Laudator Temporis Acti

Simon Leys, The Hall of Uselessness (Collingwood: Black Inc., 2012), p. 206:

The great modern Chinese writer Zhou Zuoren, whose essays are interspersed with a vast range of translations (Greek classics, classical and modern Japanese literature, English literature), developed this idea: a writer can translate various texts in order to give form to things he had in himself but which he could not find other means of expressing. This is why it is appropriate to include these translations in any collection of his own works. The same goes for the quotations and the notes on reading that certain writers accumulate, and that the English sometimes call a commonplace book (see for example that of E.M. Forster, published recently, or Montesquieu's Spicilège). String together all the pages that you have copied out over the course of your readings and, without there being a single line by you, the ensemble may turn out to be the most accurate portrait of your mind and your heart. Such mosaics of quotations resemble pictorial 'collages': all the elements are borrowed, but together they form original pictures.

Hat tip: Daniel Fertig.

"A Sequence in Praise of Wine," in John Addington Symonds, Wine, Women, and Song: Mediaeval Latin Students' Songs. Now First Translated into English Verse, with an Essay (London: Chatto and Windus, 1884), pp. 136-137:

Wine the good and bland, thou blessing
Of the good, the bad's distressing,
Sweet of taste by all confessing,
    Hail, thou world's felicity!
Hail thy hue, life's gloom dispelling;
Hail thy taste, all tastes excelling;
By thy power, in this thy dwelling
    Deign to make us drunk with thee!

Oh, how blest for bounteous uses
Is the birth of pure vine-juices!
Safe's the table which produces
    Wine in goodly quality.
Oh, in colour how auspicious!
Oh, in odour how delicious!
In the mouth how sweet, propitious
    To the tongue enthralled by thee!

Blest the man who first thee planted,
Called thee by thy name enchanted!
He whose cups have ne'er been scanted
    Dreads no danger that may be.
Blest the belly where thou bidest!
Blest the tongue where thou residest!
Blest the mouth through which thou glidest,
    And the lips thrice blest by thee!

Therefore let wine's praise be sounded,
Healths to topers all propounded;
We shall never be confounded,
    Toping for eternity!
Pray we: here be thou still flowing,
Plenty on our board bestowing,
While with jocund voice we're showing
    How we serve thee—Jubilee!

There are many versions of the Latin. Here is one (perhaps the one used by Symonds, who omitted the fourth stanza), as printed in Gaudeamus! Carmina Vagorum Selecta in Usum Laetitiae, ed. R. Peiper (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1877), pp. 17-19 (I've added a comma after the second line):

1. Vinum bonum et suaue,
bonis bonum, prauis praue,
cunctis dulcis sapor, aue
    mundana laetitia!
Aue color uini clari!
aue sapor sine pari;
tua nos inebriari
    digneris potentia!

2. O quam felix creatura,
quam produxit uitis pura!
omnis mensa fit secura
    in tua praesentia.
O quam placens in colore,
o quam fragrans in odore,
o quam sapidum in ore,
    dulcis linguae cingula.

3. Felix homo te plantauit,
qui te uinum nuncupauit;
contra talem qui potauit
    nulla sunt pericula.
Felix uenter quem intrabis,
felix lingua quam rigabis,
felix os quod tu lauabis
    et beata labia!

4. [Aue sospes in modestis,
in gulosis mala pestis,
post amissionem uestis
    sequitur patibulum.
Monachorum grex deuotus,
omnis ordo, mundus totus
bibunt ad aequales potus
    et nunc et in saeculum.]

5. Ergo uinum collaudemus,
potatores exaltemus!
non potantes confundemus
    in aeterna saecula.
Supplicamus: hic abunda!
per te mensa fit fecunda,
et nos cum uoce iucunda
    deducamus gaudia!

As is well known, this is a parody of a sequence to the Blessed Virgin Mary, in Analecta Hymnica Medii Aevi, Vol. LIV (Leipzig: G.R. Reisland, 1915), p. 343 (no. 218):

Verbum bonum et suave
Personemus, illud Ave,
Per quod Christi fit conclave
    Virgo, mater, filia;

Per quod Ave salutata,
Mox concepit fecundata
Virgo, David stirpe nata,
    Inter spinas lilia.

Ave, veri Salomonis
Mater, vellus Gedeonis,
Cuius magi tribus donis
    Laudant puerperium;

Ave, solem genuisti,
Ave, prolem protulisti;
Mundo lapso contulisti
    Vitam et imperium.

Ave, mater verbi summi,
Maris portus, signum dumi,
Aromatum virga fumi,
    Angelorum domina;

Supplicamus, nos emenda,
Emendatos nos commenda
Tuo nato ad habenda
    Sempiterna gaudia.

Here is a translation of the Marian sequence by G[eorge] H[erbert] P[almer] in The Hymner: Containing Translations of the Hymns from the Sarum Breviary together with Sundry Sequences & Processions, 2nd ed. (London: Plainsong & Medieval Music Society, 1905), p. 140:

Sing we 'Ave,' word endearing,
O Mary's welcome, sweet and cheering,
When th' expected hour was nearing
    To the Daughter, Mother, Maid;

At the quick'ning salutation,
David's seed of royal station
Won the Lord of all creation,
    Lily 'mid the thorns display'd.

Ave! with their trine oblation
Sages gave thee salutation,
Gideon's fleece prefiguration,
    Mother of true Solomon;

Ave! Sun resplendent bearing,
Virgin, joy maternal sharing,
For a fallen world preparing
    Life in glory, and a throne.

Ave! Branch of perfume rarest,
Burning Bush, the Word who barest,
Queen of Angels, best and fairest,
    Port for wanderers o'er the sea;

From thy Son, by intercession,
Mercy win for our transgression,
And a title to possession
    Of eternal bliss with thee.

The parody is most noticeable in the first and last stanzas.

Labels: nunc est bibendum

W. Greenwell, ed., The Pontifical of Egbert, Archbishop of York, A.D. 732-766. Now First Printed from a Manuscript of the Tenth Century, in the Imperial Library, Paris = Publications of the Surtees Society, XXVII (Durham: George Andrews, 1853), p. 133:

ORATIONES AD LIBROS BENEDICENDOS.

Oremus.
Descendat, quaesumus Domine, virtus Spiritus Sancti tui super hos libros, qui eos mundando purificet, et bene✠dicat, atque sancti✠ficet, et omnium clementer corda illuminet, et verum intellectum tribuat, sed et illuminata precepta conservare, et implere, secundum tuam voluntatem bonis operibus implendo concedat: qui vivit.

