Around this time in 2015 this post saw the light of day. Given the recent Heat Dome which has affected much of the US, it seemed appropriate to republish, and I thnak our Fearless Leader for his courteous acquiescence. I have made a few modest additions, and a well deserved screed in the next paragraph.

Hesiod was lucky. He didn’t have to deal with global warming and the human contribution to same. Just a few methane belching cows. Unlike a highway filled with gas guzzling SUVs or  coal fired electricity plants.

“But when the artichoke flowers, and the chirpy cicada sits in a tree and pours down his shrill song endlessly from under his wings in the season of wearisome heat, then goats are plumpest and wine the best ever; women are sluttiest but that does men no good, greatly weakened as they are in heads and knees from the Dog Star’s searing heat; for good measure their skin is wickedly dry.”

Hesiod, Works and Days, 582-88

ἦμος δὲ σκόλυμός τ᾽ ἀνθεῖ καὶ ἠχέτα τέττιξ
δενδρέῳ ἐφεζόμενος λιγυρὴν καταχεύετ᾽ ἀοιδὴν
πυκνὸν ὑπὸ πτερύγων, θέρεος καματώδεος ὥρῃ,
585τῆμος πιόταταί τ᾽ αἶγες καὶ οἶνος ἄριστος,
μαχλόταται δὲ γυναῖκες, ἀφαυρότατοι δέ τοι ἄνδρες
εἰσίν, ἐπεὶ κεφαλὴν καὶ γούνατα Σείριος ἄζει,
αὐαλέος δέ τε χρὼς ὑπὸ καύματος….

We’re in the middle of that period folks; Sirius aka The Dog Star rose in Hesiod’s era on July 17 and had high nuisance value for about a month thereafter. The Romans had a very ancient festival of the augurium canarium in that time frame; it was one of the movable feasts (feriae conceptivae) whose fluctuating dater would be fixed yearly depending on the calendar. Canarium in the festival’s name refers to both Sirius, but also the sacrifice of a dog.

[very pedantic aside: my namesake Sextus Pompeius Festus, as usual, has information on this at p. 358 Lindsay. Never translated into English, although once into French. Don’t go there. Nothing good happens when you go there. Unless you make a living from this sort of thing]

Notice that Hesiod a serious attitude problem about women here and passim. And see my colleague’s post on misogyny.

The ancients, as usual, knew the story. The hottest I have ever been was August in the Roman Forum. But I wasn’t old enough to know about, or care about, the effect on women and men.

About this post’s title…

The Festus passage:

Red Dogs [Rutilae canes] that is, dogs not far from the actual color red. According to Ateius Capito they are sacrificed in the “sacrifice of the dog” in order to ward off the Dog Star’s ferocity from the crops.

This was one of the feriae conceptivae or movable feasts, set by the pontiffs in consultation with the augurs. Don’t know about movable feasts aside from Hemmingway? Consider Easter as a prime example.

This may be connected with the Dog Days of summer, which has a substantial presence in folklore. Dogs were reputed to have been especially frisky then. Whether connected with the classical information remains unclear. On this, and movable feasts, see the wonderful The Oxford Companion to the Year (Oxford, 1999).

Although USA people talk of red dogs or red cats, the actual color is more like ginger; in the UK they tend to be called “ginger” rather than “red”.

Note: Last year, our friend Festus published a series of posts about medieval scribal complaints. the Original, followed by “Son of Medieval Scribes’ Complaints” and then a two-part Halloween Special. Now, the Son of Medieval Scribes Rides Again! (well, against the Scribes…)

The Medieval Scribes have not died; they just took a good long snooze. It’s time to wake them up and tell them why they have a high nuisance factor sometimes for long-suffering classicists.

Let’s start with some Latin so simple that intermediate Latin students have no problem with it. The opening line of Petronius’ Cena Trimalchionis (“Trimalchio’s Dinner”) from his enormous fragmentary novel, the Satyricon:

Already it was the third day. that is, the hope of free [or “open to all”] meal….

Uenerat iam tertius dies, id est expectatio liberae cenae….
Cena Trimalchionis 26.7

What is the problem? Sounds like a cheap date. A free feed. Maybe this proves that classicists have absolutely no sense of humor. Alas, while there are good reasons to suspect that, this is not the evidence.

The phrase after the comma, the free feed phrase, makes me, among others, downright queasy. Look at the “id est” which you surely seen at least occasionally, regularly if you’re an academic, in its abbreviated form “i.e.” Let’s stay with that for some ancient examples.

The second century antiquarian Aulus Gellius in his wonderful notebook Noctes Atticae (“Nights in Attica”), digressing about damned near anything, gets interested in the many taboos surrounding that venerable Roman priesthood, flamen Dialis, possibly the original priest of Jupiter. The priest was surrounded by many taboos, many of them peculiar such as…he did not work and could not be in the presence of work and thus, when he took to the streets, everyone working was ordered to stop. I can think of several undergraduates who’d be naturals for this gig. But our interest is this:

It is religiously wrong to to remove any fire from the flaminia, that is, from the flamen’s dwelling, unless for ritual uses.

Ignem e ‘flaminia’ id est flaminis Dialis domo nisi sacrum efferri ius non est
Noctes Atticae 10.15.8

[By popular demand! An earlier posting, “Oscar Wilde reads Greek…and more” to be found here reappears in an edited and expanded form. Vox populi, vox dei. Enjoy!]

And how could he? Simple, one classics degree from Trinity-Dublin and a second from Oxford (ex Magdalen College) in Literae Humaniores, aka “Greats”. [aside: a degree I also hold, but with no other connexion].

First the story, from the wonderful Oxford Book of Oxford:

What a champ! Right up there with his famous line on the death of Little Nell in Dickens’ The Old Curiosity Shop chapters seventy-one and seventy-two. Wilde opined “you would need a heart of stone not to laugh at the death of Little Nell.”

