Minerva Volume 1 Issue 2: War(fair?)

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WITH ASSISTANCE FROM ZOE BOLAND

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Foreword and Acknowledgements What is the face of war? That is the question we attempted to ask with the title of our second issue, War(fair?). The modern European might think of the shocking images of the war in Syria on TV, for example. But war is not a new phenomenon – it was just as much (or even more) a part of life in the ancient world.

The contributions in this volume illuminate what “war” can mean both now and in older times: dying before one’s time, grief, but also ever-lasting fame. Families and friends can be at strife; even a single person can be divided against himself. War is not only fighting and bloodshed: it is also those left behind, waiting for their loved ones to return; and it is warfare in the service of love. From early Greek poets like Archilochus and Simonides to Italo Calvino in the 20 th century, the form of war is ever changing and yet alike.

We would like to thank all the people who made publishing this second issue possible. Joana Blanquer, Maria Dimitropoulou, Elizabeth Foley, Susanna Pilny and João Sita for their invaluable help with translating foreign languages; Prof. Graham Shipley and the 2018 Classical Association Conference committee for allowing us to present our work to a larger audience. A special thanks goes to our assistant editors Caolán Mac an Aircinn, Harley Cubberley, Alastair Daly, Charlie Kerrigan and Mnemosyne Rice.

Edited by Alexandra Madeła with assistance from Zoe Boland Cover design by Sana Sanai

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Table of Contents Foreword and Acknowledgements................................................................................... 2 Simonides 47 (Arabella Currie) ........................................................................................ 4 Early Greek Poets on War (James Lloyd) ...................................................................... 6 Martial, Epigram 1.10 (Michael Fontaine) .................................................................... 8 Sappho, fr. 1 Voigt / Lobel-Page (Martine Cuypers) ................................................. 10 Ovid, Heroides 1: 1-4; 47-58; 109-116 (Emma Hilliard) ........................................... 14 Herodotus, Histories 1.87.2-4 (Valerio Caldesi Valeri) .......................................... 16 Tacitus, Histories 2.70 (Paul Hay) ................................................................................. 18 Solon, Elegy 4 (David Noria) ........................................................................................... 20 Lucan, Bellum Civile, 4.168-82 (Hannah-Marie Chidwick) ................................... 22 Italo Calvino, Il visconte dimezzato (Ambra Marzocchi) ....................................... 26 Temporary Like Achilles #2 (Thomas Palaima)........................................................ 30 Contributors .......................................................................................................................... 34

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Simonides 47 (Arabella Currie) (with D. L. Page1)

Τῶνδέ ποτὲ στέρνοισι τανυγλώχινας ὀιστοὺς λοῦσεν φοινίσσᾳ θοῦρος Ἄρης ψακάδι. ἀντὶ δ’ ἀκοντοδόκων ἀνδρῶν μνημεῖα θανόντων ἄψυχ’ ἐμψύχων ἅδε κέκευθε κόνις.

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D. L. Page, Further Greek Epigrams (Cambridge, 1981), 272: “And now the author has

inserted what he thought a pearl of great price, the phrase ἄψυχ’ ἐμψύχων. In another context this might have done very well, but here the closeness of θανόντων to ἐμψύχων and the absence of anything to explain what is meant by ‘reminders of the dead, the lifeless of the living’, substitutes chaos for clarity and makes a heavy and graceless phrase.”

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Early Greek Poets on War (James Lloyd)

Simonides PMG 531 τῶν ἐν Θερμοπύλαις θανόντων εὐκλεὴς μὲν ἁ τύχα, καλὸς δ᾿ ὁ πότμος, βωμὸς δ᾿ ὁ τάφος, πρὸ γόων δὲ μνᾶστις, ὁ δ᾿ οἶκτος ἔπαινος· ἐντάφιον δὲ τοιοῦτον εὐρὼς οὔθ᾿ ὁ πανδαμάτωρ ἀμαυρώσει χρόνος. ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν ὅδε σηκὸς οἰκέταν εὐδοξίαν Ἑλλάδος εἵλετο· μαρτυρεῖ δὲ καὶ Λεωνίδας, Σπάρτας βασιλεύς, ἀρετᾶς μέγαν λελοιπὼς κόσμον ἀέναόν τε κλέος.

