The Shared Personae of Female Narrators in Ovid’s Heroides and Lyrical Jazz

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While visual arts have been synonymous with classics for centuries, substantial research has connected the field of classics to performing arts, specifically theater, dance, and music. In his paper, The Novelty of Ovid’s Heroides, author Maurice P. Cunningham asserts that the originality of the Heroides lies in how they were written as “lyric-dramatic monologues to be presented on the stage with music and dancing.” I wish to take this argument one step further, for I believe that the Heroides are intrinsically connected to music, specifically the genre of lyrical jazz, through a shared emotional power that transcends language or form.

Jazz, a uniquely American folk art form, traces its lineage to the spirituals sung by enslaved Africans in the American South. Jazz arose organically from the experience of oppressed people, who had very little formal education, let alone access to classical literature. It seems ludicrous to compare the two art forms, but lyrical jazz resonates emotionally with Roman elegy. Whether it is Sulpicia or Etta James, artists reach into the abyss of the human experience to pull out captivating tales of loss and longing, considering how love and heartbreak are fundamental parts of the human condition. Both Ovid’s Heroides and lyrical jazz represent the vulnerability and heartache of the central female characters by portraying personal truth as reality, illustrating raw emotional reactions to abandonment, and appealing to shared common tropes. 

The heroines of lyrical jazz narratives and of the Heroides both accept their own biased personal realities as the objective truth. In Ovid ‘Heroides’ V: Reality and Illusion, Edward M. Bradley notes how “the only formal expression of objective reality we encounter within each poem is defined exclusively by the turbulent flow of emotions running through the mind of the heroine” (159). We see this pattern clearly in Epistula V, a letter from Oenone to Paris, in which she acknowledges how he cruelly abandoned her in favor of Helen of Sparta, yet describes a scene featuring them together. She paints a picture of Paris and herself lying under a tree: 

Epistula 5.15-18

Often you might gather between [where] we lay [under] the ceiling’s tree, And having been mixed when the grass presented the swelling to the leaves; Often above straw bedding and deep hay lying down the small wicker hut was kept off the frost

Saepe greges inter requievimus arbore tecti
mixtaque cum foliis praebuit herba torum.
Saepe super stramen fenoque iacentibus alto
defensa est humili cana pruina casa

Greges; you might gather,” a present subjunctive of characteristic, indicates that Oenone has built a fantasy world for herself in which Paris is still hers; she ascribes idealized behaviors to Paris that do not reconcile with his current actions. She describes a world that is peaceful, removed from the turbulent realities of her circumstances amidst the Trojan War, since she cannot cope with the loss of her idyllic life with Paris.

Picture of oil painting. Paris and Oenone by Pieter Lastman, oil on panel, 1610, High Museum of Art
Paris and Oenone by Pieter Lastman, oil on panel, 1610, High Museum of Art

In accordance with Bradley’s observation, Ovid chooses to focus on Oenone’s emotional narrative, forgoing the objective sequence of events that his audience would be familiar with. Jazz lyricists have this exact focus. Jazz indeed is a “turbulent flow of emotions” represented in music, whose audience solely receives a subjective portrait of a story based on a highly emotional account rather than a clear factual report. In Nina Simone’s song “If I Should Lose You,” she presents numerous hypothetical scenes, describing what would happen if she lost her beloved. She cries that “If I should lose you, the stars would fall from the skies, if I should lose you, the leaves would wither and die.”

The lyrics do not provide the listener any information about Simone’s actual circumstances, but the listener does receive a rich portrait of Simone’s emotional landscape. In fact, the audience does not know that Simone’s beloved is actually gone until the song’s penultimate couplet: “I gave you my love, but I was living a dream.” Here, through the switch from conditional subjunctives earlier in the song to this indicative past tense, Simone recognizes that she deceived herself. The lyrics are too heavily invested in describing her heartache to give any tangible narrative details to the listeners until the end. Both Epistula 5  and this lyrical jazz piece are more interested in portraying emotional scenes with florid imagery than offering a clear sequence of events. 

Another common theme between lyrical jazz and the Heroides is how women process abandonment in romantic relationships. Earlier in Phyllis’s letter, she relives the day her beloved abandoned her and wishes in hindsight that the night Demophoon left was her last night living. She cries, “Heu! Patior telis vulnera facta meis; Oh! I suffer wounds having been made by my own weapons!” (Epistula 2.48). Phyllis blames herself for Demophoon’s actions, and processes her own abandonment by punishing herself and assuming all responsibility. She further laments that “speravi melius, quia me meruisse putavi; I hoped for the best, because I thought that I deserved it,” (Epistula 2.61).

The sheer emotion in her speech clearly demonstrates the strength of her heartbreak and her overwhelming shame, especially when remembering her former naivete, her previous belief that merit would bring about ideal circumstances in love. The perfect tense of “speravi; I hoped,” “putavi; I thought,” and “meruisse; I deserved” alludes to a personal growth, as she reflects on a previous childish persona. Use of the perfect tense denotes completed past action, indicating that she is no longer the naive person who would trust traditional notions of love and relationships.

This type of character growth is also represented in Etta James’s “Fool That I Am,” where she regrets her past actions, calling herself a “fool that I am for falling in love with you and a fool I am for thinking you loved me too.” James laments her former naivete and her foolhardy belief that her beloved actually loved her back. The repetition of “fool that I am” and the past tense of “you loved me” both suggest feelings of shame surrounding her past innocence. Both heroines respond to abandonment by criticizing themselves; they are both ashamed of how they naively believed that their lovers would stay. 