You be the judge; part, but by no means all, of Nell’s death, from the end of chapter seventy-one:

“She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death.

Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favour. ‘When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always.’ Those were her words.

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird—a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed—was stirring nimbly in its cage; and the strong heart of its child mistress was mute and motionless for ever.

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born; imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose.

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. The old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace fire upon the cold wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been the same mild lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death.

Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favour. ‘When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always.’ Those were her words.

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird—a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed—was stirring nimbly in its cage; and the strong heart of its child mistress was mute and motionless for ever.

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born; imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose.

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. The old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace fire upon the cold wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been the same mild lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death.”

And if this sin’t enough, one of the original illustrations:

Phew. Sounds like an Olympic Class smart ass. But we need some more information on the circumstances.

As for the circumstances. A viva voce examination only occurs after one has done the written Greats examinations and only if it is unclear into which class the candidate should be placed: third, second or first. Since we know Wilde got a double first in Greats, this would have been a one-two viva as they’re called. Do well, and you glitter when you walk. Do badly and you’re stuck with The Hated Second. Who’s going know? Everybody. Oxbridge complete exam results were, even in my time, still published in the Times. With all the attendant snobbery. My girlfriend at the time got a third in her finals in a different subject area, and felt that having a third was worse than no degree at all. And remember that the great Cambridge classicist A.E. Housman failed his Greats exam (“ploughed” as they say in the trade).

The “examiner” was in all probability Warden Spooner of New College (yes, that Spooner; a forthcoming post will have more]. The passage would be Acts 27.9ff:

9 Now when much time was spent, and when sailing was now dangerous, because the fast was now already past, Paul admonished them, 10 And said unto them, Sirs, I perceive that this voyage will be with hurt and much damage, not only of the lading and ship, but also of our lives.11 Nevertheless the centurion believed the master and the owner of the ship, more than those things which were spoken by Paul. 12 And because the haven was not commodious to winter in, the more part advised to depart thence also, if by any means they might attain to Phenice, and there to winter; which is an haven of Crete, and lieth toward the south west and north west. 13 And when the south wind blew softly, supposing that they had obtained their purpose, loosing thence, they sailed close by Crete. 14 But not long after there arose against it a tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon. 15 And when the ship was caught, and could not bear up into the wind, we let her drive. 16 And running under a certain island which is called Clauda, we had much work to come by the boat: 17 Which when they had taken up, they used helps, undergirding the ship; and, fearing lest they should fall into the quicksands, strake sail, and so were driven. 18 And we being exceedingly tossed with a tempest, the next day they lightened the ship; 19 And the third day we cast out with our own hands the tackling of the ship. 20 And when neither sun nor stars in many days appeared, and no small tempest lay on us, all hope that we should be saved was then taken away. 21 But after long abstinence Paul stood forth in the midst of them, and said, Sirs, ye should have hearkened unto me, and not have loosed from Crete, and to have gained this harm and loss. 22 And now I exhort you to be of good cheer: for there shall be no loss of any man’s life among you, but of the ship. 23 For there stood by me this night the angel of God, whose I am, and whom I serve, 24 Saying, Fear not, Paul; thou must be brought before Caesar: and, lo, God hath given thee all them that sail with thee. 25 Wherefore, sirs, be of good cheer: for I believe God, that it shall be even as it was told me. 26 Howbeit we must be cast upon a certain island. 27 But when the fourteenth night was come, as we were driven up and down in Adria, about midnight the shipmen deemed that they drew near to some country; 28 And sounded, and found it twenty fathoms: and when they had gone a little further, they sounded again, and found it fifteen fathoms. 29 Then fearing lest we should have fallen upon rocks, they cast four anchors out of the stern, and wished for the day. 30 And as the shipmen were about to flee out of the ship, when they had let down the boat into the sea, under colour as though they would have cast anchors out of the foreship, 31 Paul said to the centurion and to the soldiers, Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved. 32 Then the soldiers cut off the ropes of the boat, and let her fall off. 33 And while the day was coming on, Paul besought them all to take meat, saying, This day is the fourteenth day that ye have tarried and continued fasting, having taken nothing. 34 Wherefore I pray you to take some meat: for this is for your health: for there shall not an hair fall from the head of any of you. 35 And when he had thus spoken, he took bread, and gave thanks to God in presence of them all: and when he had broken it, he began to eat. 36 Then were they all of good cheer, and they also took some meat. 37 And we were in all in the ship two hundred threescore and sixteen souls. 38 And when they had eaten enough, they lightened the ship, and cast out the wheat into the sea. 39 And when it was day, they knew not the land: but they discovered a certain creek with a shore, into the which they were minded, if it were possible, to thrust in the ship. 40 And when they had taken up the anchors, they committed themselves unto the sea, and loosed the rudder bands, and hoised up the mainsail to the wind, and made toward shore. 41 And falling into a place where two seas met, they ran the ship aground; and the forepart stuck fast, and remained unmovable, but the hinder part was broken with the violence of the waves. 42 And the soldiers’ counsel was to kill the prisoners, lest any of them should swim out, and escape. 43 But the centurion, willing to save Paul, kept them from their purpose; and commanded that they which could swim should cast themselves first into the sea, and get to land: 44 And the rest, some on boards, and some on broken pieces of the ship. And so it came to pass, that they escaped all safe to land.

