enhances the essential contrast between the nature of the two messengers" (272). In one of his boldest discussions (192-205), Laird reviews the unanswered speeches in the Aeneid and concludes that Virgil's epic is far more rigid than previous epics in associating speech with authority and dutiful silence with subordination (Laird interestingly contrasts Homeric epic, which proclaims this hierarchy but doesn't practice it with anything like Virgil's consistency); Laird goes on to speculate that this strong linkage of speech with authority also applies to Virgil's own epic discourse, which (like Aeneas' narration in books 2 and 3) is delivered to readers who are silent or even silenced.Occasionally, the marriage of theory and interpretation founders. For example, Laird's account of the multiple literary echoes in Encolpius's seaside soliloquy (Satyricon 81.1-82.1, discussed at 221-24) shows little trace of the theoretical self-consciousness displayed in his earlier remarks on the ideological character of intertextuality and its proximity to speech presentation. And the argument that the opening sequence of the Aeneid is designed to entice the reader into Virgil's "realist" fiction (157-64) rests on some unconvincing claims (e.g., that Aeneas' first speech "begins with a prayer" addressed to "the gods, or even the poem's audience" [162], and that Juno's first soliloquy has "the poem's audience or readers" as "her first addressees" [164]). Elsewhere, Laird suggests that Aeneas' parenthetical eloquaransileam? (Aen. 3.39) "could be FID conveying his own doubt and hesitation at the time of the incident he is describing" (182-83); but surely the question makes sense only if it is attached, not to the narrated past (where the relevant question would be "shall I keep pulling on this uncanny tree?") but to the present of narration.Although Laird, an astute reader, has much to teach us about... (shrink)

Epitaphium Damonis, Milton's lament for his friend Charles Diodati, is usually described as most strongly indebted to Theocritus? idylls, to Virgil's eclogues, and to Ovid's lament for Tibullus. However, closer examination reveals that Milton was even more closely indebted to Neo-Latin poets such as Sannazaro, Buchanan, Castiglione, Mantuan, and Zanchi. Whereas there are lines in Epitaphium Damonis that resemble those in Virgil and Ovid, there are just as many that resemble those in Neo-Latin poets. Although a pastoral, the (...) tone and atmosphere of the epitaph resemble more its Renaissance contemporaries than its more distant Latin and Greek forebears. This is especially evident in the intimate tone Milton assumes in addressing Damon-Diodati and in the elaborate digression he incorporates into the poem when he confides to his dead friend his plans for a future epic on an Arthurian theme. Milton's attempt to wed a Christian sensibility to a classical form also signals his indebtedness to his Renaissance predecessors, who similarly used classical pastoral to express Christian consolation. (shrink)

Although it is now fifteen years since G. Williams' thorough-going criticism of B. Axelson's Unpoetische Wörter, his discussion has failed to elicit the adverse response which might have been expected in view of the widespread influence exerted by the earlier work. The reason for this may be that Axelson's theory is so widely accepted that any refutation thereof may be disregarded. Yet surely Williams was right to point to the dangers of total reliance on statistics and to the necessity of (...) considering the contexts in which words occur in Latin poetry. In this respect, he was not so much rejecting Axelson's work as pointing to its inadequacies: whereas Axelson would be content to label a word that occurs only rarely in poetry as ‘unpoetisch’, it is necessary, as Williams demonstrates, to take the further step of determining the effect that such a word has in a given context. This approach will be particularly helpful, for example, in the case of parvulus at Virg. Aen. 4.328, where the heightened pathos achieved by Virgil's use of a diminutive is better appreciated by the reader who is aware of the scarcity of diminutive adjectives in poetry and in epic above all. To recognise parvulus as an ‘unpoetic word’, with Axelson, is the essential first step, but we should proceed a stage further to inquire what effect was intended by the employment of a form not normally found in elevated poetry. Of greater importance is Williams' rejection of the ‘hierarchy of genres’ theory, taken for granted by Axelson, that is, that Latin poetry may be divided into a number of higher- or lower-ranking genres and that the more elevated a genre the less unpoetic vocabulary it is liable to employ. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Beyond Revisionism:The Bicentennial of Independence, the Early Republican Experience, and Intellectual History in Latin AmericaElías José PaltiLatin America's Revolution of Independence was an event of world-historical importance. Citizens of different regions simultaneously created new nation states and established republican systems of government. This occurred at a time when the very meaning of the notions of "nation" and "republic" remained ill-defined. In such a context, a number of debates (...) naturally emerged regarding the tenets of modern politics, and the kind of dilemmas and problems contained therein.Yet the assessment of the historical relevance of these disputes has been precluded by the teleological assumptions which have informed traditional approaches in the history of ideas. These assumptions have led historians to interpret these disputes as mere expressions of local prejudices that prevented the correct understanding of the true meaning of the modern liberal concept of representative democracy. According to this traditional view, the concerns of Latin American commentators were seen as "deviations" from the rational path of conceptual development and understanding. It was necessary to undermine this traditional teleological prejudice before the debates around these notions produced in Latin America in the nineteenth century could reveal their historical significance and become matters for systematic analysis. The rise of a "new intellectual history," insofar as it has [End Page 593] questioned the assumed rationality and logical consistency of the putative models and disclosed the contingent nature of their foundations, has opened the door to an entirely new universe of problems and issues for scholarly research in the field of Latin American politico-intellectual history.The great wave of new studies on the crisis of the Spanish and Portuguese empires and the emergence of new national states, triggered by the approach of the Bicentennial of Independence, has been greatly influenced by this new set of questions.1 Historians from different countries in Latin America have revisited that fundamental event, and have sought to revise established perspectives in the field. This has made room for the development of a self-defined "revisionist" position. However, what is to be revised has not always been clear.The revisionists seek to dislocate an epic narrative of independence as the epiphany of long-lasting struggles of oppressed nations to recover their rights to self-determination.2 They argue that the teleological, nationalistic biases of traditional approaches led their authors to see as already present at the point of departure an entity (the nation) which actually could be perceived only at the point of arrival. If understood in this way, however, the revisionists' contributions are hardly innovative. In the decade of the 1960s, a series of studies, propelled by the spread in Latin America of Marxist thought and social history, as well as by the increasing presence of American and European historians in the field, had already destabilized Manichean emplotments of the Revolution of Independence as a struggle between liberty and oppression.3 These studies introduced a number of nuances that questioned the objective basis of the states that emerged from the rupture of colonial ties. Instead, they demonstrated that the new states were the result of the contingent process of formation rather than its premise. [End Page 594] Yet it is not here that the profound transformation of the discipline has occurred. Revisionists do concentrate their criticism on the contents of nationalistic narratives, but leave untouched the theoretical premises on which these narratives rest. They fail to penetrate and undermine the sets of antinomies on which those teleological perspectives are grounded: enlightenment / romanticism; rationalism / nationalism; "liberty of the Modern" / "liberty of Ancient;" modernity / tradition; individualism / organicism, etc. In the following pages I will trace the origins of revisionism in Latin American, its contributions to the field of politico-intellectual history, and the kind of problems that it raises in turn.The Tradition of History of "Ideas" in Latin AmericaMany scholars consider Charles Hale to be the key figure in the emergence of the revisionist critique. As Fernando Escalante Gonzalbo remarks, for the case of Mexico (which has served as the exemplary case for the entire region): "Up to the moment Charles Hale came to intervene, we could recount to ourselves a delicious... (shrink)

In the third century BC Rome embarked on the expansion which was ultimately to leave her mistress of the Mediterranean world. As part of that expansion a national literature arose, springing from the union of native linguistic energy with Greek literary forms. Shortly after the middle of the century the first Latin play took the stage; by 100 BC most of the important genres invented by the Greeks - epic, tragedy, comedy, historiography, oratory - were solidly established in (...) their adoptive Roman forms, and a new genre, satire, had been born. The chapters in this volume describe and analyse the process of creative adaptation which shaped the beginnings of Latin literature and laid the foundations for its future development as one of the great literatures of the world. Essential background is provided by introductory chapters on readers and critics in the Roman world. In these are described the form of the books themselves and the conditions under which they were produced, circulated and read. The whole volume offers an indispensable introduction to the understanding of the nature and quality of Latin literature. (shrink)

