As we've been reading the story of Aristomenes and Socrates, I keep thinking how this seems like an excuse. Maybe it's my modern, skeptical attitude, (very opposite of the open mind Lucius wants us to have), but the instant Socrates started talking about a witch, I started wondering about his motives. Of course, it's easy to blame your infidelity and neglect of your family on the wiles of a witch. Clearly, she must have entrapped you and be unwilling to let you go.
Aristomenes' story has a slightly different purpose. In his story, he invites Socrates to his room, and during the night two witches burst the door open and kill Socrates, leaving Aristomenes unharmed (except for urinating on him). The door is magically repaired, as we're told, and Aristomenes is left with a dead body.
Now, turn this on its head. Imagine that Aristomenes wants to kill Socrates (for whatever reason). He brings Socrates to his room and splits his throat. What sort of defense could he present? It was a witch! Remember, we only have Aristomenes' word that there was a witch after Socrates (no other witnesses to that conversation). Also, attributing it to a witch neatly explains why nobody was seen entering the room (they could use magic to hide their entrance), and why the door shows no sign of forced entry (remember the magical restoration of the door after the witches leave). In fact, the only sign of the witches' presence is the smell of urine on Aristomenes, and that's hardly good evidence.
Of course, the later temporary resurrection of Socrates makes my story less plausible, since that means that Aristomenes doesn't really need to make up a story to defend his murder, but up until I got to that point in the story, I was firmly convinced that there was a subtext of Aristomenes killing Socrates and making up the story of a witch to transfer the blame.
This story also reminded me of all the stories of Zeus approaching women in various guises. That always sounds like a good excuse to a jealous husband: but a god came! He looked like a swan! or a bull! or a shower of gold! or you! Also, that would be some protection for you and your child, if you say the other parent is a god.
I never know if this cynical interpretation is supposed to be suggested in any of these circumstances, or if it's just me.
COMMENT: Of course, it may just be you, Jenny, but this story within a story begs to be challenged at every level, right down to the weird dialogue Aristomenes has in his head with his imaginary prosecutor. Lucius, who asked for this story, is clearly a gullible audience, and Aristomenes doesn't present himself as a very reliable narrator. We only have his word for Socrates' resurrection, and his whole story is vehemently challenged by the other listener at the end of Book 1.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
What is up with the sponge?
Is there any significance or mythological/historical basis for putting a sponge inside of Socrates' wound? This part (more than the rest) seemed odd to me. Why remove his heart and replace it with a sponge? If Socrates had not tried to leave the town, by crossing a river (in reference to the curse Meroe proclaimed), would he have continued to live?
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Witches and Frogs
Well, what can I say about Meroe turning her rival into a frog?
Frogs are in some cultures sacred. For example, Wikipedia states that God was deliberatly being ironic by sending the Plague of Frogs on Egypt since Egyptians saw frogs as a sign of life and worshipped a frog goddess. Today, frogs still have a valued place in society ("The Princess and the Frog" and Kermit the Frog being but two examples).
However, earlier Christianity saw frogs as evil since they are associated with unclean spirits in Revelation. Frogs were accused of being the familiar of witches in the Middle Ages. Frogs and toads (though more often toads) were long considered the source of warts.
Romans saw frogs as symbols of fertility, harmony, and Venus' legendary lust. However, why would Meroe turn the innkeeper into a frog, specifically, aside from him croaking at his customers? Did they have a fling? Did she want him to drown in his wine?
Anyway, the interplay between lust and magic here is interesting.
Frogs are in some cultures sacred. For example, Wikipedia states that God was deliberatly being ironic by sending the Plague of Frogs on Egypt since Egyptians saw frogs as a sign of life and worshipped a frog goddess. Today, frogs still have a valued place in society ("The Princess and the Frog" and Kermit the Frog being but two examples).
However, earlier Christianity saw frogs as evil since they are associated with unclean spirits in Revelation. Frogs were accused of being the familiar of witches in the Middle Ages. Frogs and toads (though more often toads) were long considered the source of warts.
Romans saw frogs as symbols of fertility, harmony, and Venus' legendary lust. However, why would Meroe turn the innkeeper into a frog, specifically, aside from him croaking at his customers? Did they have a fling? Did she want him to drown in his wine?
Anyway, the interplay between lust and magic here is interesting.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Name Variation
As you guys may remember, I was very excited in class to learn that the word catamite came from Ganymede. I looked into this further after class, and apparently the word comes through the Etruscans, who had gotten the (alternate?) form Gadymede and changed all the consonants, making it catemete, and the Romans got it from them, and changed the vowels.
I also looked into Ulixes/Odysseus, which is also weird. Apparently, Odysseus is just one possible variant of the name even in Greek, which also had Olysseus, and both are believed to be derived from Olykios (or even Olixes), which would be the origin of the Roman version as well. It is interesting that Odysseus has been preserved almost solely for the Greek name, while the earlier version is preserved in the Roman name.
I also looked into Ulixes/Odysseus, which is also weird. Apparently, Odysseus is just one possible variant of the name even in Greek, which also had Olysseus, and both are believed to be derived from Olykios (or even Olixes), which would be the origin of the Roman version as well. It is interesting that Odysseus has been preserved almost solely for the Greek name, while the earlier version is preserved in the Roman name.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
“This synesthesia must have been due to my disorientation.”
As one suffering from severe vertigo recently, this quotation leapt out at me. Along with "these works captivated us but failed to describe human existence."
We'll be seeing more and more synesthesia in the Golden Ass, and if you are reading with attention, you may also experience disorientation. To prepare for the super-allegorical (or not?) Cupid and Psyche episode, you might enjoy reading the essay from which I took these quotations: "Why Criticism Matters" by Elif Batuman.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Augustine (aka "that little bastard bishop of Hippo" on Apuleius
Although the esteemed bishop of Hippo condemns the pagan
philosopher and magician Apuleius, he has some fellow feeling for a fellow
famous African Latinist and rhetorician:
ep. 138.19 (Augustine to Marcellinus): Apuleius enim, ut de illo potissimum loquamur, qui nobis Afris Afer est notior, non dico ad regnum sed ne ad aliquam quidem iudiciariam rei publicae potestatem cum omnibus suis magicis artibus potuit peruenire honesto patriae suae loco natus et liberaliter educatus magnaque praeditus eloquentia. an forte ista ut philosophus uoluntate contempsit, qui sacerdos prouinciae pro magno fuit ut munera ederet uenatoresque uestiret et pro statua sibi apud Oeenses locanda, ex qua ciuitate habebat uxorem, aduersus contradictionem quorundam ciuium litigaret? quod posteros ne lateret, eiusdem litis orationem scriptam memoriae commendauit. quod ergo ad istam terrenam pertinet felicitatem, fuit magus ille, quod potuit. unde apparet nihil eum amplius fuisse, non quia noluit, sed quia non potuit. quamquam et aduersus quosdam, qui ei magicarum artium crimen intenderant, eloquentissime se defendit. unde miror laudatores eius, qui eum nescio qua fecisse miracula illis artibus praedicant, contra eius defensionem testes esse conari. sed uiderint, utrum ipsi uerum perhibeant testimonium et ille falsam defensionem.