[9] Ἱκανοῦ δὲ χρόνου διαγενομένου καὶ ὄντος ἤδη ἐπισφαλοῦς τοῦ πλοὸς διὰ τὸ καὶ τὴν νηστείαν ἤδη παρεληλυθέναι, παρῄνει ὁ Παῦλος λέγων αὐτοῖς [10] Ἄνδρες, θεωρῶ ὅτι μετὰ ὕβρεως καὶ πολλῆς ζημίας οὐ μόνον τοῦ φορτίου καὶ τοῦ πλοίου ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ψυχῶν ἡμῶν μέλλειν ἔσεσθαι τὸν πλοῦν. [11] ὁ δὲ ἑκατοντάρχης τῷ κυβερνήτῃ καὶ τῷ ναυκλήρῳ μᾶλλον ἐπείθετο ἢ τοῖς ὑπὸ Παύλου λεγομένοις. [12] ἀνευθέτου δὲ τοῦ λιμένος ὑπάρχοντος πρὸς παραχειμασίαν οἱ πλείονες ἔθεντο βουλὴν ἀναχθῆναι ἐκεῖθεν, εἴ πως δύναιντο καταντήσαντες εἰς Φοίνικα παραχειμάσαι, λιμένα τῆς Κρήτης βλέποντα κατὰ λίβα καὶ κατὰ χῶρον. [13] Ὑποπνεύσαντος δὲ νότου δόξαντες τῆς προθέσεως κεκρατηκέναι ἄραντες ἆσσον παρελέγοντο τὴν Κρήτην. [14] μετ᾽ οὐ πολὺ δὲ ἔβαλεν κατ᾽ αὐτῆς ἄνεμος τυφωνικὸς ὁ καλούμενος Εὐρακύλων: [15] συναρπασθέντος δὲ τοῦ πλοίου καὶ μὴ δυναμένου ἀντοφθαλμεῖν τῷ ἀνέμῳ ἐπιδόντες ἐφερόμεθα. [16] νησίον δέ τι ὑποδραμόντες καλούμενον Καῦδα ἰσχύσαμεν μόλις περικρατεῖς γενέσθαι τῆς σκάφης, [17] ἣν ἄραντες βοηθείαις ἐχρῶντο ὑποζωννύντες τὸ πλοῖον: φοβούμενοί τε μὴ εἰς τὴν Σύρτιν ἐκπέσωσιν, χαλάσαντες τὸ σκεῦος, οὕτως ἐφέροντο. [18] σφοδρῶς δὲ χειμαζομένων ἡμῶν τῇ ἑξῆς ἐκβολὴν ἐποιοῦντο, [19] καὶ τῇ τρίτῃ αὐτόχειρες τὴν σκευὴν τοῦ πλοίου ἔριψαν. [20] μήτε δὲ ἡλίου μήτε ἄστρων ἐπιφαινόντων ἐπὶ πλείονας ἡμέρας, χειμῶνός τε οὐκ ὀλίγου ἐπικειμένου, λοιπὸν περιῃρεῖτο ἐλπὶς πᾶσα τοῦ σώζεσθαι ἡμᾶς. [21] Πολλῆς τε ἀσιτίας ὑπαρχούσης τότε σταθεὶς ὁ Παῦλος ἐν μέσῳ αὐτῶν εἶπεν Ἔδει μέν, ὦ ἄνδρες, πειθαρχήσαντάς μοι μὴ ἀνάγεσθαι ἀπὸ τῆς Κρήτης κερδῆσαί τε τὴν ὕβριν ταύτην καὶ τὴν ζημίαν. [22] καὶ τὰ νῦν παραινῶ ὑμᾶς εὐθυμεῖν, ἀποβολὴ γὰρ ψυχῆς οὐδεμία ἔσται ἐξ ὑμῶν πλὴν τοῦ πλοίου: [23] παρέστη γάρ μοι ταύτῃ τῇ νυκτὶ τοῦ θεοῦ οὗ εἰμί, ᾧ καὶ λατρεύω, ἄγγελος [24] λέγων Μὴ φοβοῦ, Παῦλε: Καίσαρί σε δεῖ παραστῆναι, καὶ ἰδοὺ κεχάρισταί σοι ὁ θεὸς πάντας τοὺς πλέοντας μετὰ σοῦ. [25] διὸ εὐθυμεῖτε, ἄνδρες: πιστεύω γὰρ τῷ θεῷ ὅτι οὕτως ἔσται καθ᾽ ὃν τρόπον λελάληταί μοι. [26] εἰς νῆσον δέ τινα δεῖ ἡμᾶς ἐκπεσεῖν. [27] Ὡς δὲ τεσσαρεσκαιδεκάτη νὺξ ἐγένετο διαφερομένων ἡμῶν ἐν τῷ Ἁδρίᾳ, κατὰ μέσον τῆς νυκτὸς ὑπενόουν οἱ ναῦται προσάγειν τινὰ αὐτοῖς χώραν. [28] καὶ βολίσαντες εὗρον ὀργυιὰς εἴκοσι, βραχὺ δὲ διαστήσαντες καὶ πάλιν βολίσαντες εὗρον ὀργυιὰς δεκαπέντε: [29] φοβούμενοί τε μή που κατὰ τραχεῖς τόπους ἐκπέσωμεν ἐκ πρύμνης ῥίψαντες ἀγκύρας τέσσαρας ηὔχοντο ἡμέραν γενέσθαι. [30] Τῶν δὲ ναυτῶν ζητούντων φυγεῖν ἐκ τοῦ πλοίου καὶ χαλασάντων τὴν σκάφην εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν προφάσει ὡς ἐκ πρῴρης ἀγκύρας μελλόντων ἐκτείνειν, [31] εἶπεν ὁ Παῦλος τῷ ἑκατοντάρχῃ καὶ τοῖς στρατιώταις Ἐὰν μὴ οὗτοι μείνωσιν ἐν τῷ πλοίῳ, ὑμεῖς σωθῆναι οὐ δύνασθε. [32] τότε ἀπέκοψαν οἱ στρατιῶται τὰ σχοινία τῆς σκάφης καὶ εἴασαν αὐτὴν ἐκπεσεῖν. [33] Ἄχρι δὲ οὗ ἡμέρα ἤμελλεν γίνεσθαι παρεκάλει ὁ Παῦλος ἅπαντας μεταλαβεῖν τροφῆς λέγων Τεσσαρεσκαιδεκάτην σήμερον ἡμέραν προσδοκῶντες ἄσιτοι διατελεῖτε, μηθὲν προσλαβόμενοι: [34] διὸ παρακαλῶ ὑμᾶς μεταλαβεῖν τροφῆς, τοῦτο γὰρ πρὸς τῆς ὑμετέρας σωτηρίας ὑπάρχει: οὐδενὸς γὰρ ὑμῶν θρὶξ ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς ἀπολεῖται. [35] εἴπας δὲ ταῦτα καὶ λαβὼν ἄρτον εὐχαρίστησεν τῷ θεῷ ἐνώπιον πάντων καὶ κλάσας ἤρξατο ἐσθίειν. [36] εὔθυμοι δὲ γενόμενοι πάντες καὶ αὐτοὶ προσελάβοντο τροφῆς. [37] ἤμεθα δὲ αἱ πᾶσαι ψυχαὶ ἐν τῷ πλοίῳ ὡς ἑβδομήκοντα ἕξ. [38] κορεσθέντες δὲ τροφῆς ἐκούφιζον τὸ πλοῖον ἐκβαλλόμενοι τὸν σῖτον εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν. [39] Ὅτε δὲ ἡμέρα ἐγένετο, τὴν γῆν οὐκ ἐπεγίνωσκον, κόλπον δέ τινα κατενόουν ἔχοντα αἰγιαλὸν εἰς ὃν ἐβουλεύοντο εἰ δύναιντο ἐκσῶσαι τὸ πλοῖον. [40] καὶ τὰς ἀγκύρας περιελόντες εἴων εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν, ἅμα ἀνέντες τὰς ζευκτηρίας τῶν πηδαλίων, καὶ ἐπάραντες τὸν ἀρτέμωνα τῇ πνεούσῃ κατεῖχον εἰς τὸν αἰγιαλόν. [41] περιπεσόντες δὲ εἰς τόπον διθάλασσον ἐπέκειλαν τὴν ναῦν, καὶ ἡ μὲν πρῷρα ἐρείσασα ἔμεινεν ἀσάλευτος, ἡ δὲ πρύμνα ἐλύετο ὑπὸ τῆς βίας. [42] Τῶν δὲ στρατιωτῶν βουλὴ ἐγένετο ἵνα τοὺς δεσμώτας ἀποκτείνωσιν, μή τις ἐκκολυμβήσας διαφύγῃ: [43] ὁ δὲ ἑκατοντάρχης βουλόμενος διασῶσαι τὸν Παῦλον ἐκώλυσεν αὐτοὺς τοῦ βουλήματος, ἐκέλευσέν τε τοὺς δυναμένους κολυμβᾷν ἀπορίψαντας πρώτους ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἐξιέναι, [44] καὶ τοὺς λοιποὺς οὓς μὲν ἐπὶ σανίσιν οὓς δὲ ἐπί τινων τῶν ἀπὸ τοῦ πλοίου: καὶ οὕτως ἐγένετο πάντας διασωθῆναι ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν.

