ProjectAntigone
Antigone Project is a quarterly magazine dedicated to amplifying young voices in the world of Classics. We aim to foster the exploration of the many facets of Classics with a focus on the dynamic intersection of ancient and contemporary themes.
Our magazine accepts submissions from young passionate writers exploring any aspect of Classics through any medium from essays, to poetry, prose and art. Antigone Project stands to push boundaries as we uplift young voices from around the world and contribute to modern understandings of ancient and classical stories.
06 To what extent does Enkidu’s death catalyse Gilgamesh’s transformation in The Epic of Gilgamesh?
Amara G, Notting Hill and Ealing High School
11 Homeric Simile in the New World
Nuala M Saint Ann’s School
12 ‘First/ πρῶτος’
Adelaide S., Saint Ann’s School
15 2 Haikus
Nuala M Saint Ann’s School
16 Sculptural Influence from Greece on the xx Monumental Structures of the Persian Heartland
James D. Year 12, Brighton School
22 Horace Epode XVI
Gracie M, Saint Ann’s School
23 ‘The Shield of Achilles’
Adelaide S., Saint Ann’s School
25 Beauty in Carson’s Antistrophe β translation
Adelaide S., Saint Ann’s School
27 Horace Ode. 1.9
James R.,Saint Ann’s School
34 Rota Fortunae/Wheel of Fortune
Adelaide S., Saint Ann’s School
38 Orpheus and Eurydice Artistic Rendition Latin X Eve Hecht, Nightingale-Bamford
To what extent does Enkidu’s death catalyse Gilgamesh’s transformation in The Epic of Gilgamesh?
Upon reading The Epic of Gilgamesh, it becomes clear that the Gilgamesh depicted at the start of the epic is starkly different from the Gilgamesh at the end. Gilgamesh is initially a hubristic, entitled, and unfair king, but later becomes sympathetic, peaceful, and moral; a caring shepherd of his people. This poses the question of what catalysed this transformation, and thus this essay will explore the extent to which Enkidu’s death catalyses Gilgamesh’s transition within the epic. Enkidu’s relationship with Gilgamesh is a central element within the epic - it is the main storyline that is present within all versions of the epic (Old Babylonian, 11-tablet version and the 12-tablet version). It is clear that this event is a crucial turning point within the epic, as it triggers a personal crisis that leads him to question his own mortality and, ultimately, seek a deeper understanding of life and death.
Before understanding the impact of Enkidu’s death, one must understand the role Enkidu plays in Gilgamesh’s life. Enkidu, initially a wild man living among animals, is created by the gods after the people of Uruk complain about their king Gilgamesh’s ‘kukittu’ (depraved behaviour). Enkidu rivals Gilgamesh in size, strength, and ability, and before his creation, no man was ever able to overpower Gilgamesh. Enkidu’s initial role is to challenge and humble Gilgamesh, ultimately leading to their epic confrontation. However, rather than becoming adversaries, Gilgamesh and Enkidu develop a deep and enduring bond. Enkidu becomes not only a companion but also a reflection of Gilgamesh’s own humanity. Through their bond, Gilgamesh begins to recognize the value of companionship, loyalty, and love, qualities that had been overshadowed by his previous arrogance. The two set out on quests together, including killing the Bull of Heaven sent down by the god Anu. However, having killed the Bull of Heaven, Enkidu is killed by the gods for this transgression. Enkidu’s death is not only a personal loss for Gilgamesh, but it
triggers an existential crisis that forces him to confront the realities of his mortality. Up until this point, Gilgamesh has lived with a sense of invincibility, unconcerned with the notion of death. However, Enkidu’s death shatters this illusion, revealing to Gilgamesh that even the strongest and most powerful of men are subject to the laws of nature.
The emotional impact of Enkidu’s death marks the beginning of Gilgamesh’s transformation from a ‘direct, righteous hero’ to a ‘shaggy-haired seeker’ (H.N. Wolff). After Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh ‘cries bitterly,’ ‘roaming the wilderness’ with ‘deep sadness’ that ‘penetrates [his] core.’ The epic displays a deeply emotional and melancholy reaction to this death, emphasised through Gilgamesh’s process of mourning the life of his dear companion. Initially, Gilgamesh refuses to bury Enkidu and keeps vigil over his body; he ‘mourned over [Enkidu] for six days and seven nights,’ until Enkidu’s body inevitably physically decays - but Gilgamesh does not ‘allow him to be buried until a maggot fell out of nose.’ Gilgamesh’s refusal to bury Enkidu displays his psychological distress and denial towards the death of his companion, highlighting the significant impact this loss has had on him. Additionally, Gilgamesh’s denial towards his friend’s death roots from his fear and disbelief towards his own mortality. However, Gilgamesh eventually buries Enkidu, and bestows the appropriate burial rights upon him. He enjoins both the human and natural worlds in lamentation: Gilgamesh claims he ‘had the people of Uruk mourn and moan’ for him, and enjoins the individual plants and trees in grieving. Eventually, Gilgamesh gives Enkidu a grand burial, assembling the rich luggage he will take down to the Netherworld in order to pay the gods, planning Enkidu’s tomb, and finally, throwing a banquet with the people of Uruk. These actions display the respect and love Gilgamesh has for his companion. Enkidu’s death also physically alters Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh claims, ‘after [Enkidu] died, I let a filthy mat of hair grow over my body,’ and donned the skin of a lion and ‘roamed the wilderness.’ Thus, he becomes the ‘shaggy-haired seeker’ H.N. Wolff describes.