Tyrtaeus, fr.11 1-6 & Archilochus fr.5 ἀλλ᾿, Ἡρακλῆος γὰρ ἀνικήτου γένος ἐστέ, θαρσεῖτ᾿·—οὔπω Ζεὺς αὐχένα λοξὸν ἔχει— μηδ᾿ ἀνδρῶν πληθὺν δειμαίνετε, μηδὲ φοβεῖσθε, ἰθὺς δ᾿ ἐς προμάχους ἀσπίδ᾿ ἀνὴρ ἐχέτω, ἐχθρὴν μὲν ψυχὴν θέμενος, θανάτου δὲ μελαίνας κῆρας <ὁμῶς> αὐγαῖς ἠελίοιο φίλας. ἀσπίδι μὲν Σαΐων τις ἀγάλλεται, ἣν παρὰ θάμνῳ, ἔντος ἀμώμητον, κάλλιπον οὐκ ἐθέλων· αὐτὸν δ᾿ ἐξεσάωσα. τί μοι μέλει ἀσπὶς ἐκείνη; ἐρρέτω· ἐξαῦτις κτήσομαι οὐ κακίω.

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Of those who died at Thermopylae (inspired by D. A. Campbell2) A famous act and a noble destiny.

An elevated tomb. For weeping, Remembrance; for pity, praise.

This funeral-gift will not be Diminished by mould or all-taming time, For this precinct of good men has claimed, As its resident, the Honour of Hellas.

Leonidas bears witness to this, King of Sparta. He has left behind A great ornament of valour And never-ceasing glory.

What (not) to do with your Shield (inspired by D.E. Gerber3) Lo, you are from the race of unconquered Herakles, Be bold – Zeus does not look away – Do not fear these throngs of men, do not flee!

May a man hold his shield straight to the front-ranks And his hated soul to account, loving the blackness Of death as much as he does the rays of the sun!

Some Saian exalts in my shield… it was by a bush.

Not that I wanted to drop it, was pretty good.

Tho’ I did save myself…

Heck, why’m I fretting about this shield?

Screw it, I’ll go’n’grab another one that ain’t any worse!

D. A. Campbell, Greek Lyric, Volume III: Stesichorus, Ibycus, Simonides, and Others (Cambridge, MA; London, 1991), 425.

3 D. E. Gerber, Greek Elegiac Poetry. From the Seventh to the Fifth Centuries BC (Cambridge, MA; London, 1999), 55. D. E. Gerber, Greek Iambic Poetry. From the Seventh to the Fifth Centuries BC (Cambridge, MA; London, 1999), 81-83.

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Martial, Epigram 1.10 (Michael Fontaine)

petit Gemellus nuptias Maronillae et cupit et instat et precatur et donat. adeone pulchra est? immo foedius nil est. quid ergo in illa petitur et placet? tussit.

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Martial on the Battle between the Sexes

Gemellus wants to get married to Maronilla.

He does! He’s nagging her, pestering, sending presents.

Is she really that pretty? No way, she’s nasty!

So what does he like about her? Oh—her coughing.* *Pronounced coffin.

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Sappho, fr. 1 Voigt / Lobel-Page (Martine Cuypers) ποικιλόθρον’ ἀθανάτ Ἀφρόδιτα, παῖ Δίος δολόπλοκε, λίσσομαί σε, μή μ’ ἄσαισι μηδ’ ὀνίαισι δάμνα, πότνια, θῦμον,

ἀλλὰ τυίδ’ ἔλθ’, αἴ ποτα κἀτέρωτα τὰς ἔμας αὔδας ἀίοισα πήλοι ἔκλυες, πάτρος δὲ δόμον λίποισα χρύσιον ἦλθες

ἄρμ’ ὐπασδεύξαισα· κάλοι δέ σ’ ἆγον ὤκεες στροῦθοι περὶ γᾶς μελαίνας πύκνα δίννεντες πτέρ’ ἀπ’ ὠράνωἴθερος διὰ μέσσω·

αἶψα δ’ ἐξίκοντο· σὺ δ’, ὦ μάκαιρα, μειδιαίσαισ’ ἀθανάτωι προσώπωι ἤρε’ ὄττι δηὖτε πέπονθα κὤττι δηὖτε κάλημμι

κὤττι μοι μάλιστα θέλω γένεσθαι μαινόλαι θύμωι· τίνα δηὖτε πείθω .].σάγην ἐς σὰν φιλότατα; τίς σ’, ὦ Ψάπφ’, ἀδικήει;

καὶ γὰρ αἰ φεύγει, ταχέως διώξει,

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αἰ δὲ δῶρα μὴ δέκετ’, ἀλλὰ δώσει, αἰ δὲ μὴ φίλει, ταχέως φιλήσει κωὐκ ἐθέλοισα.

ἔλθε μοι καὶ νῦν, χαλέπαν δὲ λῦσον ἐκ μερίμναν, ὄσσα δέ μοι τέλεσσαι θῦμος ἰμέρρει, τέλεσον, σὺ δ’ αὔτα σύμμαχος ἔσσο.