Acts 27.9ff

The passage bristles with difficulties, including, but not limited to, vocabulary. Here is an example of the problems from Rendall’s commentary:

There will be more coming on nasty material object vocabulary in Greek and Latin authors; you have been warned.

[Translation is the King James, a literary masterpiece in its own right. It use does not imply any sub rosa doctrine; those who are offended are invited either to use their own preferred translations or go elsewhere.]

So it’s pretty clear that Wilde knew Greek, and very well indeed. His comment on the New Testament passage cannot be read as it appears. Rather, it comes out of the context of clever smart ass (bis) remarks that was prevalent at Oxford then, and even now.

From my own experience in a Senior Common Room:

Don #1: That will only happen over my dead body.

Don#2: Good. That will solve two problems.

The great Oxford Hellenist Sir Maurice Bowra in his autobiography Memories (1966)  at 107-8 tells how students recently demobilized from WWI chafed at rules more appropriate for schoolboys than former soldiers…and how the Dean of Chapel dealt with one such instance:

It’s called “donnishness”, and Wilde was right in line with it.

It’s That Day, time to conclude this series in time for tricking, treating, and ghosts. We left matters with hungry ghosts on the floor. Now to finish that, and move on to the religious overtones.

Believe it or not, a dirty floor could be an art form in antiquity. The third century BC artist Sosos was famous for a mosaic of same:

“The Greeks were the first to introduce paved floors, which they decorated with painting until mosaic took its place. The most celebrated worker in mosaic is Sosos, who laid the floors oof a house in Pergamon, known as the Unswept Floor(asaroton oecon), because he represented in small bits of many-colored mosaic the scraps from the table and everything that is usually swept away, as if it had been lying on the floor. Among these mosaics is a marvellous dove drinking and casting the shadow of its head on the water. Other doves are pluming their feathers in the sun on the lip of a goblet.”
Pliny the Elder, Natural History, 36.184

Pavimenta originem apud Graecos habent elaborata arte picturae ratione, donec lithostrota expulere eam. celeberrimus fuit in hoc genere Sosus, qui Pergami stravit quem vocant asaroton oecon, quoniam purgamenta cenae in pavimentis quaeque everri solent velut relicta fecerat parvis e tessellis tinctisque in varios colores. mirabilis ibi columba bibens et aquam umbra capitis infuscans; apricantur aliae scabentes sese in canthari labro.

There are possibilities here. A virtuoso mosaic. A joke. Apotropaic, feeding the ghosts so the banqueters can enjoy their feed without worries of spiritual turbulence at their feet. Many are the argunents for various combinations of those choices, but the last, that the floor was apotropaic, remains the most plausible. Especially in light of the many copies of it which existed. Here is one of them:

As for this time of the year. Some of you will know that tomorrow, November 1, is All Saints’ Day, and the day after that, November 2, is All Souls’ Day. So what?