The late 4 th Century CE Egyptian poet Claudian with all probability enjoyed a thorough rhetorical education in both his mother tongue Greek and in the language of most of his extant literary work: Latin. Hence, for a long time the identification of possible traces of Greek literature in his poems has been the object of many, yet often inconclusive discussions. This paper argues that the political situation and the social status of the Latin language at the end (...) of the 4 th century also need to be considered: The apparent evocation of the specifically Latin literature and tradition was of great importance to Claudian in order to reinstate Roman identity, independently of his actual literary sources, as exemplified by Claudian’s use of the Greek epic poet Oppian. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Fighting Words:Turnus at Bay in the Latin Council (Aeneid 11.234–446)Elaine FanthamUntil the publication of Philip Hardie's important new discussion "Fame and Defamation in the Aeneid: The Council of Latins" (1998), Virgil's extended treatment of the Latin council had passed a generation of relative neglect—neglect all the more surprising because the debate occupies a quarter of the eleventh book.1 But then the book itself is generally treated as (...) a lowering of tension, a diversion of focus from the heroic business of male combat to an exchange of rhetoric and the ancillary exploits of the woman warrior Camilla. And despite his long– standing interest in Virgil's Iliad (e.g., 1984), K. W. Gransden's recent commentary on book 11 (1991) shows little interest in Virgil's sophisticated narrative technique.Virgil's writing in this book is no less serious than in its neighbors, and deserves further scrutiny. The Camilla narrative has begun to receive its due, but the rhetoric of the extended council, which includes Turnus' longest speech and the second longest formal speech in the Aeneid, has usually been passed over as alien to the concerns of epic.2This is certainly not Hardie's approach, though it is motivated in part by the same negative attitude toward rhetoric. For him the debate is primarily a starting point for a more far–reaching inquiry into the [End Page 259] ways in which Virgil uses the secondary narrative of speakers to project dissonant versions of events the audience has already experienced, and, by thus casting doubt on their credibility, extends a further shadow of doubt over the narrative enterprise. He states his aim as "to resituate the place of rhetoric within the Aeneid, with especial reference to the most elaborate and most formal exchanges between human actors in the poem. The focus of... discussion is not so much on the formal markers of a rhetorical manner, as on the relationship between the truth–functions of rhetoric and of a supposedly authoritative epic voice" (1998, 243).Now Hardie would probably accept a definition of rhetoric fairly close to "speech designed to persuade." But his reading of the episode shows a mistrust not simply of its most clearly dishonest speaker, but of the entire debate. He opens with Virgil's summary, Illi haec inter se dubiis de rebus agebant / certantes (445–46). Yet insofar as the sphere of rhetoric (as opposed to logic) is, as Aristotle declares, what is debatable, the uncertainty or insecurity of the Latins' circumstances hardly entitles Hardie to damn the entire council as "hot air... just so much rhetoric" (244). It seems that despite his magnificent understanding of epic, Hardie has no sympathy for rhetoric.3 For him "rhetoric" is only the abuse of eloquence. He equates it with public speeches invalidated by the speaker's misreading of circumstances, by distortion of the speaker's own experience,4 by misjudgment swayed by emotion,5 or by misrepresentation to deceive the audience—whereas the only error of several of these speakers is human ignorance of the divinely ordained consequences. Not only Latinus, "careful to provide the optimal conditions for a faithful account by the envoys," but the honest Venulus and right–minded Diomedes are discredited along with Drances, as if no valid speech were possible in a political context. [End Page 260]Hardie has many acute and rewarding comments on the debate, but his major critical contribution lies outside it, reaching even beyond the framework of the Aeneid. The more restricted approach I originally adopted toward the Latin debate, while composing earlier drafts of this essay, does not seem to have lost its usefulness: it is even possible that Hardie's long–sighted vision has produced a distortion that needs to be corrected by a study with a shorter focus. As in the subtle intertextual study by Burke (1978), my point of departure here is the effect of Drances' speech not only on the behavior of Turnus, but on the audience's or reader's reception of Turnus' reply and assessment of his character.6To start, then, let us briefly review the form and content of the council, paying special... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Job, Boethius, and Epic TruthJames G. WilliamsJob, Boethius, and Epic Truth, by Ann W. Anstell; xiii & 240pp. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994, $32.95.Ann Anstell succeeds in showing that the book of Job and Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy served as vehicles for the transmission and transformation of heroic poetry through the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance. The style is sometimes forbidding for the nonspecialist because (...) of dry descriptions of various texts and the extensive quotation of Latin without translation. There are certain sections, however, where the author is clearly passionately engaged in the subject and consequently comes across much more clearly and vividly to the reader; this is especially true of part of the discussion of Gregory’s Moralia in Job and the chapter on “Boethian Lovers,” particularly the treatment of Abelard’s Historia Calamitatum.The thesis and argument of the book are of great potential interest both to literary critics and literary historians and to philosophers and historians of philosophy. The “epic truth” of the title is a bridge between literary genre and transmission and the kind of philosophy concerned with concepts of self and [End Page 379] world. Anstell argues that the conventional distinctions between classical epic and medieval romance tend to overlook the historical continuity between the two genres. “The Middle Ages interpreted classical epic in a way that entailed its subsequent imitation in romance” (p. 212). Romance makes explicit what epic is implicitly about, namely a way or journey to self-knowledge.Boethius, writing about 525 as a prisoner, draws upon Virgil’s Georgics and Stoic and Neoplatonic writings. Lady Philosophy appears to him and educes him into recollection of his own true being through remembering the heroes of the past. He thus recognizes his own mortality and passions, the importance of reason, and the reality of his immortal soul. This journey to concrete awareness of the immortal soul is a key step towards the epic truth that emerged in Christian thinking, but in Boethius the centrality of Christ as Logos-Redeemer does not come into view. It does, however, in the tradition of reading and interpreting Job.Through his meditations and moral instructions on Job, Gregory (Pope, 590–604) used the precedent of Boethius’ Consolation to draw the classical form of the vir, the heroic mortal and the model of virtus, virtue, into the Christian configuration of sainthood. Using a Christian form of allegory, the “other-speaking” of a text that articulates its deeper structure and truth, Gregory portrays Job as a man of fortitude, courage, and patience whose suffering becomes the occasion truly to understand that his immutable soul is not the prisoner of the body that is sick and dying. “Job’s human nature, perfected in wisdom and power through suffering, reflects Christ’s own divine humanity, and far surpasses in heroic virtue the excellence of even an allegorized Aeneas” (p. 91).These two works, then, are the chief exemplars of the “heroic poetry” of the Middle Ages, which joined the literatures commonly designated as “epic” and “romance.” This medieval synthesis insisted on figural or allegorical continuity with classical antiquity but departed formally from classical literary conventions. Job and Boethius provided critical authorization for these tendencies. Job as Christ-figure was the model for legends of the saints, while the Consolation influenced the romance literature that featured stages of spiritual growth; this literature “extended into a history of personal salvation by assimilating the lover’s sufferings to those of Job and Christ” (p. 214). These two paradigmatic works, which provided models of the stable saint as Christ-figure and the emotional pilgrim on a spiritual journey, began to dissolve in the Renaissance. Boethius’s Consolation ceased to be understood in terms of the epic and Job came to be seen as a drama and a tragedy. Thus the author concludes that “the virtues... the Middle Ages attributed to Job, especially wisdom and fortitude, belong no longer to man but to God” (p. 215). Human beings must make their way in an inconstant, puzzling world separated from God.James G. WilliamsSyracuse UniversityCopyright © 1995 The Johns Hopkins University Press... (shrink)

