Tuesday 25 October 2011

Raymond Williams, 'Nature' (from KEYWORDS, 1983)

Nature is perhaps the most complex word in the language. It is relatively easy to distinguish three areas of meaning: (i) the essential quantity and character of something; (ii) the inherent force which directs either the world or human beings or both; (iii) the material world itself, taken as including or not including human beings. Yet it is evident that within (ii) and (iii), though the area of reference is broadly clear, precise mmeanings are variable and at times even opposed. The historical development of the word through these three senses is important, but it is also significant that all three senses, and the main variations and alternatives within the two most difficult of them, are still active and widespread in contemporary usage.

Nature comes from fw naturc, oF and natura, L, from a root in the past participle of nasci, L - to be born (from which also derive nation, native, innate, etc.). Its earliest sense, as in oF and L, was (i), the essential character and quality of something. Nature is thus one of several important words, including culture, which began as descriptions of a quality or process, immediately defined by a specific reference, but later became independent nouns. The relevant L phrase for the developed meanings is natura rerum - the nature of things, which already in some L uses was shortened to natura - the constitution of the world. In English sense (i) is from C13, sense (ii) from C14, sense (iii) from C17, though there was an essential continuity and in senses (ii) and (iii) considerable overlap from C16. It is usually not difficult to distinguish (i) from (ii) and (iii); indeed it is often habitual and in effect not noticed in reading.
In a state of rude nature there is no such thing as a people . . . The idea
of a people ... is wholly artificial; and made, like all other legal fictions, by common agreement. What the particular nature of that agreement was, is collected from the form into which the particular society has been cast.
Here, in Burke, there is a problem about the first use of nature, but no problem - indeed it hardly seems the same word - about the second (sense (i)) use. Nevertheless, the connection and distinction between senses (i), (ii) and (iii) have sometimes to be made very conscious. The common phrase human nature for example, which is often crucial in important kinds of argument, can contain, without clearly demonstrating it, any of the three main senses and indeed the main variations and alternatives. There is a relatively neutral use in sense (i): that it is an essential quality and characteristic of human beings to do something (though the something that is specified may of course be controversial). But in many uses the descriptive (and hence verifiable or falsifiable) character of sense (i) is less prominent than the very different kind of statement which depends on sense (ii), the directing inherent force, or one of the variants of sense (iii), a fixed property of the material world, in this case ‘natural man’. What has also to be noticed in the relation between sense (i) and senses (ii) and (iii) is, more generally, that sense (i), by definition, is a specific singular - the nature of something, whereas senses (ii) and (iii), in almost all their uses, are abstract singulars - the nature of all things having
become singular nature or Nature. The abstract singular is of course now conventional, but it has a precise history. Sense (ii) developed from sense (i), and became abstract, because what was being sought was a single universal ‘essential quality or character’. This is structurally and historically cognate with the emergence of God from a god or the gods.

Abstract Nature, the essential inherent force, was thus formed by the assumption of a single prime cause, even when it was counierposed, in controversy, to the more explicitly abstract singular cause or force God.
This has its effect as far as sense (iii), when reference to the whole material world, and therefore to a multiplicity of things and creatures, can carry an assumption of something common to all of them: either (a) the bare fact of their existence, which is neutral, or, at least as commonly, (b) the generalization of a common quality which is drawn upon for statements of the type, usually explicitly sense (iii), ‘Nature shows us
that . . .’ This reduction of a multiplicity to a singularity, by the structure and history of the critical word, is then, curiously, compatible either with the assertion of a common quality, which the singular sense suits, or with the general or specific demonstration of differences, including the implicit or explicit denial of a common effective quality, which the singular form yet often manages to contain.

Any full history of the uses of nature would be a history of a large part of human thought. (For an important outline, see Lovejoy.) But it is possible to indicate some of the critical uses and changes. There is, first, the very early and surprisingly persistent personification of singular Nature: Nature the goddess, ‘nature herself. This singular personification is critically different from what are now called ‘nature gods’ or ‘nature spirits’: mythical personifications of particular natural forces. ‘Nature herself is at one extreme a literal goddess, a universal directing power, and at another extreme (very difficult to distinguish from some non-religious singular uses) an amorphous but still all-powerful creative and shaping force. The associated ‘Mother Nature’ is at this end of the religious and mythical spectrum. There is then great complexity when this kind of singular religious or mythical abstraction has to coexist, as it were, with another singular all-powerful force, namely a monotheistic God. It was orthodox in medieval European beUef to use both singular absolutes but to define God as primary and Nature as his minister or deputy. But there was a recurrent tendency to see Nature in another way, as an absolute monarch.

It is obviously difficult to separate this from the goddess or the minister, but the concept was especially used to express a sense of fatalism rather than of providence. The emphasis was on the power of natural forces, and on the apparently arbitrary or capricious occasional exercise of these powers, with inevitable, often destructive effects on men.

As might be expected, in matters of such fundamental difficulty, the concept of nature was usually in practice much wider and more various than any of the specific definitions. There was then a practice of shifting use, as in Shakespeare’s Lear:

Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man’s life’s as cheap as beast’s ...

. . . one daughter
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.
That nature, which contemns its origin.
Cannot be border’d certain in itself. . .

. . . All shaking thunder
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once,
That make ungrateful man . . .

. . . Hear, nature hear; dear goddess, hear . . .

In these examples there is a range of meanings: from nature as the primitive condition before human society; through the sense of an original innocence from which there has been a fall and a curse, requiring edemption; through the special sense of a quality of birth, as in the rootword; through again a sense of the forms and moulds of nature which can yet, paradoxically, be destroyed by the natural force of thunder; to that simple and persistent form of the goddess, Nature herself. This complexity of meaning is possible in a dramatic rather than an expository mode. What can be seen as an uncertainly was also a tension: nature was at once innocent, unprovided, sure, unsure, fruitful, destructive, a pure force and tainted and cursed. The real complexity of natural processes has been rendered by a complexity within the singular term.

There was then, especially from eC17, a critical argument about the observation and understanding of nature. It could seem wrong to inquire into the workings of an absolute monarch, or of a minister of God. But a formula was arrived at: to understand the creation was to praise the reator, seeing absolute power through contingent works. In practice the formula became lip-service and was then forgotten. Paralleling political changes, nature was altered from an absolute to a constitutional monarch, with a new kind of emphasis on natural laws. Nature, in C18 and C19, was often in effect personified as a constitutional lawyer. The laws came from somewhere, and this was variously but often indifferently defined; most practical attention was given to interpreting and classifying the laws, making predictions from precedents, discovering or reviving forgotten statutes, and above all shaping new laws from new cases: nature not as an inherent and shaping force but as an accumulation and classification of cases.

This was the decisive emergence of sense (iii): nature as the material world. But the emphasis on discoverable laws --

Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night;
God said, Let Newton be! and all was light! (Pope)

-- led to a common identification of Nature with Reason: the object of observation with the mode of observation. This provided a basis for a significant variation, in which Nature was contrasted with what had been made of man, or what man had made of himself. A ‘state of nature’ could be contrasted - sometimes pessimistically but more often optimistically and  even programmatically - with an existing state of society. The ‘state of nature’, and the newly personified idea of Nature, then played critical roles in arguments about, first, an obsolete or corrupt society, needing redemption and renewal, and, second, an ‘ artificial’ or ‘mechanical’ society, which learning from Nature must cure. Broadly, these two phases were the Enlightenment and the Romantic movement. The senses can readily be distinguished, but there was often a good deal of overlapping.

The emphasis on law gave a philosophical basis for conceiving an ideal society. The emphasis on an inherent original power - a new version of the much older idea - gave a basis for actual regeneration, or, where regeneration seemed impossible or was too long delayed, an alternative source for belief in the goodness of life and of humanity, as counterweight or as solace against a harsh ‘world’.

Each of these conceptions of Nature was significantly static: a set of laws - the constitution of the world, or an inherent, universal, primary but also recurrent force - evident in the ‘beauties of nature’ and in the ‘hearts of men’, teaching a singular goodness. Each of these concepts, but especially the latter, has retained currency. Indeed one of the most powerful uses of nature, since 1C18, has been in this selective sense of
goodness and innocence. Nature has meant the ‘countryside’, the ‘unspoiled places’, plants and creatures other than man. The use is especially current in contrasts between town and country: nature is what
man has not made, though if he made it long enough ago - a hedgerow or a desert - it will usually be included as natural. Nature-lover and nature poetry date from this phase.