Apuleius (of whom I choose rather to speak, because, as our own countryman, he is better known to us Africans), though born in a place of some note, and a man of superior education and great eloquence, never succeeded, with all his magical arts, in reaching, I do not say the supreme power, but even any subordinate office as a magistrate in the Empire. Does it seem probable that he, as a philosopher, voluntarily despised these things, who, being the priest of a province, was so ambitious of greatness that he gave spectacles of gladiatorial combats, provided the dresses worn by those who fought with wild beasts in the circus, and, in order to get a statue of himself erected in the town of Coea, the birthplace of his wife, appealed to law against the opposition made by some of the citizens to the proposal, and then, to prevent this from being forgotten by posterity, published the speech delivered by him on that occasion? So far, therefore, as concerns worldly prosperity, that magician did his utmost in order to success; whence it is manifest that he failed not because he was not wishful, but because he was not able to do more. At the same time we admit that he defended himself with brilliant eloquence against some who imputed to him the crime of practising magical arts; which makes me wonder at his panegyrists, who, in affirming that by these arts he wrought some miracles, attempt to bring evidence contradicting his own defence of himself from the charge. Let them, however, examine whether, indeed, they are bringing true testimony, and he was guilty of pleading what he knew to be false. (translation from the Fathers of the Church http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/index.html)
ep. 138.19 (Augustine to Marcellinus): Apuleius enim, ut de illo potissimum loquamur, qui nobis Afris Afer est notior, non dico ad regnum sed ne ad aliquam quidem iudiciariam rei publicae potestatem cum omnibus suis magicis artibus potuit peruenire honesto patriae suae loco natus et liberaliter educatus magnaque praeditus eloquentia. an forte ista ut philosophus uoluntate contempsit, qui sacerdos prouinciae pro magno fuit ut munera ederet uenatoresque uestiret et pro statua sibi apud Oeenses locanda, ex qua ciuitate habebat uxorem, aduersus contradictionem quorundam ciuium litigaret? quod posteros ne lateret, eiusdem litis orationem scriptam memoriae commendauit. quod ergo ad istam terrenam pertinet felicitatem, fuit magus ille, quod potuit. unde apparet nihil eum amplius fuisse, non quia noluit, sed quia non potuit. quamquam et aduersus quosdam, qui ei magicarum artium crimen intenderant, eloquentissime se defendit. unde miror laudatores eius, qui eum nescio qua fecisse miracula illis artibus praedicant, contra eius defensionem testes esse conari. sed uiderint, utrum ipsi uerum perhibeant testimonium et ille falsam defensionem.
Apuleius (of whom I choose rather to speak, because, as our own countryman, he is better known to us Africans), though born in a place of some note, and a man of superior education and great eloquence, never succeeded, with all his magical arts, in reaching, I do not say the supreme power, but even any subordinate office as a magistrate in the Empire. Does it seem probable that he, as a philosopher, voluntarily despised these things, who, being the priest of a province, was so ambitious of greatness that he gave spectacles of gladiatorial combats, provided the dresses worn by those who fought with wild beasts in the circus, and, in order to get a statue of himself erected in the town of Coea, the birthplace of his wife, appealed to law against the opposition made by some of the citizens to the proposal, and then, to prevent this from being forgotten by posterity, published the speech delivered by him on that occasion? So far, therefore, as concerns worldly prosperity, that magician did his utmost in order to success; whence it is manifest that he failed not because he was not wishful, but because he was not able to do more. At the same time we admit that he defended himself with brilliant eloquence against some who imputed to him the crime of practising magical arts; which makes me wonder at his panegyrists, who, in affirming that by these arts he wrought some miracles, attempt to bring evidence contradicting his own defence of himself from the charge. Let them, however, examine whether, indeed, they are bringing true testimony, and he was guilty of pleading what he knew to be false. (translation from the Fathers of the Church http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/index.html)
Julia Gaisser on Lucius the narrator
The redoubtable Julia Haig Gaisser has much to say about Apuleius and his afterlife in The Fortunes of Apuleius and the Golden Ass: A Study in Transmission and Reception (Princeton University Press, 2008). A sample chapter is available here. In it, she discusses the shifting persona of the narrator in the Metamorphoses:
"From the beginning of the novel Apuleius depicts a hero fundamentally different from himself. Lucius is a Greek from Corinth and a relation of the famous Plutarch,62 whereas Apuleius is a Roman from North Africa. Lucius is credulous and foolish, both as a man and as an ass; Apuleius presents himself as a sophisticated man of the world. Lucius bungles his efforts at magic—or has them bungled for him, when Fotis gives him the wrong ointment (Met. 3.24). The Apuleius we see in the Apology may or may not be an actual magician; he could never be an incompetent one. But Lucius also resembles Apuleius.63 Both men are peripatetic provincial intellectuals of good family. Both have an interest in magic. Both are eloquent orators in both Greek and Latin. Both have ties to Platonic philosophy: Apuleius is an avowed Platonist, and Lucius is related to Plutarch and Sextus, both Middle Platonic philosophers. Perhaps most important, both are initiated more than once into mystery cults, and Lucius’ conversion to Isis is told so powerfully that it has often been taken to reflect Apuleius’ own religious experience. 64
These resemblances in themselves, however, are not enough to identify Lucius with Apuleius. Lucius’ experiences need not even be derived or adapted from those of Apuleius.65 In the social and intellectual world of the second century, there must have been many young men not unlike Lucius—aspiring sophists at the beginning of their careers, traveling the world, dabbling in religion and philosophy (and perhaps magic), and eager for sexual and other adventures. If Apuleius had been such a youth, so were many others. It is important to remember, too, that ultimately the figure of Lucius has its origin in the lost Greek Metamorphoses by “Lucius of Patrae,” from which the plots of both Apuleius’ Metamorphoses and the Onos of Pseudo-Lucian were derived.66
To some extent, however, it is naive to seek Lucius’ identity and relation to Apuleius. He is Apuleius’ creature if not entirely his creation, a persona like that of the magician in the Apology, which the author may assume or set down at will. In the Metamorphoses, too, just as in the Apology and Florida, Apuleius’ real aim is self-display. 67 The object is not to identify the “real Apuleius” (or the “real Lucius,” for that matter) but to dazzle the reader by assuming multiple and contradictory personae.68 Not only Lucius’ transformation to an ass and eventual recovery of his human form, but also the changes and confusions in the identities of author, narrator, and other speakers, justify the title Metamorphoses. 69
Apuleius draws attention to his impersonations in the Metamorphoses in two famous passages, strategically placed at the beginning and end of the novel. In each he presents the question of his own identity vis-à-vis that of his speaker as a conspicuous and unsolvable problem. In the first passage he gives us too few clues to arrive at an answer; in the second the clue leads to an impossible contradiction.
