This was originally presented in podcast format for an assignment. Below is the script I followed.
As the critic K.W. Grandsen notes, the Epic was intended as a panegyric of Caesar, with panegyric meaning a published text in praise of someone. Contextually, as W.A. Camps reminds us, much of Virgil’s young adult life was plagued by civil war and some suggest that his own farm in Mantua was confiscated for the resettlement of demobilised soldiers. Many believe this is why he supported Augustus for his policy of Pax Romana or Roman peace. In fact, Virgil’s earlier poem ‘Georgics’ was primarily about farming but also acted as a plea for political stability (which Augustus rule eventually created).
The ‘Aeneid’ is primarily a national poem, a picture of roman character and ideals that Augustus wanted propagated. These were known as the Mos maiorum or custom of our ancestors and included a return to the Traditional Religion which is shown by Aeneas’ performance of the first parentalia (or festival in honour of the dead) for his father Anchises in bk 5. Piety to ones gods, family and country was also championed by the new Augustan regime, explaining Aeneas’ epithet. Traditional family roles were also endorsed, and as the critic Llewellyn Morgan summarises, Creusa represents the ideal Roman woman due to her self-sacrifice for the eventual foundation of Rome and for the fated greatness of her husband and son.
There are four specific examples of propaganda in the ‘Aeneid’ which I would like to individually explore. The first is the significance of Carthage:
Rome’s greatest historical danger had been the three Punic wars fought against Carthage between 264-146 BC. In the 2nd war the Carthaginian general Hannibal destroyed roman armies and overran the Italian peninsula, even managing to cross the alps – Rome’s greatest geographical defence. Many believe Dido’s speech before her death in book 4 “Arise from my dead bones, O my unknown avenger, and harry the race of Daradanus” actually calls upon Hannibal as the said unknown avenger. By Dido prophesying these later Punic wars, Romans took this as a mythological justification for their controversial destruction and genocide of Carthage in 146 BC. Therefore, by creating a literary explanation for the Roman-Carthage hatred, Virgil is attempting to present Rome as the morally righteous party in arguably the most disturbing event of the Empire’s history.
The second specific example is the pageant of heroes in book 6:
The pageant in the underworld includes many important roman figures who reside in Elysium. Julius Caesar (who was Augustus’ adopted father and predecessor) is mentioned and styled “son of a god who extended Rome’s empire beyond the Indians and Garamentes”. There is also a highly emotional obituary to Marcellus, Augustus’ nephew and intended heir, who died untimely from an illness at the age of 19. This inclusion was so touching that Marcellus’ mother, and thus Augustus’ sister, swooned upon first hearing it. In fact, nine tenths of the individuals mentioned were members of the Julian family which is an obvious attempt by Virgil to celebrate the family of his patron. The pageant also firmly establishes Augustus’ ancestral link to Aeneas as we learn a Caesar will eventually come from the line of Ascanius.
Thirdly, the Shield of Aeneas in book 8 contains three scenes which directly link to pro-Augustan propaganda. In the centre of the shield, it depicts the Battle of Actium of 31 BC. In this battle Augustus defeated his enemies Mark Antony and Cleopatra, gaining control over the east and Egypt. It also depicts Augustus’ subsequent triple triumph in 29BC over Dalmatia, Actium and Alexandria. Both of these scenes clearly portray Augustus as a successful military leader. However, a more implicit related scene is Romulus and Remus suckling from the mother wolf. A key part of the foundation story of Rome. As David West points out, this applies to Augustus because he styled himself as the descendant of Aeneas and therefore a descendant of the founding twins.
And lastly, we see a direct reference to Augustus’ greatness in the opening book of the epic. Jupiter’s prophecy in book 1 mentions Augustus as the one responsible for creating a Roman “empire that will know no end” with the Romans as “the rulers of the world”. Caesar is also deified as Jupiter remarks “you will receive him in the sky”. By introducing the poem with a celebration of his ruler, Virgil is firmly establishing his epic as a work of praise.
However, it is important to note that Virgil adopts an extremely pessimistic tone during parts of the epic, especially in reference to the Latin war, which makes many critics believe he was actually anti-Augustan and therefore that his areas of praise were included solely to satisfy an all-controlling emperor. It is also true that the epic’s role as a replicator of Hellenistic poetic tradition is more apparent than its role as propaganda. Perhaps the shield of book 8 is less so a celebration of Augustus and more so a link with the ‘Iliad”s shield of Achilles. Or perhaps Aeneas’ katabasis or descent, to the underworld is more important in terms of following the heroic tradition than who he learns about when he is there. However, it is my belief that Virgil was indeed pro-Augustan both socially and politically. The two figures moved in the same social circles, with Augutus’ chief imperial minister Maecenas being best friends with Virgil. Virgil and Augustus were also both very passionate about political stability, peace and a return to Roman traditional values. As David West remarks, Virgil wrote acceptably in the praise of his patron as the Aeneid was not burnt upon the poet’s in accordance with his wishes.
Therefore, it is my belief that Rome’s greatest poet did indeed write in favour of Rome’s greatest ruler.