But there was one further powerful personification yet to come: nature as the goddess, the minister, the monarch, the lawyer or the source of original innocence was joined by nature the selective breeder: natural selection, and the ‘ruthless’ competition apparently inherent in it, were made the basis for seeing nature as both hisiorical and active. Nature still indeed had laws, but they were the laws of survival and extinction:
species rose and flourished, decayed and died. The extraordinary accumulation of knowledge about actual evolutionary processes, and about the highly variable relations between organisms and their environments
including other organisms, was again, astonishingly, generalized to a singular name. Nature was doing this and this to species. There was then an expansion of variable forms of the newly scientific generalization: ‘Nature teaches . . .’, ‘Nature shows us that . . .’ In the actual record what was taught or shown ranged from inherent and inevitable bitter competition to inherent mutuality or co-operation. Numerous natural examples could be selected to support any of these versions: aggression, property, parasitism, symbiosis, co-operation have all been demonstrated, justified and projected into social ideas by selective statements of this form, normally cast as dependent on a singular Nature even while the facts of variation and variability were bemg
collected and used.

The complexity of the word is hardly surprising, given the fundamental importance of the processes to which it refers. But since nature is a word which carries, over a very long period, many of the major variations of
human thought - often, in any particular use, only implicitly yet with powerful effect on the character of the argument - it is necessary to be especially aware of its difficulty.

Raymond Williams, 'Culture' (from KEYWORDS, 1983)

Culture is one of the two or three most complicated words in the English language. This is so partly because of its intricate historical development, in several European languages, but mainly because it has now come to be used for important concepts in several distinct intellectual disciplines and in several distinct and incompatible systems of thought.

The fw is cultura, L, from rw colere, L. Colere had a range of meanings: inhabit, cultivate, protect, honor with worship. Some of these meanings eventually separated, though still with occasional overlapping, in the derived nouns. Thus 'inhabit developed through colonus, L to colony. 'Honor with worship developed through cultus, L to cult. Cultura took on the main meaning of cultivation or tending, including, as in Cicero, cultura animi, though with subsidiary medieval meanings of honor and worship (cf. in English culture as 'worship in Caxton (1483)). The French forms of cultura were couture, OF, which has since developed its own specialized meaning, and later culture, which by eC15 had passed into English. The primary meaning was then in husbandry, the tending of natural growth.

Culture in all its early uses was a noun of process: the tending of something, basically crops or animals. The subsidiary coulter -- ploughshare, had travelled by a different linguistic route, from culter, L -- ploughshare, culter, OE, to the variant English spellings culter, colter, coulter and as late as eCl7 culture (Webster, Duchess of Malfi, III, ii: 'hot burning cultures). This provided a further basis for the important next stage of meaning, by metaphor. From eCl6 the tending of natural growth was extended to process of human development, and this, alongside the original meaning in husbandry, was the main sense until lC18 and eC19. Thus More: 'to the culture and profit of their minds; Bacon: 'the culture and manurance of minds (1605); Hobbes: 'a culture of their minds (1651); Johnson: 'she neglected the culture of her understanding (1759). At various points in this development two crucial changes occurred: first, a degree of habituation to the metaphor, which made the sense of human tending direct; second, an extension of particular processes to a general process, which the word could abstractly carry. It is of course from the latter development that the independent noun culture began its complicated modern history, but the process of change is so intricate, and the latencies of meaning are at times so close, that it is not possible to give any definite date. Culture as an independent noun, an abstract process or the product of such a process, is not important before 1C18 and is not common before mCl9. But the early stages of this development were not sudden. There is an interesting use in Milton, in the second (revised) edition of The Readie and Easie Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth (1660): 'spread much more Knowledg and Civility, yea, Religion, through all parts of the Land, by communicating the natural heat of Government and Culture more distributively to all extreme parts, which now lie num and neglected. Here the metaphorical sense ('natural heat) still appears to be present, and civility is still written where in C19 we would normally expect culture. Yet we can also read 'government and culture in a quite modern sense. Milton, from the tenor of his whole argument, is writing about a general social process, and this is a definite stage of development. In C15 England this general process acquired definite class associations though cultivation and cultivated were more commonly used for this. But there is a letter of 1730 (Bishop of Killala, to Mrs Clayton; cit. Plumb, England in the Eighteenth Century)which has this clear sense: 'it has not been customary for persons of either birth or culture to breed up their children to the Church. Akenside (Pleasures of Imagination, 1744) wrote: '... nor purple state nor culture can bestow. Wordsworth wrote 'where grace of culture hath been utterly unknown (1805), and Jane Austen (Emma, 1816) 'every advantage of discipline and culture.

It is thus clear that culture was developing in English towards some of its modern senses before the decisive effects of a new social and intellectual movement. But to follow the development through this movement, in lC18 and eC19, we have to look also at developments in other languages and especially in German.

In French, until C18, culture was always accompanied by a grammatical form indicating the matter being cultivated, as in the English usage already noted. Its occasional use as an independent noun dates from mC18, rather later than similar occasional uses in English. The independent noun civilization also emerged in mC18; its relationship to culture has since been very complicated (cf. CIVILIZATION and discussion below). There was at this point an important development in German: the word was borrowed from French, spelled first (lC18) Cultur and from C19 Kultur. Its main use was still as a synonym for civilization: first in the abstract sense of a general process of becoming 'civilized or 'cultivated; second, in the sense which had already been established for civilization by the historians of the Enlightenment, in the popular C18 form of the universal histories, as a description of the secular process of human development. There was then a decisive change of use in Herder. In his unfinished Ideas on the Philosophy of the History of Mankind (1784--9 1) he wrote of Cultur: 'nothing is more indeterminate than this word, and nothing more deceptive than its application to all nations and periods. He attacked the assumption of the universal histories that 'civilization or culture -- the historical self-development of humanity -- was what we would now call a unilinear process, leading to the high and dominant point of C18 European culture. Indeed he attacked what be called European subjugation and domination of the four quarters of the globe, and wrote:
 
Men of all the quarters of the globe, who have perished over the ages, you have not lived solely to manure the earth with your ashes, so that at the end of time your posterity should be made happy by European culture. The very thought of a superior European culture is a blatant insult to the majesty of Nature.

It is then necessary, he argued, in a decisive innovation, to speak of 'cultures in the plural: the specific and variable cultures of different nations and periods, but also the specific and variable cultures of social and economic groups within a nation. This sense was widely developed, in the Romantic movement, as an alternative to the orthodox and dominant 'civilization. It was first used to emphasize national and traditional cultures, including the new concept of folk-culture. It was later used to attack what was seen as the MECHANICAL (q.v.) character of the new civilization then emerging: both for its abstract rationalism and for the 'inhumanity of current Industrial development. It was used to distinguish between 'human and 'material development. Politically, as so often in this period, it veered between radicalism and reaction and very often, in the confusion of major social change, fused elements of both. (It should also be noted, though it adds to the real complication, that the same kind of distinction, especially between 'material and 'spiritual development, was made by von Humboldt and others, until as late as 1900, with a reversal of the terms, culture being material and civilization spiritual. In general, however, the opposite distinction was dominant.)

On the other hand, from the 1840s in Germany, Kultur was being used in very much the sense in which civilization had been used in C18 universal histories. The decisive innovation is G. F. Klemms Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit -- 'General Cultural History of Mankind (1843-52)-- which traced human development from savagery through domestication to freedom. Although the American anthropologist Morgan, tracing comparable stages, used 'Ancient Society, with a culmination in Civilization, Klemms sense was sustained, and was directly followed in English by Tylor in Primitive Culture (1870). It is along this line of reference that the dominant sense in modern social sciences has to be traced.

The complexity of the modern development of the word, and of its modern usage, can then be appreciated. We can easily distinguish the sense which depends on a literal continuity of physical process as now in 'sugar-beet culture or, in the specialized physical application in bacteriology since the 1880s, 'germ culture. But once we go beyond the physical reference, we have to recognize three broad active categories of usage. The sources of two of these we have already discussed: (i) the independent and abstract noun which describes a general process of intellectual, spiritual and aesthetic development, from C18; (ii) the independent noun, whether used generally or specifically, which indicates a particular way of life, whether of a people, a period, a group, or humanity in general, from Herder and Klemm. But we have also to recognize (iii) the independent and abstract noun which describes the works and practices of intellectual and especially artistic activity. This seems often now the most widespread use: culture is music, literature, painting and sculpture, theater and film. A Ministry of Culture refers to these specific activities, sometimes with the addition of philosophy, scholarship, history. This use, (iii), is in fact relatively late. It is difficult to date precisely because it is in origin an applied form of sense (i): the idea of a general process of intellectual, spiritual and aesthetic development was applied and effectively transferred to the works and practices which represent and sustain it. But it also developed from the earlier sense of process; cf. 'progressive culture of fine arts, Millar, Historical View of the English Government, IV, 314 (1812). In English (i) and (iii) are still close; at times, for internal reasons, they are indistinguishable as in Arnold, Culture and Anarchy (1867); while sense (ii) was decisively introduced into English by Tylor, Primitive Culture (1870), following Klemm. The decisive development of sense (iii) in English was in lC19 and eC2O.