At the intersection of literature and history, three “antique romances” initiated a new genre in the mid-twelfth century by transposing into French the great stories of Greek and Latin epic: the fratricidal war of Oedipus's sons in the Roman de Thèbes, the founding of Rome in the Eneas, and the Roman de Troie's Trojan War based on Dares and Dictys. Rejecting Homer's version for these “eyewitness” accounts, Benoît de Sainte-Maure translated the full history of the Trojan War from (...) its beginning in the tale of Jason and the Argonauts to the annihilation of Troy and the victors’ unhappy homecomings. The myth of Trojan descent claimed by many European rulers, including the British and Normans, gives Benoît's translation more than entertainment value for his first public, the Plantagenêt court of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Indeed, while repeatedly assuring his readers that this great estoire, story and history, will provide pleasurable enjoyment, Benoît also signals a more serious intent by invoking Solomon and the seven liberal arts: we would be like beasts if not for learning from the past that allows us to distinguish between wisdom and folly. The author/narrator's school training is on full display as he highlights the importance of remembering and the dangers of forgetting. Obliged to share his knowledge, Benoît will put into romanz matter that is at once old and new, lost and refound, so that lay readers without access to his Latin sources can “remember” their past as he shapes it in romance. The success of his enterprise can be gauged by the number of extant manuscripts as well as the romance's subsequent influence on multiple versions of Trojan history, from the Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César to Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde. But can we pinpoint more specifically what and how Benoît's public might remember? (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Transvestite Achilles: Gender and Genre in Statius' AchilleidNeil W. BernsteinP. J. Heslin. The Transvestite Achilles: Gender and Genre in Statius' Achilleid. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. xx + 349 pp. Cloth, $80.You do a girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe. Bless you, child, when you set out to thread a needle, don't hold the thread still and fetch the needle up to it; hold (...) the needle still and poke the thread at it—that's the way a woman most always does; but a man always does t'other way.... Why, I spotted you for a boy when you was threading the needle; and I contrived the other things just to make certain.(Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn, chap. 11)In the wake of important briefer studies by Barchiesi, Feeney, and Hinds, and new editions by Rosati and Shackleton Bailey, Heslin has now produced the first full-length monograph in English on Statius' Achilleid. Although he surveys the entire poem, Heslin devotes particular attention to the episode of Achilles' transvestism at the court of Lycomedes on Scyros. By turns as witty, sophisticated, and learned as its object of examination, this book focuses on the themes of "the relationship of the Achilleid to the epic tradition and to the mythical biography of Achilles, Statius' manner of characterization, and the way he explores the nature of sex and gender" (xviii).Chapter 1, "Opening Nights at the Opera 1641–1744," demonstrates the Scyros narrative's appeal to a performance genre that commonly features transvestite masquerade. Assuming that his readers have little familiarity with the history of opera, Heslin surveys nine operas over a century and provides an "Epilogue" that brings his discussion into the twentieth century. The extended discussions of operas such as Gay's Achilles and Metastasio's Achille in Sciro (and the latter's numerous revivals) skillfully relate the libretti and staging to contemporary political, social, and literary debates. This chapter succeeds admirably in bringing out many of the major issues to which subsequent chapters return, such as the opposition of biologically essentializing and socially constructed models of gender and the conflict between heroic and burlesque approaches to mythological narrative.Chapter 2, "The Design of the Achilleid," takes up more traditional questions of form and genre. Though clearly an incomplete narrative, the Achilleid was carefully revised, and the text features a coherent design. Heslin suggests that Statius produced a prospectus designed to attract further patronage and thus intentionally left the reader unable to determine the future course of the epic either from the proem or extant narrative. Viewing the Achilleid as a prospectus permits Heslin to account for the proem's lack of specificity (in contrast, for example, to the "table of contents" found in the Thebaid's proem). The latter part of the chapter offers a close analysis of the proem and an assessment of Statius' engagement with the literary tradition. The Achilleid's proem bluffs the reader by advertising a linear, non-Aristotelian narrative, where in fact the epic begins in medias res and proceeds selectively. In contrast to the mad, vatic poet of the Thebaid, this narrator asserts his control over the narrative. Through passages such as Achilles' song in Chiron's cave, the epic enters "an ongoing discussion [End Page 142] regarding the proper version of a myth" (91) in the manner of learned Hellenistic poetry. The chapter concludes with a discussion of Statius' corrections of Vergil, such as his introduction of Deidamia (Achilleid 1.290–300) that responds to contemporary criticisms leveled at Vergil's Dido/Diana simile.Chapter 3, "Womanhood, Rhetoric, and Performance," offers a reading of the performances of gender by Thetis, Deidamia, and Achilles. Thetis' incompetent use of rhetoric makes her "the Mrs. Malaprop of Latin epic" (137). In her entreaty of Neptune, she fails to recapitulate the success enjoyed by literary models such her Homeric counterpart and the Vergilian Juno and Venus, in part because of her misuse of mythological exempla. She continues to misuse exempla in her persuasion of Achilles, undermining her case by associating his transvestism with the transsexuality of Caenis/Caeneus. Heslin further claims that Thetis engages in "discursive 'transvestism'" (133... (shrink)

Between Ennius and Vergil the Latin epic hexameter underwent dramatic changes in both prosody and diction.1 The precise history of these changes remains obscure, although it is clear from Catullan spondiazontes and Lucretian archaisms, from variation in the use of enjambment and the history of Hermann's bridge, that the versatile and expressive instrument the hexameter was to become in Vergil's hands was not the result of linear development. In fact, despite the pivotal role often assigned to Cicero, 2 (...) in many ways the last one hundred years of the Republic is better characterized as a period of poetic variety and innovation than one of linear progress toward classical perfection. The fragments of Furius Antias can shed light on this period of change. They show remarkable prosodic characteristics and verbal finesse, and they appear to have influenced both Vergil and Ovid. (shrink)

The mid-fourth-century c.e.Cento Vergilianus de laudibus Christi retells the biblical story using cento technique (recombining excerpted lines and partial lines from Virgil into a new poem). Its author, the Christian poet Faltonia Betitia Proba, states that her aim in writing the Cento is to demonstrate that Virgil ‘sang the pious deeds of Christ’ (Vergilium cecinisse … pia munera Christi). Her compositional strategy reflects the exegetical method of typology, as explored in detail by Cullhed: by reusing particular Virgilian verses for biblical (...) characters, Proba creates an implicit typological relationship whereby a Virgilian type both prefigures and is fulfilled by a biblical antitype. This paper first presents an extended model of typology, whereby the type not only prefigures the antitype but also enfigures it, providing the reader with a novel conceptual paradigm through which to understand a particular supernatural reality. The paper then turns to a case study: the baptism scene (380–414), the only passage in the Cento depicting all three members of the Trinity. For each, Proba reuses passages which in the Aeneid describe female characters, hinting at a feminine typological Trinity, one which highlights often-overlooked aspects of the three Christian antitypes. In so doing, she convincingly advances her thesis that Virgil's poetic works reflect typological correspondences to the Christian narrative in a similar way to Old Testament prophecy. (shrink)

BLWith Latin text and English translation The epic poem the Thebaid was composed by Statius about AD 80 to 92 in twelve books. The subject is the expedition of the Seven against Thebes in support of the attempt by Oedipus' son Polyneices to recover the throne from his brother Eteocles. Book IX is set in the midst of the fighting before the eventual death of the two brothers. In this new edition of Book IX Dr Dewar accompanies the (...) Latin text with apparatus criticus, a translation, and an extensive introduction and commentary. The introduction contains sections on Statius' life and works, a summary of the epic, its themes and characters, and poetry, the textual tradition, and Statius' influence on later European literature. The commentary, the first on the ninth book to be published in Britain this century, is written in the light of recent scholarship. It examines in close detail Statius' style and language, use of models, and literary intentions. It is Dr Dewar's hope that this edition will help to explain the poem's great popularity in the Middle Ages, and even restore something of its lost prestige. (shrink)