 

Beyond shared content, Ovid uses several direct tropes that carry over into jazz canon. In his paper Discourse Tendency: A Study in Extended Tropes, Don L. F. Nilsen observes that “tropes function at the levels of semantics (meaning) and pragmatics (interrelationships between language and culture),” noting that “some tropes… become so developed and so extended that they actually become the discourse.” Not only do both elegy and lyrical jazz discuss the same emotions, they also portray the same reactions to those emotions and eventually become synonymous with those emotions. We see such in Dido’s letter to Aeneas, where the traditional trope of sleeplessness invokes Dido’s infatuation with the young hero: “Aeneas oculis vigilantis semper inhaeret, Aenean animo noxque quiesque refert; Aeneas clings always to my sleepless eyes, both the night and serenity bring Aeneas back to my mind,” (Epistula 7.25-26). She depicts herself as literally unable to sleep since Aeneas is constantly at the forefront of her mind.

color photograph of oil painting of the death of Dido
Andrea Sacchi, “The Death of Dido”. Musée des Beaux-Arts de Caen. 17th CEntury

This image of the insomniac lover was a common trope in Roman elegy and remains a common representation of lovesickness in lyrical jazz. In Rodgers and Hart’s “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered,” many vocalists, including the likes of Ella Fitzegerald and Barbra Streisand, mourned how they “couldn’t sleep and wouldn’t sleep when love came and told me I shouldn’t sleep.” Similarly, in the song “Prisoner of Love,” Etta James sings about how “I’m not free, He’s in my dreams awake or sleeping.” Both representations of sleeplessness emphasize a lack of power; they cannot sleep because they are overwhelmed by the pressure of love. The representation of the sleepless nighttime lover contributes to the emotional landscapes of these women, and merges with the underlying messaging to such a deep degree that lyrical jazz reflects representations from antiquity.

While Roman elegy and lyrical jazz belong to two separate millenia, the similarities between the two art forms are overwhelming with regard to the heroines’ alternate perceptions of reality which lead to unfiltered emotional reactions to abandonment. Each heroine’s consuming emotions of love, fear, doubt, sadness, and anxiety are expressed in similar tropes. The narrators live in an emotionally skewed reality, fueled by tropes common to love, to heartache, and to abandonment. 

Maya Martinez is a high school senior at Friends Seminary studying Latin and Spanish. She is particularly interested in the connections between antiquity and the modern world and aims to make the field of classics both accessible and exciting to the general public. She is fascinated by the way in which translation impacts the overall narrative and how history alters a work’s legacy, particularly: what is remembered, what is forgotten, and what is changed. In the fall semester, she will attend Brown University where she plans to continue her engagement with Classical Literature. This is her first publication. 

Works Cited

“Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.” Performance by Ella Fitzgerald. Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers and Hart Song Book, Verve Label Group, 1956. Spotify. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

Bradley, Edward M. “Ovid ‘Heroides’ V: Reality and Illusion.” The Classical Journal, vol. 64, no. 4, Jan. 1969, pp. 158-62. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3295901. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

Cunningham, Maurice P. “The Novelty of Ovid’s Heroides.” Classical Philology, vol. 44, no. 2, Apr. 1949, pp. 100-06. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/267476. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

D’Angelo, Frank J. “Prolegomena to a Rhetoric of Tropes.” Rhetoric Review, vol. 6, no. 1, fall 1987, pp. 32-40. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/465948. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

Farrell, Joseph. “Reading and Writing the Heroides.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. 98, 1998, pp. 307-38. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/311346. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

“Fool That I Am.” Performance by Etta James. The Second Time Around, Argo Records, 1961. Spotify. Accessed 13 Oct. 2023.

Fulkerson, Laurel. “Writing Yourself to Death: Strategies of (Mis)reading in Heroides 2.” Materiali e discussioni per l’analisi dei testi classici, no. 48, 2002, pp. 145-65. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40236218. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

“If I Should Lose You.” Performance by Nina Simone. Wild Is The Wind, UMG Recordings, 1966. Spotify. Accessed 13 Oct. 2023.

Nilsen, Don L. F. “Discourse Tendency: A Study in Extended Tropes.” Rhetoric Society Quarterly, vol. 19, no. 3, summer 1989, pp. 263-72. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3885294. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

“Prisoner of Love.” Performance by Etta James. The Chess Box, UMG Recordings, 2000. Spotify. Accessed 14 Oct. 2023.

 

Writing Advice for Thesis Season: Write Drunk, Edit Sober. Rinse and Repeat

Herodotus, Histories 1.133.3-4

“The [Persians] are really fond of wine. It is not permissable to puke or to piss in front of another—these things are guarded against. And they are in the custom of taking counsel about the most important matters while they are drunk. Whatever seems fit to them while they are deliberating, the housemaster of the place where they deliberate proposes to them on the next day when they are sober. If the idea is pleasing to them when they are sober too, then they adopt it. If it is not, they waive it. When they have debated an issue while sober, they make a final decision while drunk.”

οἴνῳ δὲ κάρτα προσκέαται, καί σφι οὐκ ἐμέσαι ἔξεστι, οὐκὶ οὐρῆσαι ἀντίον ἄλλου. ταῦτα μέν νυν οὕτω φυλάσσεται, μεθυσκόμενοι δὲ ἐώθασι βουλεύεσθαι τὰ σπουδαιέστατα τῶν πρηγμάτων:

[4] τὸ δ᾽ ἂν ἅδῃ σφι βουλευομένοισι, τοῦτο τῇ ὑστεραίῃ νήφουσι προτιθεῖ ὁ στέγαρχος, ἐν τοῦ ἂν ἐόντες βουλεύωνται, καὶ ἢν μὲν ἅδῃ καὶ νήφουσι, χρέωνται αὐτῷ, ἢν δὲ μὴ ἅδῃ, μετιεῖσι. τὰ δ᾽ ἂν νήφοντες προβουλεύσωνται, μεθυσκόμενοι ἐπιδιαγινώσκουσι.

Tacitus ascribes a similar process to the northern barbarians, concluding (Germ. 22):

“therefore, the mindset of everyone has been exposed and made clear and on the next day the issue is discussed again, and for each opportunity a resolution and accounting is reached. They deliberate when they are incapable of lying; they make a plan when incapable of messing it up.”

ergo detecta et nuda omnium mens. postera die retractatur, et salva utriusque temporis ratio est. Deliberant dum fingere nesciunt, constituunt dum errare non possunt.

 

 

Annibale Carracci, “Boy Drinking” 1582/1583

[Credit to Perseus for having the How and Wells Commentary online]

Sappho Springs to Mind

Sappho, fr. 96

“…..Sardis….
Often she turns her mind there
…[where she brought you ]….
Like a goddess best known
She was delighting especially in your song.

Now she stands out among the Lydian
Women like the rosy-fingered moon
when the sun is setting
and it outshines all the stars—
Its light pours over the salted sea
And equally over the much-flowered plains.

Dew drips with beauty
While the roses bloom alongside
The soft chervil and blossoming clover.