Faced by this complex and still active history of the word, it is easy to react by selecting one 'true or 'proper or 'scientific sense and dismissing other senses as loose or confused. There is evidence of this reaction even in the excellent study by Kroeber and Kluckhohn, Culture: a Critical Review of Concepts and Definitions, where usage in North American anthropology is in effect taken as a norm. It is clear that, within a discipline, conceptual usage has to be clarified. But in general it is the range and overlap of meanings that is significant. The complex of senses indicates a complex argument about the relations between general human development and a particular way of life, and between both and the works and practices of art and intelligence. It is especially interesting that in archaeology and in cultural anthropology the reference to culture or a culture isprimarily to material production, while in history and cultural studies the reference is primarily to signifying or symbolic systems. This often confuses but even more often conceals the central question of the relations between 'material and 'symbolic production, which in some recent argument -- cf. my own Culture -- have always to be related rather than contrasted. Within this complex argument there are fundamentally opposed as well as effectively overlapping positions; there are also, understandably, many unresolved questions and confused answers. But these arguments and questions cannot be resolved by reducing the complexity of actual usage. This point is relevant also to uses of forms of the word in languages other than English, where there is considerable variation. The anthropological use is common in the German, Scandinavian and Slavonic language groups, but it is distinctly subordinate to the senses of art and learning, or of a general process of human development, in Italian and French. Between languages as within a language, the range and complexity of sense and reference indicate both difference of intellectual position and some blurring or overlapping. These variations, of whatever kind, necessarily involve alternative views of the activities, relationships and processes which this complex word indicates. The complexity, that is to say, is not finally in the word but in the problems which its variations of use significantly indicate.

It is necessary to look also at some associated and derived words. Cultivation and cultivated went through the same metaphorical extension from a physical to a social or educational sense in C17, and were especially significant words in C18. Coleridge, making a classical eC19 distinction between civilization and culture, wrote (1830): 'the permanent distinction, and occasional contrast, between cultivation and civilization. The noun in this sense has effectively disappeared but the adjective is still quite common, especially in relation to manners and tastes. The important adjective cultural appears to date from the 1870s; it became common by the 1890s. The word is only available, in its modern sense, when the independent noun, in the artistic and intellectual or anthropological senses, has become familiar. Hostility to the word culture in English appears to date from the controversy around Arnolds views. It gathered force in lC19 and eC20, in association with a comparable hostility to aesthete and AESTHETIC (q.v.). Its association with class distinction produced the mime-word culchah. There was also an area of hostility associated with anti-German feeling, during and after the 1914-18 War, in relation to propaganda about Kultur. The central area of hostility has lasted, and one element of it has been emphasized by the recent American phrase culture-vulture. It is significant that virtually all the hostility (with the sole exception of the temporary anti-German association) has been connected with uses involving claims to superior knowledge (cf. the noun INTELLECTUAL),refinement (culchah) and distinctions between 'high art (culture) and popular art and entertainment. It thus records a real social history and a very difficult and confused phase of social and cultural development. It is interesting that the steadily extending social and anthropological use of culture and cultural and such formations as sub-culture (the culture of a distinguishable smaller group) has, except in certain areas (notably popular entertainment), either bypassed or effectively diminished the hostility and its associated unease and embarrassment. The recent use of culturalism, to indicate a methodological contrast with structuralism in social analysis, retains many of the earlier difficulties, and does not always bypass the hostility.
 

Monday 24 October 2011

Theocritus Idyll II. The Serenade

In this idyll the poet assumes the role of a young goatherd desperately attempting to seduce his mistress Amaryllis through his serenade. The poem is essentially divided into three parts, the first starting with five dedicatory lines to his friend Tityrus although there is no dialogue throughout. However, like idyll II, it carries whispers of a dialogue-form by means of a 'mute' character that is constantly addressed; either Tityrus or Amaryllis. 


The second part of the poem regards courting Amaryllis, each offering gifts to show his love. His desperation and torment are shown to progressively increase as the poem moves forward and his gifts become more generous (apples, garland, goat) in vain hopes of winning her love through materialistic offerings. After each gift followed by rejection and the failure of the song, there is a pause directed by elipsis, before the renewal of the despairing cry. 


The poem ends with a love song of four stanzas, bearing the scars of rejection, finally ending in a emotional call to commit suicide for his unrequited love, and a melodramatic claim that Amaryllis should seek some pleasure from his death, or sacrifice. 


Farihah Ferdous

Friday 7 October 2011

Theocritus Idyll V.


This idyll presents the highly fraught conversation of two shepherds; a goatherd named Comatas, and a young shepherd named Lacon.

Upon sight of one another, the two shepherds begin accusing the other of the petty theft of Lacon’s pipe and Comatas’s skin-coat.  The bitterly enriched dialogue is evident as Comatas blames Lacon’s ‘foul envious hands’ [12] and eyes for his current nakedness. This feuding dialogue leads to a contest of song, presented by each character in alternate couplets, and largely on the theme of love. This attempt at resolution demonstrates the importance of song and music as a Pastoral convention, relying upon it to prove oneself, in addition to resolving disputes with one another.

Following the initial accusations of theft, the two character’s appear to boast and advertise their spot of land near the river Crathis, evident as Lacon encourages Comatas that ‘[he]’ll sing better sitting under the wild olive and this coppice [as] there’s cool water falling yonder, and grass and a greenbed’ [31-32]. Lacon continues to provoke Comatas, encouraging him to ‘hither, come thou hither, and thou shalt sing thy country-song for the last time’ [44]. After disputing the location for the ‘match o’ country-song’ [60], the two characters disagree once again as they attempt to select an appropriate judge. As the song contest commences, the two shepherds continue to compete against one another, boasting in the love that has been bestowed upon them by ‘The Muses’ [80] and Apollo. The importance of nature’s role in pastoral love is demonstrated as Lacon describes a damsel’s interest and attraction to his solitary kid, as opposed to him as the ‘damsel sees and the damsel says ‘Poor lad, dost milk alone?’’ [85]. Similarly, Comatas describes the attractiveness of Clearist flinging apples, presenting images of a pastoral setting and rural life, not of conventional romance.

Morson halts the singing contest as he concludes that Comatas has won and encourages him to reward this decision with ‘a well-laden platter’ [139]. The images of love and the pastoral presented throughout the singing contest are juxtaposed rather suddenly with extreme violence as Comatas recalls the Melanthius [145]; the goatherd mutilated by Odysseus and Telemachus, whilst also threatening to ‘break every bone’ [144] in the goat’s body he has been awarded with. Such violence, however, demonstrates the circular continuity of life and the natural world, through death, sacrifice and re-birth.

Hollie Redman

Wednesday 5 October 2011

Virgil's Eclogue 9


The opening of this eclogue highlights the tension amongst the townsmen regarding recent changes within their community. Lycidas and Moeris coincidentally come across each other and the current affairs of their town are discussed, which draws the reader’s attention towards how unsatisfied the public is. Moeris states how the new owner of the land claims ‘”This is mine; begone, old tenants!”’ [3] suggestive of the unsettling atmosphere this unknown stranger is creating for the people. To further accentuate this disconcerting situation, Moeris implies how ‘neither your Moeris here nor Menalcas himself would be alive’ [14] had the ravens not warned him to stop his disagreement with the stranger. However, the identity of this ‘stranger’ [2] remains undisclosed which invites different interpretations from the readers regarding who it may be.


A very significant aspect of this eclogue is that it revolves around the idea of how much poetry/ songs mean to Lycidas and Moeris, which also indicates the importance it holds in pastoral traditions. Lycidas passionately questions ‘Who would sing the nymphs?’ [18] wondering out loud how different their lives will be considering the changes and lack of music in their lives. In an attempt to embrace poetry and its magic, Lycidas and Moeris start to reminisce and sing out loud their verses and poems from their childhood and past. Lycidas remembers hearing Moeris sing ‘Daphnis, why are you gazing at the old constellations rising?’ [46].


