Laudator Temporis Acti

Erasmus, Letters 103 (to Fausto Andrelini, 1499; tr. R.A.B. Mynors and D.F.S. Thomson):

For, to touch on only one point among many, there are in England nymphs of divine appearance, both engaging and agreeable, whom you would certainly prefer to your Muses; and there is, besides, one custom which can never be commended too highly. When you arrive anywhere, you are received with kisses on all sides, and when you take your leave they speed you on your way with kisses. The kisses are renewed when you come back. When guests come to your house, their arrival is pledged with kisses; and when they leave, kisses are shared once again. If you should happen to meet, then kisses are given profusely. In a word, wherever you turn, the world is full of kisses. If you too, Fausto, once tasted the softness and fragrance of these same kisses, I swear you would yearn to live abroad in England; and not for ten years only, in the manner of Solon, but all your life long.

Nam vt e plurimis vnum quiddam attingam, sunt hic nymphae diuinis vultibus, blandae, faciles, et quas tu tuis camoenis facile anteponas. Est praeterea mos nunquam satis laudatus. Siue quo venias, omnium osculis excipieris; siue discedas aliquo, osculis dimitteris; redis, redduntur suauia; venitur ad te, propinantur suauia; disceditur abs te, diuiduntur basia; occurritur alicubi, basiatur affatim; denique quocunque te moueas, suauiorum plena sunt omnia. Quae si tu, Fauste, gustasses semel quam sint mollicula, quam fragrantia, profecto cuperes non decennium solum, vt Solon fecit, sed ad mortem vsque in Anglia peregrinari.

On Andrelini see Godelieve Tournoy-Thoen, in Contemporaries of Erasmus, vol. I (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985; rpt. 1995), pp. 53-56.

Propertius, Elegies I-IV. Edited, with Introduction and Commentary, by L. Richardson, Jr. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1976), p. 156 (on 1.3.41-42):

41 purpureo . . . stamine: Probably she means spinning rather than weaving, since it is late in the evening and artificial light was poor in Rome (for spinning wool already dyed, cf. e.g. 4.3.33-4). The crimson thread reminds us of the magic thread of Ariadne that guided Theseus out of the Labyrinth (cf. supra 1-2).

42 Orpheae carmine . . . lyrae: The epithet Orpheae is not purely ornamental; Orpheus was a Thracian, and so recalls the Edonian girl of 5-6.

I don't believe that Propertius intended purpureo ... stamine to remind us of Ariadne's thread in lines 1-2, or Orpheae carmine ... lyrae to remind us of the Thracian Bacchante in lines 5-6. It's complete hooey.

Babrius 112 (tr. Laura Gibbs):

A bull was bitten by a mouse. Smarting from the sting, the bull began to chase the mouse but the mouse was too quick for him and managed to hide in the depths of his mouse hole. The bull came to a halt and dug his horns into the walls until finally he sank down in exhaustion and went to sleep right there in front of the hole. The mouse peeped out from inside his hole, crept up on the bull, bit him again, and ran back inside his hole. The bull leaped to his feet but he had no idea what to do. 'It's not always the big one who has the power,' said the mouse, 'in some cases being humble and small is a strength!'

Μῦς ταῦρον ἔδακεν. ὁ δ' ἐδίωκεν ἀλγήσας
τὸν μῦν· φθάσαντος δ' εἰς μυχὸν φυγεῖν τρώγλης,
ὤρυσς' ἐνεστὼς τοῖς κέρασι τοὺς τοίχους,
ἕως κοπωθεὶς ὀκλάσας ἐκοιμήθη
παρὰ τὴν ὀπὴν ὁ ταῦρος. ἔνθεν ἐκκύψας        5
ὁ μῦς ἐφέρπει καὶ πάλιν δακὼν φεύγει.
ὁ δ' εξαναστὰς οὐκ ἔχων ὃ ποιήσει
διηπορεῖτο. τῷ δ' ὁ μῦς ἐπιτρύξας·
"οὐχ ὁ μέγας ἀεὶ δυνατός· ἔσθ' ὅπου μᾶλλον
τὸ μικρὸν εἶναι καὶ ταπεινὸν ἰσχύει."        10

Avianus 31 (tr. J.W. and A.M. Duff):

They tell how once upon a time a little mouse on its wanderings ventured with its tiny teeth to attack a mighty ox. When its nibbling mouth finished biting, it thereupon hid safely in its winding hole. Though the ox made sullen threats with his huge neck, yet for all his anger he could not see that there lived an enemy for him to attack. Then the mouse dispersed the foe's threats with its cleverness, bantering the enraged ox with these words: "Because your parents transmitted strong limbs to you, it does not follow that they added efficiency to your strength. Learn, however, the self-reliance that our tiny mouths possess, and learn how our pigmy band does whatever it wants."