Enkidu’s death catalyses Gilgamesh’s transformation as it causes Gilgamesh to confront his own mortality. Gilgamesh, upon Enkidu’s death, roams the wilderness in despair, temporarily giving up his life as a king to do so. He ‘cried bitterly’ and exclaims:
“I am going to die! - Am I not like Enkidu? Deep sadness penetrates my core, I fear death.”
Thus, with Enkidu’s death comes Gilgamesh’s realisation of his own mortality, which he comes to fear. Suddenly, Gilgamesh transforms from a hero indifferent to death to a man with an all-consuming knowledge of his own mortality, who dreads death. Gilgamesh wanders the earth, seeking out immortality. Gilgamesh’s ‘wanderings both reflect and elicit change in the hero’ (T. Abusch), as wanderings are the ‘mechanism and backdrop for change’ for the hero (similarly seen in Homer’s Odyssey). However, it is Enkidu’s death that catalyses this change - ‘without Enkidu’s death there is no development’ (T. Abusch). Enkidu’s death causes Gilgamesh to panic and abandon the life he knows, as Gilgamesh’s warrior confidence and sense of invincibility seems futile in the face of inevitable death. Thus, he seeks out a solution; he wanders to the ends of the earth to try and somehow find a way to be granted immortality. He finds a tavern, whose alewife tells Gilgamesh about how his attempt to be granted immortality is in vain, and that he should enjoy the benefits of a normal life. She tells Gilgamesh that ‘the life you seek you never will find’ but that Gilgamesh should simply ‘make merry each day,’ ‘let[ting his] belly be full’ and ‘enjoy [himself] always by day and by night.’ This scene is integral to the Old Babylonian version of the epic, which drives the message that normal life is the form of existence that provides meaning. The Standard Babylonian version includes an account of Utnapishtim, who has been granted immortality by the gods after saving humankind from a flood, as instructed by Ea. However, it becomes clear that Utnapishtim received immorality not because of his heroic acts, but because he was obedient to the gods. Utnapishtim tells Gilgamesh that death is the common
fate for all humanity, and trying to fight this will fail. Despite this, Gilgamesh is given a chance at immortality, through a plant that restores youth, given to him by Utnapishtim’s wife. However, the plant is soon after stolen by a serpent, representing the inevitability of death and the impossibility of immortality. Upon this, Gilgamesh realises that he will never be granted immortality, and returns to Uruk, representing his acceptance of mortality. Rather than continuing his futile quest for immortality, Gilgamesh chooses to focus on the legacy he can leave through his contributions to his city and his people. He takes pride in the walls of Uruk, a symbol of the enduring impact of his reign, and recognizes that his true immortality lies in the memory of his deeds and the prosperity of his city. This can be interpreted as the death of the ‘hero’ Gilgamesh, as he accepts his mortality and finds peace in it, but the ‘king’ Gilgamesh remains. Gilgamesh no longer attempts to close the gap between man and god, as if instructing the reader of the epic never to do so either. Despite this, Gilgamesh is immortalised through his story being passed down, thus receiving the eternal glory he initially desires.
In conclusion, Enkidu’s death begins Gilgamesh’s alteration, as Gilgamesh’s active education begins only with Enkidu’s death. Enkidu’s death is the first event that causes a domino effect of other events that work to aid Gilgamesh in his acceptance of his mortality. Thus, Enkidu’s death is the catalyst for Gilgamesh’s transformation, and the events that follow his death are his mechanisms for change.
REFERENCES
Abusch, Tzvi. “The Development and Meaning of the Epic of Gilgamesh: An Interpretive Essay.” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 121, no. 4, 2001, pp. 614–22. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/606502.