Critics such as Fiona Cox discuss the loss, guilt and cultural amnesia present in the ninth eclogue. Moeris and Lycidas seem to have a consistent fear of losing their memory of songs, as Moeris distinctly claims how ‘time robs us of all, even of memory’ [51]. He acknowledges the consequences of time, yet feels a sense of loss for what it does to his memory. In his essay titled 'Shadows are falling: Virgil, Radnóti and Dylan, and the aesthetics of pastoral melancholy', Richard F. Thomas explores how the concept of time, memory and place can be constructed as key melancholic elements in Virgil’s Eclogues. This similar line of argument reiterates Cox’s discussion regarding how both shepherds are living in fear of losing what is dearest to them – poetry.


A very befitting ending is given to this particular eclogue as Lycidas suggests ‘Moeris, let us sing’ [59] as ‘it makes the road less irksome’ [61] which conveniently portrays the sweet effect music brings, thus once again highlighting its power.

Tuesday 4 October 2011

Virgil's Eclogue X

This eclogue is about the death of Gallus and is clearly supposed to be an imitation of Theocritus’ first idyll about the death of Daphnis. There are some similarities between the two poems; for example Gallus, like Daphnis, seems to be dying because of love and like Theocritus’ idyll it is unclear whether he is supposed to be dying as a result of heartbreak, suicide or some sort of physical ailment/wound caused by this love. As in Theocritus’ idyll, gods are mentioned and one tries to convince Gallus that death is unnecessary. In the idyll it is Priapus that says ‘why pine, poor Daphnis’ but in virgil’s eclogue Apollo says ‘Gallus, art mad?”. At first glance it appears that Priapus is more sympathetic than Apollo but when one remembers that Priapus is the god of male arousal his words seem more like a taunt whereas Apollo is simply being blunt. Virgil’s use of the god Apollo is significant because, although he is most commonly thought of as the god of the sun, in some myths he is also the god of healing. This image of Apollo as not only the god of the sun but as the god of healing put together with Pan, Nymphs and Gallus saying later in the poem ‘they will grow/ and you, my love, grow with them’ makes me think of growth and renewal but Gallus’ use of the words doom and love in the same line makes it seem as if love itself is what is killing him and if he had not fallen in love he would live.

Posted by Chantell

Virgil's Eclogue IV

Vergil’s fourth eclogue is about the beginning and rise of the Golden Age, which is brought about with the birth of a boy who is described as the ‘great offspring of Jove’ who is the king of all gods. It is to this boy that has been born that the future belongs and his career which the poet must pursue. What is also important in this eclogue is the description of the Golden Age approaching which will bring peace and accomplishment, it will be a perfect world.



Sicilian Muses, let us take a loftier tone.
Orchards and humble tamarisks don't give delight to all,
and if we sing of woods, they should be worthy of a consul.
Now comes the last age of the Cumaean song;
the great order of the ages arises anew.
Now the Virgin returns, and Saturn's reign returns;
now a new generation is sent down from high heaven.
Only, chaste Lucina, favour the child at his birth,
by whom, first of all, the iron age will end
and a golden race arise in all the world;
now your Apollo reigns.

And indeed, Pollio, during your consulship
this glory of the age will enter in,
and the great months will begin to advance;
while you lead, if any stains of our sins still linger,
their negation will free the lands from endless fear.
He will take up the gods' life, and he will see
heroes and gods intermingled;
and he himself will be seen by them,
and with his father's virtues will rule a world at peace.


A new era is beginning, much brighter than the previous. With the return of the Virgin will be the return of innocence and purity and with Saturn reigning once more, as he was known as the Roman God of agriculture and justice, he will bring abundance and peace to the people. In the second stanza, Virgil is referring to him who will be seen by gods and will rule in this Golden era. Although we are not certain who this person is, it could be supposed that he is the newborn boy who will grow up to be the ruler of this perfect world. Also, as Virgil mentions that his father had virtues , with connection to the Roman Empire we could interpret this boy as being Octavian, the heir to Julius Caesar.



And for yourself, little boy, the uncultivated earth
will scatter its first small gifts:
wandering ivy and cyclamens everywhere,
Egyptian beans mixed with laughing acanthus.
By themselves, she-goats will come home
with udders swollen with milk;
cattle no longer will fear mighty lions.
For you, your own cradle will bear delightful flowers;
the serpent will die, and the plant that hides its venom;
Assyrian spices will spring forth all over.
But as soon as you are able to read
the praise of heroes and your father's works
and come to understand what virtue is,
fields will slowly turn golden with soft ears of grain,
red grapes will hang down from uncultivated briars
and stubborn oaks will exude dewlike honey.

For this little boy, there will be brought abundance and beauty in nature and all that is harmful will be replaced by this beauty. As this boy starts growing up and develops even more wonders will be brought forth in nature bringing agriculture and harvest time to its peak. In this stanza again Virgil refers to this boy’s father’s virtuous works, which also leads us to believe the father to be Julius Caesar and the son Octavius.



Yet still a few relics of old crimes will remain,
commanding men to tempt Thetis with rafts,
ring towns with walls, and plough furrows in the earth.
There will be another Tiphys, and another Argo,
carrying picked heroes; there will be another War,
and mighty Achilles will be sent to Troy again.


After this, when the hard age has made you a man,
the merchant himself will withdraw from the sea,
and the maritime pine ships will not trade goods;
every land will produce everything.
Earth will not endure the hoe, nor the vine the sickle;
strong ploughmen too will unbind their yoked bulls.
Wool will not learn to feign various colours:
in the meadows, by himself, the ram will change his fleece –
now to sweet reddening purple, now to saffron yellow;
and vermilion, of its own accord, will clothe the grazing lambs.

Even though this is the beginning of the Golden Age, there will still be some hardships to be surpassed and a War to be won. These difficulties will only make this boy stronger; they will develop him into a man, ready to reign. When the hardships have passed, peace and abundance will fill the world and the Golden Era will finally have arrived.


"May such ages race on!": thus the Parcae have spoken
to their spindles, in concord with the fates’ steadfast wills.
Beloved child of the gods, the time is at hand:
take up your great honours, great offspring of Jove!
Behold the world swaying beneath its vaulted weight –
the earth, the sea's fields and the depth of the sky;
see how all things rejoice in the age that will come!

The ‘Parcae’, being the personifications of destiny in Roman mythology, have announced the child’s fate. It is his time to take up his honours and rule the perfect world that is about to come. The earth, the sea and the sky are all ready for the arrival of the Golden Era.


Then for me may the last part of a long life remain,
and inspiration enough to tell your deeds;
neither Thracian Orpheus nor Linus would surpass me in song,
though Calliope were there for one and fair Apollo for the other –
the mother for Orpheus, the father for Linus.
Even Pan, against me, with Arcadia as judge –
even Pan himself would say he had been conquered.

Here, Virgil is referring to himself: he will tell this boy’s story and accomplishments as well as anyone ever could. Even better than the legendary poet Orpheus and his mother, muse Calliope. His story will be more melodious than Pan’s, who is the inventor of the bucolic pipe.


Now begin, little boy: look and smile on your mother
(for ten months brought long labour to her);
begin, little boy. Those who smile not on their parent
no god honours at his table, no goddess in her bed.


MARIA

Idyll 9: The Third Country Singing Match

There are two characters in this 9th idyll, The first speaker is Menalcas, and he invokes Daphnis to sing a country song. Dialogue says; let the cows run free, let the ox run with the heifers (sexual content). May they all be well fed, but you come here and sing me your song.
Daphnis sings: about the sweetness of songs, Menalcas takes over the song, both are singing principally about rural life; living at the base of Etna; they don’t care about the possibility of winter storms, they are so happy in their rural existence. At the close of the song the original speaker presents the shepherds with a gift each, Daphnis with a club, and Menalcas with a conch shell. Then the speaker sings a song. There is one really nice part of his song where the speaker claims that songs are his home away from home, and so offer him comfort.
Other than this though, this idyll is lacking the double plots of pervious and later idylls, and seems subjectively much more simple. The narrator judges the two poets equal, presenting both with a gift, so there is no discrepancy between speakers, and he sings a six line song praising their efforts. It has been said that the idyll is simply a poor imitation of Idyll 8, which is richer in content and subject. This idyll is even omitted from the Oxford collection of Theocritus’ Idylls.

