Vergil & Raphael: the four sibyls

I was thinking of the wrong church when I brought this up in class. Raphael's fresco showing the four sibyls is inside Santa Maria della Pace in Rome, a beautiful church that also has a famous courtyard designed by Bramante. If you are ever in Rome (again), you need to go see it. 

Here the angels are giving instructions to the four sibyls of the ancient world. On the right side of the fresco you see an angel showing the Cumaean sibyl a familiar message. (I think I took these last summer, and I think the fresco has since been restored, though I'm not positive.)

(I don't know how these images will show up. I think you will be able to zoom in.)

The Main Characters of Eclogue 3

The principal characters of Eclogue 3 (Menalcas, Damoetas, and Palaemon) share not only an interesting relationship with each other but also with parallel figures in the Idylls of Theocritus. At least, this seems to be Schultz’s message in her 2003 American Journal of Philology article “Latet Anguis in Herba: A Reading of Vergil’s Third Eclogue”, from which I draw the majority of the following thoughts. Admittedly, my understanding of Eclogue 3 was poor prior to reading Schultz’s article, so it is no surprise that her views would come to dominate my understanding of the poem and the characters within it.

To begin, we can tell that Menalcas and Damoetas are herdsmen keen to compete with each other. The poem begins with an exchange between the two as they try to outdo the other in insult. The competition is formalized as they turn from negotiating the winner’s prize and look to Palaemon as judge. Palaemon chooses Damoetas to start the competition proper, leaving Menalcas with the role of responder. The oneupmanship show continues, as the two sing about their love affairs and the difficulties of pastoral life. After the two leave each other riddles that remain unanswered, Palaemon declares the two worthy of a cow and abruptly ends the poem.

Schultz’s reading is informative. She sees that in spite of the obvious competition between Menalcas and Damoetas, they are actually quite united in their suspicion of the pastoral world. For example, they speak of spoiled vines, broken gifts, untrusting parents, and hidden dangers (including snakes and river banks). In contrast stands Palaemon, who comments only optimistically on the pastoral setting, noting the beauty and the abundance of the landscape.

Schultz also compares these characters to characters in the Idylls of Theocritus. In particular, she sees a correspondence between Menalcas, who initiates the insults, and Battus of Idyll 4, who similarly initiates the insults; with this line of thinking, she sees a connection between Damoetas, who must respond to the insult, and Corydon, the insult responder of Idyll 4. She reads the insults of Idyll 4 to be cheerful bantering but the insults of Eclogue 3 to be malicious spite. Schultz also sees the discussion in Idyll 5 where the speakers accuse each other of stealing and destroying property as related to the discussion of Eclogue 3 where similar accusations are hurled. She once again reads the Theocritan version to be less sinister, since it involves items which herdsmen typically would not have, whereas the property brought up in Eclogue 3 are key to country livelihood.

Schultz has less to say on comparing Palaemon to any particular character in the Idylls, but she finds his rose-colored vision of country life to correspond with the tone of the pastoral genre of poetry. It is therefore fitting that he be the judge in the contest, since he has a sense for the ideal pastoral poem. Perhaps this is why he decides to name both contestants winners of the cow: neither could demonstrate the ideal of pastoral poetry, so both deserve the same refinement-lacking prize. If either could demonstrate any appreciation for pastoral poetry, then the deserved prize would be the allusive and artful cups of Alcimedon.

In response to Schultz’s observations and claims, I can say only that I am no expert in pastoral poetry. While I found some of her points unconvincing, I imagine it was due to my lack of familiarity with the material rather than an oversight on her part. In any case, I find her reading of a competition between the un-ideal view of the pastoral world, as represented by Menalcas and Damoetas, with the ideal view, as championed by Palaemon, a helpful idea in appreciating Vergil’s use of the genre.