But while she wanders back and forth
She thinks so much of gentle Atthis with longing
And it weighs down her fragile thoughts.

She wants to go there….
…[a great sound of thoughts]…
How unwise it is to rival deities in lovely form…

…you have…
….desire….
….Aphrodite…was pouring nektar
From gold….with her hands….
Persuasion….”

[ ]σαρδ.[..]
[ πόλ]λακι τυίδε̣ [ν]ῶν ἔχοισα
ὠσπ.[…].ώομεν, .[…]..χ[..]
σε †θεασικελαν ἀρι-
γνωτασε† δὲ μάλιστ’ ἔχαιρε μόλπαι̣·
νῦν δὲ Λύδαισιν ἐμπρέπεται γυναί-
κεσσιν ὤς ποτ’ ἀελίω
δύντος ἀ βροδοδάκτυλος †μήνα
πάντα περ<ρ>έχοισ’ ἄστρα· φάος δ’ ἐπί-
σχει θάλασσαν ἐπ’ ἀλμύραν
ἴσως καὶ πολυανθέμοις ἀρούραις·
ἀ δ’ <ἐ>έρσα κάλα κέχυται τεθά-
λαισι δὲ βρόδα κἄπαλ’ ἄν-
θρυσκα καὶ μελίλωτος ἀνθεμώδης·
πόλλα δὲ ζαφοίταισ’ ἀγάνας ἐπι-
μνάσθεισ’ ῎Ατθιδος ἰμέρωι
<>λέπταν ποι φρένα κ[.]ρ̣… βόρηται·
κῆθι δ’ ἔλθην ἀμμ.[..]..ισα τό̣δ’ οὐ
νῶντ’ ἀ[..]υστονυμ̣[…] πόλυς
γαρύει̣ […]αλον̣[……].ο̣ μέσσον·
ε]ὔ̣μαρ[ες μ]ὲ̣ν οὐκ̣ α.μι θέαισι μόρ-
φαν ἐπή[ρατ]ον ἐξίσω-
σθ̣αι συ[..]ρ̣ο̣ς ἔχηισθ’ ἀ[…].νίδηον
[ ]το̣[….]ρατι-
μαλ[ ].ερος
καὶ δ[.]μ̣[ ]ος ᾿Αφροδίτα
καμ̣[ ] νέκταρ ἔχευ’ ἀπὺ
χρυσίας [ ]ν̣αν
<>….]απουρ̣[ ] χέρσι Πείθω

by Sarathkumaran Ranganathan

Unpolished Words and Saying What You Mean

Seneca, Moral Epistles 75.1-3

“You grumble that my letters to you are not very polished. Well, who speaks with polish unless they want to talk ostentatiously? I want my letters to have the quality of the kind of conversation we’d have while sitting next to each other or walking: easy and unlabored, since there is nothing forced or false about them.

If I could, I would prefer to show rather than tell you what I am feeling. Even if I were debating with you, I wouldn’t stomp my foot, or wave my hands around, or raise my voice–I’d abandon those tricks to the orators because I am happy to have shared my experiences with you without elaborating them or cheapening them.

I wish I could make this single thing clear to you: whatever I say, I don’t just feel it, I mean it. Men kiss their girlfriends one way and their children another, but enough emotion is clear in the parental embrace too, since it is sacred and restrained.”

Minus tibi accuratas a me epistulas mitti quereris. Quis enim accurate loquitur, nisi qui vult putide loqui? Qualis sermo meus esset, si una sederemus aut ambularemus, inlaboratus et facilis, tales esse epistulas meas volo, quae nihil habent accersitum nec fictum. Si fieri posset, quid sentiam, ostendere quam loqui mallem. Etiam si disputarem, nec supploderem pedem nec manum iactarem nec attollerem vocem, sed ista oratoribus reliquissem, contentus sensus meos ad te pertulisse, quos nec exornassem nec abiecissem. Hoc unum plane tibi adprobare vellem: omnia me illa sentire, quae dicerem, nec tantum sentire, sed amare. Aliter homines amicam, aliter liberos osculantur; tamen in hoc quoque amplexu tam sancto et moderato satis apparet adfectus.

Batman slapping robin meme. Robin is saying "your letters are sloppy" Batman says, "I say what I mean"

Lying about the Self

Augustine, Confessions 10.3

“What is left for me, then, with other people so that they may listen to my confessions as if they would heal all my problems? We are a species desperate to know about other people’s lives but negligent in fixing our own. Why do those who do not want me to say who they are want to ask me who I am?

When they hear from me directly about myself, how can they know whether I speak truly when no one knows what moves another person except for the spirit that moves within them? Yet, if they hear about themselves from you, they cannot say, “The Lord lies.” Since, what is hearing about ourselves from you apart from knowing oneself? Truly, who understands this and says “this is untrue” except for someone who lies.”

(3) Quid mihi ergo est cum hominibus, ut audiant confessiones meas, quasi ipsi sanaturi sint omnes languores meos? curiosum genus ad cognoscendam vitam alienam, desidiosum ad corrigendam suam. quid a me quaerunt audire qui sim, qui nolunt a te audire qui sint? et unde sciunt, cum a me ipso de me ipso audiunt, an verum dicam, quandoquidem nemo scit hominum quid agatur in homine, nisi spiritus hominis qui in ipso est? si autem a te audiant de se ipsis, non poterunt dicere, “mentitur dominus.” quid est enim a te audire de se nisi cognoscere se? quis porro cognoscit et dicit, “falsum est,” nisi ipse mentiatur? 

Fear of Flute-girls and Heights: Some Physician’s Notes

Hippocrates, Epidemics 5

“Whenever he went to a drinking party, Nikanor was afflicted with fear of the flute girl. Whenever she began playing the flute and he would hear it in the Symposium, he would be filled with anxiety. He said he could scarcely endure it whenever it was night. But during the day time, he was not scared off by hearing it. These kinds of reactions lasted a very long time.”

“Democles, who was his companion, used to seem blind and weak in his body. He was not able to walk along a cliff or on a bridge to cross over even a smallest depth of a ditch. But he was capable of crossing the ditch itself. This impacted him for a great amount of time.”