Monday 3 October 2011

Vergil's eclogue 3

Vergil’s Eclogue III

Menalcas can’t stop himself picking a fight. Aegon has left his flock with Damoetas, and Menalcas can’t help but comment to Damoetas ‘Poor sheep! That flock’s always unlucky.’ Menalcas, you see, is always up for a bit of a laugh. He goes on to talk about what Aegon’s been up to, suggesting that while Aegon ‘Fondles Neaera’ he is at all time ‘dreading that she favours me’. Menalcas certainly thinks something of himself, and although I’m no psychologist, it sounds like Menalcas’s got a chip on his shoulder, something to prove. And so it’s no surprise when he finally winds Damoetas up so much a competition emerges. Of course in the end it’s Damoetas who suggests the contest, but who wouldn’t after such provocation from Menalcas: ‘Dunce, at the crossroads wasn’t it you Who murdered miserable tunes on squeaking straw?’
As prize for the victor, Damoetas offers a prize heifer. But Menalcas is one hell of a difficult guy, and so it’s no surprise he doesn’t agree to the initial wager. Instead of offering one of his flock, Menalcas promises a cup to the winner, a cup which ‘even you will admit is worth far more’ (my italics). The scene is set. The shepherds inhale deeply and the singing can begin. Before we get to the judging, however, it’s worth taking a look at Theocritus’ Idyll 5.
Idyll 5, on which Eclogue 3 is based, opens quite differently. We have similar bickering shepherds but rather than one agent provocateur teasing the other, Theocritus’ singers begin by accusing each other of stealing. Comatas cries: ‘Hey, goats, look out for that shepherd there, Lacon from Sybaris! Yesterday he stole my goatskin.’ And Lacon in turn: ‘It’s Comatas, Can’t you see? – the one who stole my pipe last week.’ Although both Comatas and Lacon are there to wind each other up, there is a sense in Theocritus’ poem of a hierarchy. Comatas is older than Lacon. He’s taught him a few things, and seems particularly proud of the moments in which he buggered poor Lacon. Lacon first hints at this relationship, stating ‘Did I ever learn a worthwhile lesson from you?’ To which Comatas answers; ‘Well, you howled when I shafted you; my she-goats’ Bleats mocked you, and the billy gave them a poke.’ And just like that Lacon’s on the back foot, because the best he can offer in rebuttal: ‘Oh, you didn’t go deep; may your grave be just as shallow’, which is a crap comeback. The second time Comatas brings up is more explicit: ‘Don’t you remember the time I battered your bum? How you scowled and wriggled and clung to that oak!’ (l. 116/7). Lacon can but deny any memory of it (l. 118). And so this scene with it’s clear hierarchy must have a clear winner. Judge Morson does a fine job of declaring the more senior singer the winner. This is no idealised competition in which idleness, play and poetry are the real victors. No, this is a sport and a bet.
Vergil, on the other hand, introduces us not to pragmatic Morson but to romantic Palaemon. Palaemon, the wimp, can’t help but speak in encomiums. His opening gambit:
‘Sing then, because we sit together on soft grass,
And every field now, every tree is burgeoning;
Now woods are leafing, now the year is loveliest.’
Which is all well and good, but what’s it got to do with a competition? A competition with goats and cups and things of real value at stake? Turns out, Palaemon’s the worst kind of judge for any kind of competition. For having sung their hearts out, Palaemon can but disappoint Menalcas and Damoetas, stating:
‘Not ours to arbritrate these grave disputes between you.
Both you and he have earned the heifer – so have all
Who fear the sweet or feel the bitterness of love.’

The competition does not declare a victor for it was not the winning or losing, but, Vergil tells us, the taking part that counts. Vergil’s poem is not a competition, but an aesthetic exercise, a poetic stretching of the legs. Vergil uses Theocritus’ pastoral setting to develop a pastoral tradition.

Rich

Theocritus Idyll 8

The Theocritean authorship of Idyll 8 has been much disputed amongst nineteenth and early twentieth century scholars. In contrast to the vivid, realistic characterisations exhibited in the genuine Idylls, Idyll 8 offers a stylized characterisation based on legend and mythical influence. Not only is the bucolic contest a primary theme of pastoral, but the specific match detailed in Idyll 8 is a prototypic one. Here, we witness the mythical Daphnis (whose name itself alludes to the theatrical nature of bucolic song) defeat the mythical Menalcas to establish his preeminence in bucolic verse. As the ‘pastoral hero par excellence’, as Kathryn Gutzwiller puts it, it is unsurprising that Daphnis remains the poet’s focus, whereas Menaclas appears to merely act as a foil to this central figure.

The myth surrounding Daphnis is, arguably, the principal and formative legend of pastoral poetry. Essentially, the story is as follows: Daphnis, a cowherd, was the son of Hermes and skilled at playing the pipes. He feel in love with a nymph, who, infatuated with him, elicited from him a promise of fidelity. Some time later he was seduced (some say tricked) by a princess and was blinded by his former love as punishment. Idyll 8 appears to be consistent with this myth: Daphnis is a cowherd, a singer of pastoral songs and is destined to marry a nymph. Moreover, whilst Daphnis’ beauty is mentioned in almost all accounts, Aelian’s report that the nymph fell in love with a Daphnis who was ‘handsome, young first growing a beard, that time when the youth of handsome lads is at its most charming’, is most memorable and truly fitting with Idyll 8’s depiction of the youthful Daphnis.

The poem opens with Daphnis and Menaclas meeting one another on the mountains whilst tending to their respective cattle and flock. We witness Menaclas challenge Daphnis to a bucolic contest: ‘“Daphnis, guardian of the lowing kine, wilt thou sing with me? If the songs be of the length I choose, I say that I shall vanquish thee”’ (5-7). Both characters appear to mirror one another in their ‘ruddy’ locks, youth and skill in piping and singing. After some discussion as to the stake (which is eventually settled as a pipe), a neighbouring goatherd is summoned to act as judge for the contest. One is unsure as to whether to take the two as friends (as lines 33-40 suggest when the pair wish ‘pasture in abundance’ upon one another) or as arch rivals, judging by their responses to the outcome - Daphnis ‘in his victory ... leapt for pleasure and clapped his hands’, whilst Menalcas was ‘seared with sorrow and heart-stricken with grief’ (88-91).

The elegiac portion of the contest consists of four sets of responding quatrains (one of which is missing), followed by two hexameter songs of eight lines from each herdsman. Whilst, in the first set of elegiac quatrains (33-40), Menaclas somewhat religiously prays for the bounty of nature in exchange for a pleasing gift of song, Daphnis reiterates this notion in more typically pastoral terms; the pastures foster growth simply from the sweetness of their natural vitality. Moreover, this abundance results from the similarity between Daphnis’ own music and that of the nightingale (38), nature’s most exquisite songstress. By aligning his musical talents with that of the nightingale, Daphnis alludes to an intimate, pastoral bond with nature, which appears lacking in Menaclas’ characterisation.

The second set of quatrains (41-48) detail the boys’ loves. Menaclas’ affection lies with the male Milon, whilst Daphnis’ female lover is often identified as the nymph whom he marries at the poem’s close, Nais (93). Each singer claims a correlation between their love’s presence or absence and nature’s fullness or deprivation, a motif that produces one of the earliest examples of pathetic fallacy - the illusion that nature responds with sympathy to human emotion.

In the final elegiac quatrains (53-60), Daphnis expresses the pain that comes from ‘longing for a tender maiden’ (59). Here, the ‘tender maiden’ can be construed not as the nymph, or indeed any specific person, but as a generic type. Thus, the poet foreshadows the many women who will, according to traditional myth, later entice Daphnis.

At the conclusion of the contest, the goatherd awards the victory to Daphnis, who is henceforth accounted chief of herdsmen and subsequently married to the nymph of his song. Arguably, Daphnis’ triumph is based upon his embodiment of the pastoral notion. As the goatherd depicts, Daphnis’ voice is ‘sweet’, like that of a calf, and hearing his song is better than licking honey (76-82). As Gutzwiller observes, ‘underneath the rustic simplicity of expression is an indication that Daphnis’ music shares in nature’s reserve of sweetness and beauty’. As such, his marriage to the nymph, Nais, appears to complete his oneness with nature.

*RIA*

Eclogue VIII

Vergil’s Eclogue VIII is depicted on various levels by scholars and is often debated over. There is a great controversy surrounding the idea of the addressee of this eclogue. The traditional thought behind this idea is that Vergil was referring to Asinius Pollio as Vergil wrote this eclogue in 39BC, the same year as Pollio’s victory over Parthini.