BLWith Latin text and English translation The epic poem the Thebaid was composed by Statius about AD 80 to 92 in twelve books. The subject is the expedition of the Seven against Thebes in support of the attempt by Oedipus' son Polyneices to recover the throne from his brother Eteocles. Book IX is set in the midst of the fighting before the eventual death of the two brothers. In this new edition of Book IX Dr Dewar accompanies the (...) Latin text with apparatus criticus, a translation, and an extensive introduction and commentary. The introduction contains sections on Statius' life and works, a summary of the epic, its themes and characters, and poetry, the textual tradition, and Statius' influence on later European literature. The commentary, the first on the ninth book to be published in Britain this century, is written in the light of recent scholarship. It examines in close detail Statius' style and language, use of models, and literary intentions. It is Dr Dewar's hope that this edition will help to explain the poem's great popularity in the Middle Ages, and even restore something of its lost prestige. (shrink)

The supreme Roman epic and the greatest poem in Latin, the Aeneid has inspired many of the great European poets including Dante and Milton. The Trojan hero Aeneas, after surviving the sack of Troy, makes his way to the West, urged on by benevolent deities and following a destiny laid down by Jupiter, but harassed and impeded by the goddess Juno. He wins his way to Italy despite many trials, of which the greatest is the tragic outcome of (...) his love affair with Dido, Queen of Carthage. In Italy Aeneas visits the world of the dead, and is forced to wage a fearful war with the indigenous Italian tribes before he can found his city and open the history of Rome. The Aeneid survives as a poem not only of Roman imperialism but also of the whole world of human passion, duty and suffering. ABOUT THE SERIES: For over 100 years Oxford World's Classics has made available the widest range of literature from around the globe. Each affordable volume reflects Oxford's commitment to scholarship, providing the most accurate text plus a wealth of other valuable features, including expert introductions by leading authorities, helpful notes to clarify the text, up-to-date bibliographies for further study, and much more. (shrink)

The Alexandrian emphasis on smallness, elegance, and slightness at the expense of grand themes in major poetic genres was not preciosity for its own sake: although the poetry was written by and for scholars, it had much larger sources than the bibliothecal context in which it was composed. Since the time of the classical poets, much had changed. Earlier Greek poetry was an intimate part of the life of the city-state, written for its religious occasions and performed by its citizens. (...) But eh conquests of Alexander had altered the structure and the boundaries of the Greek world to an astonishing degree. Alexandria, the center of the poetic culture of the new age, was a city that had not even existed at the time of Euripides; it was in Egypt, not in Greece, and was a huge, polyglot community. As immigrants immersed in a new, impersonal, and bureaucratic society, the poets not unreasonably sought out what was small, intimate, and personal in their verses. The heroes of early Greek poetry are larger than life; those of Alexandrian poetry are life-size. They are human, like us; they have a childhood and an old age; they are afraid or in love or caught in a rainstorm. It was simply one way of reducing the world to more manageable dimensions. At the same time, the new world of Alexandria needed a new poetry. To continue writing epics about a mythology that seemed very far away was senseless; it was impossible to recapture either the style or the immediacy of Homer, lyric poetry, or Attic tragedy. The scholar-poets of Alexandria admired the literature of classical Greece; for them Homer was incomparable and inimitable, to be studied—but not to be copied. Far better, then, to find a new voice on a more manageable scale: instead of oral epic, erudite epyllion; instead of lyric, epigram; instead of tragedy, mime. The poets of an urban and unheroic world might long for but could never re-create the grandeur of the past. James E. G. Zetzel is associate professor of classics at Princeton University and editor of the Transactions of the American Philological Association. He is the author of Latin Textual Criticism in Antiquity and, with Anthony T. Grafton and Glenn W. Most, has translated Friedrich August Wolf’s Prolegomena ad Homerum. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:FROM SACRIFICIAL VIOLENCE TO RESPONSIBILITY: THE EDUCATION OF MOSES IN EXODUS 2-4 Sandor Goodhart Purdue University When toward the end of his life Moses tried to stave off death, God said to him: "Did I tell you to slay the Egyptian?" (Midrash in Plaut 383) I. Education in Plato and Judaism The word "education", of course, comes from the Latin, educare, meaning "to lead out" or "to bring (...) up," and both its Latinate morphology and the semantic value it assumes in English reflect its peculiar history. To "lead out" implies in the first place leadership, which is to say a relationship between one designated as a "leader" and another (or others) designated as the "led." The notion of leadership also entails a movement through which the leader propels the led, namely from a region designated as "inside," to another designated as "outside." Within the Western context, which is to say, within the Western European historical experience which traces itselfback through the romance language speaking countries to Rome and ultimately to Greece, the primary articulator ofthe notion of education we have inherited is, of course, Plato. Although Plato's Republic is nominally about justice, and even more specifically the "just" state, commentators have long pointed out that it is really about education (see, for example, Havelock). How shall the guardians ofthe state that we shall term "just" be educated?, Plato's interlocutors ask themselves. In this regard, of course, Plato was challenging the educational system already in place at the time at the head of which was Homer and the Homeric epics, and substituting for an older oral culture founded on an elaborate system of mnemonics another founded more decisively upon writing and the alphabet. Some have argued that in place of a aural or Sandor Goodhart1 3 hearing-centered culture Plato was inaugurating a visual or video-centric cultural organization, and much work is currently being done in this area (see, for example, Ong). What was Plato's educational solution? It was an appeal, in short, to the true, to the language of reason, and to the realm of the ontological as the context in which the true could be defined. The true, as the phenomenological tradition has taught us, may be regarded as the separation of that which has being from that which does not have being, that which only appears or seems to be from that which truly is. Reason in this context is the method or modality ofthinking by which such difference or distinction between the true and the false becomes articulated. Education may then be said to be the process by which all of this occurs, by which one learns to separate appearances from reality, the true from the false, the reasonable from the unreasonable, and thereby the process by which one avoids slavery. For at bottom the enemy for Plato remains slavery and the goal remains freedom from its ravages. Plato, for one, defines his program in specific opposition to Greek tragedy, which he takes among the species ofmimesis or of mimetic poesis that he cites to be the worst threat to his program of absolute difference. The tragic poets leave us without an antidote, he tells us, to its irresistible seductions. Even the best of us—by which he would certainly include Socrates, who has been educating these young men about the processes of education—go to the theater, follow the theatrical performance with enthusiasm, beat their breasts along with the players, and finally praise as most worthy those playwrights who most enable this enthusiasm to take place. The distinction between the true and the mimetic, between the true and the imitational or representational, between that which has being and that which only shadows being, is always on the verge of collapsing in this context. And as a consequence the only safe state, Plato tells us, is the one that excludes theatrical performance from its premises. There is no place in the present context to develop any further the complicated relationship Plato has with his predecessors, and I have hinted at this relationship elsewhere (see Goodhart 261). Suffice it to say that Plato remains in this regard the master in Western circles ofall... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Ovid’s Causes: Cosmogony and Aetiology in the MetamorphosesMargaret Worsham MusgroveK. Sara Myers. Ovid’s Causes: Cosmogony and Aetiology in the Metamorphoses. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994. xvi + 206 pp. Cloth, $32.50.This book takes seriously Ovid’s claim in the proem of the Metamorphoses that his work will encompass the entire universe. Ovid’s primaque ab origine mundi (1.3) must be read as a statement of thematic, not merely (...) chronological scope. “The origin of the world” will continue as a central concern throughout the poem. Myers reads the cosmogony of Book 1 as a continuation of the programmatic statement of the proem: Ovid is allying himself with the tradition of natural-philosophical poetry, as originated by Hesiod and adapted to Hellenistic standards by Apollonius and Vergil. The theme of cosmogony does not merely “frame” the poem, and does not surface only in the explicit creation stories of Book 1 and the didactic discourse of Pythagoras in 15, but instead pervades the entire work. Aetiological stories, as explanations of where individual phenomena come from, continue the scientific theme displayed in the opening cosmogony. The whole Metamorphoses can thus be read as an exploration of the type of poetry which investigates origins of everything, from the universe to natural features to cultural institutions. We should credit Myers with elucidating this cosmogony-aetiology link, which breaks us free of narrow, literal categories, and allows us to see the similar poetic aims of these two literary devices. Her introductory chapter, exploring “The Generic Question” of the Metamorphoses and of post-Callimachean literature in general, points out how recent Latin scholarship has already begun to blur some of those long-unquestioned black-and-white distinctions between genres.At the same time, Myers acknowledges the clash between science (or natural philosophy) and myth. Ovid uses “scientific” language, often in the form of Lucretian allusions, to recount fantastic mythological tales of creatures whose very existence would be questioned by the philosophers. Chapter 1 examines metamorphosis stories which involve natural phenomena, such as the cosmos itself, various animals, etc. Metamorphosis is seen and narrated as a kind of scientific process; hence Ovid’s detailed descriptions of the moment of transformation. [End Page 338] But by calling attention to the incongruity of his subject and his language, Ovid questions the authority of cosmogony to validate myth and of myth to convey the truth.The remainder of Myers’ book focuses on the way in which Ovid unmasks the devices used in aetiological poetry’s claim to a voice of authority. Chapter 2 examines the Alexandrian affiliations of aetiological stories explaining the origins of cultural or religious institutions. This chapter follows something of the approach of P. Knox in the studious attempt to look at the elegiac, unepic features of Ovid’s narrative. Myers investigates the language used to mark a story as an aetion: words such as causa, origo, novus, and unde. Partially through comparison with Ovid’s technique in Fasti (a consistently aetiological, didactic poem) and through examination of the fragments of Callimachus, she also points out certain narrative techniques as characteristic of aetiology. The embedded narrative, related by a supposedly authoritative informant, is revealed as part of the modus operandi of didactic and aetiological poetry.This chapter is perhaps Myers’ most valuable contribution, because it gives us a rationale for some of the seemingly odd features of Ovid’s narrative. One example: why, at Met. 4.772–89, are Perseus’ most famous adventures reported only in indirect statement? Variatio for its own sake is not an adequate answer. Genre would seem to be part of the explanation: battles with monsters belong in epic, a genre which Ovid eschews, at least for the moment. But beyond that negative explanation, Myers suggests a positive one. After the indirect report, someone asks Perseus for an aetiological story: why Medusa had snakes in her hair. His answer in direct speech displays several of the linguistic features which Myers has identified as characteristic of aetia. Thus, Ovid depicts Perseus not so much at a Homeric banquet, with stories of battles and conquests, but at a Callimachean one, with learned exchanges of aetiological myths (cf... (shrink)