Wolff, Hope Nash. “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Heroic Life.” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 89, no. 2, 1969, pp. 392–98. JSTOR, https:// doi.org/10.2307/596520.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Abusch, Tzvi. “The Development and Meaning of the Epic of Gilgamesh: An Interpretive Essay.” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 121, no. 4, 2001, pp. 614–22. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/606502.
Kovacs, Maureen Gallery, translator. The Epic of Gilgamesh. Stanford University Press, 1989.
Mason, Herbert. “The Death of Enkidu: From Gilgamesh.” The American Scholar, vol. 40, no. 1, 1970, pp. 138–41. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/ stable/41209827.
Schmidt, Micheal. Gilgamesh: The Life of a Poem. USA: Princeton University Press, 2019.
Schneider, Tammi J. An Introduction to Ancient Mesopotamian Religion. USA: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co, 2011
Wolff, Hope Nash. “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Heroic Life.” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 89, no. 2, 1969, pp. 392–98. JSTOR, https:// doi.org/10.2307/596520.
Amara G, Notting Hill and Ealing High School
Homeric Simile in the New World
The people knew nothing
They knew so little that they did not know they knew nothing, and instead thought that they knew everything
—as sparrows perch on telephone wires
United, uniform, and shielded
They swivel their heads at distant sirens
And crunching leaves
Watching for the descent of larger birds
All the while, the wire they perch on Buzzes with information—
So they remained, unaware of the understanding just beneath their feet
And afraid of the clear sky, open above their heads.
Nuala M Saint Ann’s School
‘First/
after Anne Carson’s ‘bakkhai’
dionysus— blink three times when you feel him kicking in.
dionysus— you will forever be my slick god of joie de vivre, sprung from zeus’s meaty thigh. he’s in abnormally good spirits (for a bastard boy).
dionysus— with his bristling thyrsus and beard of blackberries, bruising grapes–the ones squashed between plastic & the metaverse—those reserved especially for creasing between the teeth the tongue kneads dark liquor from a sodden press. dionysus— the god of firsts; the tendrils of hair curling themselves around the car door during your first head rush—the first pop
when you open a can of tennis balls or a newly-strung racket, your forehand crisp in its surge of unbridled anger. will you curse the chorus & scream at the sky, curse their fumbling lies, gorging on gossip like after stripping flesh from a blood-soaked bone.
dionysus forces firsts down your throat; your first goodbye flays your lungs with anxious thrashing & your first stomach lurch, as you realize everything changes & people return to sea, ebbing with the ocean currents.
dionysus pauses the tv the first time you hear i want a divorce. your yearning for the past pulls like a fish on a hook, glassy eyes peering into a treacherous soul. the first i’d do anything you said, the first time you said it with your hands. no. you follow the current— the wine only flows one way: down your throat.
dionysus—
the god of whirlpooling hysteria; first your maddened fingernails grasping the turf, then look in the mirror; you, privy to sparagmos, cresting the wave of the dance & following the rites dutifully, tearing a bloodied bull carcass to shreds & swallowing the flesh raw, famished & completely forgetting you were holding my diced hands in yours.
dionysus
left the first problem on my brownstone steps— mouth like a drought to floodplains, like cleopatra before she bit the snake. like jokes none of the other olympians understood or biking ‘round Chinatown. don’t think about leaving
now, fingers laced with a Midas touch to meld a magnetized man. instead, dionysus promises a gold rush in caramels & crimsons, cheeks wine-darkly flushed, an oak paneled bar & a drink to quench the worry, the final solution — Forgetting.
Adelaide S., Saint Ann’s School2 Haikus
2 Haikus
夏の午後草は囁く晴れの歌
Summer afternoon
The grass whispers
A song of good weather
初秋初紅葉下狐寝る
Early autumn
Under the season’s first leaves
A fox sleeps
Nuala M, Saint Ann’s School
Sculptural Influence from Greece on the Monumental
Structures of the Persian Heartland
A very common trend among scholars reading the Foundation Charter of Susa (dated to the early reign of Darius) is to claim that the presence of Ionian and Sardian stonemasons employed on the site at Susa therefore means that a Greek influence was exerted onto the imperial sculpture of the Persian Empire. This view is founded in the traditional bias of Western scholarship to look at the Ancient Near East through a purely Greco-centric lens. The charter mentions that the stonemasons who worked on the creation of Darius’ palace at Susa had been brought from Ionia and Sardis. In this essay I aim to present an argument showing that the presence of Greek masons does not mean that these masons had the creative freedom to be able to influence the imperially sanctioned art of the Persian Empire. This essay will investigate the different arguments which are presented by scholars who claim that there is evidence for a Greek influence on Persian sculpture. When looking at the evidence I will attempt to focus on evidence from Persian sources so that the typical Greek bias can be avoided. Modern Persian scholarship is now finally at a point when we do not need to rely on external sources of evidence to understand the Persians. Finally, the Persians are able to speak for themselves.