‘But you (Virgil’s patron Pollio), whether you are already sailing past the rocks of great Timavus or coasting the shore of the Illyrian sea- say, will that day ever dawn when I may tell you deeds?’

Vergil seems to be praising the conquests on his addressee,‘From you is my beginning; in your honour shall I end.'

However, G.W. Bowersock argues that it was rather Octavian Caeser who Vergil was referring to in this eclogue. W.V. Clausen and Van Sickle later supported this claim. However, it is still the traditional view that seems to be widely accepted amongst most the scholars.

The narrative then shifts to a singing match between the two shepherds Damon and Alphesiboeus. Both the shepherds seem to be pining over lost love. The nature of Damon’s song seems to be rather absurd as it lacks any lyrical and literary quality. Damon simply goes on to lament over a woman called Nysa who he fell in with at the tender age of eleven. But Nysa is later married to Mopsus. Hence, Damon wishes to die. The song depicts a very pastoral picture as Damon claims that it was actually within a very natural sorrounding where he first saw Nysa and fell in love with her, ‘Within our graden hedge I saw you- I was guide for both – a little child with your mother, gathering dewy apples.’

It is also worth noting that the apples that Damon talks about appear to be rather magical as they are not simply any apples but are rather ‘dewy’ apples. Here, Vergil seems to be bringing together the genre of pastoral and magic.

Continuing this notion, Vergil further incorporates the theme of witchcraft or magic in the song of Alphesibeous. Alphesiboeus narrates the tale of a woman who loses her lover Daphnis due to a possible betrayal from him but still wishes to have him back. In order to achieve this, she resorts to methods of witchcraft, ‘And burn rich herbs and male frankincense, that I may try with magic rites to turn to fire my lover’s coldness of mood.’

The woman seems to be quite desperate for Daphnis’s attention. However, unlike Damon’s song, Alphesibeous’s song does not lack either lyrical or literary quality. His song focuses on metaphors to describe the intensity of the lover’s desperation, ‘As this clay hardens and as this wax melts in one and the same flame, so may Daphnis melt with love for me!’

The contrast of hardness of softness proves to be rather intriguing here and has proven to be an issue of great debate between various critics. It is commonly argued that it is Daphnis who is supposed to grow both hard and soft for his lover. C. A. Faraone argues that the purpose of this magic is for Daphnis to grow ‘soft’ with desire so that he may not stray and for his lover to grow ‘hard’. This is because if Daphnis took on the latter role, he may indeed end up being unfaithful and may fall for the charms of other women.
The eclogue ends with the lover creating her magical and devious potion while she believes that Daphnis would return to her very soon. The contrast between Damon and Alphesiboeus’s song proves be highly interesting and seems to contradict one another. Damon’s song ends in utter hoplessness as he plans to commit suicide in order to mourn lost love while the lover in Alphebiboeus’s song seems to be hopeful and leaves no possible means to gain her love back.

Rumaisa

Virgil Ecologue II

Virgil’s Ecologue II depicts a scene of unrequited love, which the shepherd Corydon harbours for the ‘beautiful’ Alexis. According to Guy Lee, ancient readers interpreted the poem autobiographically, claiming that Alexis is a beautiful slave-boy given to the poet by his patron Pollio, and Corydon is Virgil himself (Guy Lee, Virgil The Ecologues (England: Oxford University Press, 1984), p.37.).
Virgil introduces Corydon as a lone figure in the woods, berating Alexis for his disinterest in him. Corydon appeals to Alexis for pity, claiming that he will be ‘the death’ (7) of him and pointing out that whilst cattle ‘cast about for cool and shade’ (8) and the green lizards hide amongst hawthorn branches, he, Corydon, retraces Alexis’ steps ‘beneath the burning sun (13). Although Corydon describes himself as being in this position, the narrator has already described Corydon as walking among the ‘dense, shady-topped beeches,’ (5) which lends to the reader an altogether more pleasant account of Corydon’s position than Corydon himself. Perhaps Corydon is exaggerating his suffering in order to invoke Alexis’ sympathy, which seems pointless considering that Alexis himself is not present. It seems more likely that it is Corydon’s mood, shown as fractious in the opening lines, is the true cause of his discomfort.
Virgil shows Corydon to be frustrated with Alexis’ indifference for him, and he berates Alexis for ‘never asking’ who he is. Corydon is depicted as a vain character here, with a strong view of his own position. He describes himself as ‘rich in flocks’ and ‘affluent in snowy milk,’ (20) as though advertising his merit as a potential suitor or benefactor. His wealth in ewe-lambs, he assures Alexis, ranges across the hills of Sicily. As Corydon continues in this vein he appears to grow in confidence, asserting that he is ‘not that ugly’ (25) and would ‘not be scared of Daphnis, if mirrors tell the truth’ (27) (thereby comparing his beauty with that of Daphnis.)
Corydon bemoans that Alexis is not interested in living life with him ‘in country squalor,’ living in a ‘humble hut’ and ‘shooting fallow deer’ (29). This again paints an image incongruous to that which precedes it, considering that Corydon was in previous lines assuring Alexis of his wealth. Corydon fantasises about Alexis mimicking Pan beside him, playing the pipes. Here, Virgil presents a scene of pastoral idyll, in which Corydon and Alexis spurn the city for a simple, wholesome life in the countryside. When he later comes to his senses, Corydon maintains that ‘Pallas can keep her cities (62) but let the wood all else please me (63).
Corydon makes repeated reference to Alexis as ‘lovely boy,’ and from line 46 bids him to come near so that the nymphs and the naiad may give him flowers picked for him. Flowers and plants like Narcissus and the laurel are mentioned, which carry symbolic meaning relevant to the poem. The narcissus could be a metaphor for Alexis, as both Narcissus and Alexis are beautiful boys. The laurel could also be seen as a (somewhat presumptuous) symbol of victory for Corydon winning Alexis’ affections. Corydon also mentions ‘my Amaryllis’ (52) who ‘used’ to love chestnuts, recalling perhaps a former lost love.
Suddenly, Corydon scorns himself as a ‘yokel’ (56) and seems to snap out of his lovelorn yearning for Alexis. His focus here shifts from Alexis to himself. His choice of insult is interesting, considering that yokel is a derogatory term describing the stereotypical unsophisticated person (I assume that ‘rusticus es, Corydon,’ is the Latin phrase for ‘Corydon, you’re a yokel.) Corydon now attacks himself for neglecting his domestic duties, and notes how the oxen ‘now bring home their yoke-suspended ploughs (67.) Corydon seems to equate his love with madness, and calls himself a ‘poor lunatic’ (59). In the parting line, Corydon seems to console himself with a line akin to ‘there’s plenty more fish in the sea,’ by reassuring himself that ‘if this Alexis sneers at you, you’ll find another’ (73). This final sentiment seems from Virgil to be a statement on the transience of love, considering that at the beginning of the poem Corydon thought that Alexis would be the death of him. The effect of this overall is that Virgil is poking gentle fun at Corydon, but is also sympathetic to his feelings at the beginning of the poem.

Alissa Bevan

Theocritus Idyll 2

Theocritus Idyll 2

Less typically pastoral than Theocritus’ other Idylls, Idyll 2 takes the form of an incantation, performed by the naive girl Simaetha who has been abandoned by her lover Delphis, and is attempting to conjure his return. The idea of charm and magical power is one both within and surrounding the idyll; having been charmed herself by Delphis’ looks and language, Simaetha attempts her own magic to lure him back to her. Furthermore, Simaetha’s incantations are passionate expressions of herself as a naive, confused and love sick young girl. Kathryn Gutzwiller describes the appeal of the idyll to be lying ‘in the tension between Simaetha’s turbulent emotional state and the quiet nocturnal setting, tense with the practice of black magic; Theocritus thus creates an uncertain balance between the girl’s helplessness and her power.” (Gutzwiller, Kathryn J. A guide to Hellenistic literature (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007) Pg 91).


An interesting feature of Idyll 2 is Theocritus’ placing of Simaetha not only as a female voice but as the only voice in the poem - Delphis’ speech is present but is reported by Simaetha, and Simaetha’s servant Thestylis, although present, is a silent listener. Through Simaetha’s monologue, we experience her desperate attempt to regain her lost lover in her resort to magic, invoking the help of the deities (Hecate and the Moon) and reflecting on her relationship with Delphis.