Ingentem fertur mus quondam parvus oberrans
    ausus ab exiguo laedere dente bovem.
verum ubi mordaci confecit vulnera rostro,
    tutus in anfractus conditur inde suos.
ille licet vasta torvum cervice minetur,        5
    non tamen iratus quem petat esse videt.
tunc indignantem iusto sermone fatigans
    distulit hostiles calliditate minas:
"non quia magna tibi tribuerunt membra parentes
    viribus effectum constituere tuis.        10
disce tamen brevibus quae sit fiducia rostris,
    et faciat quicquid parvula turba cupit."

Galen, On Avoiding Distress 14 (tr. Sophia Xenophontos):

You should thus assume that I too have become the person I am because I am by nature similar to my ancestors, and also that because I received the same education as them, I have the same qualities of soul. I know that my father used to despise human affairs as of small importance, which holds especially for me too now in my old age.

νόμιζε δὴ οὖν κἀμὲ καὶ φύσει μὲν ὅμοιον τοῖς προγόνοις ὄντα γενέσθαι τοιοῦτον, καὶ μέντοι καὶ παιδευθέντα τὴν αὐτὴν αὐτοῖς παιδείαν, ὁμοίαν ἐκείνοις σχεῖν διάθεσιν τῆς ψυχῆς. οἶδα δέ μου τὸν πατέρα καταφρονοῦντα τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων πραγμάτων ὡς μικρῶν, ὅπερ κἀμοὶ μάλιστα νῦν γέγονεν ἐν γήρᾳ.

Hat tip: Eric Thomson.

Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), Parerga and Paralipomena, Vol. II, Chapter 17, § 191 (tr. Adrian Del Caro and Christopher Janaway):

No ancient German literature, Nibelungs and other such poets of the Middle Ages should be taught in gymnasia. These things are highly remarkable, to be sure, and also worth reading, but they do not contribute to the cultivation of taste and they rob time that belongs to ancient, really classical literature. If you noble Teutons and German patriots impose ancient German doggerel in place of Greek and Roman classics, then you will be educating nothing but unwashed loafers. Now to even compare these Nibelungs with the Iliad is an outright blasphemy, from which, above all, youthful ears should be spared.

Auf den Gymnasien sollte keine altdeutsche Litteratur, Nibelungen und sonstige Poeten des Mittelalters gelehrt werden: diese Dinge sind zwar höchst merkwürdig, auch lesenswert, tragen aber nicht zur Bildung des Geschmacks bei und rauben die Zeit, welche der alten, wirklich klassischen Litteratur angehört. Wenn ihr, edle Germanen und deutsche Patrioten, an die Stelle der griechischen und römischen Klassiker altdeutsche Reimereien setzt; so werdet ihr nichts anderes, als Bärenhäuter erziehn. Nun aber gar diese Nibelungen mit der Ilias zu vergleichen ist eine rechte Blasphemie, mit welcher die Ohren der Jugend, vor allem, verschont bleiben sollten.

Galen, On Avoiding Distress 1 (tr. Sophia Xenophontos):

[You also said] that you learned that when his books were lost in the fire, Philides the grammarian wasted away from depression and grief and died, and that various others were going around in black clothing for a long time, thin and pale, resembling mourners.

πεπύσθαι δὲ ὡς καὶ Φιλίδης μὲν ὁ γραμματικὸς ἀπολλυμένων αὐτῷ τῶν βιβλίων κατὰ πυρκαϊὰν ὑπὸ δυσθυμίας καὶ λύπης διεφθάρη συντακείς, ἄλλος δὲ καὶ ἄλλος ἐν μέλασιν ἱματίοις προῄεσαν ἄχρι πολλοῦ, λεπτοὶ καὶ ὠχροί, τοῖς πενθοῦσι παραπλήσιοι.