Alia oratio.

Accende et inflamma, suppliciter flagitamus, Domine Deus noster, virtute Spiritus Sancti corda nostra et sensus nostros atque intelligentias nostras ad scrutandos sive intelligendos hos libros, nec non et alios tuae inspirationis gratia conscriptos, ut ea, quae in eis repperrimus, et intelligere veraciter, aliosque docere valeamus. Sed et in omnibus tua sequi, te donante, mandata studeamus: et nos omnesque hos libros dextera potentiae tuae bene✠dicere, magni✠ficare, consecrare, exal✠tare, puri✠ficare, ac conservare, atque omni tempore sanctificare digneris. Quatenus studiose ac devote hos et alios plurimos libros tuae voluntatis jure conscriptos, legendo et intelligendo docendoque multos tibi lucrare, omnesque nobis commissos inmaculatos tuae majestati representare valeamus, ipso auxiliante, cui est honor.

Georges Croegaert (1848-1923), Le Bibliophile

Dear Mike,

Gilbert Bagnani (b. Rome, 1900) was evidently no Rhoman. His native city had been founded by Lomulus and Lemus.

I can imagine Palladas revelling in any levelling of words for 'lust' and 'rust'. In fact, his unchivalrous summing-up of a woman's two excellent seasons, ἐν θαλάμῳ / ἐν θανάτῳ ('in bed and dead') in PA XI, 381, does something similar. He also addressed the thin r/l divide in PA ΧΙ, 323:

Ῥῷ καὶ λάμβδα μόνον κόρακας κολάκων διορίζει·
    λοιπὸν ταὐτὸ κόραξ βωμολόχος τε κόλαξ.
τοὔνεκά μοι, βέλτιστε, τόδε ζῷον πεφύλαξο,
    εἰδὼς καὶ ζώντων τοὺς κόλακας κόρακας.

Alcibiades' lambdacism (Aristophanes' Wasps 44 ff.) must be in the background here, repeated in Plutarch's Life (1,4):

τῇ δὲ φωνῇ καὶ τὴν τραυλότητα συμπρέψαι λέγουσι καὶ τῷ λάλῳ πιθανότητα παρασχεῖν χάριν ἐπιτρέχουσαν. μέμνηται δὲ καὶ Ἀριστοφάνης αὐτοῦ τῆς τραυλότητος ἐν οἷς ἐπισκώπτει Θέωρον·

εἶτ᾽ Ἀλκιβιάδης εἶπε πρός με τραυλίσας·
"ὁλᾷς Θέωλον; τὴν κεφαλὴν κόλακος ἔχει."
ὀρθῶς γε τοῦτ᾽ Ἀλκιβιάδης ἐτραύλισεν.

Best wishes,
Eric Thomson

---

Translation of Palladas by W.R. Paton:

Corakes (crows) and colakes (flatterers) are only distinguished by Rho and Lambda. Therefore a crow and a lick-spittle flatterer are the same thing. So, my good sir, beware of this beast, knowing that flatterers are crows that pick the living too.

Translation of the excerpt from Plutarch's life of Alcibiades by Robin Waterfield:

Aristophanes also mentions this lisp of his, in the passage where he makes fun of Theorus by saying:

A. Then Alcibiades said to me in his lisping voice:
'Look at Theolus in a laven's head! What a thing to blandish!'
B. Yes, Theorus certainly blandishes! Alcibiades and his lisp have got that right!

John Johnstone (1768-1836), "Memoirs," in The Works of Samuel Parr, LL.D. Prebendary of St. Paul's, Curate of Hatton, &c. with Memoirs of his Life and Writings and a Selection from his Correspondence, Vol. I (London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, 1828), pp. 379-380:

Mr. Richard Porson remained at Hatton in the winter, 1790-1, collecting materials for future works, and enriching his mind with the stores of Parr's library, and of his conversation. He rose late, seldom walked out, and was employed in the library till dinner, reading and taking notes from books, but chiefly the latter. His notes were made in a small distinct text, of the most exquisitely neat writing I have ever beheld. He was very silent, and, except to Parr, whom he often consulted, and to whose opinions he seemed to defer, he seldom spoke a word. His manners in a morning, indeed, were rather sullen, and his countenance gloomy. After dinner he began to relax, but was always under restraint with Parr and the ladies.

At night, when he could collect the young men of the family together, and especially if Parr was absent from home, he was in his glory. The charms of his society were then irresistible. Many a midnight hour did I spend with him, listening with delight, while he poured out torrents of various literature—the best sentences of the best writers, and sometimes the ludicrous beyond the gay—pages of Barrow, whole letters of Richardson, whole scenes of Foote, favourite pieces from the periodical press, and, among them, I have heard recited "The Orgies of Bacchus."

His abode in the house became at last so tiresome to Mrs. Parr, that she insulted him in a manner which I shall not record. From this time the visits of Porson were not repeated at Hatton; and though there was no open breach of friendship on his part, there was no continuance of kindness, notwithstanding Dr. Parr's strenuous endeavours to secure his comforts and independence.

John Selby Watson (1804-1884), The Life of Richard Porson, M.A. Professor of Greek in the University of Cambridge from 1792 to 1808 (London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1861), pp. 92-93 (after quoting the above passage from Johnstone's memoirs of Parr):

As Dr. Johnstone does not choose to describe Mrs. Parr's insult, we may suppose that it was of a very gross character. She may indeed have fancied that she had reason for offering such an insult. But there are women who imagine that they may say, without censure, the most disagreeable things to any man, however great or good, of whom they conceive a dislike, or wish to be rid. As they are safe from personal chastisement, they venture to utter all the bitterness that may arise in their minds. Nothing is more disgraceful to the female sex than these cowardly attacks on men, often of great ability and merit, whom they know to be restrained by good sense, and gentlemanly forbearance towards the sex, from retaliation. No man can know, who has not experienced, how much mischief may be produced by the impertinent intrusions of a wife between her husband and his friends. Mrs. Parr was a woman of violent and overbearing temper, presumptuous and inconsiderate, and having little respect or kindness for any human being.

Mr. Maltby believed that Porson's offence was, in the words of Horace, Comminxit lectum potus, and that Mrs. Parr, in consequence, made some allusion in his hearing to the duties of college scouts.*

* Barker's Lit. Anecdotes, vol. ii. p. 14.

E.H. Barker (1788-1839), Literary Anecdotes and Contemporary Reminiscences of Professor Porson and Others, Vol. II (London: J.R. Smith, 1852), p. 14:

Mr. M. thinks that he occasionally used his bed for more than one purpose, and that Mrs. Parr probably intended by her device about the c.e s...s to mark her sense of this awkward occurrence.