The Idyll can be divided into two sections. The first can be identified by the repeating line ‘Wryneck, wryneck, draw him hither’ which can be found after each stanza, and the latter by the similarly placed line ‘List, good Moon, where I learnt my loving.’ This we are told in the prologue (I read J. M. Edmonds translation):
‘in the first a Coan girl named Simaetha lays a fire-spell upon her neglectful lover, the young athlete Delphis, and in the second, when her maid goes off to smear the ashes upon his lintel, she tells the Moon how his love was won and lost.’
While casting the spell, Simaetha sings to the moon and invokes the assistance of the goddess Hecat who is associated with witchcraft:
‘So shine me fair, sweet Moon; for to thee, still Goddess, is my song, to thee and that Hecat infernal who makes e’en the whelps to shiver on her goings to and fro’
Simaetha also mentions the goddess of sexual love in the line ‘And as this wheel of brass turns by grace of Aphrodite’, and soon after Artemis, who famously represents female virginity. These references to the female deities not only strengthen themes of sex and virginity (in Simaetha’s case lost) but also symbolise female power, displaying Simaetha’s desperate search for power to regain Delphis’ love.


A recurring image in the idyll is that of fire, which Theocritus uses in relation with the power and passion of love. Simaetha describes her incantations as her ‘fire spell’, and as she watches the barley-meal burn, wills that Delphis’ body shrivels up in flames of love, begging Hecat to ‘melt with love’ her lost lover. Later, Simaetha states that she is ‘all afire’ with love for Delphis. Through the relation of love with fire, we gain insight into the flammable and destructive nature of Simaetha’s love, and perhaps a foreshadowing that her love will eventually ‘go out’.


In the second half of the idyll, we learn the story of Simaetha’s love, and the extent to which it affected her. She speaks of when she first saw Delphis:
‘in a moment I looked and I was lost, lost and smit I’ the heart; the colour went from my cheek; of that brave pageant I bethought me no more. How I got me home I know not; but this I know, a parching fever laid me waste and I was ten days and ten nights abed’
Simaetha’s appearance is dramatically changed by her passion towards Delphis. She became ‘wan and pale [...] the hairs o’ my head began to fall; I was nought but skin and bone.’ Her love is at this point described as a ‘malady’ and a ‘distemper’, showing her naivety of love. By presenting Simaetha’s story in present and past, we can acknowledge how her love for Delphis changed her from a victim to ‘malady’ to a sorceress, passionately attempting to conjure back her loved one. That the love is described with fire and has physical affects on its subjects portrays the great strength of the love that Simaetha is trying to regain, and enables us to comprehend the great effort she is going to in order to succeed.


Ultimately, although Simaetha’s incantations do not return the affections of Delphis, the act of performing them serves to heal her personal anguish, and after a final stanza of threats to Delphis’ life if he does not return her love, she states that she ‘will bear [her] love as best [she] may’. Mark Payne is far from the mark when he says that ‘In Idyll 2 a disappointed teenager tells of her love affair with a local athlete’ (Payne, Mark, Theocritus and the invention of fiction (Cambridge University Press)), it is a complex and passionate expression of a desperate lover, who’s naivety in love has caused much pain and anguish.

POSTED BY NAOMI

THEOCRITUS IDYLL 4

THEOCRITUS IDYLL IV

Idyll 4 – ‘The Herdsmen’ depicts a scene of conversation between two goatherds, Battus and Corydon. Corydon has been requested to stand in for Aegon – a cowherd, who has been called away by Milon, to the Alpheus for a boxing match.

Battus mocks Corydon on the subject of his new position as stand-in for Aegon, possibly through jealousy as cowherds are seen as superior to goatherds. Daniel W. Berman suggests that in Theocritean bucolic, conversations between fellow goatherds would be friendly and amiable, whilst conversations between shepherds and goatherds, or cowherds and goatherds would often be vulgar and abusive. In this Idyll Corydon’s role has changed, adding strain to the relations between himself and Battus.

Battus questions where Aegon has gone, and is surprised to hear he has been taken away to a boxing match with Milon. His reaction is recollected in the following passage:

‘CORYDON [6] Did you never hear? Milon carried him off with him to the Alpheus.
BATTUS
[7] Lord! When had the likes of him ever so much as set eyes upon a flask of oil?
CORYDON [8] Men say he rivals Heracles in might.
BATTUS [9] And mammy says I’m another Polydeuces’

Battus’s scoffing is likely to come from jealousy, and also his bitterness for Milon which is discovered when Corydon sings. The song in this Idyll is not long, and although following pastoral tradition it would appear the song is in place to introduce Milon to the reader. We learn from Battus’s comments about Milon that he does not like him, for example:

‘BATTUS [26] Heigho, poor Aegon! thy very kine must needs meet their death because thou art gone a-whoring after vainglory, and the herdsman’s pipe thou once didst make thyself is all one mildew.’
It is in Corydon’s song that we realize Battus’s hatred for Milon is rooted in his love for Amaryllis, and the fact that Battus lost out on her affections against Milon:
‘CORYDON …Where boxer Milon one fine morn made fourscore loaves his meal,
And down the hill another day, while lasses holla’d by the way,
To Amaryllis, laughing gay led the bull by the heel.’
Corydon’s reference to Amaryllis brings about an emotional reaction from Battus as he remembers his love and loss of her. He has a moment of sentiment, saying:
‘BATTUS [38] O beautiful Amaryllis, though you be dead, I am true, and I’ll never forget you. My pretty goats are dear to me, but dear no less a maiden that is no more. O well-a-day that my luck turned so ill!’
The poem then returns to the discussion of herding, and the men bicker about a thorn in Battus’s ankle, as Corydon points out that he should be wearing shoes. Berman’s reading of this suggests that it could be seen as an insult in hierarchical terms, because of the poor and dirty nature of goatherds. If so, Corydon appears to be playing up to his temporary role as cowherd, feeling the superiority of his station. It does not seem, however, that these men are unfriendly towards each other, but because of Aegon and Milon, tensions arise.

POSTED BY FAYE

Vergil: Eclogue VII

This eclogue concerns the shepherds Meliboeus, Corydon and Thyrsis. It opens with the figure of Daphnis, who is usually considered the inventor of pastoral poetry, sitting ‘beneath a rustling ilex-tree.’ The ‘rustling’ (sometimes translated as ‘whispering’) invokes a feeling of excitement and anticipation for what is about to happen. As Thyrsis and Corydon gather their flocks, Meliboeus encounters Daphnis beneath the tree and is persuaded to rest with him in the shade. Daphnis appears to be almost surreal to Meliboeus as he is shocked to see him, which shows that he is not included with the other shepherds. As the figurehead for the shepherd-poet, it is as though Daphnis is at the scene to oversee the others, though he is portrayed as relaxed and leisurely.

The landscape of this eclogue is particularly idyllic with the mention of the river Mincius and his ‘tender rushes’ over ‘verdant banks’, which brings forth images of fertility and richness. This is furthered by the abundance of animals in the scene - the sheep, ‘the she-goats swollen with milk’, the ‘swarming’ bees. The liveliness and action that surrounds the scene adds to this idyllic setting as well as the description of Corydon and Thyrsis who are ‘in the flower of age, Arcadians both.’ The mention of Arcadia, a sacred, untainted land, elevates the status of these shepherds as they are embodiments of the pastoral mode.

Meliboeus then reveals that Thyrsis and Corydon are to have a singing competition, which according to Meliboeus is ‘no slight matter’ so he ‘let[s] [his] business wait upon their sport’. By creating a spectator out of Meliboeus, rather than an actor, Virgil includes the reader into the action of this eclogue as a direct connection can be made with Meliboeus. Although the ‘singing-bout’ is named ‘sport’ implying a sense of fun and merriment amongst the shepherds, the competition seems fiercer, because of the fast-paced nature of the verses. The idea is that Corydon begins by singing a verse which is then responded to by Thyrsis.

With each verse, Corydon introduces a new topic, leaving Thyrsis to form a rebuttal. The verses are not politically charged but more an artistic assertion of the pastoral form. The two men compete with each other for the attentions of the gods, in the section where Thyrsis first stumbles, as pointed out by Charles Fantazzi and Carl W. Querbach. Corydon offers Diana (the goddess of chastity and hunting) a ‘bristling boar’s head’ and a statue of herself. Thyrsis on the other hand looks to Priapus, Diana’s opposite as the god of male arousal, and asserts his intention to outdo the artist Mican with his own statue for the god.