From Eric Thomson:

Aldous Huxley, consoling Victoria Ocampo on the partial destruction by fire of her library: “…[T]he thought of a burned library is one to sadden the heart of an old book-worm like myself.” A prolepsis. The conflagration that destroyed his own thirty-one years later was total, but he displayed a noble composure and detachment that Galen would have recognised and admired.

Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), Parerga and Paralipomena, Vol. II, Chapter 16, § 183 (tr. Adrian Del Caro and Christopher Janaway):

All this might stem from the fact that poetry by nature is untranslatable. For in it thoughts and words are so intimately and firmly intertwined, like the uterine and foetal parts of the placenta, that we cannot substitute foreign words without affecting the thoughts. After all, everything with metre and rhyme is inherently a compromise between thought and language; however, by its nature this can only be accomplished on its own native soil of thought, not on a foreign soil in which we would like to transplant it, let alone in one so barren as the minds of translators usually are. What greater contrast could there be, really, than the free outpouring of the poet’s inspiration, which on its own and instinctively comes into being dressed in metre and rhyme, and the painstaking, calculating, cold, syllable-counting and rhyme-seeking agony of the translator?

Dies Alles mag daran liegen, daß Poesie, ihrer Natur nach, unübersetzbar ist. Denn in ihr sind Gedanken und Worte so innig und fest mit einander verwachsen, wie pars uterina et pars foetalis placentae; so daß man nicht, ohne jene zu affiziren, diesen fremde substituiren kann. Ist doch alles Metrische und Gereimte eigentlich von Hause aus ein Kompromiß zwischen dem Gedanken und der Sprache: dieses aber darf, seiner Natur nach, nur auf dem eigenen, mütterlichen Boden des Gedankens vollzogen werden, nicht auf einem fremden, dahin man ihn verpflanzen möchte, und gar auf einem so unfruchtbaren, wie die Uebersetzerköpfe in der Regel sind. Was überhaupt kann entgegengesetzter sein, als die freie Ergießung der Begeisterung eines Dichters, die schon von selbst und instinktiv in Metrum und Reim gekleidet an den Tag tritt, und die peinliche, rechnende, kalte, Silben zählende und Reime suchende Qual des Uebersetzers.

Meleager, in Greek Anthology 12.101 (tr. Margaret Hubbard):

I was unwounded by Desires, but Myiscus shot me in the heart with his eyes, and cried, 'I have caught the braggart. That supercilious sneer that imperious philosophy gave, look, I am trampling on it.' Just breathing, I replied, 'Dear lad, why all this surprise? Zeus himself was hauled down from Olympus by Love.'

τόν με Πόθοις ἄτρωτον ὑπὸ στέρνοισι Μυΐσκος
    ὄμμασι τοξεύσας, τοῦτ ̓ ἐβόησεν ἔπος·
“τὸν θρασὺν εἶλον ἐγώ· τὸ δ ̓ ἐπ ̓ ὀφρύσι κεῖνο φρύαγμα
    σκηπτροφόρου σοφίας ἠνίδε ποσσὶ πατῶ.” τῷ δ ̓, ὅσον
ἀμπνεύσας, τόδ ̓ ἔφην· “Φίλε κοῦρε, τί θαμβεῖς;
    καὐτὸν ἀπ ̓ Οὐλύμπου Ζῆνα καθεῖλεν Ἔρως.”

A.S.F. Gow and D.L. Page ad loc.: Propertius 1.1.1-4 (tr. Margaret Hubbard):

Cynthia was the first whose eyes captured me, poor wretch, uninfected before by any desires. Then I had to lower my gaze with its steady hauteur and Love trampled on my head...

Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis,
    contactum nullis ante cupidinibus.
tum mihi constantis deiecit lumina fastus
    et caput impositis pressit Amor pedibus...

Patrick Kurp, "You Want to Be Immortal? Disappear," Anecdotal Evidence (August 3, 2-26):

What has disappeared? Ambrose Bierce, Weldon Kees, Jimmy Hoffa. Aristotle s second book of Politics, three-decker novels, rhupunts. Typewriters, payphones, civility.