Samuel Butler (1835-1902), The Life and Letters of Dr. Samuel Butler, Head-Master of Shrewsbury School 1798-1836, and Afterwards Bishop of Lichfield, Vol. I: Jan. 30, 1774-March 1, 1831 (London: John Murray, 1896), p. 57:

Through the kindness of Professor J.E.B. Mayor, who had the story from the late Rev. W.H. Luard, who had it from Dyce, who had it from E.H. Barker, I have learned that the insult consisted in Mrs. Parr's setting a close-stool for Porson at the dinner-table instead of a chair.

In short, Porson, during his stay with Parr, wet the bed, perhaps after an evening of heavy drinking. In a not very subtle reminder of his failure to control his bladder, Mrs. Parr seated him on a close-stool at table. Insulted, Porson left Parr's house for good.

Some people, I'm told, don't know what a close-stool is. The Oxford English Dictionary definition is euphemistic: "A chamber utensil enclosed in a stool or box." Julie L. Horan, The Porcelain God: A Social History of the Toilet (Secaucus: Carol Pub. Group, 1996), p. 202, is a little more explicit: "Dating from the Renaissance, the close-stool resembled a box with a lid opening to reveal a circular seat. Under the seat, a chamber pot was housed to collect the waste."

John Selby Watson's criticisms of "the female sex" in general and Mrs. Parr in particular are harsh, and we should remember that he later murdered his own wife.

I owe the title of this blog post to Solomon Katz, "Even Classicists Are Odd: Part II," Classical Journal 43.7 (April 1948) 411-415 (at 414):

His appearance made him, as one wit said, "Porsona non grata."

Here is Thomas Kirkby's portrait of Richard Porson, seated, but not in the chair provided by Mrs. Parr:

Tales of the Elders of Ireland. A New Translation of Acallam na Senórach by Ann Dooley and Harry Roe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 107:

Cold winter, a sharp wind, a fierce red stag rises.
No warmth this night on the mountain. The stag is swift to bell.

The stag of Slieve Aughty takes no rest,
Listening to the music of wolves.

Dark Díarmait and I, and Oscar, keen and light,
Heard their music on a freezing night.

Well sleeps the stag in his lair,
Shielded against the very cold night.

Today I am old, I know but few.
On icy mornings I shook my spear.

I thank the King of Heaven above,
That I held a host, though tonight I'm cold.

In line 2, "bell" is "bellow, roar, make a loud noise...spec. of the voice of deer in rutting time" (Oxford English Dictionary).

The same, tr. Gerald Murphy in Early Irish Lyrics: Eighth to Twelfth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1956), p. 155 (I can't guarantee the accuracy of all of this, as I can only see bits of it in Google Books' snippet view):

Winter is cold; the wind has risen; the fierce stark-wild stag arises; not warm tonight is the unbroken mountain, even though the swift stag be belling.

The stag of Slievecarran of the assemblies does not lay his side to the ground; the stag of the head of cold Aughty listens likewise to wolf-music.

I Caoílte, and brown-haired Díarmait, and keen light Oscar, used to listen to wolf-music at the end of a very cold night.

Well, forsooth, sleeps the brown stag pressing his hide to Corran¹s earth as though he were beneath the water of the Tuns at the end of a truly cold night!

Today I am old and aged; few men do I recognize; I used to brandish a pointed spear hardily on a morning of truly cold ice.

I thank the King of Heaven, Son of the Virgin Mary: often used I to still armies, though I be tonight very cold.

The same, tr. Kenneth Jackson in Studies in Early Celtic Nature Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935; rpt. 2011), pp. 17-18:

Cold is the winter, wind has risen,
the vehement wanton stag arises;
not warm to-night is the whole mountain
though the ardent stag is belling.

The stag of Sliabh Cairn of the assemblies
does not lay his side to the ground,
the stag of the crest of cold Echtge
listens not less to the music of the wolf pack.

I, Caoilte, and brown Diarmaid,
and nimble Oscar,
used to hear the music of the wolf pack
at the end of the very cold night.

It is well sleeps the brown stag
with his body close to the sharp rock,
as if he were under Tonn Tuaighe
at the end of the very cold night.

To-day I am an aged old man,
I know but a few folk,
yet I used to brandish a pointed spear fiercely
on a cold icy morning.

I give thanks to the King of Heaven,
to the Son of Mary the Virgin,
I used to bring great silence on a host
though to-night I fare very coldly.

The same, tr. George Sigerson in Bards of the Gael and Gall: Examples of the Poetic Literature of Erinn, Done into English after the Metres and Modes of the Gael (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907), p. 146:

Chill the winter, cold the wind,
Up the stag springs, stark of mind:
Fierce and bare the mountain fells—
But the brave stag boldly bells.

He will not set side to rest
On Sliav Carna's snowy breast;
Echta's stag, also rousing,
Hears wail of wolves carousing.

Cailté I, and Diarmid Donn,
Oft, with Oscar apt to run,
When piercing night was paling,
Heard rousing wolves a-wailing.

Sound may sleep the russet stag,
With his hide hid in the crag;
Him, hidden, nothing aileth
When piercing night prevaileth.

I am aged now and gray,
Few of men I meet this day;
But I hurled the javelin bold
Of a morning, icy cold.

Thanks unto the King of Heaven,
And the Virgin's son be given:
Many men have I made still,
Who this night are very chill.

The same, tr. Standish H. O'Grady in Silva Gadelica (I.-XXXI.) A Collection of Tales in Irish, with Extracts Illustrating Persons and Places (London: Williams and Norgate, 1892), p. 192 (square brackets in original):

Cold the winter is, the wind is risen, the high-couraged unquelled stag is on foot: bitter cold to-night the whole mountain is, yet for all that the ungovernable stag is belling. The deer of Slievecarn of the gatherings commits not his side to the ground; no less than he the stag of frigid Echtge's summit catches the chorus of the wolves. I, Caeilte, with brown Dermot and with keen light-footed Oscar: we too in the nipping night's waning end would listen to the music of the pack. But well the red deer sleeps that with his hide to the bulging rock lies stretched—hidden as though beneath the country's surface—all in the latter end of chilly night. To-day I am an aged ancient, and but a scant few men I know; once on a time though in the cold and ice-bound morning I used to vibrate a sharp javelin hardily. To Heaven's King I offer thanks, to Mary Virgin's Son as well; often and often I imposed silence on [i.e. daunted] a whole host whose plight to-night is very cold [i.e. they are all dead now].