The proem (Met. 1.1) explicitly raises the question of the speaker’s identity. 70 “Quis ille?” (Who is this?), the speaker asks, and then proceeds to describe himself—unhelpfully—as a Greek of Attic, Corinthian, and Spartan stock who has learned Latin in Rome with great diffi culty and begs pardon for any faults in the language with which he will tell his “Greekish tale” (fabulam Graecanicam). The description fits neither the North African Apuleius nor the Greek Lucius (whose Latin seems perfectly adequate for his career in the Roman law courts at the end of the novel).71 Other answers have been proposed (the speaker is an actor outside the story, like the prologus in Plautine comedy, or perhaps even the book itself, etc.);72 but in fact Apuleius has given us no way to decide. The unidentifiable speaker is another of Apuleius’ personae, made deliberately mysterious and intriguing in order to announce and advertise the writer’s protean powers at the opening of his novel. The important detail is the question itself (“quis ille?”): Apuleius is the speaker; what part is he playing now?
Near the end of the novel (Met. 11.27) Apuleius ostentatiously forces the reader to confront the problem of his relation to his hero.73 The puzzle is laid out in a vision, which Lucius says was related to him by a priest of Osiris named Asinius Marcellus. (The name is signifi cant, as he points out unnecessarily.) 74 Asinius says that Osiris himself had urged Lucius’ initiation into his rites:
"From the beginning of the novel Apuleius depicts a hero fundamentally different from himself. Lucius is a Greek from Corinth and a relation of the famous Plutarch,62 whereas Apuleius is a Roman from North Africa. Lucius is credulous and foolish, both as a man and as an ass; Apuleius presents himself as a sophisticated man of the world. Lucius bungles his efforts at magic—or has them bungled for him, when Fotis gives him the wrong ointment (Met. 3.24). The Apuleius we see in the Apology may or may not be an actual magician; he could never be an incompetent one. But Lucius also resembles Apuleius.63 Both men are peripatetic provincial intellectuals of good family. Both have an interest in magic. Both are eloquent orators in both Greek and Latin. Both have ties to Platonic philosophy: Apuleius is an avowed Platonist, and Lucius is related to Plutarch and Sextus, both Middle Platonic philosophers. Perhaps most important, both are initiated more than once into mystery cults, and Lucius’ conversion to Isis is told so powerfully that it has often been taken to reflect Apuleius’ own religious experience. 64
These resemblances in themselves, however, are not enough to identify Lucius with Apuleius. Lucius’ experiences need not even be derived or adapted from those of Apuleius.65 In the social and intellectual world of the second century, there must have been many young men not unlike Lucius—aspiring sophists at the beginning of their careers, traveling the world, dabbling in religion and philosophy (and perhaps magic), and eager for sexual and other adventures. If Apuleius had been such a youth, so were many others. It is important to remember, too, that ultimately the figure of Lucius has its origin in the lost Greek Metamorphoses by “Lucius of Patrae,” from which the plots of both Apuleius’ Metamorphoses and the Onos of Pseudo-Lucian were derived.66
To some extent, however, it is naive to seek Lucius’ identity and relation to Apuleius. He is Apuleius’ creature if not entirely his creation, a persona like that of the magician in the Apology, which the author may assume or set down at will. In the Metamorphoses, too, just as in the Apology and Florida, Apuleius’ real aim is self-display. 67 The object is not to identify the “real Apuleius” (or the “real Lucius,” for that matter) but to dazzle the reader by assuming multiple and contradictory personae.68 Not only Lucius’ transformation to an ass and eventual recovery of his human form, but also the changes and confusions in the identities of author, narrator, and other speakers, justify the title Metamorphoses. 69
Apuleius draws attention to his impersonations in the Metamorphoses in two famous passages, strategically placed at the beginning and end of the novel. In each he presents the question of his own identity vis-à-vis that of his speaker as a conspicuous and unsolvable problem. In the first passage he gives us too few clues to arrive at an answer; in the second the clue leads to an impossible contradiction.
The proem (Met. 1.1) explicitly raises the question of the speaker’s identity. 70 “Quis ille?” (Who is this?), the speaker asks, and then proceeds to describe himself—unhelpfully—as a Greek of Attic, Corinthian, and Spartan stock who has learned Latin in Rome with great diffi culty and begs pardon for any faults in the language with which he will tell his “Greekish tale” (fabulam Graecanicam). The description fits neither the North African Apuleius nor the Greek Lucius (whose Latin seems perfectly adequate for his career in the Roman law courts at the end of the novel).71 Other answers have been proposed (the speaker is an actor outside the story, like the prologus in Plautine comedy, or perhaps even the book itself, etc.);72 but in fact Apuleius has given us no way to decide. The unidentifiable speaker is another of Apuleius’ personae, made deliberately mysterious and intriguing in order to announce and advertise the writer’s protean powers at the opening of his novel. The important detail is the question itself (“quis ille?”): Apuleius is the speaker; what part is he playing now?
Near the end of the novel (Met. 11.27) Apuleius ostentatiously forces the reader to confront the problem of his relation to his hero.73 The puzzle is laid out in a vision, which Lucius says was related to him by a priest of Osiris named Asinius Marcellus. (The name is signifi cant, as he points out unnecessarily.) 74 Asinius says that Osiris himself had urged Lucius’ initiation into his rites:
For the previous night, while he was arranging garlands for the great god, he thought he heard from his mouth (with which he pronounces each one’s destiny) that a man from Madauros was being sent to him, a very poor one. He should at once prepare his initiation rites for him; for by his providence the glory of learning was in store for the man and a great reward for himself.75The subject of the prophecy must be our hero, the Greek Lucius, but as the “man from Madauros” he can be only Apuleius, the North African author. The paradox is a red herring wrapped up in indirect statement, and it smells appropriately fi shy. 76 Apuleius holds on to it just long enough to put on the mask of Lucius, or perhaps to let Lucius put on the mask of Apuleius, giving the reader a final reminder of his powers as an impersonator. 77"
Monday, October 22, 2012
Witches and Frogs
Meroë is certainly not the first witch in Classical literature with a penchant for a Baleful Polymorph spell; (Circe, in particular, comes to mind), but she may well be the first witch to turn someone into a frog. I guess the model of empowered women subverting norms by treating men like they were, literally, less than human stayed an effective one for a long period of time.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
unico verbo mutavit in feram castorem...