Perhaps he meant Poetics instead of Politics.

Hat tip: Eric Thomson.

Labels: typographical and other errors

Bookshelves in Casa d'Areny-Plandolit Museum, Andorra: Thanks to Eric Thomson for the photographs.

Cicero, On Old Age 5.15 (tr. William Armistead Falconer):

And, indeed, when I reflect on this subject I find four reasons why old age appears to be unhappy: first, that it withdraws us from active pursuits; second, that it makes the body weaker; third, that it deprives us of almost all physical pleasures; and, fourth, that it is not far removed from death.

etenim, cum complector animo, quattuor reperio causas cur senectus misera videatur: unam, quod avocet a rebus gerendis; alteram, quod corpus faciat infirmius; tertiam, quod privet omnibus fere voluptatibus; quartam, quod haud procul absit a morte.

J.G.F. Powell ad loc. (the heading VI 15 is an error — it should be V 15):

Donald Lateiner, review of James H. Dee, Epitheta hominum apud Homerum = The epithetic phrases for the Homeric heroes: a repertory of descriptive expressions for the human characters of the Iliad and the Odyssey (Hildesheim: Olms-Weidmann, 2000), in Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2001.01.14:

To my mind, it is a miracle that in a world afflicted by Attention Deficit Disorder anyone would labor over, publish, distribute, or purchase six hundred pages dissecting descriptors in two lengthy, three thousand year old poems that barely ten thousand human beings can read in their eclectic, original idiolect, one never spoken by a single soul.

John Cowper Powys (1872-1963), Autobiography (London: The Bodley Head, 1934), pp. 85-86:

A longing for a lair, for a cave, for a fortress, for any hidden domain, which cannot be disturbed, is still deep in my nature. It is doubtless for this reason that I have always wanted to live in narrow quarters, a little house in the country or in a single room in the city, and I have a positive detestation of large houses. This feeling of being safe and snug in a hidden retreat, while the world passes by outside and cannot reach you, is very dear to me. I have always loved that passage in Scott’s poem about the hunted stag:

"There, close-couched, while the thickets shed
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head,
He heard the baffled dogs in vain
Rave through the hollow pass amain
Chiding the rocks …"

Hat tip: Eric Thomson.

Homer, Odyssey 8.111-119 (tr. Daniel Mendelsohn):

Up went Akróneôs Top-Ship, Okýalos Quick-Sea, the Paddler,
Sea-Man Nauteús and Aft-Deck, Beach-Man, Eretmeús the Rower,
Deep-Sea Ponteús and Fore-Deck, Full-Speed and All-Aboard,
And Amphíalos Sea-Girt, the son of Many-Ships, child of Sea-Wright;
Up stood Eurýalos Broad-Sea, the equal of Ares, that plague on mortals—
The son of Naúbolos the Sounder, who in looks and physique surpassed
All of the other Phaiêkians after handsome Laodámas.
There arose as well three children of handsome Alkínoös:
Laodámas and Hálios Sea-Lad, and godlike Klytónêos Ship-Fame.

ὦρτο μὲν Ἀκρόνεώς τε καὶ Ὠκύαλος καὶ Ἐλατρεύς,
Ναυτεύς τε Πρυμνεύς τε καὶ Ἀγχίαλος καὶ Ἐρετμεύς,
Ποντεύς τε Πρωρεύς τε, Θόων Ἀναβησίνεώς τε
Ἀμφίαλός θ᾽, υἱὸς Πολυνήου Τεκτονίδαο·
ἂν δὲ καὶ Εὐρύαλος, βροτολοιγῷ ἶσος Ἄρηϊ,        115
Ναυβολίδης, ὃς ἄριστος ἔην εἶδός τε δέμας τε
πάντων Φαιήκων μετ᾽ ἀμύμονα Λαοδάμαντα.
ἂν δ᾽ ἔσταν τρεῖς παῖδες ἀμύμονος Ἀλκινόοιο,
Λαοδάμας θ᾽ Ἅλιός τε καὶ ἀντίθεος Κλυτόνηος.