Eclogue 4 Notes (mostly on plants)

4.2:  tamarisks.  A shrub: 

4.11.Adeo here means "especially." See  Lewis and Short:   Adeo is placed enclitically after its word, like quidem, certe, and the Gr. γὲ, even, indeed, just, precisely. 1. Most freq. with pronouns, in order to render prominent something before said, or foll., or otherwise known .../Adeo is joined with the pers. pron. when the discourse passes from one person to another, and attention is to be particularly directed to the latter: Juppiter, tuque adeo summe Sol, qui res omnes inspicis, and thou especially, and chiefly thou, Enn. ap. Prob.: “teque adeo decus hoc aevi inibit,”  Verg. E. 4, 11

4.15:  ille deum vitam accipiet:  deum is an alternate/earlier form of the genitive plural deorum

colocasia:  probably elephant ears:
very large tuberous plants--the plant is both decorative and produces edible tubers.

acanthus:  another plant with very large, decorative leaves and tall (3 foot) spiky flowers:

The capitals of Corinthian columns are stylized acanthus plants. Below is one from the Pantheon.



 24:  fallax herba veneni:  probably aconite, a beautiful but poisonous plant, named by Vergil in G.2.152: nec miseros fallunt aconita legentes. The mystery writer Agatha Christie frequently had her murderers use aconite to poison their victims in her books.   Here it is described by poison.org:
 "Aconitum napellus (A. napellus, also known as monkshood or wolfsbane) is a perennial herb often grown as an ornamental plant due to its attractive blue to dark purple flowers. All parts of the plant, especially the roots, contain toxins. Aconitine is the most dangerous of these toxins. It is most noted as a heart poison but is also a potent nerve poison. Raw aconite plants are very poisonous.They are used as herbs only after processing by boiling or steaming to reduce their toxicity. 

A. napellus has been used since ancient times as a poison used on spears and arrows for hunting and battle. As wolfsbane, it was believed to repel werewolves (and real wolves!). Ancient Romans used it as a method of execution."  

amomum:  a spice plant from India, probably cardamom.

4.40: rastrum:  a hoe or rake.  This word, for some reason, is neuter in the singular and masculine in the plural.

Plants in Eclogues 1 and 2

 In Eclogues 1 and 2, plants are utilized throughout the poem to establish a setting and give the reader a sense of the pastoral atmosphere. Some of these plants also hold more symbolic or intertextual meanings, and of the plants that do, the beech trees and mention of cypress trees in Eclogue 1 are the most significant ones, while the mention of the narcissus flower is the most significant one in Eclogue 2. 

In Eclogue 1, Virgil opens the poem with an idyllic, rural setting, and describes Tityrus as “recubans sub tegmine fagi,” (1.1) which roughly translates into ‘lying under the cover of a (wide spreading) beech tree.” Interestingly enough, fagi in Greek translates to oak tree, rather than beech tree, and further Greek influence is seen in the names of the characters, such as Meliboeus (meaning cattle-minder). In addition to displaying subtle Greek influences, plants in Eclogue 1 also hold symbolic meaning, such as the mention of cypress trees: ‘verum haec tantum alias inter caput extulit urbes/quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi’ (1.24-1.25), which roughly translates to, ‘Certainly this city raised her head among other cities, as much as cypresses are accustomed to amongst the pliant, wayfaring trees.’ Cypresses are evergreen trees that are associated with death and rebirth. Some other instances of cypresses being associated with death include Book 6 of Virgil’s Aeneid, where they are used in a funeral procession for Misenus (6.216). However, the usage of cypresses in Eclogue 1 as a simile for Rome could hold a deeper and possibly more political meaning. Virgil could have used a cypress to portray Rome as a city that would permanently stand in time and surpass all other cities, respectively parallel to how a cypress tree is evergreen and also taller (and thus in this simile, greater) that other trees. However, the cypress’ attributes related to death and rebirth could also signal some sort of parallel to the current political climate of Rome. Around the time Virgil started working on the Eclogues, Octavian and Mark Antony were at odds with each other, and this conflict was significant during the transition of Rome from a republic to an empire. Though it is unclear if Virgil was aware of this being significant, it can definitely be assumed that he was, at least, aware of the political turmoil associated with it. 