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| The Aberdeen Bestiary folio f11r, the Beaver |
There is a list of ancient and medieval sources about the beaver at The Medieval Bestiary (not a comprehensive scholarly resource, and full of spelling errors, but it has some nice illustrations!).
Friday, October 19, 2012
Levitan on translating Apuleius
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| Professor William Levitan |
The inimitable William Levitan, whose translation of Abelard and Heloise: The Letters and Other Writings, is a tour de force of the translator's art, reviewed S. J. HARRISON, J. L. HILTON, AND V. J. C. HUNINK, trans. Apuleius: Rhetorical Works. Oxford. Below are some excerpts that point out salient characteristics of Apuleius' style. The full review is available on the UB Learns site, under course documents. "Apuleius of Madauros, as this book reminds us, was no one-trick burro. Indeed he was always eager to reveal just how many tricks he had in store. “Uno chartario calamo me reficere poemata omnigenus apta virgae, lyrae, socco, coturno, item satiras ac griphos, item historias varias rerum nec non orationes laudatas disertis nec non dialogos laudatos philosophis, atque haec et alia eiusdem modi tam graece quam latine, gemino voto, pari studio, simili stilo” he tells us in what is actually one of his more muted fanfares on the theme of his own versatility (Flor. 9.27–29); there was still more to the man. Polymath and poet, Platonist and philologue, writer, rhetor, raconteur, and Wortjongleur in two tough tongues, he was also (he reminds us) a globe trotter, a snapper-up of historical trifles, a connoisseur of cults and maven of mysteries, a public performer, a popular idol, a grateful pal to the great and powerful, and the toast of the coast of northern Africa—all these boasts of omnicompetent cultivation just part of the pose and professional program of the second-century sophist.
...My strongest reaction to the book is admiration for the translators’ pluck. It is certainly a daring move to face down texts like these, one tour de force after another of uninhibited verbal display. The famous Apuleian jangle turns out to be one of the smaller problems. At least in the short run, it is in fact relatively easy to do a relatively poor but recognizable English imitation (see, e.g., first paragraph above) of some of the isolated and more conspicuous formal mannerisms of Apuleian rhetoric—alliteration, homoteleuton, rhythmical cola, rhyme, puns, pleonasm, the mix of diction, and so on. To my mind, it is unthinkable to render Apuleius without a good helping of this verbal flavor, and the translators here all liberally dish up the spice; but alone it is a simple parlor trick and in the end as unsatisfying as verse translation “in original metres.
More difficult by far—and far more valuable—is getting the sense of real performance in these texts. If these rhetorical works of Apuleius belong anywhere, they belong most securely to the history of self-display. Voice, stance, tone, brute showmanship, the play of roles and masks, the audience in the palm of his hand, and Apuleius always at center stage—these are not mere features of his work: they are its raisons d’être. But voice is notoriously the most elusive quality for a translator to render, and with Apuleius in particular there is the temptation of several false moves. For all his mannerisms, Apuleius cannot be made to speak like a sideshow huckster; for all his sly flamboyance, he is not camp; for all his learning, he is no bore; and for all his long and crafted sentences, he does not sound—worst of worsts—like a translator of classical texts. Because the codes of performance governing the interaction between actor and audience are woven so intimately into the fabric of an individual culture, we may surely despair of finding a unique mode that both pretends to historical verisimilitude and yet will work in our time and in our language; but still, something must be done to lift the voice of Apuleius from the page and restore it to something like living presence before a living audience. And whatever this something is, it is the translator who must do it."
American Journal of Philology, Volume 124, Number 1 (Whole Number 493), Spring 2003, pp. 156-160.
The Novel in its Assy Shape
"He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went on, and in the
little peevish contentions of nature betwixt hunger and unsavouriness, had dropt it out of his mouth half a dozen times, and pick'd it up again------God help thee, Jack! said I, thou hast a bitter breakfast on't—and many a bitter day's labour ...And now thy mouth, if one knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot— (for he had cast aside the stem) and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this world, that will give thee a macaroon.------In saying this, I pull'd out a paper of 'em, which I had just purchased, and gave him one—and at this moment that I am telling it, my heart smites me, that there was more of pleasantry in the conceit, of seeing how an ass would eat a macaroon------than of benevolence in giving him one, which presided in the act."
Tristram Shandy, 7:22
-->
"'Twas by a poor ass who had just turned in with a couple of
large panniers upon his back, to collect eleemosunary turnip tops and cabbage
leaves; and stood dubious, with his two forefeet on the inside of the
threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the street, as not knowing very well whether he was
to go in, or no. Now, 'tis an animal ... I cannot bear to strike------there
is a patient endurance of sufferings, wrote so unaffectedly in his looks and
carriage, which pleads so mightily for him, that it always disarms me; and to that
degree, that I do not like to speak unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him
where I will—whether in town or country ... whether in liberty or
bondage------1 have ever something civil to say to him on my part; and as one word begets another (if he has
as little to do as I)— —I generally fall into conversation with him; and surely
never is my imagination so busy as in framing his responses from the etchings of his
countenance—and where these carry me not deep enough-----in flying from my
own heart into his, and seeing what is natural for an ass to think—as well as a
man."
Tristan
Shandy, 7:32
Below, some observations by Margaret Doody in "Shandyism, Or, the Novel in Its Assy Shape: African Apuleius,The Golden Ass, and Prose Fiction," Eighteenth-Century Fiction, Volume 12, Number 2-3, January-April 2000, pp. 435-457 (available through Project Muse or on this class's UBLearns site under Course Documents):
"The Ass-Novel, the story of negative metamorphosis, provides a means of dealing with some of the most painful experiences of mortal nature, and eases us into a world not only of thought but of feeling—and of feeling in which pain is dominant. In all versions of the Ass-Novel, masculinity is
in question, and the torments and dubieties of masculinity not only form a central subject but also put pressure upon and shape the form."
in question, and the torments and dubieties of masculinity not only form a central subject but also put pressure upon and shape the form."
"Lucius in the time of his transformation has no effective human voice, but the narrator is abustle with talk, talking to us all the time, in a wonderful stream of egoistical and pathetic and funny personal discourse."
"The absence of true virility is expressed everywhere in the form of the novel, which is an extensive first-person narration not acting as formal or argumentative discourse. It is wandering, digressive, chatty, anecdotal, and irrelevant—deformatus. As Lucius says, he found consolation in his deformity, in that with his gigantic ears he could easily hear everything said, even at a distance (see 2:9, c. 15, 152). Deformity has its advantages, which the style explores. The narrative is greedy and rich in lists, catalogues of marvellous completeness and irrelevance. Lucius the ass is tempted by the baked goods prepared by the pastry cook: "cuiusce modi pulmentorum largissimas reliquias, hic panes, crustula, lucunculos, hamos, laterculos, et plura scitamenta mellita" ["the other brought all sorts of great leftovers of pastries—here were breads, cookies, little shaped cakes like lizards and anchors, biscuits and more dainty things made with honey"] (2:10, c. 13, 240). Apuleius enjoys the enumeration of richness, the rhyme of lucunculos and latercolos, the sense of great variety just enumerable, held loosely together within some overarching but not exactly enclosed unity. The multiform is his favourite mode, and words such as "multiform" among his favourite terms."