Original, from Irische Texte, edd. W.H. Stokes and E. Windisch, 4. Ser., 1. Heft (Lepizig: S. Hirzel, 1900), p. 100:

Is fuar geimred, atracht gaeth . eirgid dam discir dergbaeth,
ní te anocht in sliab slan . gé beth dam dian ic dordan.
Ní thabair a tháeb re lár . dam tsleibe cairnn na comdál,
ní lugha atchluin céol cúaine . dam chind Echtgi indfuaire.
Missi, ar Cailte, ar is Diarmaid donn . ocus Oscur aithédrom
ro chloisdis re ceol cuaine . dered áidchi adhuaire.
As maith chodlus in dam donn . fuil is a chnes re coronn,
mar do beth fá thuind tuaidhi . deiredh oidche indfuaire.
Aniu isam senóir sen . ni aithnim acht becán fer,
ro chraithinn corrsleig co cruaidh . a maduin oighridh innfuair.
Atlochar do ríhg nime . do Mac Muire inghine
dobeirinn mór sochd ar sluag . ge ber anocht co hadfuar.

Helmold of Bosau, Chronicle of the Slavs 1.47, tr. Francis Joseph Tschan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1935; rpt. Octagon Books, 1966), p. 149 (priest [later bishop] Vicelin among the Nordalbingians in the year 1127):

When they had come to the place to which he had been appointed, Vicelin observed the appearance of the locality and the fields, frightful as a wasted and unproductive heath. It was also a boorish and uncultivated folk, having nothing of religion saving only the name of Christianity; for there existed among them the manifold error of groves and springs and other superstitions. In beginning, then, to live "in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation” and “in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness” Vicelin commended himself the more entirely to the divine protection, [the more] he was destitute of human solace. The Lord, however, gave him grace and favor in the sight of that folk, for as soon as he began to preach the glory of God and the happiness of the life to come and the resurrection of the body, the boorish people was by a great miracle deeply moved at the novelty of the teaching it had not understood, and the darkness of sin was dispelled by the brightness of the illuminating grace of God. In truth, we would not be believed if we were to say how great a multitude of people had recourse in those days to the cure of penance. And the voice of Vicelin's preaching resounded in all the country of the Nordalbingians. He began with pious solicitude to visit the neighboring churches, proffering the people wholesome admonitions, setting right the erring, reconciling the discordant, rooting up, besides, groves and all sacrilegious rites.

The Latin text of this excerpt is in Helmoldi Presbyteri Bozoviensis Chronica Slavorum, ed. Bernhard Schmeidler, 3rd ed. (Hannover: Hahn, 1937) = Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum in Usum Scholarum Separatim Editi, T. 32, p. 93.

Id., 1.84, tr. Tschan pp. 218-220 (Helmold accompanies Gerold, Bishop of Lübeck in the year 1156):

After staying that night and the following day and night with the ruler, we crossed into farther Slavia to be the guests of an influential man, Thessemar, who had invited us. It happened that on our journey we came into a forest, which is the only one in that country, for it all stretches out in a plain. Among very old trees we saw there the sacred oaks which had been consecrated to the god of that land, Prove. There was a courtyard about them and a fence very carefully constructed of wood and having two gates. For, besides the household gods and the idols with which each village abounded, that place was the sanctuary of the whole land for which a flamen and feast days and a variety of sacrificial rites had been appointed. On the second week day the people of the land were wont to assemble there for holding court with the ruler and with the flamen. Entrance to this courtyard was forbidden to all, except only to the priest and to those wishing to make sacrifices, or to those in danger of death, because they were never to be denied asylum. For the Slavs show such reverence for their holy things that they do not allow the neighborhood of a fane to be defiled by blood even in time of war. They admit oaths with the greatest reluctance; for among the Slavs to swear is, as it were, to forswear oneself, because of the avenging wrath of the gods. The Slavs have many forms of idol worship, for they are not all agreed upon the same superstitious customs. Some display in the temples fantastically formed images, as, for example, the idol at Plön, the name of which is Pogada; other deities live in the woods and groves, like Prove, the god of Oldenburg; of these no effigies are fashioned. They also carve out many deities with two, three, or more heads. But they do not deny that there is among the multiform godheads to whom they attribute plains and woods, sorrows and joys, one god in the heavens ruling over the others. They hold that he, the all powerful one, looks only after heavenly matters; that the others, discharging the duties assigned to them in obedience to him, proceeded from his blood; and that one excels another in the measure that he is nearer to this god of gods.

When we came to that wood and place of profanation, the bishop exhorted us to proceed energetically to the destruction of the grove. Leaping from his horse, he himself with his staff broke in pieces the decorated fronts of the gates and, entering the courtyard, we heaped up all the hedging of the enclosure about those sacred trees and made a pyre of the heap of wood by setting fire to it, not, however, without fear that perchance we might be overwhelmed in a tumult of the inhabitants. But we were protected by heaven.

The Latin text of this excerpt is in Schmeidler, pp. 159-160.

Id., tr. Tschan p. 223 (priest Bruno in 1156 or 1157):

For as soon as he came to Oldenburg he entered with great zeal upon God's work and called the Slavic people to the grace of regeneration, cutting down groves and doing away with sacrilegious rites.

The Latin text of this excerpt is in Schmeidler, p. 164.

Labels: arboricide

Niall Rudd, It Seems Like Yesterday (Produced in Aid of the Classical Association Centennial Fund, 2003), p. 19 (on Gilbert Bagnani, Professor at the University of Toronto):

His students were fascinated by his style and learning, and they enjoyed mimicking his accent with its fudged r's. On one occasion, after rejecting all the orthodox explantions for the fall of the Roman Empire, he said, 'It was almost entirely due to glain lust.' For a moment they wondered if this was some sexual deviation they'd never heard of, but in the end realised that the factor in question was grain rust.

William M. Calder III, "Bruère, Richard Treat," in Biographical Dictionary of North American Classicists, ed. Ward W. Briggs, Jr. (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1994), pp. 68-70 (at 69):

He belonged to a species today not just endangered but extinct. He was a gentleman and a scholar.

Aristophanes' Acharnians was performed in 425 B.C., in the sixth year of the Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta. The play's hero, Dicaeopolis, weary of war, negotiates a private peace treaty with Sparta. The chorus, old men from the deme Acharnae, want to stone Dicaeopolis to death for this treasonous act. In preparation for making his defence, Dicaeopolis asks Euripides (lines 393-479) for various stage props from his tragedy Telephus, performed in 438 B.C. In that tragedy, which survives now only in fragments (numbered 696-727), Telephus may have argued in favor of peace between the Greeks and the Trojans, just as Dicaeopolis argues in favor of peace between Athens and Sparta.