Hardy’s view on the concept of a fallen woman was very progressive for the Victorian era. Hardy’s most famous novel, ‘Tess of the D’Ubervilles’ has the subtitle ‘The Pure Woman’ which clearly professes Hardy’s belief that despite having a sexual relationship outside of marriage, which produced a child, Tess is still morally righteous. Many would argue that this is due to the circumstances of Tess, as she was raped by Alec, however if we view Hardy’s oeuvre as a whole, we see many other examples of him defying this concept of the fallen woman. In ‘Jude the Obscure’ Hardy undermines the social criticism of Sue being divorced and the pair living together and having children outside of wedlock, by staunchly portraying them as in love. His exploration of the fallen woman concept is also apparent in his poetry, as ‘The Ruined Maid’ presents a woman who is haughtily proud of her social advancement from “a raw country girl” to a lady with “gay bracelets and bright feathers three” which she acquired through sexual dalliances. In this way, Hardy’s poem has an underlying social criticism as the only way women can escape the “hag-ridden dream” of rural poverty is to utilise their sexuality, and thus they should not be blamed for their misgivings in a society which is ridden with inequality. This would have been viewed as a much more scandalous affair than Tess’ misfortune, however it is my belief that Hardy utilises the brevity of the medium of poetry to present his more controversial ideas. Therefore, Hardy presents three individual cases of “fallen women” whom he champions regardless of their circumstances which vary from rape to social advancement to romance.
Hardy also uses biblical and mythological references to explore the concept of the fallen woman in relation to Tess. The dichotomy of Tess’ character is epitomised through her likening to both the goddesses Artemis and Demeter, with the former being a virginal maiden and the latter being a fertile, motherly figure. Interestingly, Hardy’s literary genius is represented by the irony of Angel admiringly likening Tess to both of these childbirth related figures (as Artemis is the goddess of midwifery and Demeter was responsible for fertility) when he later damns Tess as mother of Sorrow. Biblically, Tess is referred to “as Eve” which makes her appear as the temptress of Angel like Eve was for Adam and it also pre-emptively blames her for the damnation of her relationship with Angel like Eve damned the whole of humanity. However, Hardy’s portrayal of the Clare family, especially Felix and Cuthbert, as judgmental hypocrites shows his criticism of this sexist Christian concept of a fallen woman. Another important biblical figure that Tess is referred to is Mary Magdalene, which is more lascivious in nature as it presents the case that Tess prostitutes herself to Angel in return for material objects, namely a horse and provisions for her family. This is similar to one reading of “The Ruined Maid” in which Melia is presumed to be an escort for a nobleman.
However, if we return to the subtitle of Hardy’s tragic novel that we started our discussion with, whilst it defends Tess, it still judges women in terms of their value as a sexual commodity. This ties in with the modern feminist criticism of the author that he is a product of the engrained misogyny of his era. Tess, as a female protagonist, is extremely passive. Hardy uses the third person to refer to his heroine and tends to focus on her seductive appearance. He refers to her “bouncing handsome womanliness”, “pouted up deep red mouth” and her being “too tempting”, and besides from the obvious objectification, we must not forget that Tess is only sixteen at the beginning of the novel, and is therefore hypersexualised by the author – arguably making him no better than Alec who awakens her sexuality by teaching her the Darwinian bird calls in the first phase. Moreover, the plot itself is challenging for a modern reader, as despite Tess being innocent in our eyes, she is cast aside by her husband upon learning of her misfortunes and ultimately dies in punishment for the murder of her abuser. Hardy has the ability, yet denies his heroine a happy ending, and whilst some say this creates a more masterful, arresting novel I would argue that by ultimately succumbing to the stereotypical expectation that Tess must be punished, as the sinner she is, Hardy fails in fully challenging the stifling sexist concept of his era, the fallen woman.
For the past 7 months I have volunteered at the Lock Up, Birmingham’s new police museum. As the daughter of two ex police officers, who both worked at Steel House Lane Station – where the lock up is based, I have always had an interest in the force and thought volunteering would be a perfect opportunity to pair it with my love for history. Primarily I work in the archives, transcribing and indexing a police orders book from 1846. Interestingly, this book predates Birmingham’s city status that was granted in 1889. The log details the day’s hirings, firings, disciplinaries, bonuses and of course, orders. Whilst this might appear rather dull, I have found the book to be curiously and uniquely informative, as well as very funny at times. For example, one officer is recorded to have been fined a day’s wages for insulting the chef – perhaps giving us an insight into the quality of the station’s food! I have also noticed the same individuals names cropping up in every bonuses list, which could be attributed to foul play. Officers received two shillings and sixpence for stopping a runaway horse, and it is believed that one officer would intentionally scare a horse, with his accomplice stationed further along the road to stop the animal. It is assumed that the bonus was then shared, and thus it appears to have been a very lucrative business. Whilst I found it fascinating to be working with a primary source never previously studied, I initially found the Victorian penmanship to be very challenging!
Here is an exemplar photo of one of the pages from the Orders book.
However, I have also volunteered at some of the museum’s open days. Currently, the location holds public open days, midnight ghost tours, evening lectures and private bookings. The primary focus is to raise enough money to refurbish the premises into a properly functioning museum. More information can be found here: https://www.wmpeelers.com/. Within the location, there are both listed and modern cells to explore, police related artefacts, an underground tunnel linking the station to Birmingham’s magistrate courts and a plethora of information to digest. In honour of the centenary of women in policing in 2017, the museum founders have written a book centred on the Lock Up Matrons, Evelyn Miles and Rebecca Lipscombe, who were Birmingham’s first police women, with the latter holding the record for the oldest serving police woman at 77. Interestingly, their duties included dealing with female prisoners as well as helping out in the kitchens – clearly very different to today! There also themed exhibits, including one in honour of Remembrance Day tomorrow.