Yes, the Phaeacians were a seafaring folk, and yes, most of the names in this passage are redende Namen, significant names. But I cannot help regarding Mendelsohn's translation here as grotesque, freakish, and extremely distracting. To my mind, the proper way to indicate the meaning of the names would be in the Introduction, or the Notes and Commentary, or the Glossary of Proper Nouns, not in this outlandish manner.

In addition, the treatment of some names is inconsistent — Εὐρύαλος, for example, appears as both "Eurýalos Broad-Sea" here and in line 140, but simply as "Eurýalos" in line 158.

I'm aware that W.H.D. Rouse and Robert Fitzgerald did something similar.

W.H.D. Rouse:

Young champions were found in plenty: Topship and Quicksea and Paddler, Seaman and Poopman, Beacher and Oarsman, Deepsea and Lookout, Goahead and Upaboard; there was Seagirt the son of Manyclipper Shipwrightson; there was Broadsea, the very spit of bloody Arês himself, and Admiraltidês, the finest man in stature and strength after the admirable Laodamas. And there were three sons of Alcinoös, Laodamas, and deep-sea Halios, and Clytoneos of naval renown.

Robert Fitzgerald:

[A]nd many a young athlete now came forward
with seaside names like Tipmast, Tiderace, Sparwood,
Hullman, Sternman, Beacher and Pullerman,
Bluewater, Shearwater, Runningwake, Boardalee,
Seabelt, son of Grandfleet Shipwrightson;
Seareach stepped up, son of the Launching Master,
rugged as Ares, bane of men: his build
excelled all but the Prince Laódamas;
and Laódamas made entry with his brothers,
Halios and Klytóneus, sons of the king.

I prefer Peter Green's straightforward translation:

Up got Akroneōs, Ōkyalos and Elatreus,
Nauteus and Prymneus, Anchialos and Eretmeus,
Ponteus and Prōreus, Thoōn and Anabēsineōs,
with Amphialos, the son of Polynēos, Tektōn's son;
up, too, Euryalos, peer of man-killing Arēs,
Naubolos’ son, the best in looks and stature—
bar only peerless Laodamas—of all the Phaiakians;
and up got the three sons of matchless Alkinoös:
Laodamas, Halios, and godlike Klytonēos.

See Hans von Kamptz, Homerische Personennamen: Sprachwissenschaftliche und historische Klassifikation (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1982), p. 28.

Related posts:

• No Accounting for Taste
• A Puzzle
• Stopper

Galway Kinnell (1927-2014), The Poems of François Villon. New Edition. Translated with an Introduction and Notes (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1977), pp. 36-37 (Le Testament, lines 159-160) with note on p 227:

Valere pour vray le baudit
Qui fut nommé le Grant a Romme.

This is vouched for by Valerian
Who was called "The Great" in Rome.

Valerian: Valerian Maximus. However, the story isn't from his writing but from Jean de Salisbury's Policraticus. It also appears in Augustine's City of God and the Jouvencel of J. de Bueil.

For Valerian read Valerius. An unfortunate blemish in a fine translation.

Labels: typographical and other errors

C.S. Lewis, letter to his father (March 31, 1928):

In the mean time I spend all my mornings in the Bodleian: and the evenings in trying, for the hundredth time, to get a real working knowledge of the German language, since in my present occupation I find my ignorance of it up against me at every turn. For example, the only history of mediaeval Latin literature is in German. The authoritative edition of an old French poem I shall have to read is in German. And so on. But I am making progress.

The "history of mediaeval Latin literature" is probably Max Manitius, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters (München: Beck, 1911).