Here’s the What. All Saints Day was not originally in November at all. On May 13, AD 609, Boniface IV got busy:

In this time he sought permission from the emperor Phocas to rededicate the Pantheon as Church of the Blessed Mary and All Martyrs, to which church the emperor made many gifts.
Liber Pontificalis 1.317-8 Duchesne
eodem tempore petit a Focate principe templum qui apellatur Pantheum, in quo fecit ecclesiam beatae Mariae semper virginis et omnium martyrum; in qua ecclesia princeps dona multa obtulit.

May 13? The last day of the Lemuria! That’s no coincidence. First, another Christian festival, The Chair of St. Peter, had already been inserted into the calendar on the same day of February in which the other great Roman death festival, the Parentalia, took place. Religious competition, that’s what it is. People were still taking part in those festivals, otherwise there would have been no need to place them at precisely those times. And this agrees with what is already well known, that Christianity did not Conquer with Constantine, but merely became a legal religion. Various polytheistic observances still commanded a majority of followers, and many of the festivals continued until well into the Middle Ages.

In the 8th century AD Gregory III moved All Saints’ Day to November 1, and in the late 10th century AD All Souls Day was created on the following day, November 2. Why November 1? Easy, the Celtic festival of the dead, Samhain, took place then. And the day before November 1 was All Hallows Eve. So today is really the runup to All Saints’ Day.

When you think ghosts and tricking and treating today, think Lemuria. And do be careful where you walk.

[Note: The Fabulous SP Festus provides us with another post about scribal complaints. His two first posts are here and here.]

We left the previous post with some of the comparative evidence for ghosts on the floor. There are certain issues with the concept, easy to enumerate but harder to rationalize. How will ghosts on the floor appear to the living? Slithering like snakes? Just lying there like ill-behaved pets? Again, ghosts are traditionally quick to anger. Given their mortal origins, might they not take offense at having to grub food from the floor as opposed to food politely offered in dishes (cf. pets, above)? Fascinating though such issues be, more important to establish that ghosts were on the floor. The Festus evidence with the gloss does seem to establish it. But is there more? Oh yes. Oh my yes.

Here’s a passage from the Elder Pliny’s great encyclopedia, first century AD.:

“Also, food which fell from the diner’s hand was returned to the table at least during the courses, and they forbade, for the sake of cleanliness, blowing dirt off it; too, there are auguries connected, i.e. what the diner who dropped the food was saying or thinking would come to pass — the most dire of which would be if this happened to a pontiff at a formal dinner. In all events, putting it back on the table and burning it for the Lar counted as expiation.”

Pliny the Elder, Historia Naturalis, 28.27

cibus etiam e manu prolapsus reddebatur utique per mensas, vetabantque munditiarum causa deflare, et sunt condita auguria, quid loquenti cogitantive id acciderit, inter execratissima, si pontifici accidat dicis causa epulanti. in mensa utique id reponi adolerique ad Larem piatio est.

This passage gives us two important pieces of information. Burning it on the table solves the issue of ghosts annoyed by eating it on the floor.  And the Lar, more usually known in the plural Lares was provably a family ancestor as the Lar familiaris.

Armed with this information we can examine a classic ghost festival, the Lemuria, which took place on three days: May 9, 11, 13. It appears in the oldest Roman calendars, meaning it originally was rural and may even predate the traditional founding of Rome (753 BC). The early first century AD poet Ovid in his incomplete Fasti, a descriptive poem of the Roman calendar, offers this:

“When midnight has come and lends silence to sleep, and dogs and all ye varied fowls are hushed, the worshipper who bears the olden rite in mind and fears the gods arises; no knots constrict his feet; and he makes a sign with his thumb in the middle of his closed fingers,a lest in his silence an unsubstantial shade should meet him. And after washing his hands clean in spring water, he turns, and first he receives black beans and throws them away with face averted; but while he throws them, he says: “These I cast; with these beans I redeem me and mine.” This he says nine times, without looking back: the shade is thought to gather the beans, and to follow unseen behind. Again he touches water, and clashes Temesan bronze, and asks the shade to go out of his house. When he has said nine times, “Ghosts (Manes) of my fathers, go forth!” he looks back, and thinks that he has duly performed the sacred rites.”

Ovid, Fasti, 5.429-44, Frazer translation.

nox ubi iam media est somnoque silentia praebet,
et canis et variae conticuistis aves,
ille memor veteris ritus timidusque deorum
surgit (habent gemini vincula nulla pedes)
signaque dat digitis medio cum pollice iunctis,
occurrat tacito ne levis umbra sibi.
cumque manus puras fontana perluit unda,
vertitur et nigras accipit ante fabas
aversusque iacit; sed dum iacit, ‘haec ego mitto,
his’ inquit ‘redimo meque meosque fabis.’
hoc novies dicit nec respicit: umbra putatur
 colligere et nullo terga vidente sequi.
rursus aquam tangit Temesacaque concrepat aera
et rogat, ut tectis exeat umbra suis.
cum dixit novies ‘Manes exite paterni,’
respicit et pure sacra peracta putat.

He throws the beans, which will land on the floor which the ghosts will eat. It all fits together so far…hungry ghosts hanging (slithering?) about on the floor, waiting for food. The passage is not without problems. For example, the black beans. Impossible.  The black bearn, Phasellus niger, is a New World plant and also an India plant. Roman beans were Vicia faba, a creamy white color. Black is known to occur, but it is a recessive trait. Hence black beans would not be nearly common enough for the widespread and long-term practice of this festival. This problem can be solved, but we need to stay on track here.

What about that word for ghosts Manes? “Houston, we have a problem.” The Romans had multiple names for ghosts which overlapped and didn’t overlap all at the same time. Manes appear on literally thousands of tombstones, and usually are taken to mean “ancestral spirits”. It’s far more complex than that; see my article on same in the Oxford Classical Dictionary, third edition and later.