The roll of honour that commemorates Birmingham’s police officers who died during both the Great War and World War Two.
I thoroughly enjoy volunteering at the Lock Up and would highly recommend a visit!
Following on from my enjoyment of making Roman Libum, I decided to purchase Sally Grainger’s ‘Cooking Apicus, Roman Recipes for Today’ book. I decided to try out this dessert due to its similarities to the Medieval fried fig pastries, as both are deep fried, drizzled with honey and spiced with black pepper. Its interesting how little tastes seemed to have changed!
Ingredients
400ml milk
2tbsp olive oil
100g plain white flour
100g wholemeal flour (sieved to remove larger flakes)
250ml oil for frying
100g runny honey
black pepper to season
Method
Combine the milk and 2tbsp olive oil in a frying pan and gently heat.Thoroughly combine the two flours together.
Sift the flours into the frying pan, stirring constantly. Once the mixture forms a ball, continue cooking it for 2 minutes.
Spread the mixture into a 2cm thick square. Leave to cool thoroughly.Once cool, cut into 2cm squares.Heat the oil in a deep pan, it is hot enough when one of the test fritters turns golden brown. Fry the fritters in batches, ensuring to stir to avoid them sticking together.Coat the fritters immediately with lots and lots of honey, seasoning with black pepper if desired.
This is a simple yet time consuming recipe to make. It is extremely similar to modern day donuts, in fact I found them tastier when dusted with icing sugar! However, I personally was not a fan of this recipe, it was very bland even with the honey and the texture was rather grainy. Saying that, my mum loved them – but only when served hot. I am looking forward to making some savoury recipes from Grainger’s book, however some of the ingredients appear rather difficult to source.
Having achieved all of the Holocaust Educational Trust’s ‘Lessons from Auschwitz’ learning outcomes, I have been made an official Ambassador for the Trust.
The comments on my work were as follows:
‘Your reflective statement really shows your awareness and understanding of all of the objectives of the project, from knowledge and understanding of the Holocaust, the roles of the camps and individuals, the concepts of individualisation and testimony, the importance of not just using statistics and the contemporary relevance of the Holocaust. It was good to see what you got out of the visit as well a show your understanding has matured since then. What was particularly pertinent was your understanding of the need to remember individuals and the impression that hearing Zigi’s testimony had on you.
Your next steps project is good, well-planned, well-structured and covers all the key lessons learnt from your visit, with a goof focus on the individuals involved in the Holocaust. Your additional blog posts are also well written and well informed, well done.’
I am very proud of receiving this qualification and I look forward to continuing my work by teaching my community more about what I learnt through HET.
I decided to try an ancient dish for my next attempt at historical cooking. The Roman sacrificial cake Libum proved a perfect choice as it corresponds to my A2 Classical Civilisation topic of religion! This simple cake was used as an offering, often by slaves or the lower classes, to household spirits or gods in Rome’s early history. The text below comes directly from the Roman consul Cato’s agricultural writings in which he includes simple recipes for farmers, including Libum.
‘Libum hoc modo facito. Casei P. II bene disterat in mortario. Ubi bene distriverit, farinae siligineae libram aut, si voles tenerius esse, selibram similaginis eodem indito permiscetoque cum caseo bene. Ovum unum addito et una permisceto bene. Inde panem facito, folia subdito, in foco caldo sub testu coquito leniter.’
– translation: ‘Make libum by this method. Break up two pounds of cheese well in a mortar. When they will have been well broken up, put in a pound of wheat flour or, if you wish it to be more delicate, half a pound of fine flour and mix it well together with the cheese. Add one egg and mix together well. Then make into bread, places leaves beneath, and cook slowly on a hot hearth under an earthen pot.’
Preheat oven to 190 degrees celsius. Cream the ricotta in a bowl till smooth and sift in the flower, stirring together to a breadcrumb like consistency.
Beat an egg together and mix it into the ricotta and flour mixture, forming a sticky dough ball.
Separate the mixture into four, shape into flat balls and place on top of bay leaves. Score the top for decoration if desired.
To replicate the Roman technique of cooking in terracotta pots, cover the baking tray with a shallow pan and cook in the oven for 35-40 minutes.
Whilst still hot, melt the honey in a pan and cover the libums so they absorb the liquid.
Dedicate to your favourite god (I choose Venus) and enjoy, remembering to remove the bay leaf!
This is a very simple and quick recipe to make. Its very enjoyable to make it following the ancient recipe, but understandably it is suited to Roman lower class taste buds. It is very bland, although the texture is pleasant – resembling an unleavened scone. Adding a pinch of salt to the mixture would not be historically inaccurate, but it tastes better when served with jam – Cato wouldn’t approve I’m sure!
This essay was entered into the St Hughes Mary Renault essay competition. It was commended for its “well structured and well researched essay” that the “judges enjoyed reading”.
The Pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones was besotted with the classical world, as a result of his Oxford schooling, his trips to Florence, Rome and Venice, Britain’s prominent role in the nineteenth century revival of antiquity and his Grecian mistress[1]. This infatuation is best shown through the majority of his paintings having classical subjects which either draw from ancient sources, such as Ovid, or his contemporary William Morris’ retellings. In this essay I argue that Edward Burne-Jones’ treatment of classical mythology is multi-faceted, as he portrays the events of the myths accurately, replicating classical artistic ideals as he does so, but also uses them as vehicles to justify and make sense of his illicit extramarital affair. In order to do this, I shall explore three paintings by the artist, namely: ‘The Doom fulfilled’ 1888, ‘Pygmalion and the image: The Godhead fires’ 1878 and ‘Phyllis and Demophoön’ 1870.