The most illustrious tradition of romantic poetry on oriental subjects, from the Westöstlicher Diwan to Rückert, Platen, Hugo and Leconte de Lisle, was inspired essentially by Indian and Persian epic, lyric and gnomic poetry, referring only to a minor degree to the ancient poetry of the Arabs—although it is precisely Rückert to whom we are indebted for a version of the Hamâsa, a famous anthology of pagan Arabic poetry. Goethe approached this anthology through the versions of Jones, described it (...) briefly in the “Notes and Commentary” to the Diwan, and among other sections retold one tale splendidly in verse: the “Song of Vengeance” of Taâbbata Sharran. Here the force of his genius lifted him well above the bristling Latin of Freytag, through whom he had come to know the song, and brought him very close in lyrical intuition to the original of this masterpiece of debated authenticity. But on the whole, the poetic heritage of the ancient Arabs was not adequately echoed in the literature of the romantic age. Rückert himself, inspired by pagan Arabic poetry, is read by few people today; and the poetry that was his model is studied rather by philologists, for its documentary value. Theodor Noeldeke, at the beginning of his classic study of the Mu'allakat, declared frankly: “It is questionable whether the aesthetic pleasure provided by the study of ancient Arabic poetry is worth the great pains required even to approach an understanding of the same.” It is difficult to stand in opposition to the authority of the “old master” of German orientalists, who confessed that “the more he studied the Semites, the more he loved the Greeks.” Even the most humble author of these lines dares to appropriate for himself the lines of Noeldeke; and yet, beyond every comparison, which cannot help resulting unfavorably for the ancient poets of the desert, he who knows how to love and seek out poetry will find in them authentic artistic values. Even the harsh pagan song can in certain passages interest us, fill us with enthusiasm, and move us. (shrink)

The Archaeology of the Soul is a testimony to the extraordinary scope of Seth Benardete's thought. Some essays concern particular authors or texts; others range more broadly and are thematic. Some deal explicitly with philosophy; others deal with epic, lyric, and tragic poetry. Some of these authors are Greek, some Roman, and still others are contemporaries writing about antiquity. All of these essays, however, are informed by an underlying vision, which is a reflection of Benardete's life-long engagement with one (...) thinker in particular -Plato. The Platonic dialogue presented Benardete with the most vivid case of that periagoge, or turn-around, that he found to be the sign of all philosophic thinking and that is the signature as well of his own interpretations not only of Plato but also of other thinkers. The core of The Archaeology of the Soul consists of a set of essays Benardete produced in his last years; the collection provides at the same time an entry into that world through some of Benardete's earliest articles on Plato and on Greek poetry. Benardete's earlier path of close textual analysis always reflected his intimate philosophic dialogue with the thinker in whose work he was immersed; later, he drew on resources of erudition acquired over a lifetime to present a broader picture, on a theme like the dialectics of eros or freedom and necessity. In his late work Benardete was not only engaged in putting together in more general form material he had worked out earlier; he was still on the trail of new discoveries, above all, by extending his Platonic understanding of philosophy to pre- and post-Platonic thinkers. He had become increasingly aware that the discovery of philosophy through the "Socratic turn" was really the rediscovery of an understanding already present in some form in the Greek poets and that awareness guided his last years of study of the pre-Socratic philosophers. According to the standard view of the history of Greek philosophy, the Socratic turn, with its focus on "the human things," marks a point of radical change in philosophy's history. Benardete's late studies led him to the conclusion that the kind of pivotal reorientation thought to be Socratic is in fact the mark of what it means to think philosophically, and Heraclitus or Parmenides is a genuine philosophic thinker precisely to the extent that a Socratic turn can be found in some form within his own thought. At the same time that he was pursuing a track backward, from Plato to the poets and pre-Socratic philosophers, Benardete was also proceeding on a forward path, from Plato to the Latin writers, who adopt the Platonic way of thinking with full understanding of what it means to be "post-Platonic." As the essays collected in this volume demonstrate, the Platonic notion of a "second sailing" gave Benardete a key to the relation between Greek and Latin thought - and with that to a comprehensive under-standing of antiquity-as it did to the relation between poetry and philosophy as such. Ronna Burger teaches philosophy at Tulane University; she is the author of The Phaedo: A Platonic Labyrinth from St. Augustine's Press and Aristotle's Dialogue with Socrates: On the Nicomachean Ethics. Michael Davis teaches philosophy at Sarah Lawrence College; he authored Wonderlust: Ruminations on Liberal Education, The Poetry of Philosophy: On Aristotle's Poetics and, with Seth Benardete, translated Aristotle - On Poetics, both from St. Augustine's Press. Burger and Davis collaborated on editing Seth Benardete's Achilles and Hector: The Homeric Hero. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Humanism, Female Education, and Myth:Erasmus, Vives, and More's To CandidusA. D. CousinsWhen considering pleasure and chance as aspects of human experience, Thomas More sometimes gendered them female; that is to say, at times he represented them by drawing from the mythographies of Venus and of Fortune. But what did he suggest that actual women, as distinct from goddesses, were or should be or might become: what were his notions (...) of being a woman, of femaleness? Further, what did he suggest that women might contribute to the common weal? A useful way to start answering that question is to look at what More seems to have thought about educating women: in particular, women who were entering adult life—entering into what was agreed to be the major female role—by marrying for the first time and therefore newly taking upon themselves the management of a household. In one of his most ambitious Latin poems, as nowhere else, More wrote elaborately, concisely and problematically on the education of women who were in just those circumstances. My discussion attempts a repositioning of that poem, To Candidus: How to Choose A Wife A Poem in Iambic Dimeter Brachycatalectic (Versvs Iambici Dimetri Brachycatalectici ad Candidvm, Qvalis Vxor Deligenda). To make the attempt involves examining More's other Latin poems on women, as would be anticipated; however, I am mainly concerned here with affinities between To Candidus—then, to a lesser extent, some of More's associated Latin poems—and notions about female education that were or were to become part of the already long, and mostly male, debate about the nature of femaleness.1 To be [End Page 213] specific, I am chiefly concerned with affinities between More's poem and writings by Erasmus and by Vives on the education of prospective or of recent brides.Because the primary concern in my discussion is to clarify the relations between More's To Candidus and humanist notions on female education, especially notions put forward by two of More's humanist friends about young brides, I want initially to revisit the early modern debate on educating women, of course an important element of the wider debate about femaleness itself. One medieval and thence early modern idea on female education was that, in addition to what their mothers taught them, most women needed merely to receive religious and ethical instruction from their husbands, who would likewise instruct them in how to govern a household.2 After all, it was often pointed out, the household was women's natural domain: since, therefore, they would not normally engage with the world at large as would men—since, for example, they would not normally be educators, or writers, or politicians—women did not usually need the broad education appropriate to men.3 Assertion to the contrary was variously argued—and differences between or among those contrary assertions did not always depend on whether an author was male or female. In The Book of the City of Ladies (1405), a response to Boccaccio's De Mulieribus Claris and, perhaps unknowingly, also to Plutarch's The Virtues of Women, Christine de Pizan attempted to construct at once a refuge and a resource for [End Page 214] women, whom she recognized as having been misrepresented to themselves no less than to men throughout generations of misogynistic male fictions, ranging from satire to epic, from fable to history.4 Her City, in so far as it is a revisionist history of women, forms a textual space which does indeed offer a refuge as well as a resource, for Christine advocates that women, fulfilling their capabilities as women, aim at "cultivat[ing] virtue" and thereby gaining inclusion in the true, illustrious record of female achievement: membership of a textual community within which they will see themselves reflected and which is at one with the City of God.5 Inseparable from their seeking to do so, she emphasizes, will be their receiving education.6 Despite that emphasis—and despite her emphasizing that women are men's intellectual equals or, not infrequently, superiors—Christine nevertheless defends the concept that the domestic sphere and not the public is in general that "appropriate" to women.7... (shrink)