  1. Τὸ Νικάνορος πάθος, ὁπότε ἐς ποτὸν ὁρμῷτο, φόβος τῆς αὐλητρίδος· ὁκότε φωνῆς αὐλοῦ ἀρχομένης ἀκούσειεν αὐλεῖν ἐν ξυμποσίῳ, ὑπὸ δειμάτων ὄχλοι· μόγις ὑπομένειν ἔφη, ὅτε εἴη νύξ· ἡμέρης δὲ ἀκούων οὐδὲν διετρέπετο· τοιαῦτα παρείπετο συχνὸν χρόνον.
  2. Δημοκλῆς ὁ μετ᾿ ἐκείνου ἀμβλυώσσειν καὶ λυσισωματεῖν ἐδόκει, καὶ οὐκ ἂν παρῆλθε παρὰ κρημνὸν οὐδὲ ἐπὶ γεφύρης οὐδὲ τοὐλάχιστον βάθος τάφρου διαπορεύεσθαι, ἀλλὰ δι᾿ αὐτῆς τῆς τάφρου οἷος ἦν· τοῦτο χρόνον τινὰ ξυνέβη αὐτῷ.
Attic red-figure mug with girl playing the double-flute and man dancing with krotala (castanets).

Attic red-figure mug with girl playing the double-flute and man dancing with krotala (castanets). Beazley Archive 204127 (Classical Art Research Centre, Oxford)

After the Epic's End

Next Stages for Painful Signs

At some point last year, Sophia Efthimiatou reached out and started a conversation with me about moving my work at sententiaeantiquae.com to substack. I was interested in exploring the platform, partly because wordpress has changed some of their infrastructure in annoying ways, but also because I am an itinerant tinkerer, happier with starting things, perhaps, than imagining how to finish them.

I came up with the idea of working through the Iliad again for a few reasons. First, Emily Wilson’s new translation of the Iliad brought the epic more into public focus. Second, I found the discussion around the translation sadly divorced from Homeric scholarship and I wanted to create some sort of a resource for new readers interested in engaging in the epic more. And, third, I wanted a project to get back into the Iliad with a depth I had lost in my years away from the epic.

So working on this substack has allowed me to continue a few things I care about in a different context: sharing more of the depth of the past and scholarship about it to a broader community and using the practice of doing so to help me continue learning and expanding my own work. (I have long used blogging as a process for practice and continued learning and for developing projects.)

So the invitation to try out substack also came at time when I was finishing up a book project (more in a few weeks!) and was thinking about next projects. I had spent more than a decade working almost exclusively on the Iliad and then turned quite quickly to a project on the Odyssey that culminated in a book on that epic and modern psychology. I have worked on many Homer related projects, but not writing a book on the Iliad would always gnaw at met.

The breadth and depth of Homeric scholarship is pretty much unrivalled in the humanities. Not only are there numerous modern languages that continue to produce important and critical material about the poems, but the history of Homeric scholarship goes back to the original performance of the texts. To add to this, interdisciplinarity and the continued popularity of heroic myth has produced a staggeringly impressive variegation of commentary on Homer. The task of mere familiarity with scholarly trends is simultaneously Herculean and Sisyphean—so much so that my advisor in graduate school repeatedly told me to find something ‘new’ to write on because the bibliography is just too big.

Alas, I have rarely been one to take good advice. So I somehow made myself into a Homerist. But I spent the first part of my career writing articles to make up for my ignorance and weak spots. Once I spent nearly a decade away from reading all of the new and wonderful scholarship about the Iliad, I had to find a way to get back into it, all while doing the rest of my job.

Achilles tending Patroclus wounded by an arrow, identified by inscriptions on the upper part of the vase. Tondo of an Attic red-figure kylix, ca. 500 BC. From Vulci.
Sosias (potter, signed). Painting attributed to the Sosias Painter (name piece for Beazley, overriding attribution) or the Kleophrades Painter (Robertson) or Euthymides (Ohly-Dumm)

So, moving forward, I am going to continue posting on the Iliad almost exclusively, focusing on three general areas: (1) highlighting and discussing new scholarship about the Iliad; (2) pursuing a series of themes as I re-read the Iliad in Greek (expressions/reflections/implications of trauma; notions of agency and determinism; hints about performance and reception; ways of thinking about the reception of Homer by diverse audiences); (3) other issues of texts/transmission/and commentary that occur to me.

Areas 2 and 3 are those that have long motivated my online work, but 1 (promoting other people’s scholarship) is something that I came to while working through the substack posts. One of my fundamental frustrations with scholarship is the lack of correlation between the intensity of the labor and the impact our work has. So much Classical scholarship is only read by people who are writing on the same topic in order to publish an article only a handful of people will really read. So much of our work is really good and can enrich the way people understand the past—but it just doesn’t reach a larger audience. So what I hope to do is to discuss an article or book every week to show why it matters and what benefit it offers. (And not in a book review kind of way: I have no intention of criticizing scholarship and will avoid negative comments—I have thrown enough scholarly shade in my day and need to make some amends).

So, starting next week, this substack will continue in these directions. And who knows where it will end.

Here are the 78 posts on the Iliad.

Preparatory Posts

Reading and Teaching Homer

Five Major Themes to Follow in the Iliad

Book-by-book

Book 1

The Politics of Rage: Introduction to Iliad 1

The Plan: Zeus’ Plan in the Iliad

Prophet of Evils: Reading Iphigenia in and out of the Iliad

Speaking of Centaurs: Paradigmatic Problems in book 1

Book 2

From Politics to Poetics: Repairing Achaean Politics in Book 2 of the Iliad

Thersites’ Body: Description, Characterization, and Physiognomy in book 2

Book 3

(Re-)Starting the Trojan War: Iliad 3 and Helen as Our Guide

Heroic Appearances: What Did Helen Look Like?