Figure 1: Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones, ‘The Doom Fulfilled’ (1888), mixed media on paper, 1538mm x 1384mm, Southampton City Art gallery
In ‘The Doom fulfilled’ 1888, Burne-Jones both glorifies classical art, by drawing inspiration from and replicating its techniques and appropriates it by corrupting its purpose as an exemplum virtutis by linking the artwork to his prior affair. Andromeda is presented with pale translucent skin, reminiscent of the preferred medium for classical sculpture, marble. Her white skin glows in comparison to Perseus’ olive complexion, drawing on the idea of gendered colours that was evident in antiquity. Whereas pale skin was considered the epitome of female beauty, warriors were often described as having a darker skin tone, as shown by Homer’s description of Odysseus becoming melagkhroiēs (black-skinned) again. Furthermore, Andromeda stands in contrapposto, harking back to classical nude statues such as the Praxitelean type, Venus of Cnidus 350 BCE, which the artist was known to have studied carefully[2]. Moreover, the figure of Perseus is directly based off the Laocoön. Both stand contrapposto in their attempts to feign off the attacks of vicious sea serpents which have coiled between their legs, with the snake’s frozen mid bite. Both men visibly strain to fend off their mystical attackers with Perseus’ arms heroically outstretched to resemble Sansovino’s, now deemed incorrect restoration of the statue. By drawing so greatly on the Laocoön for inspiration, Burne-Jones is echoing Pliny the Elder’s musing that the sculpture “is a work of art to be preferred to any other painting or statuary[3]”. In this way, the artist shows great respect for art from the classical period, by using similar techniques and repurposing subjects to replicate both the aesthetics and the esteem of classical art. However, this painting subtly alludes to his long-term affair with the sculptress Maria Zambaco Cassavetti, described as the “emotional climax of his life”[4], and he therefore appropriates the classical world’s use of art as an exemplum virtutis. The violent imagery of the Perseus saga acts as a manifestation of the extremely passionate affair between Burne-Jones and Cassavetti, which was epitomised by their 1869 suicide pact to overdose on Laudanum together[5]. Burne-Jones used Maria to make his last studies for the female figure, as he saw her as an ideal Grecian beauty and therefore more beautiful than the Nereids, just like Andromeda was claimed to be by her mother. However more implicitly, Burne-Jones takes on the mythical role of Perseus as he reflects on societies negative perception of his affair and his inner turmoil between loving his wife and craving his mistress, which are both embodied by the snake he is fighting. The all-encompassing effect of his affair and its negative ramifications are further reflected on by the choppy, inky waves and the desolate rocky background that encircle and trap the two subjects. Interestingly, Burne-Jones’ choice to portray the Perseus saga was most likely in part to the myth’s love triangle between Perseus, Andromeda and her previously betrothed Phineus and its similarities to the love triangle between Maria, himself, and his wife Georgiana. Although Burne-Jones was not a hero like Perseus as the sensibilities of Victorian society condemned affairs especially when overt. He therefore appropriates and corrupts the morally sound myth of a hero protecting a maiden, using it to exonerate himself by portraying himself and Maria, the perpetrators, as beautiful and idealised classical sculptures.
Figure 2: Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones, ‘Pygmalion and the Image – The Godhead Fires’ (1878), oil on canvas, 1437mm x 1168mm, Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery
In his ‘Pygmallion and the image’ series of 1878, Burne-Jones appropriates the Greek ideal of beauty, which he tried so hard to replicate, by using his ex-mistress as his model for the female figures. In the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, which the image is based on, Pygmalion sculpts his ideal of female beauty and then begs Aphrodite for a wife as perfect as his marble woman. This tale is mirrored in Burne-Jones’ personal life, as although he thought he was already married to the perfect woman, he could not help but long for his muse Maria. This is exemplified by Maria being used as the model for both Aphrodite and Galatea as she was the living embodiment of Grecian beauty by the Pre-Raphaelites. Her “glorious red hair” is shared by the goddess Aphrodite in the painting, and her “almost phosphorescent white skin[6]” that likened her to the “white-armed Helen”[7] of the Iliad and Odyssey, is shared by both figures. Crucially however, as with all other epochs that aimed to recreate authentic classical beauty, the Pre-Raphaelites failed as they projected their modern bias onto the past. Burne-Jones once mused that, “I must confess that my interest in a woman is because she is a woman and is such a nice shape and so different to mine.”[8] This contrasts greatly to the androgynous concept of Apollonian beauty where harmony consisted in opposition, namely, between that of male and female[9]. Furthermore, the ancient Greek view of beauty was multi-faceted as it was as much to do with the qualities of the soul and personality, as well as physical appearance. Kalokagathia, literally καλός kai ἀγαθός meaning beautiful and good, encompasses the beauty of forms, the goodness of the soul and the morality of character into one expression[10]. In this way, Burne-Jones fails in his quest to replicate classical beauty in his paintings; as his model Maria cannot be deemed as kalokagathia. She was an adulterer on two counts, against her own estranged husband Demetrius Zambaco and Georgiana Burne-Jones and is therefore not virtuous. Consequently, by using Maria as his model he is appropriating the classical ideals he is trying to replicate. The artist therefore overcompensates by flooding the image with the symbolism of Aphrodite, and therefore beauty and love. The goddess stands in a pool of crystal aquamarine, which harks back to her creation of being fully formed from the sea. She is also portrayed surrounded by doves, her avian symbol, following in the classical artistic tradition which can be seen on Greek pottery and on reliefs of her temples such as that of Aphrodite Pandemos at Athens[11]. Furthermore, she is adorned with both roses and a myrtle branch, of which were sacred to the deity. However, as myrtle was classically used in wedding rituals, even Burne-Jones’ compensation subtly alludes to his 1869 plan to leave his wife in order to marry his mistress. Indeed, this image was inextricably linked to his affair as Burne-Jones even sent the first set of his ‘Pygmallion and the image’ series to Maria Zambaco’s mother[12], despite no longer being romantically involved with her. Therefore, Burne-Jones greatly appropriates the Greek world and its ideals in this image as he fails to replicate the Greek concept of Kalokagathia and recontextualises the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea in order to beautify the sordid reality of his affair.