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Sappho’s ‘Hymn to Aphrodite’

Immortal Aphrodite of the dazzling throne, child of Zeus, weaver of wiles: I beg you, mistress, do not pain my heart with anguish and disturbance.

Come here, if ever at some other time from far away you heard my cries and came to me. You left your father and his golden house, and yoked your chariot. Lovely sparrows bore you speedily across dark earth with whirring wings, down from heaven, straight through the sky – and there they were. You smiled, bless you, with your immortal countenance and asked, what was it now that was the matter; why was it now that I was calling; what was it most that in my crazy heart I wanted to accomplish: “Who is it now I should entice into your love? Who is it, Sappho, wrongs you?”

“For if she flees, soon she will chase you; offer you gifts, not spurn your presents.

Does she reject you? Soon she will love you, whether she wants it or not!”

So, goddess, also help me now; come free me from my heavy sorrows.

All my heart’s desires fulfil, my trusty ally always.

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Ovid, Heroides 1: 1-4; 47-58; 109-116 (Emma Hilliard) Haec tua Penelope lento tibi mittit, Ulixe nil mihi rescribas attinet: ipse veni!

Troia iacet certe, Danais invisa puellis; vix Priamus tanti totaque Troia fuit.

Sed mihi quid prodest vestris disiecta lacertis Ilios et, murus quod fuit, esse solum, si maneo, qualis Troia durante manebam, virque mihi dempto fine carendus abest? diruta sunt aliis, uni mihi Pergama restant, incola captivo quae bove victor arat. iam seges est, ubi Troia fuit, resecandaque falce luxuriat Phrygio sanguine pinguis humus; semisepulta virum curvis feriuntur aratris ossa, ruinosas occulit herba domos. victor abes, nec scire mihi, quae causa morandi, aut in quo lateas ferreus orbe, licet! nec mihi sunt vires inimicos pellere tectis. tu citius venias, portus et ara tuis! est tibi sitque, precor, natus, qui mollibus annis in patrias artes erudiendus erat. respice Laerten; ut tu sua lumina condas, extremum fati sustinet ille diem.

Certe ego, quae fueram te discedente puella, protinus ut venias, facta videbor anus.

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State of the Union A blind transmission straight from me, Ulysses.

Don't bother calling; show up at the door.

We heard Troy fell, the city women hate.

But what were Priam and his Troy to me?

What good’s all that to me? Gutted by you, Troy’s blown to hell, what difference does it make, if I'm just as I was when it still stood, my husband in fatigues a world away?

They say that Troy is done. I'm not so sure.

A soldier-farmer drives his oxen there.

The soil is teeming. Fat on human blood, his crops come thick and ready for the scythe.

His plow roots up the sun-bleached bones of men; the sedge grass hides the rubble of their homes.

You won, but you’re not here. I can’t imagine why you’re stalling—I can’t read your mind.

I am not man enough to hold the fort so come back quick and shelter those you love.

You have a son. When he was soft and small, he should have learned tricks of the trade from you.

Laertes: he’s decided he can’t die until you can be here to close his eyes.

And me? When you set out, I was a girl.

I'll seem a dry old hag to you by now.

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Herodotus, Histories 1.87.2-4 (Valerio Caldesi Valeri) οὕτω δὴ μαθόντα τὸν Κῦρον ὡς εἴη ὁ Κροῖσος καὶ θεοφιλὴς καὶ ἀνὴρ ἀγαθός, καταβιβάσαντα αὐτὸν ἀπὸ τῆς πυρῆς εἰρέσθαι τάδε. ‘Κροῖσε, τίς σε ἀνθρώπων ἀνέγνωσε ἐπὶ γῆν τὴν ἐμὴν στρατευσάμενον πολέμιον ἀντὶ φίλου ἐμοὶ καταστῆναι;’ ὁ δὲ εἶπε ‘ὦ βασιλεῦ, ἐγὼ ταῦτα ἔπρηξα τῇ σῇ μὲν εὐδαιμονίῃ, τῇ ἐμεωυτοῦ δὲ κακοδαιμονίῃ, αἴτιος δὲ τούτων ἐγένετο ὁ Ἑλλήνων θεὸς ἐπαείρας ἐμὲ στρατεύεσθαι. οὐδεὶς γὰρ οὕτω ἀνόητός ἐστι ὅστις πόλεμον πρὸ εἰρήνης αἱρέεται· ἐν μὲν γὰρ τῇ οἱ παῖδες τοὺς πατέρας θάπτουσι, ἐν δὲ τῷ οἱ πατέρες τοὺς παῖδας. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα δαίμοσί κου φίλον ἦν οὕτω γενέσθαι.