While it is no secret that Valerius Flaccus’Argonauticaexplores civil-war themes at great length, the conflicts arising on the island of Peuce between the Colchians and the Argonauts and within the Argonautic party itself in the epic's final book (8.217–467) have been overlooked in critical studies of Valerian civil war. This article argues that Valerius presents the conflicts on Peuce as examples of civil war—emphasizing the bonds of kinship between the conflicting parties and illustrating effects of this discord using imagery (...) of stasis and cosmic dissolution associated with civil war in the wider Latin literary tradition—and thus invites reflection on the development and manifestation of internecine strife within theArgonautica. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Ennius and the Architecture of the Annales by Jackie Elliott, and: The Annals of Quintus Ennius and the Italic Tradition by Jay Fisher, and: Shaggy Crowns: Ennius’ Annales and Virgil’s Aeneid by Nora GoldschmidtThomas BiggsJackie Elliott. Ennius and the Architecture of the Annales. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. xiv + 590. Hardcover, $110.00.Jay Fisher. The Annals of Quintus Ennius and the Italic Tradition. Baltimore: Johns (...) Hopkins University Press, 2014. x + 206. Hardcover, $69.95.Nora Goldschmidt. Shaggy Crowns: Ennius’ Annales and Virgil’s Aeneid. Oxford Classical Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. x + 258. Hardcover, $125.00.According to Aulus Gellius, Ennius claimed to have three hearts, each representing a part of his hybrid cultural identity (Gel. 17.71.1: Quintus Ennius tria corda habere sese dicebat, quod loqui Graece et Osce et Latine sciret). Matching his hearts in number, the three books under review delve into the various Greek, Italic, and Latin influences on Ennius’ eighteen-book Annales, exploring the epic’s literary heritage and reception. One might rightly claim that in the wake of these important contributions (1088 pages for 623 fragments), we have firmly entered an aetas Enniana. The elephant in the room for all those interested in the poem is, of course, its highly fragmentary state of preservation. Instead of serving as an insurmountable obstacle, the scholarly process of interpreting fragmentary texts actually emerges as a shared feature of the methodologies on display in these otherwise quite different works. While Fisher and Goldschmidt push the limits of what an incomplete epic can communicate, Elliott more skeptically tackles the nature of transmission and its impact on our knowledge of the text.Ennius’ Oscan heart, representing his Italic heritage, takes center stage in Fisher’s study. Many readers will find most original and striking his arguments for the epic resonance and formulaic quality of “traditional” Latin phrases and their links with languages such as Umbrian and Oscan. Fisher relies throughout on the meaningful co-occurrence of communicative words, “traditional collocation” (3), and the use of language from various “traditional” cultural fields such as ritual, prayer, kinship, and the military (he adopts Lowell Edmunds’ concept of “system reference,” 5). According to Fisher, Ennius’ use of these culturally marked forms of language, shaped during the period of the central Italian koine\ (seventh to fourth centuries b.c.e.), allows his epic to include and enact an elevated tone appropriate to the inherited demands of his genre. While Ennius’ revolutionary turn to the hexameter may initially suggest a decision to abandon all that is old (or perhaps old-fashioned) about “native” literary culture, the pervasive presence of the Italic militates against severing Ennius from the lifeblood pumped through his Oscan heart. In fact, the dialogue between “foreign and familiar” aspects of culture is key to Fisher’s demonstration of how the Italic past emerges as a ghostly mediator and occasional replacement of superficially Greek and Homeric elements (10, 56, 85).With a presumed audience of Latinists, it is somewhat surprising that the introduction, “Ennius and the Italic Tradition,” devotes little time to outlining his rather unique methodology. But Fisher prefers to show rather than tell. On page 5 he jumps right into an analysis of Skutsch Ann. 232 (non semper vostra [End Page 713] evortit nunc Iuppiter hac stat), the language and context of Jupiter Stator in Cicero Cat. 1, and the Oscan Jupiter Versor: he convincingly connects Oscan Iovi Versori with Ennius’ evortit... Iuppiter (8). While the particulars of the argument take a winding course through various temples and texts, it is the act itself of probing seemingly commonplace language to reveal linguistic and cultural significance that highlights the best of what Fisher has to offer.Chapter 2, “The Annals and the Greek Tradition,” traces the Italic features of the epic through what one might call cross-lingual window-allusion. For example, Ann. 1 (Musae quae pedibus magnum pulsatis Olympum) contains a well-known substitution of the Greek Musae for his predecessors’ Camenae, but Fisher draws our attention to the “native Latin tradition” of the Salian priests’ tripudium behind pedibus... pulsatis: “if the collocation pedem pulsare is a traditional expression for... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Virgil: Aeneid, Book XII ed. by Richard TarrantVassiliki PanoussiRichard Tarrant, ed. Virgil: Aeneid, Book XII. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. ix + 363 pp. Paperback, $36.99.To say that students of Vergil have long awaited a commentary dedicated to Aeneid 12 would be an understatement. W. Warde Fowler’s 1919 volume, The Death of Turnus: Observations on the Twelfth Book of the Aeneid (Oxford), was the last work to fit (...) this description. This is surely in no small measure due to the extremely difficult nature of the task. How would one begin to fit the amount of copious scholarship spanning a century to a volume of manageable size that will be thorough and useful? With this new commentary, Tarrant meets the challenge with great aplomb, having produced a volume that is balanced, nuanced, learned, and thought-provoking. Tarrant follows the familiar commentary format: a substantial introduction, text (with apparatus criticus), commentary, an interesting appendix, bibliography, a general index, and an index of Latin words. [End Page 291]The author states that the commentary aims “to be accessible to students at the university level and upper classes of schools, but also to contain material of interest to professional classicists” (44). I submit that he succeeds admirably in both goals. For instance, early on in the commentary when he uses literary terms such as “focalization,” he gives a brief description of the meaning of the term (85), while the longer entries are frequently followed by bibliography, which will benefit the student (and the scholar) who wants to research a specific episode or passage further. As a scholar, I was often intrigued by Tarrant’s interpretations and comments and was pleased to be forced to rethink passages I believed I understood well. One such example is the comment on the description of Turnus riding his chariot in line 370, where the plume of his helmet is blown backward while the chariot moves into the wind. Tarrant insightfully interprets the chariot’s movement as “an implied conflict of forces, between the wind that ‘strikes’ (quatit) the plume and the ‘opposing’ (aduerso) chariot,” linking this moment with the storm motif that occupies a prominent place in the poem as a whole.The lengthy introduction lays the groundwork for much of what is to follow in the commentary proper. Tarrant begins with a discussion of the book as the final in the epic and points out a series of thematic and structural analogies with other parts of the Aeneid and especially Book 1. He rightly brings to the foreground many issues that have been the topic of discussion in the most recent scholarship, such as narrative delay (3), the problem of Italian identity (7), the connection between Aeneas’ killing of Turnus and Romulus’ killing of Remus (8), the representation of the conflict as civil war (7), the problem of anger and revenge (18–21), and the depiction of Turnus’ death as a sacrifice (21–22). As one would expect, Tarrant devotes a considerable portion of his introduction to the final scene and presents a balanced and sober discussion of the controversy surrounding Aeneas’ killing of Turnus, arguing for deliberate ambivalence on the part of Vergil. He identifies two perspectives that help interpret the actions of the characters: one that comes from external forces, larger than and beyond the control of the characters, and an internal one that focuses on their emotional forces. Tarrant concludes that these two perspectives “do not cancel each other out, but co-exist,” a manifestation of Vergil’s tragic view of humanity (28–29).Tarrant’s comments on metrical issues are excellent. I plan to assign the portion of his introduction dedicated to Vergil’s meter as required reading for my undergraduates. In addition, throughout the commentary, Tarrant frequently demonstrates the ways in which meter, anaphora, enjambment, etc. contribute to the construction of meaning and makes a strong case for their impact on interpretation. This is an important lesson for today’s student, who gets little exposure to meter, or worse, tends to ignore it altogether. Take, for example, the note on lines 56–59, Amata’s plea to Turnus not to enter the fight. Tarrant... (shrink)