Figure 3:Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones, ‘Phyllis and Demophoön’ (1870), mixed media on paper, 938mm x 475mm, Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery
This first edition of Burne-Jones’ painting ‘Phyllis and Demophoön’ from 1870 is wrought with references to his affair and is thus an appropriation of the eponymous myth rooted in espousal loyalty. In 1870 his affair with Maria was coming to a physical end as the guilt he felt towards his wife Georgiana and his two children triumphed over his infatuation. This regret is encapsulated by the caption he gave to this image in the Summer Exhibition catalogue of the Old Watercolour Society, “Dic mihi quid feci? Nisi non sapienter amavi”, a quote from Ovid that translates to “Tell me what I have done? I loved unwisely”[13]. This painting’s subject matter can be interpreted in multiple ways, it could be a physical embodiment of Burne-Jones’ difficult escape from his long-term affair, as Demophoön seems eager to flee from Phyllis, modelled off Maria, who has ensnared him with both her arms and her drapery. However, as mythically Phyllis is a loyal wife whose tale is recounted second only to Penelope’s (the most loyal woman in Classical culture) in Ovid’s ‘Heroides’, the female figure more likely represents Georgiana, wife of Burne-Jones. If we interpret the image accordingly, Demophoön looks back mournfully to the woman he has hurt, and his kinetic stance is due to the shock he feels in being welcomed back so readily and warmly. In the myth Phyllis kills herself from heartbreak and loneliness as a result of her husband never returning home, similarly Georgiana describes the years of her husband’s affair, 1868-71, simply as “Heart, thou and I here, sad and alone”[14]. As there were multiple similarities between the classical world, especially its myths, and Burne-Jones’ personal life, it was near impossible for him to not replicate elements of the classical world in his paintings. The female figure’s face takes on the likeness of the blooms around her as it is illuminated with a pink glow, juxtaposing the two faces in terms of light, establishing the female as the virtuous and the male as the sinful. His use of the colour pink has classical connotations of “rosy-fingered Dawn”[15] . The hope that the female deity inspired in her creation of a new day, is akin to the hope Georgiana inspires for a reunification. Moreover, the drapery is not diminishing in its connection with Demophoön but growing, as it represents the connection between man and wife. This was previously only felt by Georgiana, being gradually shared by Burne-Jones. This reinvigoration of marital unity is further emphasised by their shared mossy and shadowed skin tones, achieved by Burne-Jones through chiaroscuro, as they become one both emotionally and physically. Despite the end of his affair with Maria, Burne-Jones continued to use her likeness in his later paintings, including the two I have previously explored, as regardless of their relationship status she remained his epitome of Grecian beauty. Therefore, whilst Burne-Jones does appropriate the classical world and its ideals in this image, as he corrupts the figure of the loyal Phyllis with the head of his mistress, all images after this are mere reflections on his affair and therefore more passive in their appropriation.
In reviewing these three works by Edward Burne-Jones, I can ascertain that the artist both replicates the classical world and its ideals as he portrays the events of the myths accurately whilst using the techniques of classical art, but also appropriates the classical world and its ideals. Specifically, the moral purpose of art, mythology and the concept of beauty. Nevertheless, whilst the morality of appropriating art, and its subjects, is fiercely debated, Jean Pierrot alludes in his ‘The Decadent Imagination: 1800-1900, that the classical world provides a framework for artists to express their personal ideas and or problems, safely behind the veil of antiquity. Indeed, the beauty of Classics is in its ability to be received and utilised by a plethora of people in a multitude of ways, including Edward Burne-Jones’ use of mythology in his artwork to make sense of his illicit personal affairs.
[1] Liana De Girolami Cheney. “Edward Burne-Jones’ ‘Andromeda’: Transformation of Historical and Mythological Sources.” Artibus Et Historiae, vol. 25, no. 49, 2004, pp. 197–227. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/1483754.
[2] Liana De Girolami Cheney. “Edward Burne-Jones’ ‘Andromeda’: Transformation of Historical and Mythological Sources.” Artibus Et Historiae, vol. 25, no. 49, 2004, pp. 197–227. JSTOR, accessed from http://www.jstor.org/stable/1483754.
*Originally submitted for the Gladstone Omnibus Memorial Prize 2019*
Classics has always, and continues to be, overwhelmingly and undoubtedly relevant to politics in many countries worldwide. From Karl Marx’s PhD thesis on classical philosophy, the influence of the Athenian constitution on that of America and lines of Aeschylus being used both by Bobby Kennedy in memoriam of MLK and for Nazi propaganda[1]. The classical world and its legacy has defined how we view and mock politicians, how women with political influence are viewed and has given us a mandate for what causes the decline of a prominent politician. In this essay I will argue that Classics is extremely relevant to politics today by comparing case studies of historical events (or ideas) with their modern counterparts, drawing out the similarities and the effects of the former on the latter.