In Eclogue 2, Virgil introduces the character Corydon, who is obsessed with another character, Alexis, through a monologue. In this monologue, he mentions the narcissus (2.48), a flower that is linked to the character Narcissus in Greek mythology, who is obsessed with his reflection. Though it’s a seemingly insignificant detail, other small details point towards the possibility that Virgil may have intended to parallel the characters of Corydon and Alexis to Echo and Narcissus. Virgil utilizes the verb resonat in the poem (2.13), which can be translated as Echo, and also has Corydon talk about his appearance, which he “nupe me in litore vidi” (2.25), a parallel to Narcissus staring at himself in the water. It is interesting to note that it is said that the earliest written record of Echo and Narcissus is in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, which was released after the Eclogues, and thus, this could point towards the possibility of the myth of Echo and Narcissus being passed down through speech, rather than text.

The Setting of Eclogue 2

         Eclogue 2 is set with greater specificity in respect to both place and time.  In fact, the passage of time is noted during the poem.  It starts at the hottest part of the day (sole sub ardenti); it closes at sunset (sol crescentis decedens duplicat umbras).  Such a lengthy passage of time appears, of course, incredible.  Also, as Coleman notes, the presence of reapers (messoribus) indicates that the harvest period is in full swing (ba-dum tis).  The Mediterranean agricultural calendar would place this in the Spring.

We also find out that we are in Sicily, the traditional Greek pastoral location.  The poem is, in fact, responsive to Theocritus’ Idyll 11, in which the Sicilian cyclops Polyphemus sings to Galatea.  Williams points out that Vergil adapts the contrast between Polyphemus (land) and Galatea (sea) to Corydon (rural) and Alexis (urban).  More specifically, Corydon sings to mountains and woods.  The terms used, montibus and silvis, suggest the wilderness, as compared to the more tame, pastoral grove (Coleman 92).  Such, then, is the location of the beech trees mentioned in line 3.  Corydon later admits his preference for such an environment (as compared to the urban life), nobis placeant omnia siluae.   

A few of Corydon’s references are noteworthy in their relation to setting.  Actaeo Aracyntho is a bit uncertain.  The Aracynthus mountain in Acarnania is more well-known, but Coleman suggests that it refers to a mountain on the border of Attica and Boeotia.  Further, Actaeo is not from actaeus (Greek aktaios ‘coastal’), but Akte, Aktaia was an ancient name for Attica (96-7).  Separately, the reference to Paris recalls the time when he was a herdsman on Mount Ida.  Shortly thereafter he will give his infamous judgment and acquire his own mate.  

A perk of the tardiness of this post is that I was inspired to share a piece of modern song as well:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-aK6JnyFmk (California Dreamin'). Considering our current locale, I think that we can relate. It is also worth a watch for its exhibition '60s costuming and white-people dancing.

Flock, Herd, Cattle: Animals in Eclogues II

This week I would like to (partially) devote my attention to pecus:  

pecus, -oris, n: a flock or herd, freq.; cattle
pecus, -udis, f: one animal of a flock or herd: an animal, a sheep

pecus, -us/-udis, m: a head of small cattle, one of a flock; a sheep

    Going through the first two Eclogues, I thought the only way to make a distinction between flock/herd/cattle, was through context.  Then I noticed their forms.  Please forgive me if this is obvious, it was a revelation for me...  Although all three words can mean flock/herd, in Eclogues I, II and III, it seems Virgil uses the neuter form in the singular when describing a flock of sheep or goats, as well as a single sheep:  

quam dives pecoris   (Eclogue II.20)

how rich in flocks

pecoris, n, gen., sing.

ite meae felix quandam pecus ite capellae   (Eclogue I.75)

Go, once happy flock, go my little goats

dic mihi Damoeta cuium pecus an Meliboei?   (Eclogue III.1)

Tell me, Damoetas of who is this flock, of Meliboeus?

pecus, n?, nom., sing.

et sucus pecori et lac subducitur agnis   (Eclogue III.6)

both the juice is taken from the sheep and milk from the lamb 

pecori, n, dat., sing.

But, uses the feminine plural when referring to a group of cattle:

nunc etiam pecudes umbras et frigora captant   (Eclogue II.8)

still now my cattle seek the cool and shade

pecudes, f, nom., pl.

    Sometimes when describing herds of sheep/goat Virgil uses the term grex (gregis, m) (Eclogue II.30; Eclogue III.32).  I assume the choice between his use of grex or pecus lies within meter....