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And at this point Cyrus actually realized that Croesus both enjoyed godly favor and was a decent person. After having him step down from the pyre, Cyrus spoke the following words: “Croesus, which mortal convinced you to wage war against my territory and become a foe instead of a friend of mine?” Croesus replied: “King, I acted as I did for your good fortune, but it all resulted in my own misfortune. The god of the Greeks bears responsibility for these actions of mine as he spurred me on to wage war. For nobody is so foolish as to choose war over peace: in one, children bury their fathers, in the other fathers do so to their children. At any rate, it was pleasing to the divine realm, I suppose, that things follow down this path.”

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Tacitus, Histories 2.70 (Paul Hay) Inde Vitellius Cremonam flexit et spectato munere Caecinae insistere Bedriacensibus campis ac vestigia recentis victoriae lustrare oculis concupivit, foedum atque atrox spectaculum. intra quadragensimum pugnae diem lacera corpora, trunci artus, putres virorum equorumque formae, infecta tabo humus, protritis arboribus ac frugibus dira vastitas. nec minus inhumana pars viae quam Cremonenses lauru rosaque constraverant, extructis altaribus caesisque victimis regium in morem; quae laeta in praesens mox perniciem ipsis fecere. aderant Valens et Caecina, monstrabantque pugnae locos: hinc inrupisse legionum agmen, hinc equites coortos, inde circumfusas auxiliorum manus: iam tribuni praefectique, sua quisque facta extollentes, falsa vera aut maiora vero miscebant. vulgus quoque militum clamore et gaudio deflectere via, spatia certaminum recognoscere, aggerem armorum, strues corporum intueri mirari; et erant quos varia sors rerum lacrimaeque et misericordia subiret. at non Vitellius flexit oculos nec tot milia insepultorum civium exhorruit: laetus ultro et tam propinquae sortis ignarus instaurabat sacrum dis loci.

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MINERVA The horror of Cremona then they viewed: Dismembered limbs from massacred patrols, Soil soaked with blood, uprooted trees near holes; Such desolation brought disquietude.

Some soldiers heaped up arms with blood imbued, While recognizing streams, and rocks, and knolls; And some, in tears, with pity in their souls, Stood contemplating fate's vicissitudes.

Vitellius did not avert his eyes, Nor shuddered to behold the myriads slain, The rotting bodies strewn about the plainâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; This carnage served instead to mesmerize His sickly mind, gladdened by the profane, Unconscious of his imminent demise.

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Solon, Elegy 4.1-20 (David Noria)

ἡμετέρη δὲ πόλις κατὰ μὲν Διὸς οὔποτ᾽ ὀλεῖται αἶσαν καὶ μακάρων θεῶν φρένας ἀθανάτων. τοίη γὰρ μεγάθυμος ἐπίσκοπος ὀβριμοπάτρη Παλλὰς Ἀθηναίη χεῖρας ὕπερθεν ἔχει. αὐτοὶ δὲ φθείρειν μεγάλην πόλιν ἀφραδίῃσιν ἀστοὶ βούλονται χρήμασι πειθόμενοι, δήμου θ᾽ ἡγεμόνων ἄδικος νόος, οἷσιν ἑτοῖμον ὕβριος ἐκ μεγάλης ἄλγεα πολλὰ παθεῖν. οὐ γὰρ ἐπίστανται κατέχειν κόρον οὐδὲ παρούσης εὐφροσύνας κοσμεῖν δαιτὸς ἐν ἡσυχίῃ· ... πλουτοῦσιν δ᾽ ἀδίκοις ἔργμασι πειθόμενοι ... οὔθ᾽ ἱερῶν κτεάνων οὔτε τι δημοσίων φειδόμενοι κλέπτουσιν ἐφ᾽ ἁρπαγῇ ἄλλοθεν ἄλλος οὐδὲ φυλάσσονται σεμνὰ θέμεθλα Δίκης, ἣ σιγῶσα σύνοιδε τὰ γιγνόμενα πρό τ᾽ ἐόντα, τῷ δὲ χρόνῳ πάντως ἦλθ᾽ ἀποτεισομένη. τοῦτ᾽ ἤδη πάσῃ πόλει ἔρχεται ἕλκος ἄφυκτον· εἰς δὲ κακὴν ταχέως ἤλυθε δουλοσύνην, ἣ στάσιν ἔμφυλον πόλεμόν θ᾽ εὕδοντ᾽ ἐπεγείρει, ὃς πολλῶν ἐρατὴν ὤλεσεν ἡλικίην […]

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Solón a sus conciudadanos Zeus no quiere el fin de nuestra ciudad: no fijarán los dioses la malhora de nuestra destrucción, la protectora Atenea, su mano pone en bondad y con su gran poder sobre nosotros.