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Apuleius Translation, Day 1
So far so good translating Apuleius :)
That being said, this is one WEIRD story!
I noticed Apuleius used the "royal we" a lot. In addition to having a Vergil/Virgil flashback, I have to wonder why. While Lucius (the narrator) has a fairly distinguished lineage, he's not royal. Why use the "royal we"? Was it just common back then, or do we use "we" for "I" all the time and never realize it? Was this a matter of fitting the meter?
Any thoughts are highly appreciated.
Thanks :)
That being said, this is one WEIRD story!
I noticed Apuleius used the "royal we" a lot. In addition to having a Vergil/Virgil flashback, I have to wonder why. While Lucius (the narrator) has a fairly distinguished lineage, he's not royal. Why use the "royal we"? Was it just common back then, or do we use "we" for "I" all the time and never realize it? Was this a matter of fitting the meter?
Any thoughts are highly appreciated.
Thanks :)
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Nero's influence on Trimalchio
Going off of Professor Malamud's post about Performance anxiety and Nero, I started doing some more research on influences for Petronius. I came across this website that does a really good comparison between Nero and Trimalchio. I know it is a bit long but it has specific textual references and compares the character of Trimalchio to Nero quite well. I just thought it was interesting.
http://www.allempires.com/article/index.php?q=Satyrica_-_How_Did_Nero_Influence_the_Charact
http://www.allempires.com/article/index.php?q=Satyrica_-_How_Did_Nero_Influence_the_Charact
Friday, October 12, 2012
Women's... rights?
Okay, so it may have already been obvious that I personally was bothered most so far in Cena by the launching of a cup into the face of Fortunata by Trimalchio. And though, yes, the paterfamilias had the power of life and death over his wife and family, and I understand that. Still, I was determined to find that there had been some kind of sanctity for the wives in ancient times. The only help that a woman could hope for, would come from her family. Families of the wife would often agree with the husband, whether she was drinking too much, being adulterous or disrespectful in front of company etc., that she was wrong. However, if a woman was clever and convincing enough, she could appeal to her family members for help. An example of this can be found in Cicero's letters to Atticus 1.5.1 and 5.1.3-4. Atticus has asked Cicero to check on his sisters marriage with Cicero's brother. In this case, Cicero find the wife, Pomponia, to be "bitter and rude... and ill-tempered", and he finds his own brother, Quintus, to be "gentle and kind". Though Pomponia is the one acting wrong in this situation, it still interests me to know that there was at least that last hope of familial intervention, for women in Rome. Also, after reading these letters I must admit that I was a bit surprised to see an actual account of a woman disrespecting her husband so openly. Perhaps this kind of behavior was often the case in some Roman well-to-do households regardless of the risks involved?
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
On Performance Anxiety and Nero
Picking up on Lesley's post, it does seem that Nero, at least, was prey to great anxiety about his performances, as Suetonius details (Life of Nero,23-24):
XXIII. He afterwards appeared at the celebration of all public games in Greece: for such as fell in different years, he brought within the compass of one, and some he ordered to be celebrated a second time in the same year. At Olympia, likewise, contrary to custom, he appointed a public performance in music: and that he might meet with no interruption in this employment, when he was informed by his freedman Helius, that affairs at Rome required his presence, he wrote to him in these words: "Though now all your hopes and wishes are for my speedy return, yet you ought rather to advise and hope that I may come back with a character worthy of Nero." During the time of his musical performance, nobody was allowed to stir out of the theatre upon any account, however necessary; insomuch, that it is said some women with child were delivered there. Many of the spectators being quite wearied with hearing and applauding him, because the town gates were shut, slipped privately over the walls; or counterfeiting themselves dead, were carried out for their funeral. With what extreme anxiety he engaged in these contests, with what keen desire to bear away the prize, and with how much awe of the judges, is scarcely to be believed. As if his adversaries had been on a level with himself, he would watch them narrowly, defame them privately, and sometimes, upon meeting them, rail at them in very scurrilous language; or bribe them, if they were better performers than himself. He always addressed the judges with the most profound reverence before he began, telling them, "he had done all things that were necessary, by way of preparation, but that the issue of the approaching trial was in the hand of fortune; and that they, as wise and skilful men, ought to exclude from their judgment things merely accidental." Upon their encouraging him to have a good heart, he went off with more assurance, but not entirely free from anxiety; interpreting the silence and modesty of some of them into sourness and ill-nature, and saying that he was suspicious of them.
XXIV. In these contests, he adhered so strictly to the rules, (354) that he never durst spit, nor wipe the sweat from his forehead in any other way than with his sleeve. Having, in the performance of a tragedy, dropped his sceptre, and not quickly recovering it, he was in a great fright, lest he should be set aside for the miscarriage, and could not regain his assurance, until an actor who stood by swore he was certain it had not been observed in the midst of the acclamations and exultations of the people. When the prize was adjudged to him, he always proclaimed it himself; and even entered the lists with the heralds. That no memory or the least monument might remain of any other victor in the sacred Grecian games, he ordered all their statues and pictures to be pulled down, dragged away with hooks, and thrown into the common sewers. He drove the chariot with various numbers of horses, and at the Olympic games with no fewer than ten; though, in a poem of his, he had reflected upon Mithridates for that innovation. Being thrown out of his chariot, he was again replaced, but could not retain his seat, and was obliged to give up, before he reached the goal, but was crowned notwithstanding. On his departure, he declared the whole province a free country, and conferred upon the judges in the several games the freedom of Rome, with large sums of money. All these favours he proclaimed himself with his own voice, from the middle of the Stadium, during the solemnity of the Isthmian games.
XXIII. He afterwards appeared at the celebration of all public games in Greece: for such as fell in different years, he brought within the compass of one, and some he ordered to be celebrated a second time in the same year. At Olympia, likewise, contrary to custom, he appointed a public performance in music: and that he might meet with no interruption in this employment, when he was informed by his freedman Helius, that affairs at Rome required his presence, he wrote to him in these words: "Though now all your hopes and wishes are for my speedy return, yet you ought rather to advise and hope that I may come back with a character worthy of Nero." During the time of his musical performance, nobody was allowed to stir out of the theatre upon any account, however necessary; insomuch, that it is said some women with child were delivered there. Many of the spectators being quite wearied with hearing and applauding him, because the town gates were shut, slipped privately over the walls; or counterfeiting themselves dead, were carried out for their funeral. With what extreme anxiety he engaged in these contests, with what keen desire to bear away the prize, and with how much awe of the judges, is scarcely to be believed. As if his adversaries had been on a level with himself, he would watch them narrowly, defame them privately, and sometimes, upon meeting them, rail at them in very scurrilous language; or bribe them, if they were better performers than himself. He always addressed the judges with the most profound reverence before he began, telling them, "he had done all things that were necessary, by way of preparation, but that the issue of the approaching trial was in the hand of fortune; and that they, as wise and skilful men, ought to exclude from their judgment things merely accidental." Upon their encouraging him to have a good heart, he went off with more assurance, but not entirely free from anxiety; interpreting the silence and modesty of some of them into sourness and ill-nature, and saying that he was suspicious of them.