It puzzled the ancients too. Here is a selection from the second century AD author Apuleius:

“here is also another species of daemons, according to a second signification, and this is a human soul, which, after its departure from the present life, does not enter into another body. I find that souls of this kind are called in the ancient Latin tongue Lemures. Of these Lemures, therefore, he who, being allotted the guardianship of his posterity, dwells in a house with an appeased and tranquil power, is called a familiar [or domestic] Lar. But those are for the most part called Larvae, who, having no proper habitation, are punished with an uncertain wandering, as with a certain exile, on account of the evil deeds of their life, and become a vain terror to good, and are noxious to bad men. And when it is uncertain what the allotted condition is of any one of these, they call the God by the name of Manes; the name of God being added for the sake of honour. For they alone call those Gods, who being of the same number of Lemures, and having governed the course of their life justly and prudently, have afterwards been celebrated by men as divinities, and are every where worshipped in temples, and honoured by religious rites; such for instance as Amphiaraus in Boeotia, Mopsus in Africa, Osiris in Egypt, and some other in other nations, but Esculapius every where.

Apuleius, De Deo Socratis 14

Est et secundo significatus species daemonum animus humanus emeritis stipendiis vitae corpore suo abiurans. Hunc vetere Latina lingua reperio Lemurem dictitatum. Ex hisce ergo Lemuribus qui posterorum suorum curam sortitus placato et quieto numine domum possidet, Lar dicitur familiaris; qui vero ob adversa vitae merita nullis (bonis) sedibus incerta vagatione ceu quodam exilio punitur, inane terriculamentum bonis hominibus, ceterum malis noxium, id genus plerique Larvas perhibent. Cum vero incertum est, quae cuique eorum sortitio evenerit, utrum Lar sit an Larva, nomine Manem deum nuncupant: scilicet et honoris gratia dei vocabulum additum est; quippe tantum eos deos appellant, qui ex eodem numero iuste ac prudenter curriculo vitae gubernato pro numine postea ab hominibus praediti fanis et caerimoniis vulgo advertuntur, ut in Boeotia Amphiaraus, in Africa Mopsus, in Aegypto Osiris, alius alibi gentium, Aesculapius ubique.

But moderns are no better. In English we have, among other words, ghost, spirit, wraith, ghoul, revenant…the list seems endless.

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a fragment of Maecenas, the emperor Augustus’ pal and literary adviso, no great fan of the Lemures:

“An unregenerate crew, they search out people at feasts, and assail households with the wine-cup, and, by hope, exact death.”

Maecenas, ap. Seneca, Letters 114.5

Inremediabilis factio rimantur epulis lagonaque temptant domos et spe mortem exigunt

Our concluding post will show you why the Lemuria in May has everything to do with Halloween in October. Be safe…watch where you step. Your feet are not alone on the floor.

The medieval scribes aren’t done. Before their next regular appearance, here’s their special edition on this year’s Day of the Dead, aka Halloween. What do medieval scribes have to do with Halloween? Everything. Be patient, be very patient (some groundwork is needed; it will be worth it) and read on….

First up, an entry from Sextus Pompeius Festus’ De Significatu Verborum (About Words’ Meanings):
“Euerriator: he who, after receiving an inheritance, must do the funeral rites for the dead person according to the proper legal formalities; if he does not do it, or if anything interferes with his performance, he must pay with his life (or: “lose his social status”). The word [Euerriator] comes from “sweeping”(uerrendo). For sweeping (exuerriae) is a particular kind of cleaning the house from which the dead person has been taken to burial. This cleaning is done by the euerriator with a special kind of broom, so named because of the sweeping out.”
Festus 68 Lindsay
Everriator vocatur, qui iure accepta hereditate iusta facere
defuncto debet; qui si non fecerit, seu quid in ea re turbaverit, suo capite luat. Id nomen ductum a verrendo. Nam exverriae sunt purgatio quaedam domus, ex qua mortuus ad sepulturam ferendus est, quae fit per everriatorem certo
genere scoparum adhibito, ab extra verrendo dictarum.

Okay, the Latin can be kind of nasty. This isn’t a great prose stylist who writes relatively easy Latin like Caesar or Cicero. This is a pedant, probably second century AD, doing an epitiome of Verrius Flaccus’ enormous, not preserved work of the same title from the first century BC. But it gets worse. In the Middle Ages, Festus’ Latin was a heavy lift for, gasp, medieval scribes and others. So in the eighth century AD, Paul the Deacon did an epitome of Festus’ epitome. Why on earth do we care? Because the oldest Festus manuscript from which all others are descended got caught in a fire, and a big chunk is no more. So we have to rely on Paul for that which was burned. But better, we can compare Paul with Festus for the chunk which the Festus manuscripts have preserved to get some idea of how much Paul could have omitted. The answer: a lot. The payoff? Our Everriator passage must have been significantly longer in Festus (I’d guess two more paragraphs) and downright Long Read in Flaccus’ original  (I’d guess at least ten more paragraphs).

But where are the ghosts? Am I leading you down the garden path? No way. We’re getting there. Read on!

The passage is about funeral rites. In a majority of societies, the dead are considered unclean; in pedantic terms, a religious pollution. Consider, for example, the washing of the corpse (common in earlier USA and elsewhere), the preparation of the corpse (ditto), the mourning period, the rituals of the funeral, the special status of cemeteries (if the society has them) and graves.
Our passage deals with a part of the Roman funeral rites, the Denicales. On first glance, it looks like sweeping out the pollution, and sweeping out pollution was common in ancient Greece and many other archaic societies including India of the Vedas and a substantial part of the Pacific Rim even today.

But was that all? Maybe not. Everriator is known only from Festus & Company. A rare word. And thus….

Stage Left: Enter Medieval Scribes!