Más bien sus habitantes que los otros procuran destruirla sobornados, los del pueblo igual que los armados generales, soberbios por el oro.

Y sólo es cierta, digo, una cosa: la insolencia del hombre es dolorosa.

Ignoran del frenarse entre la hartura y del morigerarse en la alegría, se enriquecen por robo y felonía, no encuentran saciedad para su usura ni para el gran despojo de los templos o de las propiedades de las gentes.

Muéstranse a la Justicia displicentes a pesar de ordenanzas y de ejemplos.

Conoce Ella el pasado y el presente en el silencio que no olvida nunca y que no deja reprimenda trunca.

No habrá escapatoria: llegará a todas las ciudades esta herida.

A la nuestra llegó… la guerra será intestina y civil y asesina de la vida de jóvenes florida.

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Lucan, Bellum Civile, 4.168-82 (Hannah-Marie Chidwick) illic exiguo paulum distantia uallo castra locant. postquam spatio languentia nullo mutua conspicuos habuerunt lumina uoltus, [hic fratres natosque suos uidere patresque] deprensum est ciuile nefas. tenuere parumper ora metu, tantum nutu motoque salutant ense suos. mox, ut stimulis maioribus ardens rupit amor leges, audet transcendere uallum miles, in amplexus effusas tendere palmas. hospitis ille ciet nomen, uocat ille propinquum, admonet hunc studiis consors puerilibus aetas; nec Romanus erat, qui non agnouerat hostem. arma rigant lacrimis, singultibus oscula rumpunt, et quamuis nullo maculatus sanguine miles quae potuit fecisse timet.

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ATE-UP There, 12 o’clock sharp, he tells them to pitch their COP. The enemy camp, With bulwarks that barely come up to my jaw, Less than half a klick between us And them.

The sky’s racked out, gunpowder black, so They switch their moonbeams on.

There’s no space and no shadows, and their cammies don’t Cover the faces we’ve got in each other’s sights.

Suddenly, there’s a moment – Brothers see brothers and fathers see sons, A moment that hits us like a shell: Civil war.

Our war.

Everything we’ve done.

It all hangs in the air like dust.

Hold, hold.

For a second, my gat’s got my tongue.

Fear shuts me up.

Then, I cock my head and give a wave. Oorah.

I spy a pair of eyes, like blinker lights, behind the enemy line, And it’s kinetic.

I know that guy.

HOOAH! It’s like the sniper’s flicked his safety – Like we’re all lit up with friendly fire.

The ranks break right and left – and that big voice is screaming at us just to stay inside the wire.

But someone leapfrogs the wall, Then we all fall in behind. I shoot

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MINERVA Out my hand and some guy grabs it And pulls me to him for a – hug.

I hear myself say, “hey, Joe.” I see the sergeant salute his next-door neighbour (they were gun-totin’ army brats together; used to pick off cats like pros).

Now the man in my arms – just a second ago He was target practice – is sobbing on my shoulder.

The man in my ear is telling me to take my pistol from its holder.

And I can see it in the skyward eyes of every other soldier, – we’re all thinking the same.

Not what we did, but What we could’ve done.

No amount of spangled stars on my chest could camouflage the stains.

They’re all boots like me, these men we marked as enemy.

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Italo Calvino, Il visconte dimezzato (Ambra Marzocchi) La battaglia cominciò puntualmente alle dieci del mattino. [...] L’esercito cristiano consisteva quasi soltanto in quella fila schierata […] Medardo, visconte di Terralba, dall’alto della sella [...] guardava lontano, alla nuvola che s’avvicinava all’orizzonte, e pensava: “Ecco, quella nuvola è i turchi, i veri turchi, e questi al mio fianco sono i veterani della cristianità, e questa tromba che ora suona è l’attacco, il primo attacco della mia vita”. A spada sguainata, si trovò a galoppare per la piana, gli occhi allo stendardo imperiale che spariva e riappariva tra il fumo. Pensava: “Vedrò i turchi! Vedrò i turchi!”. Nulla piace agli uomini quanto avere dei nemici e vedere se sono proprio come ci s’immagina. […]

Medardo con altri valorosi, s’era spinto fin sotto le batterie nemiche. […] Entusiasta e inesperto, non sapeva che ai cannoni ci s’avvicina solo di fianco o dalla parte della culatta.