This article offers a usage study of the word φήμη throughout Herodian’s Roman History. It sets Herodian’s practice in a broader literary picture that includes other historians, but also epic and the novel, and then suggests that the extremely high frequency of φήμη in Herodian is unique among Greek-language historians and that Herodian is indebted to Latin-language historiography for this technique. The following sections examine how Herodian perceives the phenomenon of φήμη and makes it a salient feature of (...) his historiographical strategy. The discussion shows that φήμη, regardless of its truth status, has multiple functions in Herodian’s narrative. First, it contributes to the portrayal of historical agents. Second, it is a crucial dramatic factor that signals turning points in the story and generates vividness and an atmospheric narrative. Third, it acts as a plot-driver in the story. Fourth, it has a role in the composition of the narrative by creating intratextual associations and narrative patterns. Finally, it has metanarrative ramifications, since there is a parallel between the use of φήμη by the historical agents and by Herodian himself. Overall, the analysis advances our understanding of Herodian’s narrative technique and his construction of historical truth. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:diacritics 30.2 (2000) 88-112 [Access article in PDF] Milton's Aesthetics Of Eating Denise Gigante It is not a little curious that, with the exception of Ben Jonson (and he did not speak gravely about it so often), the poet in our own country who has written with the greatest gusto on the subject of eating is Milton. He omits none of the pleasures of the palate, great or small. (...) In his Latin poems, when young, he speaks of the pears and chestnuts which he used to roast at the fire with his friend Diodati. Junkets and other "country-messes" are not forgotten in his "Allegro." The simple Temptation in the Wilderness, "Command that these stones be made bread" (which was quite sufficient for a hunger that had fasted "forty days"), is turned, in Paradise Regained, with more poetry than propriety, into the set out of a great feast, containing every delicacy in and out of season. The very "names" of the viands, he says, were "exquisite." And in Paradise Lost, Eve is not only described as being skilful in paradisaical cookery ("tempering dulcet creams"), but the angel Raphael is invited to dinner, and helped by his entertainers to a series of tid-bits and contrasted relishes--Taste after taste, upheld with kindliest change. --Leigh Hunt, "Eating Songs" The title of an old play gives us a direct taste and surmise of its inwards, as the first lines of the Paradise Lost smack of the great Poem. --John Keats, "On 'Retribution, or the Chieftain's Daughter'" That Milton's Romantic readers should invoke the "taste" of his epic poetry suggests an awareness beyond the anecdotal. For as this essay will show, Milton complicates the category of physiological taste in such a manner as to form the ground for the possibility of aesthetic taste, which emerges as a distinct discourse in the early years of the eighteenth century. This is not to say that Milton is the only source for this dubious meaning-in-transition. But precisely how, prior to the interventions of Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Hume, and the entire tradition of post-Miltonic theorists of taste, is one to read Adam's darkly sardonic postlapsarian remark: "Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste... And Palate call judicious" [PL IX.1017-20]? Critics have observed Milton's "ruthless and relentless pressure on 'taste,'" the fact that the word and its variants appear thirty times in Book IX of Paradise Lost alone [Ricks 69]. What I would like to suggest is that just as Milton is a seminal figure for the eighteenth-century aesthetic preoccupation with the sublime, 1 he is theoretically situated at the origins of the more generic thing called taste as well. [End Page 88]Of course Milton himself was aware of the epistemological implications of taste, whereby the Latin sapere can mean both "to taste" and "to know." 2 The fruit whose "mortal taste" was the source of all our woe did, after all, grow on the tree of knowledge, knowingly described by Satan as "precious of all Trees / In Paradise, of operation blest / To Sapience" [PL I.2, IX.795-97]. So too, when Adam calls Eve "exact of taste," he adds "of Sapience no small part" [PL IX.1018]. Throughout Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained, Milton plays with the epistemological connotation of taste, incorporating it even into the 1671 companion piece of the latter, Samson Agonistes, whose blind hero declares, "The way to know were not to see but taste" [1091]. At the time Milton was writing, however, taste was philosophically connected not only to knowledge and pleasure, but to morality as well. At the origins of the British empirical discourse of taste, Anthony Ashley Cooper, third Earl of Shaftesbury, inheriting this link between epistemology, aesthetics, and ethics, inquires: "Will it not be found... that what is beautiful is... true; and what is at once both beautiful and true is, of consequence, agreeable and good?" [2: 268-69]. For Milton as for Shaftesbury, the beautiful was the true was the good, and access to these ideals was bound up with the philosophic complexity... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Brevity, Conciseness, and Compression in Roman Poetic Criticism and the Text of Gellius' Noctes Atticae 19.9.10Amiel D. VardiGellius Reproduces in Noctes Atticae 19.9.10 four early Latin epigrams he reports to have been recited by his teacher Antonius Julianus, on which he remarks:quibus mundius, venustius, limatius, tersius Graecum Latinumve nihil quicquam reperiri puto.tersius Salmasius followed by most editors: persius Q, pessius Z, pressius FγNow that Salmasius' admiration for the (...) Parisian Q and the whole δ family has abated,1 there is no reason to prefer the emendation over the reading of F and γ, especially since the readings of both manuscripts of the δ family could easily have originated in. But Jacobus Gronovius, in his 1706 edition, objects to pressius on the grounds that the idea of conciseness is not relevant in this context.2 A consideration of both this reading and the emendation is therefore appropriate.There is no other occurrence of tersus in Noctes Atticae, though the word is quite a common literary term from the time of Quintilian on. In his Institutio Oratoria it is used with reference to oratory (12.10.20, 50), to elegy (10.1.93, tersus atque elegans), and to Horace's advantage over Lucilius (10.1.94, tersus ac purus). It serves the younger Pliny, again both for prose style (Ep. 2.3.1, 7.25.4) and for elegy (9.22.2, tersum, molle, iucundum), and Porphyrio ascribes it to Horace's style (ad Hor. S. 1.4.8, tersus atque eleganter). The meaning of the term seems always to be that of "polished" or "refined" and is thus not much different from limatus, which precedes it according to the vulgate reading in [End Page 291] NA 19.9.10. The combination limatius, tersius would thus be somewhat pleonastic, but such coupling of synonyms is not alien to Gellius' style,3 and the combination tersum ac limatum is also found in Quintilian (Inst. 12.10.50). The reading limatius, tersius in the Gellian passage therefore has no obvious lexical deficiencies, and if pressius had failed to satisfy, it would indeed have been a happy emendation.Pressus is an older stylistic term, commonly employed in rhetorical discussions by Cicero, the younger Seneca, Quintilian, the younger Pliny, Tacitus, and Suetonius. In this context it normally serves, side by side with brevis, as a Latin equivalent for, to designate the virtus dicendi of brevity, which was added to the Theophrastean by the Stoics but, except in narratio, not always favored by rhetoricians with a taste for the grand style, especially Cicero and his admirers.4 The term is coupled with limatus by Cicero (Brut. 35, Orat. 20) and Quintilian (Inst. 2.8.4, 11.1.3 twice), with reference to the genus subtile or the Atticist style. It serves Gellius in three other places (1.3.21, 2.6.5, 10.6.2), all in the adverbial comparative form pressius but not in the sense "concise," which would be its meaning in 19.9.10.5 With reference to poetry, pressus is found in this sense in Quintilian (Inst. 10.1.46, on Homer's style; 12.10.38, an advantage of the Greek language over Latin), and Silius Italicus employs the metaphor pressis metis, taken from chariot racing, with reference to epic narrative and corresponding to breviter... revolvere (Pun. 8.48).Terminology apart, the demand for brevity in poetic texts is quite common, and precedes that in rhetorical theory.6 In Roman poetic theory it is emphasized by Horace, both in Ars Poetica (25, 335-37) and in his criticism of Lucilius (S. 1.4.11-13, 1.10.50-51).7 Whereas in the passages from Ars Poetica Horace and the Hellenistic doctrines he follows8 [End Page 292] seem to adopt the rhetorical virtutes dicendi to poetry,9 the metaphor of the muddy stream ( flueret lutulentus) used in his Sermones suggests dependence on a completely different tradition, that of the poetic ideal of and Callimachus' Hymn to Apollo, already evoked in Catullus' poem 95.10 This fortuitous coincidence of rhetorical and Callimachean doctrines, often also formulated in the same terminology,11 continues to obfuscate the theoretical... (shrink)