Suffering So Long for this Woman!: Various Ancient Attitudes towards Helen

Book 4

Backing Up the Future: Characterization and Rivalry in Iliad 4

Better than our Fathers!: Theban Epic Fragments and the Homeric Iliad

Long Ago, Far Away: The Iliad and the So-Called Epic Cycle After the Canon

Book 5

Seeing (and Wounding) the Gods: Reading Iliad 5

All About Athena: Some additional texts for book 5

Two Ways to Decline Zeus: Paradigm, Text, and Story in Iliad 5

Book 6

Structure and Stories: Reading Iliad 6

War Crimes: Iliad 6, Infanticide, and the Mykonos Vase

Mind Reading and Stolen Wits: The Encounter of Diomedes and Glaukos in Iliad 6

Book 7

Divine Plots and Human Plans: Reading Iliad 7

Erasing the Past: The Achaean Wall and Homeric Fame

Give Helen Back!: Trojan Politics in Book 7 of the Iliad

Book 8

Tyranny and the Plot: Introducing Iliad 8

Stranded in Iliad 8 with Nestor and Diomedes: On Reading the Iliad and Neoanalysis

Wishing the Impossible: Hektor in Iliad 8

Book 9

Life, Death, and all the Words Between: Iliad 9 and the Language of Achilles

Two Is Company!: The Duals of Iliad 9 and Homeric Interpretation

Achilles Sings the Hero Within: Stories and Narrative Blends in Iliad 9

Book 10

Night Raids and Gimmick Episodes: Learning to Love Iliad 10

Homeric Redshirts and Iliad 10: Introducing Dolon

Dolon and Achilles; Dolon AS Achilles: Politics and Iliad 10

Book 11

Time, Feet, and Serious Wounds: Starting to Read Iliad 11

The Beginning of His Trouble: Characterizing Achilles in Iliad 11

Insidious Inception?: Nestor’s Speech to Patroklos in Iliad 11

Book 12

Looking Up and Out: Starting to Read Iliad 12

Why Must We Fight and Die?: Reading Sarpedon’s Speech to Glaukos in Iliad 12

Scarcity and the Iliad: Thinking about Similes in Book 12

Book 13

The Iliad‘s Longest Day: Starting to Make Sense of Book 13

Epic Narratives and their Local Sidekicks: On Cretans in Iliad 13

A Heroic Tale Curtailed: Homeric Digressions and Iliad 13

Book 14

What A Dangerous Thing to Say!: Politics and Absurdity in Iliad 14

Where Did Homeric Book Divisions Come From?: Thinking about the thematic Unity of book 14

Falling Asleep after Sex and Other Cosmic Problems: The Seduction of Zeus in Iliad 14

Book 15

Zeus and ‘Righting’ the Divine Constitution: An Introduction to Reading Iliad 15

Brothers, Sisters, Wives, and Divine (Dis)Order: Setting things Straight in Iliad 15

The Powerful Mind of Zeus: Revitalizing Hektor and the Iliad‘s Plot

Book 16

There’s Plenty of Crying in Epic: Introducing Book 16

Even Zeus Suffers: The Death of Sarpedon and the Beginning of Universal Human Rights

Merely the Third To Kill Me: Hektor, Patroklos, and the End of Iliad 16

Book 17

Rescuing the Bod(ies): Thinking about the Epic Cycle, Neoanalysis, and Introducing Iliad17

A Doublet Disposed: Time Travel Paradoxes and the Death of Euphorbus

Always Second Best (Or Worst): Characterizing Hektor in Iliad 17

Book 18

Things to Do in Ilium When You’re Dead: Introducing Iliad 18.

The Personal Political: Hektor, Polydamas, and Trojan Politics in Iliad 18

The Power to Control the World: Achilles’ Shield and Homeric Ekphrasis

Book 19

People Are Going to Tell Our Story: Introducing Iliad 19

Dead and Gentle Forever: Briseis’ Lament for Patroklos in Iliad 19

That Other Me: Achilles’ Lament for Patroklos in Iliad 19

Book 20

Concerns For Those About To Die: Introducing Iliad 20

Spears and Stones will Break Your Bones But Words Will Always Shape You: Aeneas’ Speech to Achilles in Iliad 20

The Gamemaster’s Anger and Fear: Homeric Contrafactuals and Rescuing Aeneas

Book 21

What Do You Do With a Problem Like Achilles?: Introducing Iliad 21

You’re Gonna Die Too, Friend: Achilles’ Speech to Lykaon in Iliad 21

They’re Just Not That Into Us: On Mortals and Gods in Iliad 21

Book 22

Hektor’s Body and the Burden: Introducing Iliad 22

Laying My Burdens Down: Hektor Sweet-talks Achilles in Iliad 22

A New Widow and Her Orphan: Andromache’s Lament for Hektor in Iliad 22

Book 23

That Mare is Mine!: Introducing Iliad 23

Rage Won’t Raise the Dead: The Ghost of Patroklos in Iliad 23

Achilles’ Wicked Deeds: Framing Human Sacrifice in Iliad 23

Book 24

Disfiguring the Fallow Earth: Introducing Iliad 24

“As If He Were Going to His Death”: Priam and Katabasis in Iliad 24

“Blow Up Your TV”: Thetis, Achilles, and Life and Death in Iliad 24

Priam And Achilles, Pity and Fear: A ‘tragic’ end to Homer’s Iliad

Starving Then Stoned: Achilles’ Story of Niobe in Iliad 24

“Better off Dead”: Helen’s Lament for Hektor in Iliad 24

The Burial of Horse-Taming Hektor: Ending the Iliad

Terracotta amphora (jar), Attributed to the Berlin Painter, Terracotta, Greek, Attic
Rhapsode singing: c 490 BCE, attributed to the Berlin painter MET

The Short Dream and the Sudden Darkness

Athenaeus, Deipnosophists 14.620c

“Chamaeleon claims in his book On Stesichorus that it wasn’t only Homer’s poetry that was accompanied by music but also Archilochus’ and Hesiod’s too. He adds the work of Mimnermus and Phocylides to this as well.”

Χαμαιλέων δὲ ἐν τῷ περὶ Στησιχόρου (fr. 28 Wehrli) καὶ μελῳδηθῆναί φησιν οὐ μόνον τὰ Ὁμήρου ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ Ἡσιόδου καὶ Ἀρχιλόχου, ἔτι δὲ Μιμνέρμου καὶ Φωκυλίδου.

Athenaeus, fr. 13.5.567f= Hermesian fr. 7.35-40

“Then Mimnermos, who discovered the sweet sound
And breath of gentle pentameter, after he suffered terribly,
Was burning for Nanno. With his lips often on the grey lotus
Pipe, he partied with Examyes.
But he was hateful to serious Hermobios and Pherekles.”