Lui saltò di fronte alla bocca da fuoco, a spada sguainata, e pensava di fare paura a quei due astronomi. Invece gli spararono una cannonata in pieno petto. […] Medardo di Terralba saltò in aria. […]

[Ma] non era vero che la palla di cannone avesse sbriciolato parte del suo corpo: egli era stato spaccato in due metà: […] Il visconte che vive nel castello, quello cattivo, è una metà. […] Adesso il visconte era vivo e dimezzato. […]

[A Terralba] tra carità e terrore trascorrevano le nostre vite [...] e i nostri sentimenti si facevano incolori e ottusi, poiché ci sentivamo come perduti tra malvagità e virtù ugualmente disumane. […]

Il duello fu fissato per l’indomani. C’era l’alba verdastra; sul prato i due sottili duellanti neri erano fermi con le spade sull’attenti […] soffiò il corno: era il segnale; il cielo vibrò come una membrana tesa, [...] la bocca del lombrico mangiò la propria coda, e la vipera si punse coi suoi denti, e la vespa si ruppe l’aculeo sulla pietra, e ogni cosa si voltava contro se stessa […].

Così l’uomo s’avventava contro di sé, con entrambe le mani armate d’una spada. […] una specie di gamba di compasso, fissata alla cintura dei dimezzati permetteva loro di star ritti e di spostarsi e pure d’inclinare la persona avanti e indietro, tenendo infissa la punta nel terreno gli schermidori si lanciavano in assalti [...] Ma non si toccavano […] la punta della

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spada pareva dirigersi sicura verso il mantello svolazzante dell’avversario, ognuno sembrava si ostinasse a tirare dalla parte in cui non c’era nulla cioè dalla parte dove avrebbe dovuto esser lui stesso. […]

A un certo punto si trovarono elsa contro elsa: Il Gramo […] già stava perdendo l’equilibrio e rotolando al suolo, quando riuscì a menare un terribile fendente, non proprio addosso all’avversario, ma quasi: un fendente parallelo alla linea che interrompeva il corpo del Buono […] presto vedemmo il corpo sotto il mantello imporporarsi di sangue dalla testa all’attaccatura della gamba e non ci furono più dubbi. Il Buono s’accasciò, ma cadendo […] abbatté la spada anch’egli vicinissimo al rivale, dalla testa all’addome, tra il punto in cui il corpo del Gramo non c’era e il punto in cui prendeva a esserci. Anche il corpo del Gramo ora buttava sangue per tutta l’enorme antica spaccatura: […] avevano rotto di nuovo tutte le vene e riaperto la ferita che li aveva divisi. Ora giacevano riversi, e i sangui che già erano stati uno solo ritornavano a mescolarsi per il prato. […]

Dopo mezz’ora riportammo in barella al castello un unico ferito. Il Gramo e il Buono erano bendati strettamente assieme; il dottore aveva avuto cura di far combaciare tutti i visceri e le arterie dell’una parte e dell’altra […]

Così mio zio Medardo ritornò uomo intero, né cattivo né buono, un miscuglio di cattiveria e bontà, cioè apparentemente non dissimile da quello ch’era prima di esser dimezzato. Ma aveva l’esperienza dell’una e l’altra metà rifuse insieme, perciò doveva essere ben saggio.

Anche la nostra vita mutò in meglio. Forse ci s’aspettava che, tornato intero il visconte, s’aprisse un epoca di felicità meravigliosa; ma è chiaro che non basta un visconte completo perché diventi completo tutto il mondo.

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Vicecomes dimidiatus

Pugna commissa est temperi hora decima matutina. Exercitus Christianorum paene illo uno dumtaxat agmine constabat. Medardus, Terralbae vicecomes, ephippio insidens procul prospiciebat in eum nimbum qui usque in horizontem accedebat, reputans: “Ecce, nimbus ille sunt Turcae, Turcae ipsi... Hii autem qui me comitantur sunt veterani Christianitatis, haece vero bucina me vocat ad pugnam, ad primam pugnam quam in vita pugnabo !”. Tum, destricto gladio , planitiem percurrebat citato equo, oculisque ad vexillum imperatorium inter fumum volitans defixis, “Turcas videbo!”, cogitabat, “Turcas videbo!”. Nihil tam iuvat hominibus , quam hostes habere atque inspicere an sint tales quales mente fingantur .

Medardus usque sub hostium acies ferratas ausus est progredi. Animosus sed imperitus, nesciens ad tormenta bellica tantummodo vel a latere vel a tergo adpropinquandum, ad ipsum os bombardi, stricto gladio, prosiluit, ita putans se Turcas territurum . Isti, contra, glandem ei coniecerunt ferream medium in pectus.