Dicaeopolis uses diminutives to denote most of the stage props he wants Euripides to give him:

• A little rag (ῥάκιον, diminutive of ῥάκος, line 415)
• A little cap made of felt (πιλίδιον, diminutive of πῖλος, line 439)
• A little staff or cane (βακτήριον, diminutive of βακτηρία, line 448)
• A little basket (σπυρίδιον, diminutive of σπυρίς, lines 453 and 469)
• A little cup (κοτυλίσκιον, diminutive of κοτύλη, line 459)
• A little jar (χυτρίδιον, diminutive of χυτρίς, line 463)
• A little sponge (σπογγίον, diminutive of σπόγγος, line 463)

S. Douglas Olson, in his commentary on Aristophanes' Acharnians (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 181-182 (on lines 412-413), notes:

For the use of diminutives throughout the begging scene, Petersen 163; Dover on Nu. 92.

I don't have access to "Dover on Nu. 92," i.e. K.J. Dover's commentary on Aristophanes' Clouds (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968). "Petersen 163" is Walter Petersen, Greek Diminutives in -ION: A Study in Semantics (Weimar: R. Wagner Sohn, 1910), p. 163, § 215, who writes:

Closely related to the use of a diminutive because of modesty is the use of one designating an object of which the speaker asks that it shall be given to him. This is already repeatedly mentioned by the Greek grammarians, e.g. in the scholia to Dionysius Thrax AB. 855, ἱππάριόν μοι χάρισαι· μειῶ γὰρ τὸ ζητούμενον ἵνα ἑτοιμότερον πρὸς τὸ δοῦναι ποιήσω τὸν ἔχοντα. Similarly Michael Syngelus ap. Cram. Anecd. 4.273.9, γίνεται δὲ τὰ ὑποκοριστικὰ ... δι' ἀναγκαιότατα [sic], ὡς ἐὰν ὃ αἰτῇ τις σμικρύνῃ, ἵνα μὴ μεγάλην ποιήσῃ τὴν χάριν· ᾧ κέχρηνται οἱ κωμικοί, ὡς ἔχει τὸ παρὰ Μενάνδρῳ λεβήτιον. The motive, then, as understood by the Greek grammarians, was the desire to appear modest in asking.

Here are my translations from the grammarians quoted by Petersen.

First, the scholia to Dionysius Thrax, in Alfred Hilgard, ed., Scholia in Dionysii Thracis Artem Grammaticam (Lepizig: B.G. Teubner, 1901), p. 226, lines 17-19 (cf. also p. 375, lines 3-5, and p. 539, lines 22-24):

"Kindly give me a little horse." For I disparage the thing asked for, to make the one possessing it more ready to give it.

Next, Michael Syngelus (or Syncellus), from the text in J.A. Cramer, ed., Anecdota Graeca, Vol. IV (Oxford, 1837), p. 273, lines 9-11:

Diminutives occur...by necessity, as if someone belittles what he asks for, to make the favor smaller; the comic writers used this, as the "little kettle" in Menander [Dyscolus 472].

By using diminutives, Dicaeopolis lowers the value of the items asked for, so that it might appear less of a sacrifice for Euripides to give them up.

John Earle (1601?–1665), "A Pretender to Learning," from Micro-cosmographie. Editio princeps, 1628. With Additional Characters from the Fifth Edition of 1629; and the Sixth Edition of 1633, ed. Edward Arber (London: [Murray], 1868), pp. 52-54 (no. 31):

Is one that would make others more fooles than himself; for though he know nothing, he would not haue the world know so much. He conceits nothing in Learning but the opinion, which he seekes to purchase without it, though hee might with lesse labour cure his ignorance, then hide it. He is indeed a kind of Scholler-Mountebank, and his Art, our delusion. He is trickt out in all the accoutrements of Learning, and at the first encounter none passes better. Hee is oftner in his study, then at his Booke, and you cannot pleasure him better, then to deprehend him. Yet he heares you not till the third knock, and then comes out very angry, as interrupted. You find him in his Slippers, and a Pen in his eare, in which formality he was asleep. His Table is spred wide with some Classicke Folio, which is as constant to it as the carpet, and hath laid open in the same Page this half yeere. His Candle is alwayes a longer sitter vp then himselfe, and the boast of his Window at Midnight. He walks much alone in the Posture of Meditation, and ha's a Booke still before his face in the fields. His pocket is seldome without a Greeke Testament, or Hebrew Bible, which he opens only in the Church, and that when some stander by lookes ouer. He has his sentences for Company, some scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, which are good vpon all occasions. If he read any thing in the morning, it comes vp all at dinner: and as long as that lasts, the discourse is his. Hee is a great Plagiarie of Tauerne-wit: and comes to Sermons onely that he may talke of Austin. His Parcels are the meere scrapings from Company, yet he complains at parting what time he has lost. He is wondrously capricious to seeme a iudgement, and listens with a sowre attention to what hee vnderstands not. Hee talkes much of Scaliger and Causabone, and the Iesuites, and prefers some vnheard-of Dutch name before them all. He has verses to bring in vpon these and these hints, and it shall goe hard but he will wind in his opportunity. Hee is criticall in a language hee cannot conster, and speaks seldome vnder Arminius in Diuinity. His businesse and retirement and caller away is his Study, and he protests no delight to it comparable. Hee is a great Nomen-clator of Authors, which hee has read in generall in the Catalogue, and in particular in the Title, and goes seldome so farre as the Dedication. Hee neuer talkes of any thing but learning, and learnes all from talking. Three incounters with the same men pumpe him, and then hee onely puts in, or grauely sayes nothing. He ha's taken paines to be an Asse, though not to be a Scholler, and is at length discouered and laught at.

J.-J. Grandville, (1803-1847), Les savants
envoyèrent un académicien armé de ses ouvrages

Theognis 351-354 (tr. M.L. West):

O wretched Poverty, why won't you up and seek
    another man? Don't cling, I love you not,
so go away, call at another house. Don't stay
    to share this miserable life with me.

Ἆ δειλὴ πενίη, τί μένεις προλιποῦσα παρ' ἄλλον
    ἄνδρ' ἰέναι; μὴ ὦν δὴν οὐκ ἐθέλοντα φίλει·
ἀλλ' ἴθι καὶ δόμον ἄλλον ἐποίχεο, μηδὲ μεθ' ἡμέων
    αἰεὶ δυστήνου τοῦδε βίου μέτεχε.