XXIV. In these contests, he adhered so strictly to the rules, (354) that he never durst spit, nor wipe the sweat from his forehead in any other way than with his sleeve. Having, in the performance of a tragedy, dropped his sceptre, and not quickly recovering it, he was in a great fright, lest he should be set aside for the miscarriage, and could not regain his assurance, until an actor who stood by swore he was certain it had not been observed in the midst of the acclamations and exultations of the people. When the prize was adjudged to him, he always proclaimed it himself; and even entered the lists with the heralds. That no memory or the least monument might remain of any other victor in the sacred Grecian games, he ordered all their statues and pictures to be pulled down, dragged away with hooks, and thrown into the common sewers. He drove the chariot with various numbers of horses, and at the Olympic games with no fewer than ten; though, in a poem of his, he had reflected upon Mithridates for that innovation. Being thrown out of his chariot, he was again replaced, but could not retain his seat, and was obliged to give up, before he reached the goal, but was crowned notwithstanding. On his departure, he declared the whole province a free country, and conferred upon the judges in the several games the freedom of Rome, with large sums of money. All these favours he proclaimed himself with his own voice, from the middle of the Stadium, during the solemnity of the Isthmian games.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Cum Corde Gravi
It is with a heavy heart we bid farewell to Trimalchio and friends.
Oh, who am I kidding? I wanted to beat Trimalchio for most of this reading. I know I'm supposed to sympathize with him, but Petronius made it so hard. The man was a complete idiot!
That said, you kind of have to wonder why Trimalchio was so obsessed with death. Was there an underlying medical condition? Could Trimalchio have suffered severe anxiety and possibly bipolar disorder?
Certainly, Trimalchio's desire to be seen as powerful and important could reflect some sort of social anxiety. After all, he had been a slave; now that he's free, he would naturally want to demonstrate his new status in any way possible...though ironically he did make himself look like an absolute fool. His desire to be seen as intelligent (crippled, of course, by his complete lack of intelligence) could also reflect a desire to be seen as big and important, and perhaps a fear that he would be seen as less-than-wonderful.
The bipolar disorder would be a bit harder to diagnose as Trimalchio was drunk and "acting" throughout most of the dinner. However, the violent mood swings and the anxiety, to say nothing of the obsession with death, would suggest at that.
Eh, it's your call.
Oh, who am I kidding? I wanted to beat Trimalchio for most of this reading. I know I'm supposed to sympathize with him, but Petronius made it so hard. The man was a complete idiot!
That said, you kind of have to wonder why Trimalchio was so obsessed with death. Was there an underlying medical condition? Could Trimalchio have suffered severe anxiety and possibly bipolar disorder?
Certainly, Trimalchio's desire to be seen as powerful and important could reflect some sort of social anxiety. After all, he had been a slave; now that he's free, he would naturally want to demonstrate his new status in any way possible...though ironically he did make himself look like an absolute fool. His desire to be seen as intelligent (crippled, of course, by his complete lack of intelligence) could also reflect a desire to be seen as big and important, and perhaps a fear that he would be seen as less-than-wonderful.
The bipolar disorder would be a bit harder to diagnose as Trimalchio was drunk and "acting" throughout most of the dinner. However, the violent mood swings and the anxiety, to say nothing of the obsession with death, would suggest at that.
Eh, it's your call.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Petronius and Pamuk?
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| A display from the Museum of Innocence |
Last night at dinner we were making a list of things for friends to do on a trip to Istanbul. Our friends are serious eaters, so most of the discussion revolved around where to eat, but I was also reminded of an article by Elif Batuman that I read in the April London Review of Books about the Museum of Innocence. This is a profoundly Borgesian project by Turkey's most famous (unreadable) novelist, Orhan Pamuk. Here is part of Batuman's description of Pamuk's novel and its uncanny twin:
"Ten years later, Pamuk came up with an insane plan: to write a novel in the form of a museum catalogue, while simultaneously building the museum to which it referred. The plot of the novel would be fairly straightforward: over many years, an unhappy lover contrives to steal a large number of objects belonging to his unattainable beloved, after whose untimely death he proceeds to buy her family’s house and turn it into a museum.
You might think that Pamuk’s first step, as a writer, would have been to start writing. In fact, his first step was to contact a real-estate agent. He needed to buy a house for his future heroine, Füsun. During the 1990s, Pamuk visited hundreds of properties, trying to imagine Füsun and her parents living in them. It was beyond his means to purchase a whole building in Nişantaşi, the posh neighbourhood inhabited by Kemal, the hero of the novel. He could afford a single floor in a stone building in the old Ottoman commercial centre of Galata, but then the remodelling would be difficult. The beautiful rundown wooden houses near the old city walls were the right price, but those were in religious neighbourhoods, and this was a novel about the secular middle classes. In 1998, Pamuk finally bought a three-storey wooden house in Çukurcuma. Füsun, the petulant beauty, was thus neither a Nişantaşi socialite nor the scion of Galata bankers, but an aspiring actress living with her seamstress mother and schoolteacher father. The heroine’s socioeconomic position and much of her character were determined by real estate.
For the next ten years, writing and shopping proceeded in a dialectical relationship. Pamuk would buy objects that caught his eye, and wait for the novel to ‘swallow’ them, demanding, in the process, the purchase of further objects." The novel was published in 2008; the museum finally opened in April 2012.
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| A display of cigarette butts from the Museum of Innocence. |
"Late in the novel, no matter where in the world his Byronic gloom takes him, Kemal can’t stop running into Füsun’s mother’s saltshaker. Cairo, Barcelona, New Delhi, Rome: ‘To contemplate how this saltshaker had spread to the farthest reaches of the globe suggested a great mystery, as great as the way migratory birds communicate among themselves, always taking the same routes every year.’...Every few years, Pamuk writes, ‘another wave of saltshakers’ washes in, replacing the old generation. People ‘forget the objects with which they had lived so intimately, never even acknowledging their emotional attachment to them’. Unlike the Mona Lisa, which is always and only in the Louvre, the saltshakers are everywhere for a few years, and then they’re gone, shifting the dimension of rarity from space to time."