Μίμνερμος δέ, τὸν ἡδὺν ὃς εὕρετο πολλὸν ἀνατλὰς
ἦχον καὶ μαλακοῦ πνεῦμ᾿ ἀπὸ πενταμέτρου,
καίετο μὲν Ναννοῦς, πολιῷ δ᾿ ἐπὶ πολλάκι λωτῷ
κνημωθεὶς κώμους εἶχε σὺν Ἐξαμύῃ·
†ἠδ᾿ ἠχθεε† δ᾿ Ἑρμόβιον τὸν ἀεὶ βαρὺν ἠδὲ Φερεκλῆν

Suda, Mu 1077 (iii.397.20 Adler)

“Mimnermos, the son of Ligurtuades, from Kolophon or Smurnos or Astupalaios. An elegiac poet. He lived during the 37th Olympiad [ c. 632-629 BCE) and so lived before the Seven Sages. Some people say that he lived at the same time they did. He used to be called Liguastades because of his harmony and clarity. He wrote…those many books.”

Μίμνερμος Λιγυρτυάδου, Κολοφώνιος ἢ Σμυρναῖος ἢ Ἀστυπαλαιεύς, ἐλεγειοποιός. γέγονε δ᾿ ἐπὶ τῆς λζ΄ ὀλυμπιάδος, ὡς προτερεύειν τῶν ζ΄ σοφῶν· τινὲς δὲ αὐτοῖς καὶ συγχρονεῖν λέγουσιν. ἐκαλεῖτο δὲ καὶ Λιγυᾳστάδης διὰ τὸ ἐμμελὲς καὶ λιγύ. ἔγραψε βιβλία †ταῦτα πολλά.

Mimnermus, fr. 5 = Stobaeus 4.50.69

[missing line of dactylic hexameter]

“….but dear youth is like a short dream
Then suddenly hard and ugly old age
Drapes down over your head.
It makes a man hateful and unloved, even unknown
As it weakens his eyes and clouds his mind.”

ἀλλ᾿ ὀλιγοχρόνιον γίνεται ὥσπερ ὄναρ
ἥβη τιμήεσσα· τὸ δ᾿ ἀργαλέον καί ἄμορφον
γῆρας ὑπὲρ κεφαλῆς αὐτίχ᾿ ὑπερκρέμεται,
ἐχθρὸν ὁμῶς καὶ ἄτιμον, ὅ τ᾿ ἄγνωστον τιθεῖ ἄνδρα,
βλάπτει δ᾿ ὀφθαλμοὺς καὶ νόον ἀμφιχυθέν.

Nick Drake, “Black Eyed Dog”

Black eyed dog he called at my door
The black eyed dog he called for more

A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog
A black eyed dog

I’m growing old and I wanna go home, I’m growing old and I dont wanna know
I’m growing old and I wanna go home

Black eyed dog he called at my door
The black eyed dog he called for more

Ditlev Blunck, Old Age. From the series: The Four Ages of Man (1840-1845) Statens Museum fur Kunst

Everything Terrible is Our Fault

Theognis, 1.833-836

“Everything’s gone to hell and is in the shitter, Kyrnos,
And not even one of the blessed, immortal gods is to blame!
No, it’s the violence of men, their craven profits, and arrogance
That’s damned us to evil from bountiful good.”

Πάντα τάδ’ ἐν κοράκεσσι καὶ ἐν φθόρωι· οὐδέ τις ἡμῖν
αἴτιος ἀθανάτων, Κύρνε, θεῶν μακάρων,
ἀλλ’ ἀνδρῶν τε βίη καὶ κέρδεα δειλὰ καὶ ὕβρις
πολλῶν ἐξ ἀγαθῶν ἐς κακότητ’ ἔβαλεν.

The Burial of Horse-Taming Hektor

Ending the Iliad

This is the final post dedicated to Iliad 24. As a reminder, these posts will remain free, but there is an option to be a financial supporter. All proceeds from the substack are donated to classics adjacent non-profits on a monthly basis.

The Iliad begins:

“Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles”

Μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω ᾿Αχιλῆος

And then it ends:

“And so they were completing the burial of Hektor, tamer of horses”

῝Ως οἵ γ’ ἀμφίεπον τάφον ῞Εκτορος ἱπποδάμοιο 

Imagine if all we had of the poem was a scholarly record conveying these two lines. What would we make of the journey that we would have to take to get from line 1 to line 2? How would we relate the opening request with the final fact and then connect these in turn to a larger tradition of myth? One might naturally assume that the former leads to the latter in a causal fashion, but there’s no necessary reason to posit that.

There’s an openness, though, to both lines. The initial invocation asks for a story to be told; the final one offers a scene in process: the imperfect tense of the verb ἀμφίεπον shows an action that is ongoing but not yet complete, it leaves the audience with the sense that more is still to come, that the final word has not actually been spoken. This certainly functions to mark the epic as part of a larger story cycle, just as the imperfect in line 1.7 (Διὸς δ’ ἐτελείετο βουλή) indicates that the Iliad is part of a larger process, a cosmic narrative arc.

Yet, without external evidence, each name is merely an empty sign waiting to be filled, a story needing to be told. But we have the whole poem. We can follow from line 1.1 to 24.804. And we still likely ask why the Iliad ends with the burial of Hektor, tamer of horses. Ancient scholars had a range of less than satisfactory answers. The scholia record that a scholar named Menekrates believed that Homer was silent about the events after Hektor because “he sensed his own weakness and inability to tell the events in the same way” (Schol. bT ad. Hom. Il. 21.804). Another claims that some modified the final line:

Schol. T ad. Hom. Il. 21.804a

“Some people write “and so they were completing the burial of Hektor. Then the Amazon came / the daughter of Ares, the great-hearted man-killer”

τινὲς γράφουσιν „ὣς οἵ γ’ ἀμφίεπον τάφον ῞Εκτορος· ἦλθε δ’ ᾿Αμαζών, / ῎Αρηος θυγάτηρ μεγαλήτορος ἀνδροφόνοιο” (804. 804a).

File:Penthesilea.jpg
Penthesilea from a red figure vase in Agrigentum

In this version, we find the possibility of an ever-expanding tale, moving from the Iliad to the events of the Aithiopis without much of a break at all. While I have no doubt that ancient performances offered such opportunities for stitching and re-stitching narratives together, I think we still need to contend with the beginning, middle, and end of our Iliad. Even if a performer would segue from an Iliad to an Aithiopis, we still face the fact that each was felt to be a unitary and individualizable narrative. So, here are some other reasons why the Iliad ends as it does.