Adriaen van de Venne (1580-1662),
't zijn ellendige benen die Armoede moeten dragen
(It is miserable legs that must bear poverty)

Solon, fragment 26 (my translation):

But now dear to me are the works of the Cyprus-born goddess and Dionysus
    and the Muses, which bring gladness to men.

ἔργα δὲ Κυπρογενοῦς νῦν μοι φίλα καὶ Διονύσου
    καὶ Μουσέων, ἃ τίθησ' ἀνδράσιν εὐφροσύνας.

Thanks to Ian Jackson for another example of hearth-side dining, this one rather different in tone—Xenophanes, fragment 22, tr. Kathleen Freeman in Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1983), p. 25:

One should hold such converse by the fire-side in the winter season, lying on a soft couch, well-fed, drinking sweet wine, nibbling peas: 'Who are you among men, and where from? How old are you, my good friend? What age were you when the Mede came?'

πὰρ πυρὶ χρὴ τοιαῦτα λέγειν χειμῶνος ἐν ὥρῃ
ἐν κλίνῃ μαλακῇ κατακείμενον, ἔμπλεον ὄντα,
πίνοντα γλυκὺν οἶνον, ἐπιτρώγοντ᾽ ἐρεβίνθους·
'τίς πόθεν εἶς ἀνδρῶν, πόσα τοι ἔτἐ ἐστί, φέριστε;
πηλίκος ἦσθ᾽ ὅθ᾽ ὁ Μῆδος ἀφίκετο;'

J.H. Lesher, Xenophanes of Colophon, Fragments: A Text and Translation with a Commentary (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992; rpt. 2001), p. 72 (on line 4):

πόθεν (pothen): D-K: 'von wem bist du,' Heitsch: 'von wem stammst du ('from whom...'); as Heitsch explains 'pothen is not the place, but parents and family' (143); cf. Odyssey 17.373 and 19.162: εἰπὲ τεὸν γένος ὁππόθεν ἐσσί.

Related posts:

• Cold Outside, Cozy Inside
• Winter Pursuits
• Invitation
• The Science of Happiness

Austin Dobson (1840-1921), "The Dance of Death," in his Collected Poems, Vol. I (New York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1895), pp. 265-267:

                  (AFTER HOLBEIN.)

              "Contra vim MORTIS
              Non est medicamen in hortis."

He is the despots' Despot. All must bide,
Later or soon, the message of his might;
Princes and potentates their heads must hide,
Touched by the awful sigil of his right;
Beside the Kaiser he at eve doth wait
And pours a potion in his cup of state;
The stately Queen his bidding must obey;
No keen-eyed Cardinal shall him affray;
And to the Dame that wantoneth he saith—
"Let be, Sweet-heart, to junket and to play."
There is no King more terrible than Death.

The lusty Lord, rejoicing in his pride,
He draweth down; before the armèd Knight
With jingling bridle-rein he still doth ride;
He crosseth the strong Captain in the fight;
The Burgher grave he beckons from debate;
He hales the Abbot by his shaven pate,
Nor for the Abbess' wailing will delay;
No bawling Mendicant shall say him nay;
E'en to the pyx the Priest he followeth,
Nor can the Leech his chilling finger stay..
There is no King more terrible than Death.

All things must bow to him. And woe betide
The Wine-bibber,—the Roisterer by night;
Him the feast-master, many bouts defied,
Him 'twixt the pledging and the cup shall smite;
Woe to the Lender at usurious rate,
The hard Rich Man, the hireling Advocate;
Woe to the Judge that selleth Law for pay;
Woe to the Thief that like a beast of prey
With creeping tread the traveller harryeth:—
These, in their sin, the sudden sword shall slay..
There is no King more terrible than Death.

He hath no pity,—nor will be denied.
When the low hearth is garnishèd and bright,
Grimly he flingeth the dim portal wide,
And steals the Infant in the Mother's sight;
He hath no pity for the scorned of fate:—
He spares not Lazarus lying at the gate,
Nay, nor the Blind that stumbleth as he may;
Nay, the tired Ploughman,—at the sinking ray,—
In the last furrow,—feels an icy breath,
And knows a hand hath turned the team astray..
There is no King more terrible than Death.

He hath no pity. For the new-made Bride,
Blithe with the promise of her life's delight,
That wanders gladly by her Husband's side,
He with the clatter of his drum doth fright;
He scares the Virgin at the convent grate;
The Maid half-won, the Lover passionate;
He hath no grace for weakness and decay:
The tender Wife, the Widow bent and gray,
The feeble Sire whose footstep faltereth,—
All these he leadeth by the lonely way..
There is no King more terrible than Death.

                      ENVOY.
Youth, for whose ear and monishing of late,
I sang of Prodigals and lost estate,
Have thou thy joy of living and be gay;
But know not less that there must come a day,—
Aye, and perchance e'en now it hasteneth,—
When thine own heart shall speak to thee and say,—
There is no King more terrible than Death.

From Hans Holbein, Totentanz
("the clatter of his drum")

Valerius Maximus 4.3.5 (tr. Henry John Walker):

Manius Curius was the most rigid model of Roman frugality and the most perfect example of courage. When the Samnite envoys were brought in to see him, he was sitting on a rustic bench beside the fireplace and taking his dinner from a wooden bowl; you can imagine the kind of meal it was from its presentation. He thought nothing of the wealth of the Samnites, but they were amazed at his poverty. They had brought him a huge amount of gold presented by their state, and speaking kindly they invited him to accept it, but he burst out laughing and said at once, "You have been sent on a pointless, not to mention stupid, mission; tell the Samnites that Manius Curius would rather rule over rich men than become a rich man himself; take away that expensive gift, which was invented to do mischief to men, and remember that I cannot be defeated in battle or corrupted by money."

М’. autem Curius, exactissima norma Romanae frugalitatis idemque fortitudinis perfectissimum specimen, Samnitium legatis agresti se in scamno adsidentem foco eque ligneo catillo cenantem—quales epulas apparatus indicio est—spectandum praebuìt. ille enim Samnitium divitias contempsit, Samnites eius paupertatem mirati sunt. nam cum ad eum magnum pondus auri publice missum attulissent, benignis verbis invitatus ut eo uti vellet, vultum risu solvit et protinus 'supervacuae', inquit 'ne dicam ineptae legationis ministri, narrate Samnitibus M'. Curium malle locupletibus imperare quam ipsum fieri locupletem, atque istud ut pretiosum, ita malo hominum excogitatum munus refertote, et mementote me nec acie vinci nec pecunia corrumpi posse'.