Now that my mind is swimming with flocks of goats and herds of cattle, I looked to Theocritus for guidance but was met with more questions.  Eclogue III borrows the first line of Theocritus' Idyll 4: "Tell me, Corydon, whose cows are these? Do they belong to Philondas?". Theocritus makes clear which species of animal using the Greek αἱ βόες (fem., nom., pl.) meaning cows,  Εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Κορύδων, τίνος αἱ βόες; ἦ ῥα Φιλώνδα (Idyll 4.1).  Thus, if Virgil models this particular line in Ecolgue III so closely, is my analysis of pecus completely unhinged?  Is he in fact referring to cattle and not the flock?

    In Greek, βοῦς can either be masculine or feminine depending on the, well, author, and what they are referring to-- ox or cow.  When referring to oxen, rather than using the masculine, pecus, Virgil uses the term iuvencus (-i, m) meaning a "bullock" a.k.a. ox (yes, I had to google bullock) or young man-- I am sure this has to do with meter as well...

aspice aratra iugo referunt suspensa iuvenci     (Eclogue II.66)

look, the oxen bring back the plough having been hung from the yoke

To end, how does one yoke an ox?  Every time I read this line I just picture a dozen egg yokes dripping from the top of a cow's head.  That must be wrong.  In antiquity an ox, or cow, rarely an ass, but preferably an ox, would be yoked either from the horns or the neck using a piece of wood fitted to go over the oxen's horns, or fitted above the oxen's necks and secured by either leather straps or a U-shape lock that is inserted into the wood piece.  Did I do a terrible job of explaining that?  I am sure of it, so here is a video, albeit modern:

The plough would then be attached to the yoke, either from the middle:

(Thank you https://collection.sciencemuseumgroup.org.uk/objects/co38798/model-of-ancient-roman-plough-model-representation)

or from the sides:

Silver coin, Octavian, veiled and laureate, ploughing with yoke of oxen right, holding whip in left hand. (reverse) Head of Apollo, laureate, right. (obverse), 29BC-27BC, Minted in: Italy (Brundisium and Rome?), The British Museum, R.6171

The oxen pulled plough first appeared on coins in the Republic, usually with the bust of the goddess Ceres on the other side. This coin, however, was minted after Augustus founded the city of Nicopolis in honor of his victory at the Battle of Actium, so humble. It shows Augustus literally ploughing the foundation lines of the city. Holy cow, I digress... I believe we shall meet the plough again in Virgil's Georgics, so let this be our aperitif.  

 An example of adynata from the 1970s!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsQUDm1m0gs

Mama Cass had an amazing voice, a colorful (to say the least)  life, and a horrible (to say the least) death: Mama Cass Rolling Stone

Alert--keep an eye out for adynata in Ecl.4!  Meanwhile, enjoy these from Ovid Met 1--as always, Ovid takes a trope and takes it one step beyond:


 Occupat hic collem, cumba sedet alter adunca
et ducit remos illic, ubi nuper arabat:
ille supra segetes aut mersae culmina villae               295
navigat, hic summa piscem deprendit in ulmo.
figitur in viridi, si fors tulit, ancora prato,
aut subiecta terunt curvae vineta carinae;
et, modo qua graciles gramen carpsere capellae,
nunc ibi deformes ponunt sua corpora phocae.               300
mirantur sub aqua lucos urbesque domosque
Nereides, silvasque tenent delphines et altis
incursant ramis agitataque robora pulsant.
  There one man escapes to a hilltop, while another seated in his rowing boat pulls the oars over places where lately he was ploughing. One man sails over his cornfields or over the roof of his drowned farmhouse, while another man fishes in the topmost branches of an elm. Sometimes, by chance, an anchor embeds itself in a green meadow, or the curved boats graze the tops of vineyards. Where lately lean goats browsed shapeless seals play. The Nereids are astonished to see woodlands, houses and whole towns under the water. There are dolphins in the trees: disturbing the upper branches and stirring the oak-trees as they brush against them. Wolves swim among the sheep, and the waves carry tigers and tawny lions. The boar has no use for his powerful tusks, the deer for its quick legs, both are swept away together, and the circling bird, after a long search for a place to land, falls on tired wings into the water.  (translation: Kline)

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