Ancient Greece’s comedic plays offered an outlet for ideological expression in the form of satirising political figures and the playwright Aeschylus, the ‘Father of Comedy’, provides us with the most pre-eminent Old Comedy examples of such political scorn. Greek comedy acted as an expression of free speech that was normally not awarded when it critiqued those at the top of the social hierarchy[2], a restriction that does not apply to modern Western journalism. However, despite this, the tradition of popular culture being used as a medium for topical criticisms has passed down into the modern age through illustrators such as Ben Jennings. His 2016 caricature of Boris Johnson contemplating Brexit (see Figure 1) uses similar techniques of mockery to Aeschylus.
Figure 1: Ben Jennings on Boris Johnson’s Brexit column, The Guardian Opinions, 16/08/2016
Johnson’s appearance is ridiculed through the over-emphasis of his staple blonde hairdo and the inclusion of a prominent double-chin. This appearance-based affront is akin to the hairy connotations of ‘little primate Cleigenes’[3] or ‘Poor, gummy eyed Archedemus’[4] which are found in the play ‘Frogs’. Jennings’ dialogue also suggests that Johnson is self-serving and doltish, characteristics that are also similarly ridiculed by Aristophanes in the parabasis of ‘Frogs’. Cleophon, a prominent demagogue who was executed as a result of his opposition to peace with Sparta, and his style of rhetoric and penchant for duplicity is mocked with ‘keener to win than Cleophon. In his babbling, two-tongued mouth’ [5]. However, whilst the Greek invention of satire does provide both ancient and modern audiences with an important outlet for political critique, and arguably does disseminate negative ideas about Politicians that could impact their standing, focusing on this defers from the main point of satire, to be funny. Despite Aristophanes’ habitual mocking of Cleophon, and the success of his plays in which he does so, it had no impact on Cleophon’s standing, just like Jennings’ caricature bore little impact on Johnson’s reputation as he excelled in the first 2019 Tory leadership ballot[6]. However, ancient and modern satire do differ in terms of how humour is created. Visual caricature depends on the audience being familiar with the appearance of the satirised, which the mass Greek audience wouldn’t have been. Therefore, playwrights could exercise their artistic license, for example, the call for a portrait mask to portray Cleon in ‘Knights’[7] is simply for a general comedic effect as it would have been a horrendous yet inadequate presentation of the general[8]. However, in modern society, traditional and social media means that the population can view political figures at their best and worst, meaning humour has to be more genuine and individualised. Nevertheless, Classics remains very relevant to politics today as we are still using the Athenian technique of satire as a vehicle to mock those who lead us and their policies. The vehicle of satire allows for easy and enjoyable dissemination of political criticism and in this way, the classical world has given us a corner stone of modern democratic society, free speech.
Furthermore, the longstanding negative view of women involved or related to politics has seemingly stemmed from the classical world’s tendency for scapegoating. Multiple women who have held political power or influence have been similarly tarred with the infamous reputation of being a serial poisoner, such as Cleopatra VII, Agrippina the Younger and Lucrezia Borgia. Following the sudden death of the largely popular, first Roman Emperor Augustus, many sought an explanation for Augustus’, what we now assume to be natural, death. The most prolific rumour was that his third wife, Livia Drusilla, was responsible, as addressed by Cassius Dio:
So Augustus fell sick and died. Livia incurred some suspicion in connection with his death, in view of the fact that he had secretly sailed over to the island to see Agrippa and seemed about to become completely reconciled with him. For she was afraid, some say, that Augustus would bring him back to make him sovereign, and so smeared with poison some figs that were still on trees from which Augustus was wont to gather the fruit with his own hands; then she ate those that had not been smeared, offering the poisoned ones to him[9].
It is improper to assume that unexpected deaths were carried out by those who superficially benefitted from them, especially as the women closest to men in power have always been used to make sense of the unexpected actions of leaders. Like politics, History, especially ancient, has been monopolised by male writers which has left us with little believable evidence of the extent female figures, such as Livia, affected politics. Arguably, many would be jealous of women’s ability to capitalise on their relationship with powerful men and the belief that Livia poisoned Augustus could have stemmed from the unpopularity of her sons from a previous marriage, Gaius and Lucius Caesar, being made Augustus’ heirs instead of the more qualified Marcus Agrippa. However, it is more probable that Augustus would want to keep the emperorship in his family rather than give it to Agrippa, and as he did not have a natural male heir, Livia’s sons acted as apt replacements. It is therefore unlikely that Livia would have had to resort to foul-play to ensure the seemingly obvious succession of her sons, making the rumour of her poisoning her husband purely a malicious lie. Despite this, modern women of politics are still subject to rumours of foul-play, such as Theresa May. James Moore, The Independent’s chief business commentator, wrote the following in 2018: “MPs from her own party have been threatened with physical violence and death, not for seeking to overturn the referendum result … simply for daring to oppose the extreme form of it she has chosen to pursue.”[10]. Such a defamation is ludicrous, but it stands to show that men believe women cannot achieve political success or acceptance of their leadership through their own merit, instead they must rely on violence or corrupt measures. In this way, May seems to have been tarred by the same brush as Livia and Cleopatra as Classics has defined the way we view powerful women, and thus the study of the subject is still greatly relevant to politics today. Perhaps the allegations spread against those such as Agrippina the Younger, may account, in some way, for the unequal representation of women in politics as even in 2019 only 32% of members of the House of Commons are women, an “all-time high”[11].