By the end of the exchange, Meliboeus declares Corydon the victor describing Thyrsis’ struggle. Rory B. Egan attributes Corydon’s victory to his final verse in which, for the first time in the contest, he directly responds to something that Thyrsis has previously sang. Egan shows how in the original Latin, Corydon’s play on words is far superior to Thyrsis’, especially regarding his lover Phyllis. Corydon corresponds to the latin corylor which means hazel, so in the line ‘Phyllis loves hazels’, he hints at a cuckolding situation in which actually Phyllis loves Corydon. For Egan, this seals Corydon’s victory in the contest as he outwits Thyrsis on a personal level.

SADIYA

Vergil's Eclogue VI

In Vergil’s sixth Eclogue, the narrator, Tityrus the shepherd, is addressing a person named Varus, who Charles Segal argues is a warrior. Thus in extension, he is an embodiment of war. Tityrus sets out to tell a story about battles and kings, but is restrained by the Cynthian god who tells him to stick to topics more suitable to shepherds, and thus to keep his song light-hearted or as he god puts it; ‘sing a slender song.’ (l.7).

From line 7 to 11 Tityrus proceeds to apologize to Varus for not singing about what he intended to:

‘Now Varus, I –
For lack there will not who would laud thy deeds,
And treat dolorous wars – will rather tune
To the slim oaten reed my silvan lay.
I sing but as vouchsafed me.’

His excuse is that as a mere shepherd he is not permitted to deal with such large and sorrowful topics as war in his song, and must stick to what he knows. He then proceeds to go into a tale of Silenus, the companion of Dionysus, god of mirth and wine, a more suited subject for a man like Tityrus. He tells of how the two young characters Chromis and Mnasyllos, read by some critics to be Fauns and satyrs (though at the end of the poem they are referred to as shepherds), come upon Silenus sleeping off yesterday’s alcohol in a cave. They approach to bind him with his own garlands, to force him to sing for them, and Aegle, the most beautiful of the water nymphs joins them. As Silenus wakes he laughs at their attempted craftiness thus:

‘“Why tie the fetters? Loose me, boys;
Enough for you to think you had the power;
Now list the songs you wish for- songs for you,”’ (l.21-23)

He ascends to sing them a song and begins with how the world developed from the elements. The opening of his tale is a beautiful place in a happy state: ‘how the earth amazed/Beheld the new sun shining. And the showers/Fall, as the clouds soar higher.’ (l.47-49) Then comes an interruption of what Charles Segal points out to be examples of the happy state lost because of human evil:

‘Then sang he of the stones by Pyrrah cast,
Of Saturn’s reign, and of Prometheus’ theft.’ (l.52-53)

The stones of Pyrrah are stones turned into women, Saturn’s reign refers to his flood to extinguish men for their wrongful ways (the flood after which Pyrrah as survivor threw her rocks) and Prometheus’ theft refers to when Prometheus stole fire from Zeus and gave to men, causing Zeus to put a new evil within mankind on earth: the first woman, Pandora. Thus, this random selection of Greek myths aims to shed light on the same things a discourse of war would: the evil within mankind.

Then follows the more traditionally pastoral discourse of unhappy love. Silenus sings of poor Pasiphae who fell in love with and made love to a white bull, sent by an angry Poseidon, and thus she mothered a Minotaur. The song tells of how unhappy the unnatural union made the maid, and points out how the animal is probably unfazed and following the herd.

Finally the song of Silenus reaches story of how Gallus, a poet admired by Vergil, is transported to the Aonian mountains and greeted by Phoebus (also known as Apollo, god of the sun) and the singer and shepherd, Linus, who presents him with reeds from the Muses in order for him to tell beautifully of Apollo’s groves. After the story of the poet Silenus again brings the song back to myths of tragic fates; Scylla the sea monster, Tereus and Philomel, the unhappy swallow.

As Silenus’ song comes to an end, Vesper, the evening star or in fact evening itself, comes and tells the shepherds to just tell of sheep and put them in their pen for the night. In other words; the themes of Silenus’ song is not fitted for shepherds either.

It appears that in the sixth Eclogue Vergil wishes to ponder human nature and especially with regards to the human factor in war, violence and battle. However he knows that this is not suitable material for a pastoral mode of writing and therefore it seems that the mythical Silenus becomes a vessel for Vergil to bring in his points through in a more appropriate setting. By having Silenus singing and nymphs and shepherds listening he brings his message into a more pastoral realm and in juxtaposing and jumbling up several of the Greek myths the Eclogue attempts to unify the commenting with the mode. However it seems Vergil has his doubts about the success of this experiment since the end suggests the evening dismissing even the mythical tale as too much for a shepherd to tell, and therefore he should leave it to the greater things of the world, such as gods like Silenus to tell them.

MIA

Saturday 1 October 2011

Theocritus’ Idyll 6

Theocritus’ Idyll 6, ‘The Country Singing Match’ depicts a friendly contest between two characters, Damoetas and the ‘neatherd’(1) Daphnis. The latter plays the part of Polyphemus, who later becomes the Cyclops of the Odyssey, while the former addresses his song to Polyphemus. Such singing contests were occasionally performed to the public as a form of entertainment, spectacles that Stephen Walker believes Theocritus may have witnessed ‘as a child'(Stephen F Walker, Theocritus (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1980), p.16.).

The opening lines of the Idyll introduce Damoetas and Daphnis, as they drive their herds to a single spot at ‘noon’ (2) and sit them by a water spring. The reference to noon is relevant in accordance to a shepherd’s schedule as it is when their animals rest, particularly on a hot ‘summer’s day’(2).

Daphnis sings first, addressing the ‘Cyclops’(5) (Damoetas as Polyphemus) and telling him that he can see Galatea throwing ‘apples’ (5), or rather love-gifts. In mythology, apples are known as the forbidden fruit, acting as a symbol of desire in this Idyll. Galatea is literally throwing her affections and desires at Polyphemus but he seems totally oblivious, playing his pipe and looking ‘seaward’(9) instead. Galatea is portrayed in a highly sexual, promiscuous manner in the following section of Daphnis’ song, warning Damoetas (as Polyphemus) that Galatea will ‘come from the deep’(11) leaping with her ‘bonny’(11) legs and ‘sweet pretty flesh’(12) for she ‘wantons’(12) upon him. Daphnis explains Galatea’s behaviour, stating that if Polyphemus was to ‘cease’(15) his wooing, she will pursue her flirting, but the moment he pays her any attention she will ‘fly ye and deny ye’(14). The relationship that the two share is compared to a game when Daphnis sings of the ‘King’s move’(15), the final move, implying that Galatea will have control over Polyphemus like a player is in control of their piece. He attempts to justify this foul play by suggesting that everything is ‘fair’(16) in love.

Then it is Damoetas’ turn to sing, in answer to all he has heard. He claims that he ‘saw’(18) her throwing the apples for he was ‘not blind’(19). He then mentions ‘Telemus’ (20), a prophet who predicted the blinding of Polyphemus by Odysseus. This reference shows that Polyphemus is aware of his eventual fate, creating a cruel irony: at the moment he is pretending he cannot see Galatea but one day he will actually not be able to. Damoetas also explicitly states that he actively teased Galatea and told her there are ‘other wives to wed’(23) in order to make her ‘jealous’(23), so that she would ‘pine’(24) for him. Polyphemus ‘hissed’(26) at the dog that lay its ‘snout’(27) on her lap, potentially a sexual frustration on his part as resting on someone's lap is an affectionate and arguably intimate position. Behind all of Polyphemus’ mind games and actions is the hope that Galatea will send him ‘messages’(28), but until she does, he will ‘bar the door’(29) until she swears to be his ‘wedded mate’(29). When we consider their relationship as lovers the door metaphor has sexual connotations: Polyphemus will not open the door (give in to desire and have sex with Galatea) until they are married.

Damoetas’ song ends with a decription of his ‘ill favoured’(30) appearance that will begin to find out isn’t actually all that bad. The ‘glassy’(30) sea showed him his reflection and he saw that his ‘beard and eye were pretty’(31), and he had ‘teeth like marble’(32). The final couplet of this song make reference to a superstition: to see one’s reflection made one more liable to the effects of the evil eye. To avert this fate one must spit, hence Damoetas stating ‘thrice in my breast I spit’(33) after seeing himself in the sea. It is an example of apotropaic magic- a ritual observance intended to turn away evil.

After the singing match is complete, the men exchange a ‘pipe’(34) and a ‘pretty flue’(35). Neither have won the match as they both stood ‘unvanquished’(38), receiving instruments of equal value and turning in to ‘dancers’(37) among the ‘tender grass’(37).

POSTED BY LAUREN