The study of colour has become familiar territory in anthropology, linguistics, art history and archaeology. Classicists, however, have traditionally subordinated the study of colour to form. By drawing together evidence from contemporary philosophers, elegists, epic writers, historians and satirists, Mark Bradley reinstates colour as an essential informative unit for the classification and evaluation of the Roman world. He also demonstrates that the questions of what colour was and how it functioned - as well as how it could be misused (...) and misunderstood - were topics of intellectual debate in early imperial Rome. Suggesting strategies for interpreting Roman expressions of colour in Latin texts, Dr Bradley offers alternative approaches to understanding the relationship between perception and knowledge in Roman elite thought. In doing so, he highlights the fundamental role that colour performed in the realms of communication and information, and its intellectual contribution to contemporary discussions of society, politics and morality. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 121.4 (2000) 571-591 [Access article in PDF] The Aeneid Revisited: The Journey of Pompey in Lucan's Pharsalia Andreola Rossi Andromaque, je pense à vous! Ce petit fleuve, Pauvre et triste miroir où jadis resplendit L'immense majesté de vos douleurs de veuve, Ce Simoïs menteur qui par vos pleurs grandit, A fécondé soudain ma mémoire fertile, Comme je traversais le nouveau Carrousel. Le vieux Paris n'est (...) plus (la forme d'une ville Change plus vite, hélas! que le coeur d'un mortel) --Baudelaire, "Le Cygne" THE AENEID MAY BE DEFINED, among many other things, as the tale of a journey from the East to the West that becomes, at the same time, a journey from capitulation to foundation. 1 This idea is well summarized in the structure of the proem of the poem: Arma uirumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris Italiam fato profugus Lauiniaque uenit litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto ui superum, saeuae memorem Iunonis ob iram, multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem inferretque deos Latio; genus unde Latinum Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romae. (Virg. Aen. 1.1-7) I sing of arms and of a man: his fate had made him fugitive; he was the first to journey from the coasts of Troy as far as Italy and the Lavinian shores. Across the lands and waters he was battered beneath the violence of High Ones, for the savage Juno's unforgetting anger; [End Page 571] and many sufferings were his in war-- until he brought a city into being and carried in his gods to Latium; from this have come the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the ramparts of high Rome. 2Troy, the point of departure for this journey, is in a conspicuous position in the opening hexameter of the proem; the city of Rome, the point of arrival, brings the proem to its closure. True enough, the foundation of the city of Rome lies outside the primary temporal setting of the poem. Its foundation, nevertheless, is anticipated in the various external prolepses that bring the narration beyond the limit of the temporal field of the first narrative. 3 Moreover, in the poem, Aeneas himself will be the founder of a new set of moenia in Latium, starting the process of city foundation that will culminate in the construction of the ramparts of high Rome. That Virgil's Aeneid is in its basic structure a poem of journey and foundation did not go unnoticed by the long line of his literary successors. As Hardie (1993, xi) has shown, Virgil's successors were all sharp and informed readers of the Aeneid, and their epic works should be read and interpreted as a creative rewriting and continuation, at once respectful and at times rebellious, of the Aeneid. Following this line of interpretation, I will argue that Lucan's Pharsalia, the so-called anti-Aeneid, 4 presents itself in the journey of Pompey as a critical, almost antiphrastic revisitation of Aeneas' journey. 5 The stages of Pompey's journey retrace some crucial stages of Aeneas' in the Aeneid, both [End Page 572] thematically and geographically. But Pompey's journey is "reversed"; it is turned "upside down." 6 It moves symmetrically backward, bringing the journey of the Aeneid back to its point of departure: from the West back to the East, from Rome back to Troy.In a comprehensive work on Lucan's Pharsalia, Ahl points out that among the many characters of the Pharsalia, Pompey is the one most closely modeled on Aeneas. 7 The first appearance of Pompey in the poem is symptomatic. At the beginning of the Pharsalia, Pompey is compared to an oak tree (like Aeneas in Aeneid 4). 8 But unlike Aeneas' firmly rooted mature tree, Pompey's tree is decayed and rootless. 9 Aeneas' roots are established in the very bowels of the earth, unshakable and immovable, and allow him to withstand the storm (Aen. 4.445- 46, ipsa haeret scopulis et quantum uertice ad auras / aetherias... (shrink)