Pliny the Elder, Natural History 19.26.87 (tr. H. Rackham):

You might be sure that Manius Curius was not a native of Delphi, the general who is recorded in our annals to have been found by the enemy's envoys roasting a turnip at the fire, when they came bringing the gold which he was going indignantly to refuse.

scires non ibi genitum M'. Curium imperatorem, quem hospitum legatis aurum repudiaturo adferentibus rapum torrentem in foco inventum annales nostri prodidere.

Seneca, On Providence 3.6 (tr. John W. Basore):

Is Fabricius unfortunate because, whenever he has leisure from affairs of state, he tills his fields? because he wages war not less on riches than on Pyrrhus? because the roots and herbs on which he dines beside his hearth are those that he himself, an old man and honoured by a triumph, grubbed up in cleaning off his land? Tell me, then, would he be happier if he loaded his belly with fish from a distant shore and with birds from foreign parts? if he aroused the sluggishness of his loathing stomach with shell-fish from the eastern and the western sea? if he had game of the first order, which had been captured at the cost of many a hunter's life, served with fruit piled high around?

infelix est Fabricius, quod rus suum, quantum a re publica vacavit, fodit? quod bellum tam cum Pyrrho quam cum divitiis gerit? quod ad focum cenat illas ipsas radices et herbas quas in repurgando agro triumphalis senex vulsit? quid ergo? felicior esset, si in ventrem suum longinqui litoris pisces et peregrina aucupia congereret, si conchylis superi atque inferi maris pigritiam stomachi nausiantis erigeret, si ingenti pomorum strue cingeret primae formae feras, captas multa caede venantium?

Seneca, To Helvia on Consolation 10.7-8 (tr. John W. Basore):

[7] Our ancestors, of course, were unhappy—they whose virtue even to this day props up our vices, who by their own hands provided themselves with food, whose couch was the earth, whose ceilings did not yet glitter with gold, whose temples were not yet shining with precious stones. And so in those days they would solemnly take oath by gods of clay, and those who had invoked them would go back to the enemy, preferring to die rather than break faith. [8] And our dictator, he who, while he gave audience to the envoys of the Samnites, was busy at his hearth, cooking with his own hand the cheapest sort of food, with that hand that had often smitten the enemy before and had placed a laurel wreath upon the lap of Capitoline Jove—this man, of course, was living less happily than did Apicius within our own memory, who in this very city, which at one time the philosophers were ordered to leave, as being 'corruptors of youth,' as a professor of the science of the cook-shop defiled the age with his teaching.

[7] scilicet maiores nostri, quorum virtus etiamnunc vitia nostra sustentat, infelices erant, qui sibi manu sua parabant cibum, quibus terra cubile erat, quorum tecta nondum auro fulgebant, quorum templa nondum gemmis nitebant; itaque tunc per fictiles deos religiose iurabatur: qui illos invocaverant, ad hostem morituri, ne fallerent, redibant. [8] scilicet minus beate vivebat dictator noster qui Samnitium legatos audiit cum vilissimum cibum in foco ipse manu sua versaret, illa qua iam saepe hostem percusserat laureamque in Capitolini lovis gremio reposuerat, quam Apicius nostra memoria vixit, qui, in ea urbe, ex qua aliquando philosophi velut corruptores iuventutis abire iussi sunt, scientiam popinae professus, disciplina sua saeculum infecit.

Juvenal 11.77-81 (tr. Susanna Morton Braund):

This would already have been a luxurious feast long ago, even for our Senate. With his own hands Curius used to cook on his modest hearth the humble vegetables he'd picked in his own garden. These days, a filthy ditchdigger in his huge shackles would turn up his nose at such vegetables, all the while reminiscing about the taste of tripe in the steaming diner.

haec olim nostri iam luxuriosa senatus
cena fuit. Curius parvo quae legerat horto
ipse focis brevibus ponebat holuscula, quae nunc
squalidus in magna fastidit conpede fossor,
qui meminit calidae sapiat quid volva popinae.

Plutarch, Life of Cato the Elder 2.102 (tr. Bernadotte Perrin):

[1] Near his fields was the cottage which had once belonged to Manius Curius, a hero of three triumphs. To this he would often go, and the sight of the small farm and the mean dwelling led him to think of their former owner, who, though he had become the greatest of the Romans, had subdued the most warlike nations, and driven Pyrrhus out of Italy, nevertheless tilled this little patch of ground with his own hands and occupied this cottage, after three triumphs. [2] Here it was that the ambassadors of the Samnites once found him seated at his hearth cooking turnips, and offered him much gold; but he dismissed them, saying that a man whom such a meal satisfied had no need of gold, and for his part he thought that a more honourable thing than the possession of gold was the conquest of its possessors. Cato would go away with his mind full of these things, and on viewing again his own house and lands and servants and mode of life, would increase the labours of his hands and lop off his extravagancies.

[1] Ἦν δὲ πλησίον αὐτοῦ τῶν ἀγρῶν ἡ γενομένη Μανίου Κουρίου τοῦ τρὶς θριαμβεύσαντος ἔπαυλις. ἐπὶ ταύτην συνεχῶς βαδίζων καὶ θεώμενος τοῦ τε χωρίου τὴν μικρότητα καὶ τῆς οἰκήσεως τὸ λιτόν, ἔννοιαν ἐλάμβανε τοῦ ἀνδρὸς ὅτι Ῥωμαίων μέγιστος γενόμενος καὶ τὰ μαχιμώτατα τῶν ἐθνῶν ὑπαγαγόμενος καὶ Πύρρον ἐξελάσας Ἰταλίας, τοῦτο τὸ χωρίδιον αὐτὸς ἔσκαπτε καὶ ταύτην τὴν ἔπαυλιν ᾤκει μετὰ τρεῖς θριάμβους. [2] ἐνταῦθα πρὸς ἐσχάρᾳ καθήμενον αὐτὸν ἕψοντα γογγυλίδας εὑρόντες οἱ Σαυνιτῶν πρέσβεις ἐδίδοσαν πολὺ χρυσίον, ὁ δ' ἀπέπεμψε φήσας οὐδὲν χρυσίου δεῖν ᾧ δεῖπνον ἀρκεῖ τοιοῦτον, αὐτῷ μέντοι τοῦ χρυσίον ἔχειν κάλλιον εἶναι τὸ νικᾶν τοὺς ἔχοντας. ταῦθ' ὁ Κάτων ἐνθυμούμενος ἀπῄει, καὶ τὸν αὑτοῦ πάλιν οἶκον ἐφορῶν καὶ χωρία καὶ θεράποντας καὶ δίαιταν, ἐπέτεινε τὴν αὐτουργίαν καὶ περιέκοπτε τὴν πολυτέλειαν.