Rare words gave the scribes fits. They researched, they speculated. Their notes are preserved in an enormous number of marginalia, and whole works, Glossaries. Mind-numbing stuff even for scholars unless they specialize in glossaries…believe it nor not, some do.
Lo and behold, Everriator turns up once in the glossaries:

“Euerriator. He who tends to (or: “collects” ) the spirits of the departed.”
Lindsay Glossaria Latina  4.192
everriatores: qui defunctorum umbras colunt (or colligunt)

Either verb works. The manuscript gives colunt, but for palaeographic reasons of the Carolingian Miniscule script, it could easily be a misreading of an original colligunt. But the big news is the object of the verb, the spirits of the departed. They’re on the floor. They’re getting swept out. That’s one really bad-ass kind of pollution. Hah!

Now it gets really interesting. Ghosts on the floor are prominent in very traditional European folklore, especially from the Tyrol. And ancient Greece. And India. They’re none too friendly, and they’re very hungry. Clearly it’s going to take more than an Everriator with a laser-guided Swiffer. They’ve got to be fed, or the results could be very bad.

So, thanks to the Medieval Scribes, we’ve gained a whole lot. Ghosts on the floor were a regular matter in Roman funeral rites. And, it turns out, there was a very neat way to deal with that.

Coming in the followup post. In the meantime, be very careful walking in your abode this Halloween. And especially be careful about dropping any food on the floor. Ghosts are hungry and often really seriously pissed.

Emboldened by the popularity of my earlier post on medieval scribes , herein the next installment. As if the title of the post isn’t a dead giveaway.  It’s a deeply learned allusion to a favorite genre of literature and very bad movies from the 30s and 40s: Son of Tarzan, Son of Dracula, Son of Tarzan, Son of Godzilla. Just to name a few. As for the appearance of “son”, see my pedantic note infra.

So let’s get started. As before, I’m only giving ones originally in Latin. All translations are my own.

“I, Statilius Maximus, have for the second time revised the text according to Tiro, Laecanianus, Domitius and three others.”
Statili(us) / maximus rursum em(en)daui ad tyrone(m) et laecanianu(m) et dom̅ & alios ueteres. III

So where’s the complaint? There isn’t. This is an example of a very early colophon (2nd century AD), which got into the manuscript and is preserved in a 15th century copy. Transcribers and editors in antiquity did this regularly.

“Three fingers write, two eyes see, one tongue speaks, the whole body suffers.”
tres digiti scribunt duo oculi uident una lingua loquitur totum corpus laborat.

The lad obviously wasn’t having a good time. The “three fingers” refers to how the pen was held…believe it or not, there’s a whole subarea in colophon studies devoted to scribal evidence for their writing tools.

“Alas, I finished badly because I didn’t know how to write well.”
Heu male finivi quia scribere non bene scivi

Hey pally, you’re in the wrong line of work. Definitely consider quitting your day job. You could get a topflight job as a pastry chef.

“Every scribe who writes has fun, for writing scribes are happy ones.”
Quicunque scriptor scribit / Leti ut scribunt scribae

Now here’s a scribe who wasn’t into bitching and moaning.

“May an evil plague torment him who shall have left you [the book] open.”
Mala pestis torqueat ipsum / Qui te dimiserit apertum

A bit testy today, aren’t we? Your three fingers bothering you?  Here’s a finger for you [SPFestus makes a crude gesture]

“Let the scribe be paid a cow and a pretty girl.”
Scriptoris dona sit bos et pulchra puella. 

Not all the scribes were monks, even though medieval monks could play loose with their three vows. The combination of a cow and a girl…I’d rather not speculate. But then there’s another who wants a whale and a pretty girl. On that, I’d rather not even think.

[Pedantic note.  As promised in the opening paragraph. A lynx-eyed hyper-PC person may mutter “why not “Daughter of medieval scribes’ complaints”? I quote a famous Vulcan science officer, “I do not create the myths, Captain; I merely report them.” Recall supra that it’s a riff on B-grade whazzits from the 30s and 40s. Blatant sexism was everywhere. “Son” is what the genre used. So don’t go getting all pissy and hissy  about sexism and SPFestus. He’s an old-fashioned 60s liberal, and what’s called “liberal” today looks to him like center-right back then. I’d love to put a medieval curse on you, but I’ve got more posts to right.]

Recently a fine little piece in that estimable publication, Lapham’s Quarterly, came to my attention.  The graphic compelled, and compels, attention:

Hah. Here are some sententiae for our readers. Slight problem…the graphic gives English. The accompanying article gives no source for any of them. And the graphic first appeared where I saw it…there’s no ultimate source. The next post will have more, along with details on  how I wrung some Latin out of it when Sergei & Larry were no help at all. Some of the complaints were in either Old Irish or Anglo-Saxon; fine for me (at least the AS), not so fine for our gentle readers. So without further ado:

Photo & transcription by  Giulio Menna; medievalfragments.wordpress.com

“This work is done, for Chrissake give me some grog;  my right hand is killing me.”

hoc opus est scriptum magister da mihi potum; Dextera scriptoris careat grauitate doloris

Er, pally, that’s why God invented BenGay.

” New parchment, bad ink; I say nothing more.”
Original in Old Irish

“As the sailor rejoices in the harbor at journey’s end,  so the scribe at the end of his toils.”

Why those two snarky words at the end of the post title?  Read on….