Ancient Rome has also given us a democratic method to dispose of Politicians that are unfavoured and a mandate for what makes a politician fail. Mary Beard describes the denunciation of a figure as a hostis publicus (public enemy) as “the ancient equivalent of a vote of no-confidence”[12]. Beard is referring in particular to Nero’s labelling as a public enemy by the senate, which is detailed by Suetonius:
A letter was brought to Phaon by one of his couriers. Nero snatching it from his hand read that he had been pronounced a public enemy by the senate, and that they were seeking him to punish in the ancient fashion; and he asked what manner of punishment that was. When he learned that the criminal was stripped, fastened by the neck in a fork and then beaten to death with rods, in mortal terror he seized two daggers which he had brought with him[13].
Theresa May, in less than three years in office, has faced a vote of no-confidence in her leadership of the Conservative Party (which she won 200 to 117)[14], had a vote of no-confidence tabled against her by the opposition only five days later (which she narrowly won 325 to 306)[15] and has announced her resignation as a result of failing to deliver Brexit. Numerous parallels can be drawn between Emperor Nero and Prime Minister May’s falls from power. Nero’s downfall arose in part because of the gradual loss of support from the Senate and the loss of support from the Praetorian guard. Therefore, akin to Nero’s loss of support from the police-like Praetorian Guard, May lost support when she announced radical cuts to the Home office Budget when speaking as Home Secretary at the Association of Chief Police Officers. The estimated 20% cut to the police budget between 2010-2017[16] led to roughly 21,000 police officers and staff being made redundant across England and Wales[17]. May also lost support from the House of Commons, which we can substitute for the Roman Senate, through the 2017 general election she called for, which lost the Conservative majority. Undoubtedly, most of the criticism against Theresa May is regarding her inability to deliver Brexit, a feat which would have been more easily achieved if she had maintained her majority. Therefore, Classics is still relevant to politics today as it provides us with invaluable lessons to learn from. By analysing the mistakes made by former rulers, modern leaders can avoid making the same pitfalls, thus helping to secure their power. Perhaps, despite its relevance, Classics isn’t utilised enough in modern politics which explains why modern leaders repeat the mistakes of the ancients.
In conclusion, Classics is relevant to politics today as it has defined the way we view, critique and reject politicians. Satire has given us a comedic outlet for political criticism, acting as a vehicle for free speech and therefore, democracy. Ancient Historians and their accounts of powerful women has contributed to our negative viewpoint towards women in politics and therefore, the longstanding disassociation between the two. Finally, the criterion for what denotes the fall from power of a politician has remained the same, supplying us with invaluable lessons to take heed of. Studying the ancient world helps us to understand our own as it engages us with the cultural language that is inextricably embedded into modern Western society. In short, to study Classics is to enter into an all-important debate about the way we think about ourselves, our society and hence, our politics.
[1] Mary Beard ,Confronting the Classics, Profile Books Ltd, 2013, pp. 7, 47, 218.
[2] K.J. Dover, Aristophanic Comedy, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1972, pp. 31-41.
[3] Aristophanes, Frogs (Cambridge translations from Greek drama) line 710
I would argue that the theme of family in general, and its connotations, is the real backbone to Greek tragedy, and therefore the most important universal theme. The importance of the family or of the oikos (household) is due to the major role that the family/oikos played in ancient Greek life and societal values.
Family acts as the motivating factor in both Sophocles’ ‘Oedipus Rex’ and Euripides’ ‘Bacchae‘. The fatalistic prophecy that dictates the events of ‘Oedipus Rex’ is as follows: Oedipus would kill his father and marry his mother. Therefore incest, illicit relations between family members, becomes a crucial event in this tragic play. Indeed Sigmund Freud’s Oedipus theory relates to this, as the psychologist argues that a young boys first love is his mother and first hate is his father. Similarly, the cause for the tragedy in ‘Bacchae’ is due to rejection from family, Bernard Knox suggests that such rejection from family is worse for Dionysus than any other form of rejection. It was Agave and Ino, sisters to Semele – the mother of Dionysus, that ridiculed her for her pregnancy, deeming it to be untrue that Zeus could have fathered Semele’s child. It is also Pentheus, cousin to Dionysus, that rejects the gods rights and worship, therefore making the impiety much greater. Therefore, family acts as the backbone to the cause of both plays’ tragedies.
Fragment depicting the family of Oedipus onstage by the Caodarso painter. Museo Archeologico Regionale, Syracuse Italy.
Part of the tragedy of both plays is also relevant to family because, as many critics have have prior mentioned, tragic heroes have a tendency to impact those around them negatively. As a result of Oedipus’ sins that he ignorantly committed, his whole family suffers tragically. His wife/mother Jocasta kills herself as a result of learning the truth and we learn in the rest of ‘the Theban plays’ trilogy , ‘Antigone’ and ‘Oedipus at Colonus’ that three out of four of his children die and the remaining child, Ismene, is unmarriageable on account of her father’s sins. In this way, Oedipus commits the greatest sin possible to an ancient Greek man, he causes the death of his family line. Indeed, the importance of family in the Oedipus myth is shown in a fragment piece by the Caodarso painter that depicts Ismene, Antigone and Jocasta onstage as a family unit alongside Oedipus. Pentheus similarly causes the death of his family line as he is murdered gorily on account of his irreverence to the god, as seen on the red figure kylix depicting his death. As a result of this, Cadmus receives the most tragic fate of all, as suggested by Bernard Knox, as he lives to see the family line , which he tried so hard to protect, die along with his grandson (who was killed by his own mother, furthering the tragedy of the climatic event). Therefore, family acts as the backbone to these two Greek tragedies because the death of the family line creates part of the tragedy in itself.