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Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Domina Lupinorum et Ova Pilleata
A classic tale from my childhood I vaguely remember from elementary school is "Miss Rumphius," which is about a lady who goes around planting lupines in order to make the world more beautiful. Sadly, Wikipedia didn't provide much information about the actual story, but here's a link to the PDF (you'll have to scroll down to it).
http://www.churchoftheroses.org/sermons/2006/2006_07_16_cushman.pdf
On another note, Thetis mentioned Scotch eggs in class Tuesday for the "ova pilleata." I grew up eating Scotch eggs (or the "scotch" part since I don't like eggs except in omlets or egg-drop soup). My mom makes a bunch on Christmas Eve, and if my dad is lucky during the World Cup when England was playing. Scotch eggs were a big hit among my dad's fellow immigrants and even their American spouses.
This is how you make Scotch eggs:
The pig full of blood pudding and sausages...hm...that reminds me of the old adage "Use everything but the squeal," in reference to what parts of a pig gets consumed. ;)
http://www.churchoftheroses.org/sermons/2006/2006_07_16_cushman.pdf
On another note, Thetis mentioned Scotch eggs in class Tuesday for the "ova pilleata." I grew up eating Scotch eggs (or the "scotch" part since I don't like eggs except in omlets or egg-drop soup). My mom makes a bunch on Christmas Eve, and if my dad is lucky during the World Cup when England was playing. Scotch eggs were a big hit among my dad's fellow immigrants and even their American spouses.
This is how you make Scotch eggs:
- Hardboil and shell eggs
- Dry the eggs off and roll them in flour
- Encase each egg in three ounces of Jimmy Dean sausage (the type used to make sausage patties)
- Roll the sausaged eggs in egg yolk and then bread crumbs
- Deep-fry the eggs for twelve minutes or until the sausaage is brown and cracked slightly
- Let cool, slice into fourths, and enjoy :)
The pig full of blood pudding and sausages...hm...that reminds me of the old adage "Use everything but the squeal," in reference to what parts of a pig gets consumed. ;)
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Lupines!
As you may remember, we were confused by the mention of lupines as part of the food at Habinnas' funereal dinner today. I was immediately reminded of a sketch from Monty Python, which I want to share with you all. Make sure you get to the scene about eating lupines!
Monday, October 1, 2012
Habinnas enters like the drunken Alcibiades
Alcibiades-- drunk, leaning on others to support him, with a Cupid bearing garlands--is met by Agathon as he crashes Plato's Symposium. Painting by Anselm Feuerbach, 1869.
sangunculum, gizeria, et cetera
Hungry Readers!! Lots to lick your lips over in this week's reading. Let's examine a few of the dishes.
Gizeria optime facta, beautifully cooked gizzards. A blogger with a degree in classical philosophy has this to offer us on the joys of giblets: The Nasty Bits.
panem autopyrum de suo sibi: unadulterated whole-meal wheat bread, i.e., high fiber-- Habinnas's way to relieve constipation. Trimalchio, on the other hand, gets relief from malicorium et taeda ex aceto (pomegranate rind and pine-resin in vinegar, 47.2). According to the Iowa State University Extension, "dietary fiber from foods like whole-grain breads are vital for your health. Fiber helps stimulate your digestive system to produce bowel movements and clear your intestines of stool, slows the absorption of sugars for those who are diabetic and makes you feel fuller for a longer period of time for weight management."
Read more: http://www.livestrong.com/article/358591-the-best-fiber-bread-to-eat/#ixzz286H5vcV2
Sangunculum is likely to be the equivalent of blood or black pudding, a type of sausage made the world over that frugally incorporates the blood of the slaughtered animal into a sausage or salami-like tube of deliciousness.
Below, a memorable image of the modern-day equivalent of sangunculum, appropriately dressed up and accompanied for a party (I especially like the apple and parsley garnish).
Here is a link to people who really appreciate blood pudding; here is a thoughtful blog-post on using the whole pig, and below is a "from scratch" recipe from Britain-- go ahead, kids, DIY!
Gizeria optime facta, beautifully cooked gizzards. A blogger with a degree in classical philosophy has this to offer us on the joys of giblets: The Nasty Bits.
panem autopyrum de suo sibi: unadulterated whole-meal wheat bread, i.e., high fiber-- Habinnas's way to relieve constipation. Trimalchio, on the other hand, gets relief from malicorium et taeda ex aceto (pomegranate rind and pine-resin in vinegar, 47.2). According to the Iowa State University Extension, "dietary fiber from foods like whole-grain breads are vital for your health. Fiber helps stimulate your digestive system to produce bowel movements and clear your intestines of stool, slows the absorption of sugars for those who are diabetic and makes you feel fuller for a longer period of time for weight management."
Read more: http://www.livestrong.com/article/358591-the-best-fiber-bread-to-eat/#ixzz286H5vcV2
Sangunculum is likely to be the equivalent of blood or black pudding, a type of sausage made the world over that frugally incorporates the blood of the slaughtered animal into a sausage or salami-like tube of deliciousness.
Below, a memorable image of the modern-day equivalent of sangunculum, appropriately dressed up and accompanied for a party (I especially like the apple and parsley garnish).
Here is a link to people who really appreciate blood pudding; here is a thoughtful blog-post on using the whole pig, and below is a "from scratch" recipe from Britain-- go ahead, kids, DIY!
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Petronius and Trimalchio in Louis XIV's court?
For a French literature survey course I took several years ago, I had to read the French comic Molière's work le Bourgeois gentilhomme or the "would-be gentleman." Molière was a comic court playwright for Louis XIV and performed numerous comedies through his career in the 1660s until his death in 1687. One of Molière's masterpieces, le Bourgeois gentilhomme, is a brilliant reinterpretation of Trimalchio in the age of absolute monarchy. Molière's work follows the travails of Mr. Jourdain, the son of a wealthy cloth merchant, who attempts to use his wealth in order to establish his position as an aristocrat. Mr. Jourdain applies himself to aristocratic pursuits of music, poetry, and philosophy, but his lack of understanding is immediately transparent. Similar to Trimalchio, Jourdain tries to present himself as a refined, wealthy aristocrat, but his attempts end up doing the opposite. His clothes, attitude, education, and manner of speaking reveal him for who he really is. M's piece is a revealing commentary on self presentation, the excess display and expenditure on wealth, and the environments that allow such development to take place. I have below included a Gutenburg edition of the exchange between Jourdain and his Philosophy professor, who attempts to teach his student physics and then "letters." Jourdain's ignorance is extreme, but it is comparable to Trimalchio's inability to actually understand the content of what he is saying (ie, the content of his terrible poetry). This exchange is one of the highlights of the work.