1.‘Epic’ time is different from normal narrative time: it is more like a time loop in modern science fiction. All the main events always happen and have already always happened, but there’s room for variation in the journey between them. This occupies a place between what we might clumsily call “ritual time” and a causal narrative chain. For the former, I have in mind the narrative cycle of a liturgical calendar where congregants/audiences are treated to the same stories at the same part of the year. The stories never change because they have happened and must happen the same, but our experiences of them change as we move from one repetition to another. For the latter, the logic of causation is imposed through the repetition of the same basic events, but by finding space in the interstices to tell different stories, audiences explore the dynamic interaction between determinism and agency, between accepting what one cannot change and being empowered to alter what one can.

2.The city has already been destroyed in the imaginations of the characters and the audience. Following on the immutable layering of epic time, Iliadic narrative refers to canonical events of the Trojan War but mostly moves around them: the judgment of Paris, the abduction of Helen, the marshaling of the armies, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the sack of the city, and other events all exist on the periphery, at times marginalized to such an extent that scholars can doubt whether or not the Homeric epics appeal to them. At the same time, the Iliad appropriates and reperforms moments from the larger tale that should not be part if its tale, engaging in a creative anachronism that manages to place the catalogue of ships, the teikhoskopia, the duel over Helen, and the building of Achaean fortifications between Achilles’ falling out with Agamemnon and the embassy to try to resolve the spat.

The Iliad reshuffles the deck of mythical time both to assert the supremacy of its story and to show that no series of events, no causal chain, can alter the outcome of the overall narrative. This is theological in the cosmic sense: notions like Zeus’ plan and the double determination (when the narrative shows the gods ‘causing’ an action but also features mortals choosing to act without knowledge of divine will) underscores the complexity of causation and the inscrutability of single efficient causes. At the same time, such shuffling is evocative of human cognition, the way we understand and retain basic concepts of beginning and ending but can lose track of intermediary steps.

3.Achilles has already died. In a way, this is no different than the previous point, but it is important enough to emphasize again. The Iliad does not merely deal out the deck of myth in a different order, it redraws the images on the most important cards to achieve similar ends. Achilles dies through Patroklos—his physical death is disassembled and re-used in book 11 and then book 16, anticipated in books 18, 19, 22, 23, and 24, but never performed because it has already been achieved. Just as the city is destroyed in the words of Hektor, Andromache, Priam, and Hecuba, so too is Achilles’ death portrayed through Patroklos’ surrogacy and the divine and mortal speeches that anticipate it.

4.Hektor’s death may be more important than Achilles’.  As I have mentioned before, the Iliad takes part in an etiological (that is, explanatory) arc that moves from the dios boulê, Zeus’ plan to rid the world of the race of heroes, to an era when the realms of gods and men are more thoroughly distinct. While the Odyssey more-or-less completes this journey toward Hesiod’s Works and Days, where human beings toil distant from tangible divine favor or aid, the Iliad moves audiences from the twin rages of Achilles and Apollo in book 1 (where they are both upset at Agamemnon) to Apollo’s anger at Achilles for his treatment of Hektor in book 24. Apollo—much to Hera’s surprise—takes the side of a non-divine mortal for the rite of burial against one closer to his own kin.

Along the way, we see the widening distance between divine knowledge and human knowledge—the whole motif of double determination, whereby we as audience members see the gods and mortals as understanding different levels of causation for a given action. The repeated toggling between divine intervention paired with human decisions shows us separate worlds, even separate realities or dimensions whose entanglement does little more than increase damage and pain to one another. It is almost as if the Iliad attests to a time when the fabric between two different realities was thin enough to be permeable and that it shows us how perilous it is when beings from one realm meddle with events in another. The world of the gods was overturned by the silly decision of one man (Paris!); the mortal plain roils with each outsized, overwrought divine act. The steady movement towards emphasizing the honor of mortals in death and the separation of gods and humans both justifies and supports the way the world is for mortals and suggests rather strongly that it is better this way.

5.Hektor’s burial is the end of an era. And also a beginning. Hektor is different from Achilles as a full-mortal and as a ‘family’ man. By ending with his burial rather than the fall of the city or the funeral games for Achilles, the Iliad elevates his importance and closes out the race of heroes by encapsulating a different series of values in this one fallible man. Hektor is far from perfect throughout the epic: he struggles to understand his role in leading the city, he blusters and glowers when things don’t go his way, and he is shown to be in the framework of Achilles and Diomedes somewhat un-heroic in his final moments. But the laments that follow his death in books 22 and 24—cast against the obscenity of Achilles’ treatment of his body—double down on the importance of his unheroic character as a son, father, and a man whose kindness towards the most hated woman in the world and the cause of all his troubles is so incredible that scholars have speculated he was under the spell of her charisma. Hektor’s inconsistencies and internal contradictions form a counterpoint to Achilles’. In a universe where even the gods are churlish and quick-to-rage, what kinds of excess should we be grateful for in a man?

6.Hektor’s burial may also be self-reflective for epic poetry. As I mentioned above, the tense/aspect of the verb performing Hektor’s burial is incomplete, and ongoing (῝Ως οἵ γ’ ἀμφίεπον τάφον ῞Εκτορος ἱπποδάμοιο). The Iliad doesn’t so much end as fade away, to black as in the end of the final episode of the Sopranos. The process of burying Hektor remains ongoing as the poem ends, as we all continue to engage in its continuation through sharing in his memory. But I think the process, the imperfectivity goes farther than this.

The process of the burial is the beginning of enshrining Hektor’s memory and creating his kleos. But this may also be an example of an unnoticed ekphrasis. While the tomb itself is not the creation of a work of art like Achilles’ shield, it is still the execution of a physical craft described within an oral/written artform. As such it may contain an implicit comparison between the practice of burial and the art of epic poetry.

Homer, Il. 24.797–800

“They quickly placed the bones in an empty trench and then
They covered it with great, well-fitted stones.
They rushed to heap up a marker, around which they set guards
In case the well-greaved Achaeans should attack too soon.”