William Hazlitt (1778-1830), "On the Pleasure of Hating":

[T]here is a secret affinity, a hankering after, evil in the human mind, and that it takes a perverse, but a fortunate delight in mischief, since it is a never-failing source of satisfaction. Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bittersweet, which never surfeits. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust: hatred alone is immortal. Do we not see this principle at work everywhere? Animals torment and worry one another without mercy: children kill flies for sport: every one reads the accidents and offences in a newspaper as the cream of the jest: a whole town runs to be present at a fire, and the spectator by no means exults to see it extinguished. It is better to have it so, but it diminishes the interest; and our feelings take part with our passions rather than with our understandings. Men assemble in crowds, with eager enthusiasm, to witness a tragedy: but if there were an execution going forward in the next street, as Mr. Burke observes, the theatre would be left empty. A strange cur in a village, an idiot, a crazy woman, are set upon and baited by the whole community. Public nuisances are in the nature of public benefits. How long did the Pope, the Bourbons, and the Inquisition keep the people of England in breath, and supply them with nicknames to vent their spleen upon! Had they done us any harm of late? No: but we have always a quantity of superfluous bile upon the stomach, and we wanted an object to let it out upon. How loth were we to give up our pious belief in ghosts and witches, because we liked to persecute the one, and frighten ourselves to death with the other! It is not the quality so much as the quantity of excitement that we are anxious about: we cannot bear a state of indifference and ennui: the mind seems to abhor a vacuum as much as ever nature was supposed to do. Even when the spirit of the age (that is, the progress of intellectual refinement, warring with our natural infirmities) no longer allows us to carry our vindictive and headstrong humours into effect, we try to revive them in description, and keep up the old bugbears, the phantoms of our terror and our hate, in imagination. We burn Guy Fawkes in effigy, and the hooting and buffeting and maltreating that poor tattered figure of rags and straw makes a festival in every village in England once a year. Protestants and Papists do not now burn one another at the stake: but we subscribe to new editions of Fox's Book of Martyrs; and the secret of the success of the Scotch Novels is much the same — they carry us back to the feuds, the heart-burnings, the havoc, the dismay, the wrongs, and the revenge of a barbarous age and people — to the rooted prejudices and deadly animosities of sects and parties in politics and religion, and of contending chiefs and clans in war and intrigue. We feel the full force of the spirit of hatred with all of them in turn. As we read, we throw aside the trammels of civilization, the flimsy veil of humanity. "Off, you lendings!" The wild beast resumes its sway within us, we feel like hunting animals, and as the hound starts in his sleep and rushes on the chase in fancy, the heart rouses itself in its native lair, and utters a wild cry of joy, at being restored once more to freedom and lawless, unrestrained impulses.

Augustine, Letters 137.1.3 (Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, vol. 44, pp. 99-100; to Volusianus; tr. Peter Brown):

For such is the depth of the Christian Scriptures that, even if I were attempting to study them and nothing else, from boyhood to decrepit old age, with the utmost leisure, the most unwearied zeal, and with talents greater than I possess, I would still be making progress in discovering their treasures.

tanta est enim christianarum profunditas litterarum, ut in eis quotidie proficerem, si eas solas ab ineunte pueritia usque ad decrepitam senectutem maximo otio, summo studio, meliore ingenio conarer addiscere.

I don't see "in discovering their treasures" in the Latin. Brown's translation appears in his Augustine of Hippo: A Biography (1967; rpt. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975), p. 263.

C.S. Lewis, letter to his father (November 22, 1923):

I have got quite recently ONE pupil, tho’ not through Poynton. He is a youth of eighteen who is trying to get a Classical scholarship. I am to coach him in essay writing and English for the essay paper and general papers which these exams always include. I fear we shall win no laurels by him. I questioned him about his classical reading: our dialogue was something like this:—

SELF: ‘Well Sandeman, what Greek authors have you been reading?’
SAND (cheerfully): ‘I never can remember. Try a few names and I’ll see if I can get on to any.’
SELF (a little damped:) ‘Have you read any Euripides?’
SAND: ‘No.’
SELF: ‘Any Sophocles?’
SAND: ‘Oh yes.’
SELF: ‘What plays of his have you read?’
SAND (after a pause): ‘Well—the Alcestis.
’ SELF (apologetically): ‘But isn’t that by Euripides?’
SAND (with the genial surprise of a man who finds £1 where he thought there was a 10/-note): ‘Really. Is it now? By Jove, then I HAVE read some Euripides.’

Frederic Van der Meer (1904-1994), Augustine the Bishop (London: Sheed and Ward, 1961), p. xv:

Yet even the genius is somewhat forbidding, for Augustine the genius is hidden away in eleven great folios of strangely scintillating Latin, a fitting subject for the scholar and especially for those industrious human bees, the philologists.