In a further connection between the Petronius and M is their demise. Pertonius' forced suicide at a party reveals art imitating life. M collapsed in a coughing fit while performing a comedy for Louis XIV and actually hemorrhaged to death. In a final touch of comedic irony, M collapsed during the production of his comedy "The Hypochondriac."
PROF. PHIL. Would you like to learn physics? MR. JOUR. And what have physics to say for themselves? PROF. PHIL. Physics are that science which explains the principles of natural things and the properties of bodies, which discourses of the nature of the elements, of metals, minerals, stones, plants, and animals; which teaches us the cause of all the meteors, the rainbow, the _ignis fatuus_, comets, lightning, thunder, thunderbolts, rain, snow, hail, wind, and whirlwinds. MR. JOUR. There is too much hullaballoo in all that; too much riot and rumpus. PROF. PHIL. What would you have me teach you then? MR. JOUR. Teach me spelling. PROF. PHIL. Very good. MR. JOUR. Afterwards you will teach me the almanac, so that I may know when there is a moon, and when there isn't one. PROF. PHIL. Be it so. In order to give a right interpretation to your thought, and to treat this matter philosophically, we must begin, according to the order of things, with an exact knowledge of the nature of the letters, and the different way in which each is pronounced. And on this head I have to tell you that letters are divided into vowels, so called because they express the voice, and into consonants, so called because they are sounded with the vowels, and only mark the different articulations of the voice. There are five vowels or voices, _a, e, i, o, u_. [Footnote: It is scarcely necessary to say that this description, such as it is, only applies to the French vowels as they are pronounced in _pâte, thé, ici, côté, du_ respectively.] MR. JOUR. I understand all that. PROF. PHIL. The vowel _a_ is formed by opening the mouth very wide; _a_. MR. JOUR. _A, a_; yes. PROF. PHIL. The vowel _e_ is formed by drawing the lower jaw a little nearer to the upper; _a, e_. MR. JOUR. _A, e; a, e;_ to be sure. Ah! how beautiful that is! PROF. PHIL. And the vowel _i_ by bringing the jaws still closer to one another, and stretching the two corners of the mouth towards the ears; _a, e, i_. MR. JOUR. _A, e, i, i, i, i_. Quite true. Long live science! PROF. PHIL. The vowel _o_ is formed by opening the jaws, and drawing in the lips at the two corners, the upper and the lower;_ o_. MR. JOUR. _O, o_. Nothing can be more correct; _a, e, i, o, i, o_. It is admirable! _I, o, i, o_. PROF. PHIL. The opening of the mouth exactly makes a little circle, which resembles an _o_. MR. JOUR. _O, o, o_. You are right. _O_! Ah! what a fine thing it is to know something! PROF. PHIL. The vowel _u_ is formed by bringing the teeth near each other without entirely joining them, and thrusting out both the lips whilst also bringing them near together without quite joining them; _u_. MR. JOUR. _U, u_. There is nothing more true; _u_. PROF. PHIL. Your two lips lengthen as if you were pouting; so that, if you wish to make a grimace at anybody, and to laugh at him, you have only to _u_ him. MR. JOUR. _U, u_. It's true. Oh! that I had studied when I was younger, so as to know all this. PROF. PHIL. To-morrow we will speak of the other letters, which are the consonants. MR. JOUR. Is there anything as curious in them as in these? PROF. PHIL. Certainly. For instance, the consonant _d_ is pronounced by striking the tip of the tongue above the upper teeth; _da_. MR. JOUR. _Da, da_. [Footnote: Untranslatable. _Dada_ equals "cock-horse" in nursery language] Yes. Ah! what beautiful things, what beautiful things! PROF. PHIL. The _f_, by pressing the upper teeth upon the lower lip; _fa_. MR. JOUR. _Fa, fa_. 'Tis the truth. Ah! my father and my mother, how angry I feel with you! PROF. PHIL. And the _r_, by carrying the tip of the tongue up to the roof of the palate, so that, being grazed by the air which comes out with force, it yields to it, and, returning to the same place, causes a sort of tremour; _r, ra_. MR. JOUR. _R-r-ra; r-r-r-r-r-ra_. That's true. Ah! what a clever man you are, and what time I have lost. _R-r-ra_. PROF. PHIL. I will thoroughly explain all these curiosities to you. MR. JOUR. Pray do. And now I want to entrust you with a great secret. I am in love with a lady of quality, and I should be glad if you would help me to write something to her in a short letter which I mean to drop at her feet. PROF. PHIL. Very well. MR. JOUR. That will be gallant; will it not? PROF. PHIL. Undoubtedly. Is it verse you wish to write to her? MR. JOUR. Oh no; not verse. PROF. PHIL. You only wish for prose? MR. JOUR. No. I wish for neither verse nor prose. PROF. PHIL. It must be one or the other. MR. JOUR. Why? PROF. PHIL. Because, Sir, there is nothing by which we can express ourselves except prose or verse. MR. JOUR. There is nothing but prose or verse? PROF. PHIL. No, Sir. Whatever is not prose is verse; and whatever is not verse is prose. MR. JOUR. And when we speak, what is that, then? PROF. PHIL. Prose. MR. JOUR. What! When I say, "Nicole, bring me my slippers, and give me my night-cap," is that prose? PROF. PHIL. Yes, Sir. MR. JOUR. Upon my word, I have been speaking prose these forty years without being aware of it; and I am under the greatest obligation to you for informing me of it. Well, then, I wish to write to her in a letter, _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_; but I would have this worded in a genteel manner, and turned prettily. PROF. PHIL. Say that the fire of her eyes has reduced your heart to ashes; that you suffer day and night for her tortures.... MR. JOUR. No, no, no; I don't want any of that. I simply wish for what I tell you. _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_. PROF. PHIL. Still, you might amplify the thing a little? MR. JOUR. No, I tell you, I will have nothing but those very words in the letter; but they must be put in a fashionable way, and arranged as they should be. Pray show me a little, so that I may see the different ways in which they can be put. PROF. PHIL. They may be put, first of all, as you have said, _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_; or else, _Of love die make me, fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes_; or, _Your beautiful eyes of love make me, fair Marchioness, die_; or, _Die of love your beautiful eyes, fair Marchioness, make me_; or else, _Me make your beautiful eyes die, fair Marchioness, of love_. MR. JOUR. But of all these ways, which is the best? PROF. PHIL. The one you said: _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_. MR. JOUR. Yet I have never studied, and I did all that right off at the first shot. I thank you with all my heart, and I beg of you to come to-morrow morning early. PROF. PHIL. I shall not fail.
In a further connection between the Petronius and M is their demise. Pertonius' forced suicide at a party reveals art imitating life. M collapsed in a coughing fit while performing a comedy for Louis XIV and actually hemorrhaged to death. In a final touch of comedic irony, M collapsed during the production of his comedy "The Hypochondriac."
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