[Sextus Aurelius Victor], On Famous Men 33.7 (on M'. Curius Dentatus; my translation):

To the Samnite ambassadors, who offered him gold when he was roasting turnips on the hearth, he said, "I prefer to eat these in my earthenware dishes and to rule over those who have gold."

legatis Samnitium aurum offerentibus cum ipse in foco rapas torreret, malo, inquit, haec in fictilibus meis esse et aurum habentibus imperare.

Jacopo Amigoni (1682–1752),
Curius Dentatus and the Turnips

Athenaeus 12.512 c-d = Heracleides of Pontus, fragment 55 Wehrli (tr. S. Douglas Olson):

So too the most thoughtful individuals, he says, who have the best reputation for wisdom, regard pleasure as the greatest good. Thus Simonides (PMG 584) says the following:

For without pleasure, what mortal
    lifestyle or what tyranny
    is desirable?
Without this, not even the life of the gods is worth having.

Pindar (fr. 126), offering advice to Hieron, the ruler of Syracuse, says:

Do not let not let pleasure fade from your lifestyle; a pleasant life
is far and away the best possession a man can have.

Homer as well claims [Odyssey 9.5-8] that joy and having a good time is the height of happiness, when feasters are listening to a bard, and full tables are set beside them.

καὶ οἱ φρονιμώτατοι δέ, φησίν, καὶ μεγίστην δόξαν ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ ἔχοντες μέγιστον ἀγαθὸν τὴν ἡδονὴν εἶναι νομίζουσιν, Σιμωνίδης μὲν οὑτωσὶ λέγων·

τίς γὰρ ἁδονᾶς ἄτερ θνα-
    τῶν βίος ποθεινὸς ἢ ποί-
    α τυραννίς; |
τᾶσδ᾽ ἄτερ οὐδὲ θεῶν ζηλωτὸς αἰών.

Πίνδαρος παραινῶν Ἱέρωνι τῷ Συρακοσίων ἄρχοντι·

μηδ᾽ ἀμαύρου (φησί) τέρψιν ἐν βίῳ· πολύ τοι
φέριστον ἀνδρὶ τερπνὸς αἰών.

καὶ Ὅμηρος δὲ τὴν εὐφροσύνην καὶ τὸ εὐφραίνεσθαι τέλος φησὶν εἶναι χαριέστερον, ὅταν δαιτυμόνες μὲν ἀοιδοῦ ἀκουάζωνται, παρὰ δὲ πλήθωσι τράπεζαι.

Su Tung-p'o (1037-1101), "On the Birth of His Son," tr. Arthur Waley in A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1919), p. 151:

Families, when a child is born
Want it to be intelligent.
I, through intelligence,
Having wrecked my whole life,
Only hope the baby will prove
Ignorant and stupid.
Then he will crown a tranquil life
By becoming a Cabinet Minister.

The same, tr. Kenneth Rexroth in One Hundred Poems from the Chinese (New York: New Directions, 1971), p. 84:

Everybody wants an intelligent son.
My intelligence only got me into difficulties.
I want only a brave and simple boy,
Who, without trouble or resistance,
Will rise to the highest offices.

---

From Andy Lowry:

Just wanted to share an echo in Sylvia Plath's little radio play, "Three Women." A mother meditates on her son:

I do not will him to be exceptional.
It is the exception that interests the devil.
It is the exception that climbs the sorrowful hill
Or sits in the desert and hurts his mother's heart.

Hello Michael Gilleland

Read your 2 posts on the pros and cons of burning papyri for the scent.

I worked extensively with papyrus plants in Uganda in the 70's and did a great number of nutrient analyses on all parts of the plant, for which the plant had to be ground up. The scent was distinct and real! My lab reeked of it for months. It is not as noticeable in the upper parts of the stem, flower or roots, but it increases dramatically in the base of the stem and the rhizome (the sprout from which the stems grow).

Also in Ethiopia found pieces of the dry stem in markets at herb kiosks where rough plant material is mixed and sold to be burned in large incense burners in the orthodox services.

Pliny called it the "aromatic herb" for a reason; and Prof. Naphtali Lewis was right, there is a natural incense compound(s) in the plant and thus in the paper.

The older papyrus paper dealt with by Grenfell and Hunt had long ago lost its essence as the paper they dealt with had dried in the desert air over centuries.

Sometimes I'm sure a resined or shellaced or tarred scroll would give off a strong scent of pine, acacia gum or bitumen, but when dealing with fresh material or scrolls tightly sealed the natural scent of papyrus is distinctly there.

Appreciated the translation of Schow and the additional comment by Eric Thomson.

Best Regards,

John Gaudet

(aka "BwanaPapyrus" on Twitter.com, also see my webpage www.fieldofreeds.com)

---

Related posts:

• The Smell of Burning Papyrus
• More on the Smell of Burning Papyrus

Owen Felltham (1602?–1668), Resolves: Divine, Moral, Political, 8th ed. (London: Printed for Peter Dring, 1661), p. 183 (II.IV: Of Truth and Lying):

There is a generation of men, whose unweighed custome makes them clack out any thing their heedlesse fancy springes; That are so habited in falshood that they can out-lye an Almanack, or, which is more, a Chancery Bill; and though they ought to have good memories, yet they lye so often, that they do at last, not remember that they lye at all. That besides creating whole scenes of their own, they cannot relate any thing cleer, and candidly: but eyther they must augment, or diminish.

Id., p. 184:

I could sooner pardon some Crimes that are capitall, then this Wild-fire in the tongue; that whipp's, and scorches wheresoever it lights. It shows so much Sulphur in the mind of the Relator, that you will easily conclude, It is the breath of Hell....Speech is the Commerce of the World, and Words are the Cement of Society. What have we to rest upon in this world, but the professions and Declarations that men seriously and solemnly offer? When any of these fail, a Ligament of the World is broke: and whatever this upheld as a foundation, falls....But for him whose weaknesse hath abandon'd him into a Lyar; I look upon him as the dreggs of mankind. A Proteus in conversation, vizarded and in disguise: As a thing that hath bankrupted himself in Humanity, that is to be contemned, and as a counterfeit to be nayl'd upon a post that he may deceive no more.