αἶψα δ’ ἄρ’ ἐς κοίλην κάπετον θέσαν, αὐτὰρ ὕπερθε
πυκνοῖσιν λάεσσι κατεστόρεσαν μεγάλοισι·
ῥίμφα δὲ σῆμ’ ἔχεαν, περὶ δὲ σκοποὶ ἥατο πάντῃ,
μὴ πρὶν ἐφορμηθεῖεν ἐϋκνήμιδες ᾿Αχαιοί.

In Iliad seven, Hector challenges the ‘best of the Achaeans’ to a duel. There he imagines that, once he had won the contest, the dead hero’s tomb would be a monument to, and sign of, his everlasting glory. Ironically, the dead hero’s tomb turns out to be his, once the Trojans construct it at the epic’s end

But what kind of sign is it? Homer describes how the Trojans’ burial mound for Hector leaves ‘a mark’—the word here is sêma (from which we get the words ‘semantics’ or ‘semaphore’), and also means a sign or symbol. In the end, then, the epic leaves us with a symbol of some kind that I think points back to this epic itself. Ostensibly, of course, that is Hector’s burial mound, a physical marker of his fame—and as a metonym it stands for the fame of all the heroes who fought at Troy. Yet, its immediate referent, the physical thing it describes, is a ‘hollow grave’ (koilên kapeton).

An English speaker might wonder whether or not the hollowness of the grave marks some sort of empty meaning and thus offers some judgment on the vanity and meaninglessness of the conflict, perhaps evoking ambivalence. But part of the trick in translating metaphors from one culture to another is understanding that a cognitive valence can be very different. In English, ‘hollow’ and ‘empty’ tend to refer to the absence of substance within something else. (Hence, our use for it to describe depression or anhedonia.)

But in ancient Greek, the word koilê is used to describe the shape made by a thing that allows it to hold something else. It can sometimes then come to shift to point to the absence of that something else, but it is, more often, a marker for the vessel which can carry something, even when it is carrying it. In conjunction with Hektor’s grave, consider the following lyric mentions of the ‘hollow ships’ of the Trojan War:

Consider:

Ibycus fr. 1a 16-19

Nor yet the overreaching virtue
of heroes whom the hollow,
many-benched ships brought
as the destruction of Troy.

ἡρ]ώων ἀρετὰν
ὑπ]εράφανον οὕς τε κοίλα[ι
νᾶες] πολυγόμφοι ἐλεύσα[ν
Τροί]αι κακόν, ἥρωας ἐσ̣θ̣[λούς·

Pindar, Ol. 6.1

Unrisked virtue becomes honored
Neither among men nor in the empty ships.
But many a man is remembered
When something noble has been tried.

… ἀκίνδυνοι δ’ ἀρεταί
οὔτε παρ’ ἀνδράσιν οὔτ’ ἐν ναυσὶ κοίλαις
τίμιαι· πολλοὶ δὲ μέμναν-
ται, καλὸν εἴ τι ποναθῇ.

In both these passages, the ships are marked out for their potential to carry something and their ability to do so. It is also arguable that the ships carry ethical content of the heroes they convey to Troy as well. Of course, in the Iliad the ships are often invoked as empty in their capacity to carry things as well as people—but these moments are also seen as critical in telling the story, as when the Trojan herald Idaios refers to the beginning of the conflict:

Homer, Il. 7.399-400

“However many possessions Alexandros led in his hollow ships
To troy. Oh, how I wish he had died first!”

κτήματα μὲν ὅσ’ ᾿Αλέξανδρος κοίλῃς ἐνὶ νηυσὶν
ἠγάγετο Τροίηνδ’· ὡς πρὶν ὤφελλ’ ἀπολέσθαι·

On the internal surface, around the rim, four ships. Cemetery of Ancient Thera. 3rd quarter of the 6th cent. BC Archaeological Museum of Thera.

So, when the word used to describe that ‘hollow trench’ (koilein kápeton) is the same used for the ships that brought the Achaeans to Troy and will take their stories away, the grave is being marked out as a vessel for Hector’s fame. The message of Hektor’s “empty grave” is not like the elegiac regret of T.S. Eliot’s “Hollow Men”, but instead it represents the potential of an empty vessel to be filled by the audience in its reception of the poem. It is a signal, I think, of the assumption that meaning continues to be made outside the world of the poem and that we stare into the sign we create the meaning based on what we ‘read’ there and knew before. Each time we engage in this process, we create anew. This outward looking burial mound that is simultaneously Hektor’s grave and the Iliad itself is a continuation of the narrative’s strategy of showing us characters responding to other’s narratives by reflecting on their own lives and then engaging in storytelling themselves, as we see in Achilles’ final story to Priam in book 24. We are the people to come, walking or sailing by on the Hellespont or traveling through the tale as it is sung or read. We recreate the story of Achilles, bound up in the grave of the man he killed, just as Hektor imagined his story would be told through his own enemy’s tomb.

So, in addition to Hector’s grave, this vessel, this sêma, refers to the Iliad itself. The epic is a vessel of fame, of Hector’s, Achilles’, and Agamemnon’s, but it is also a marker for the death of a world, for the end of a bygone time. On the one hand, it marks the transition from the heroic age to the present day. On the other, it acts as a grave marker of an entire tradition of epic poetry which would have sung about the wars at Troy and Thebes. We as audience members recreate the tale, but in the raiment of our time, transforming it, but reviving it too.

The hollowness of this thing is not about being empty, but about having the power to carry something, to produce something else, even something new. As the Tao Te Ching states, “We shape clay into a pot / but it is the emptiness inside / that holds whatever we want. We hammer wood for a house, but it is the inner space / that makes it livable” (Chapter 11; Stephen Mitchell, 1988). Thus, Hector’s grave carries with it everything he was or could be; and the Iliad, far from empty and devoid of meaning, is that vessel that carries so much unknown across the oceans of time.

Tao Te Ching: Chapter 11
translated by Stephen Mitchell (1988)

We join spokes together in a wheel,
but it is the center hole
that makes the wagon move.

We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want.

We hammer wood for a house,
but it is the inner space
that makes it livable.

We work with being
but non-being is what we use.

File:NaveGreca black-figure greek ship cropped and color enhanced.png
black-figure terracotta vessel depicting an ancient greek ship.