At globus iste bombardicus corpus eius haudquaquam obtrivit: id potius in duas diffidit partes dimidias, quarum una pravissima, altera vero probissima. Vivus erat vicecomes dimidiatusque.

Terralbani autem, inter misericordiam ac terrorem transcurrentes, insulsi obtusique fiebant, cum sentirent se quasi vitae viam quaerere palantes inter extremam pravitatem virtutemque, utramque perinde inhumanam.

Tandem constitutum est certamen singulare. Livente diluculo, exiles illi duo atri proeliatores, evaginatis gladiis, stabant. Bellicum canitur: intremuit caelum veluti extenta membrana. Lumbrici os suam caudam comedit, vipera se suis dentibus compunxit, vespa suum ipsa dolonem fregit in petram: omnia se adversum se ipsa inflectebant . Perinde homo in se ipsum invehebatur, utraque manu gladio praedita.

Circinus quidam, dimidiatorum cingulo adhaerens, efficiebat ut isti starent, se moverent, necnon corpus ante retroque inclinarent. Circini centro constanter in terra fixo, impetum invicem faciebant–se tamen non tangebant. Mucro sane ad adversari volitans amiculum constanter contendere conspiciebatur , videbatur autem uterque destinata sua obstinate dirigere ad eam adversari partem ubi nihil erat, videlicet ubi debebat ipse esse.

Postremo ensis in ensem incidit. Aequilibrio amisso, Pravus humum iam iam delapsurus valuit nihilominus mirabilem ictum desuper infligere non reapse ipsum in adversarium, prope autem, videlicet iuxta marginem corporis illius: mox Probi corpus sub amiculo de capite usque ad crura sanguine rubuit. Probus decidit. Decidens autem, ille quoque intulit

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ensem de capite ad ventrem adversari, inter id punctum ubi corpus Pravi non erat et punctum ubi esse incipiebat: Pravus quoque tunc sanguinem fundebat iuxta totam immanem antiquam scissuram. Ambo dimidiati venas omnes suas ruperant ipsique vulnus reseraverant quo olim scissi erant. Sanguines, qui iam olim fuerant unum, nunc denuo super pratum commiscebantur.

Pravo Proboque taeniis firmiter alligatis adque arcem tamquam unum corpus reductis, curavit medicus ut omnes venae omniaque viscera utriusque partis congruenter et apte cohaererent.

Itaque factum est ut Medardus esset homo integer iterum, scilicet nec pravus nec probus, quaedam pravitatisque probitatisque mixtura. Haud dissimilis esse videbatur illi qui erat antequam dimidiatus esset, sed, cum interim experimentum fecisset utriusque singulae dimidiae partis sui, profecto debebat esse factus valde prudens.

Terralbae vita melior facta est. Fortasse sperabatur etiam quoddam aevum aureum, vicecomite resarcito, apertum iri. Sed, ut liquet, unum vicecomitem habere integrum, ut integer fiat mundus totus satis non est.

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Temporary Like Achilles #2 (Thomas Palaima) (for Leon Golden) Inspired by Achilles’ own words Iliad 1.149-171, 1.365-392, 9.308-429.

‘Rage,’ Homer sings.

‘Sing the rage of Achilles.’

Twenty-three raids, twenty-three sieges of cities, all taken, feeding soldiers and the pride-lust of commanders.

A true shepherd of the forces.

Unique in speed afoot, strategic brilliance, endurance and making men endure and save themselves from themselves.

Noble, caring even of spear captives.

Briseis loved him.

Phoenix and Patroclus, too.

Good sound moral character.

Knowing in the ways of war and what war does to hearts and souls.

Respectful of the gods.

Attuned to justice.

Nine long years.

And in the tenth He took her.

Agamemnon did.

And with her his honor.

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And all those men, high-ranked and low, whom he had kept from death nurtured, protected, guided, led out and back, rescued from plague, spears and arrows and their own weaknesses, fatigue, blindness, stupidity, despair, they let her be taken.

She was his medal of honor, his war prize, Briseis.

‘Rage’ the poet asks the goddess to sing.

Not the rage of the hand that grasped, but did not draw the sword.

The rage that spoke and walked away.

Postscript Dedication: This poem deals with what finally broke Achilles and what is lost in the focus of the Iliad on one aspect of his anger for having been publicly dishonored by Agamemnon, who took from Achilles the spear-captive Briseis.