A red figure kylix depicting the death of Pentheus, attributed to Douris. Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth.
Throughout both plays we also see affairs of the state and of the family household intermixing. In ‘Oedipus Rex’ one of the agons occurs between Oedipus and Creon, the former’s brother-in-law, thus making the theme of family important even in terms of common dramatic devices. They argue over whether Creon is trying to usurp the kingship but Creon states that he enjoys the power of a high-ranking nobleman without the responsibility of being ruler. This fear of family members taking over power from one another would have been a poignant issue for concern in the ancient world, making the play’s theme of family contextually relevant. We also see the affairs of state, and family mixing in Oedipus’ opening speech where he refers to his citizens as ‘my children’ – in this way the lines separating the oikos and the polis become blurred in this tragedy, emphasising the importance of the theme of family. This separating line is also blurred in ‘Bacchae’ when we see Cadmus urging his grandson pentheus ‘to tell a lie’ to maintain order in Thebes as by accepting Dionysus as a god he would presumably relinquish his hold on the Theban women. The fear of the death of the family line also intermingles state and family as without a naturally successive leader, the state could be thrown into political confusion and turmoil, an ever constant fear of the turbulent Athenian city state. However, in Athens leaders were elected and were not successive through heritage and therefore, tragedy’s theme of family inadvertently champions Athenian democracy and its way of doing things. Thus making the theme of family important to Greek tragedy as it also helps promote Athens in form of literary propaganda.
In conclusion, family ,and its connotations, is the most important theme in Greek tragedy. This is because it is played upon greatly by both Sophocles and Euripides, partly due to their presentation of the tragic hero’s peripeteia’s effect on family and the propagation of the fear towards the death of the family line.
I believe the chorus is a very effective device of Greek drama in both comedic and tragic genres due to their role in creating humour/tragedy, presenting the parabasis and their commentary/scene setting.
The chorus plays a large part in creating comedy, namely in Aristophanes’ ‘Frogs’. The subsidiary chorus of frogs that appears in the prologue is very visually funny. The well-funded (by the choregos) chorus would have been dressed elaborately and realistically in frog costumes which would have created surreal humour, causing the audience to laugh. It is through the vehicle of this subsidiary chorus that we also see the play’s first agon between themselves and Dionysus. Whilst also a crucial and important dramatic technique, this agon would have created comedy because we see a great god of theatre struggling to beat his opponents of mere frogs. In a way, this ridicules the god and creates humour as a result of his atypical presentation. Aristophanes also utilises verbal humour through the chorus’ ‘brekekek coax coax’ line which is repeated to mimic the sound of a frog. Therefore, the chorus is used very effectively by Aristophanes to create humour.
Euripides also uses his maenadic chorus in ‘Bacchae’ effectively as he uses them as the perpetrators in the plays, arguably, most tragic event. It is the chorus, that consists of Persian women, Agave and Ino – who have been sent maenadically mad by Dionysus- that carry out the murder of the tragic hero Pentheus. By including the chorus so greatly in this pivotal and climatic scene, Euripides is using them effectively as he links them closely to the action/plot, making them vehicles for the genre of tragedy. The playwright’s inclusion of Agave, mother to Pentheus, and Ino, aunt, in the killing is greatly effective because part of the reason the tragedy is so great is because it is performed by Pentheus’ close family members – and therefore Euripides’ use of the chorus is effective.
Aristophanes and other comedic playwrights, also uses the chorus effectively through the parabasis. This section of the play involves the chorus directly addressing the audience, through the playwright’s voice, on contemporary matters of importance. In ‘Frogs’ the coryphaeus (chorus leader) notes how citizens should be treated equally, all have rights, and should consist of slaves that fought in naval battles (such as the 406B.C. Battle of Arginusae). He also states that Athens’ contemporaneous leaders are alike to base-metalled, copper topped coins and should be removed from authority because of this. In this way, Aristophanes uses the chorus effectively to promote his own political ideas in an attempt to persuade/influence the polis who makes up the audience.
Lastly, Sophocles also uses the chorus effectively in ‘Oedipus the King’ as they offer commentary on the action and provide relevant context to the plot. Marion Baldock suggests that Sophocles’ chorus become a fourth actor due to their close commentary on the action, and I strongly agree with her. The chorus of Theban elders both champion their king and pity his fate, whilst also acting as moral guides to the audience. This is an effective use of the chorus by Sophocles as he makes them influence the audience’s perceptions on both the characters and the action. It is also the chorus who tell the audience how Oedipus overcame the riddle of the Sphinx which again, raises the character in their estimations. This is an effective use of the chorus by Sophocles because he makes them make Oedipus appear greater, thus making his downfall worse and thus perpetuating the genre of tragedy.
In conclusion I in fact believe that the chorus are the most effective device used by Greek playwrights in both comedy and tragedy.
*This essay originally received the mark of 20/20.*
HiSZtory 