I have gazed on the walls of impregnable Babylon, race course for chariots, and on Zeus’ statue by the banks of the Alpheus, I have seen the hanging gardens, and the Colossus of Helios, the great toilsomely made by men mountains of the lofty pyramids, and the humungous tomb of Mausolus; but when I gazed on the sacred house of Artemis that towers to the clouds, the others were placed in the shade, for Helios himself has never gazed upon its equal outside Olympus.
Antipater of Sidon, Anthologia Palatina, 9.58

καὶ κραναᾶς Βαβυλῶνος ἐπίδρομον ἅρμασι τεῖχος
καὶ τὸν ἐπ᾽ Ἀλφειῷ Ζᾶνα κατηυγασάμην,
κάπων τ᾽ αἰώρημα, καὶ Ἠελίοιο κολοσσόν,
καὶ μέγαν αἰπεινᾶν πυραμίδων κάματον,
μνᾶμά τε Μαυσώλοιο πελώριον ἀλλ᾽ ὅτ᾽ ἐσεῖδον
Ἀρτέμιδος νεφέων ἄχρι θέοντα δόμον,
κεῖνα μὲν ἠμαύρωτο † δεκηνιδε νόσφιν Ὀλύμπου
ἅλιος οὐδέν πω τοῖον ἐπηυγάσατο.

Antipater lived in the second half of the second century BC; his is the earliest full list (Herodotus did one, now lost). The Walls Of Babylon substutes for the more common Hanging Gardens, but let’s not quibble yet.

Various later authors could have The Big O about some of the wonders….

But the greatest of these was the image of Zeus made by Pheidias of Athens, son of Charmides; it was made of ivory, so big that, although the temple was very large, the artist is thought to have missed the proper symmetry, for he showed Zeus seated but almost touching the roof with his head, thus you would think that if Zeus arose and stood erect he would bust up the temple’s roof.
Strabo 8.3.30

μέγιστον δὲ τούτων ὑπῆρξε τὸ τοῦ Διὸς ξόανον, ὃ ἐποίει Φειδίας Χαρμίδου Ἀθηναῖος ἐλεφάντινον, τηλικοῦτον τὸ μέγεθος ὡς καίπερ μεγίστου ὄντος τοῦ νεὼ δοκεῖν ἀστοχῆσαι τῆς συμμετρίας τὸν τεχνίτην, καθήμενον ποιήσαντα, ἁπτόμενον δὲ σχεδόν τι τῇ κορυφῇ τῆς ὀροφῆς ὥστ᾽ ἔμφασιν ποιεῖν, ἐὰν ὀρθὸς γένηται διαναστάς, ἀποστεγάσειν τὸν νεών.

I know that the height and breadth of the Olympic Zeus have been measured and recorded; but I won’t praise those who made the measurements, for even their records fall far short of the impression made by a look at  the image. In fact, the god himself according to legend bore witness to the artistic skill of Pheidias. For when the image was quite finished Pheidias prayed Zeus to show by a sign whether the work suited. Immediately, thus the legend, a thunderbolt fell on that part of the floor where down to the present day a bronze jar stood to cover the place.
Pausanias 5.11.9

έτρα δὲ τοῦ ἐν Ὀλυμπίᾳ Διὸς ἐς ὕψος τε καὶ εὖρος ἐπιστάμενος γεγραμμένα οὐκ ἐν ἐπαίνῳ θήσομαι τοὺς μετρήσαντας, ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ εἰρημένα αὐτοῖς μέτρα πολύ τι ἀποδέοντά ἐστιν ἢ τοῖς ἰδοῦσι παρέστηκεν ἐς τὸ ἄγαλμα δόξα, ὅπου γε καὶ αὐτὸν τὸν θεὸν μάρτυρα ἐς τοῦ Φειδίου τὴν τέχνην γενέσθαι λέγουσιν. ὡς γὰρ δὴ ἐκτετελεσμένον ἤδη τὸ ἄγαλμα ἦν, ηὔξατο ὁ Φειδίας ἐπισημῆναι τὸν θεὸν εἰ τὸ ἔργον ἐστὶν αὐτῷ κατὰ γνώμην: αὐτίκα δ᾽ ἐς τοῦτο τοῦ ἐδάφους κατασκῆψαι κεραυνόν φασιν, ἔνθα ὑδρία καὶ ἐς ἐμὲ ἐπίθημα ἦν ἡ χαλκῆ.

Strabo was a first century BC/AD geographer; Pausanias was second century AD. Both wrote extant geographies; Strabo’s covers a lot of ground, literally with individual entries rather short while Pausanias goes into great detail on occasion, thus our excerpt is preceded by eight chapters giving details of the statue’s decoration. And back to the introductory poem by Antipater we have the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus. None of the Zeus statue survives; the Artemis temple survives as, e.g., part of a column in the British Museum.

A picture is worth at least a thousand words, even mine. Thus….

The column from the Temple of Artemis; the structure must have been gigantic gigantically impressive. Thus a fairly plausible reconstruction:

As for the Statue of Zeus, we have enough evidence from coins and Pausanias to venture a reconstruction:

Pretty impressive, but note it’s a little short, or the roof a little high, in light of the ancient descriptions supra.

There was no canonical list of the Seven Wonders until relatively late in antiquity; before then there were numerous variations. Not surprising in terms of literacy, scattered libraries and local prejudices. Here’s a summary of the situation from Simon Hornblower’s Mausolus (1982), a deeply learned study of everything known about one of The Wonders:

Funny thing, isn’t it? The ancients clearly got off on the Zeus statue, at least figuratively. But several other Wonders outscore it in the ancient, er, Hit Parade of The Seven Wonders. It gets funkier as Medieval Chritianity did its own Wonder lists, often including, e.g., Noah’s Ark. And the temple of Artemis, in a sixteenth century engraving by  Martin Heemskerck gets a thorough christianizing as a Florentine church:

Now, I hope, you see why “sort of” is in the post’s title.

If you get interested do not even think about Wikipedia. It’s no prize for Classical Antiquity, and absolutely on the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World: bogus citations, incorrect citation, large gaps in virtually everything it says. Instead, go here:

Peter Clayton & Martin Price, The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World (1990).

Not a scholarly study (there are too many of those), but a sane reliable discussion with good suggestions for further reading.

And while on the subject of Wonders of the World, you knew this was coming:

.