Month: August 2013

  • Demosthenes & Lysias

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    I had registered for a course reading Virgil’s Aeneid, and we were given some early homework, hence the previous two posts. I was pretty pleased with how straightforward Virgil’s Latin was, at least the bits I tackled. I found the commentary largely superfluous and occasionally even condescending, plus the subject matter was entertaining. Sadly, a scheduling conflict has barred me from Virgil, and so I’ve replaced it with reading selected speeches of two Greek orators, Demosthenes and Lysias. Oh well, I need more practice in Greek anyway. Both Lysias and Demosthenes were Athenian statesmen. Lysias was a little earlier than Demosthenes; he was active in the 5th century and early 4th, Demosthenes in the 4th. Their lives had an overlap of only 4 years. The speeches of Lysias will almost surely focus on the Peloponnesian War with Sparta, which was the major ongoing issue during his life. He would live to see Athens defeated by the Spartans, who dismantled democracy in Athens and installed an oligarchal tyranny in its place. Lysias lived during the waning years of Athens’ golden age; his father’s generation had united the Greek cities, fought off the Persian Empire, and had made Athens the center of the Greek world. Demosthenes, on the other hand, never saw that. He grew up in an Athens well past the peak of its power, struggling to regain its supremacy and unite the Greek cities against the growing threat of by Philip II of Macedon, who would ultimately conquer the entire peninsula. His adult years were almost three generations removed from the height of Athens’ golden age; for him it would have been a nearly mythical period of a glorious and storied past.

    Demosthenes
    Lysias

  • Virgil’s Aeneid Book VI, 156-182

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    It is Misenus who has died, killed by the sea-god Triton for his boast of superior skill on the trumpet.

    Aeneas, with a sad face, lowered his eyes,
    he walked on, leaving the cave, and turns over unseen
    outcomes in his mind by himself. To him loyal Achates
    comes, his companion, and he plants his steps with equal anxieties.
    Between them they were stringing together many things in varied conversation,
    of which ally as lifeless, of what body to be buried, had the prophetess
    spoken. And they, as they came to the dry shore,
    they saw Misenus, destroyed by undeserved death,
    Misenus of Aeolus, compared to whom there was no other more superior
    to stir up men with brass instrument, to ignite the field of Mars with song.
    Here was a companion of mighty Hector, around Hector
    he entered battles, conspicuous both with his trumpet and his spear.
    And after the victor Achilles despoiled that one of life,
    to Aeneas of Dardanus the bravest hero
    added himself as an ally, he followed no lesser.
    But then, by chance, when he with hollow conch fills the sea with sound,
    maddened, he summons the gods to a challenge of song,
    jealous Triton accepted, if it is judged credible,
    and drowned the mortal between rocks and foaming waves.
    And so everyone around raised a great clamour,
    especially pious Aeneas. Then the commands of the Sibyll,
    with scarce delay, they carry them out, quickly, weeping, and the altar of the tomb
    they compete to build up with logs and bear it up to the sky.
    They go to an ancient forest, high shelters of wild beasts;
    pine trees fall headlong; the oak tree groans, struck with axes;
    and the ash-wood beams with wedges and the easily-split oak
    is cleaved; they roll giant ash trees down the mountains.


  • Virgil’s Aeneid Book VI, 1-41

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    The Trojans land at Cumae, the site of a temple of Apollo and the residence of the Sibyl, Apollo’s prophetess. They admire the strange stories carved on its doors by Daedalus, founder of the temple. The Sibyl comes to meet them.

    Thus he speaks tearfully, and he flings the reins to the fleet,
    and he finally glides up to the Euboean shores of Cumae.
    They turn the prows to the sea; then with a gripping tooth
    the anchor held the ships, and the curved sterns
    fringe the shores. A blazing band of young men glitters out
    against the Western shore; one part seeks seeds of flame
    hidden in veins of flint; another plunders the forests,
    the thick lairs of wild beasts, they point out a discovered stream.
    But pious Aeneas seeks the citadels, over which high Apollo
    presides, and also the separate places of the dreadful Sibyll, set apart,
    an awesome cavern, into whom a great mind and soul
    the Delian prophet does breathe and reveals things yet to be.
    Now they approach the groves of Trivia and her golden roofs.

    Daedalus, so the story goes, fleeing the Minoan kingdoms,
    on swift wings dared entrust himself to the sky,
    by unaccustomed path he sailed away toward the Bears, the cold constellations,
    and at long last he stopped, weightless above the Chalcidean citadel.
    Restored first to these lands, he dedicated to you, Phoebus,
    his oars of wings, and he set up awesome temples.
    On the doors, the death of Androgeos; then the sons of Cecrops,
    ordered to pay a penalty—woe!—seven bodies
    each year of native sons; each stands by lots drawn from an urn.
    Facing that, risen from the sea, the land of Cnossus corresponds:
    and here, the brutal love of the bull, Pasiphae laid
    secretly beneath, and the mixed descendant, the two-shaped offspring,
    the Minotaur is also here, monuments of the abominable of Venus;
    and here that toil of the house and the insolulable wandering;
    but he also pitied the great love of the princess,
    and Daedalus himself solved the tricks and winding ways of the lair,
    by guiding a sightless trail with thread. And you as well, o Icarus,
    if grief had permitted it, you would have had a great piece in such labour.
    Twice he had tried to depict your fall in gold,
    twice the father’s hand had fallen. They would be reading everything
    straight through with their eyes, if Achates, already sent ahead,
    had not arrived, and also one priestess of Phoebus and Trivia,
    Deiphobe of Glaucus, who said these things to the king:
    ‘This occasion does not permit such spectacles for their own sake.
    Would it not be now better to sacrifice seven bullocks
    from the unyoked flock, and the same number of older, chosen according to custom?’
    And having addressed Aeneas with such (nor do his men delay
    her sacred commands), the priestess summons the Trojans to the high temple.