Looking at the Iliad with too narrow a focus, all of Achilles' stellar acts as a field commander fall away. His good moral character gets lost. But it is there in his care for his men. It is seen in his consideration in raising the issue of Agamemnon’s sacrilege against the priest of Apollo by doing so in a formal assembly and having a prophet speak to the background. It explains his restraint in not drawing his sword and slaying Agamemnon when he could have. In point of fact, no one “stood behind him when the game got rough.”

Not one voice was heard in support of the truths Achilles was proclaiming judiciously in the

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assembly. Yet Homer tells us that all the soldiers knew what the source of the plague was— Agamemnon’s dishonoring of the priest of Apollo—and what harm it caused.

Achilles withdraws from savage fighting that had long past in duration and losses the tipping point that led Siegfried Sassoon to issue his "Non Serviam" in World War I. He withdrew not just because Agamemnon insulted him and threatened to strip him of his war-captive Briseis, but because no one among the soldiers whom he had long protected and supported through his courage and leadership or among the other leaders who led troops from their regions to Troy stepped forward to back him up.

Leon Golden was, during his active scholarly career, a superb interpreter of the epic hero and of works of war, ancient and modern.

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Contributors Valerio Caldesi Valeri works as Assistant Professor of Classics at the University of Kentucky. Originally trained as an ancient historian, he has broadened his interests to encompass literary studies and classical mythology. Dr. CV is currently working on the construction and reception of the myths surrounding the king of Crete and first conqueror of the Aegean sea, Minos. He teaches courses in Greek composition and prose authors, mythology, and ancient warfare.

Hannah-Marie Chidwick is an early career researcher in Classics, specialising in experimentation with different methodological approaches to the military and violence in texts. Her interests focus on the portrayal of the Roman soldier in ancient literature and modern receptions, drawing comparatively on modern critical military studies and Continental philosophy. she is currently teaching Roman History at the University of Bristol, where she completed her PhD at Bristol in 2017 with a thesis which read the bodies and behaviour of the military in Lucan's epic, Civil War, in light of the philosophical theory of â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;multiplicityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. She is currently preparing this thesis for publication as a monograph, entitled Arms and the Many. She has also run outreach workshops in secondary schools on the Roman soldier (funded by Classics for All), which aim to get pupils thinking differently about ancient warfare. Her research website: https://romansoldierproject.wordpress.com/ Arabella Currie is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Exeter, studying the influence of Classics on William Golding. Her first collection of poems, The Divers, was published by Hurst Street Press in 2016, and she is currently working on a series of translations of Greek lyric, exploring how ancient appreciations of nature might help us articulate the value of the earth in contemporary times.

Martine Cuypers teaches Classics at Trinity College Dublin and contributes to the Trinity Centre for Literary and Cultural Translation and M.Phil. in Literary Translation.

Michael Fontaine is professor of classics at Cornell University and an advisory board member of the Paideia Institute.

Paul Hay is a Visiting Assistant Professor at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, OH, where he specializes in Roman history and literature. His side interests include classically-themed creative writing projects, ranging from epyllia to holiday carols.

Emma Hilliard is a writer and translator with an M.A. in Classics from The University of British Columbia. She works on Silver Age poets, horror theory, and plant lore, and has published on Seneca's Oedipus and the Roman underworld.

James Lloyd is an AHRC funded PhD student at the University of Reading, where he studies the role of music in Spartan society. He is the 2017/18 winner of the Raymond Wilson poetry prize, and has a re-telling of the myth of Arion forthcoming in Cricket.

Ambra Marzocchi: Itala, philologiae studuit apud Almam Matrem Studiorum Bononiensem. Litteras humaniores aliquot per annos docuit in lyceis, antequam discipula magistralis facta est apud Institutum Kentuckianum Studiis Latinis Provehendis, ubi linguam Latinam didicit vere amare et vivide. Nunc vero pergit disciplinis Classicis operam dare apud Universitatem Hopkinsianam in urbe Baltimoria, neque sane desinit Latine vertendo necnon componendo impense delectari.

David Noria (born April 21st, 1993, Mexico City), classical philologist, essayist, poet and translator. He studied Classical Literature at the National and Autonomous University of

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Mexico (UNAM) and Modern Greek language and culture at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, Greece. He developed an academic research on Neolatin South-American poetry at the Caro and Cuervo Institute (ICyC), Colombia. Member of the International Association Friends of Nikos Kazantzakis, Mexico (SIANK Mexico) and of the editorial board of the Classical Philology Magazine Scripta Manent of the National University of Colombia (UNAL).

Thomas Palaima is Robert M. Armstrong Centennial Professor of Classics at the University of Texas at Austin.

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