As I already mentioned, the Foundation Charter of Susa tells us that Darius employed Ionians and Sardians as stonemasons to create his new palace. Many people are then given the biased impression that Greek influenced reliefs would have adorned the palace even though there is no indication from the text that these peoples had any creative freedom in the creation of the sculptures and stonework at Susa. However, what is often not mentioned is the great numbers of other people who are recorded as contributing to the construction at Susa. In this text the names of 7 different races are given and 14 different places are named as contributing to the materials. It is unreasonable to believe that the Ionians or Sardians had any special influence on the sculpture of the palace when they are listed as names simply among a long list of others. It is only due to the cultural bias of a Greco-centric view that scholars
would assume that the presence of Greek labourers equates to the sculptural influence of Greeks on the Persians. Due to damage to the site of Susa in recent wars there is not much in the way of substantial sculptural remains to use as evidence here. Margaret Root noted four pieces of sculpture discovered at the site of Susa which, if the Charter is to be trusted, I think may have been carved by the Ionian and Sardian masons. She posits that three of these pieces could all be a part of one monumental sculpture so large that it must depict either the king or the royal hero, the figure seen at Persepolis slaying wild beasts. Two of these pieces depict different parts of a vertical pleat of someone’s robe and are thought to belong to the same sculpture (an image of one piece is presented below). It is plausible that this was carved by the masons from Ionia and Sardis since there is no mention in the Charter of other peoples specifically working stone at Susa. However, if this is to be compared in style to the sculpture of 6th century Greece there is very little in the way of a Greek influence that can be seen on the robe. The smooth and stylised carving of the stone does not fit with the styles of Greek sculpture, which focused on the movement and realism of the statue. Even in early instances of Greek sculpture contemporary with this, like the koros and kore statues, human form is stressed in a way not indicated by this fragment. I would claim that this fragment bears much greater similarity to the statue of Darius in the Egyptian style, which was also found at Susa, and therefore shows there to be a much deeper near eastern influence on Persian sculpture than it does a Greek one.
When comparing the relief sculpture of the Persians with other cultures of the time, it bears a far greater likeness to the relief sculpture of the Assyrians than it does to Greek friezes. Persian sculpture follows from the Near Eastern tradition of depicting more important figures as physically larger than other people in the relief. In contrast to this is figures 36 and 37 on panel V of the east frieze of the Parthenon frieze which displays the gods Athena and Hephaestus sitting on couches among the other people in the procession. In Greek sculpture realism is prioritised so people are not inflated or enlarged like they are in Near Eastern relief. Persian sculpture follows the traditions of their closest neighbours which is further evidence against a Greek influence onto the depictions of subject in Persian sculpture.
What is also mentioned in the Charter is that “And the decorative elements with which the terrace was ornamented, them, from Ionia were brought.”. Whereas before there were Ionians and Sardians working on the Persian stone, here the Charter implies that the ornamentation for the palace was brought from Ionia pre-formed and therefore would have a distinct Greek style. As no remains of this ornamentation has survived it is hard to tell how Greek in design this was, but one interpretation could be that by including obviously Greek elements of design into his palace Darius was showing his power over the Greek peoples. This interpretation, however inviting, cannot be backed up with visual evidence and it is just as possible that the ornamentation bore very little to no likeness to those found in Ionia and mainland Greece.
In the royal cities of Pasargadae and Persepolis there is also evidence of the presence of Greek workmen, and at Pasargadae in particular there is clear evidence of some influence which may have been exerted by Greek masons. John Curtis in an essay presented a series of developments on the arguments put forward by Carl Nylander, in his 1970 work ‘Ionians in Pasargadae: Studies in Old Persian Architecture’, who was convinced of the grand influence that the Greeks had had on the Persians. A practice found at Pasargadae, and not at Persepolis, is the use of masons with tooth-edged chisels to carve stone. Curtis claims that these chisels were found in Greece 30 years before they are first evidenced as being used in Persia. Although this does clearly indicate Greek techniques being used by the Persians, I would not go as far as to say that this is an instance of the Greeks influencing the Persians due to the fact that this technique is not continued at Persepolis. When the Persians started building, they had very little history of a monumental building tradition to take their practices from, therefore meaning that they were at times reliant on whatever practice happened to be available to them. At Pasargadae the Persians were beginning to form their own building practices and would have therefore been much more open to the testing and adoption of foreign practices. However, by the time that Darius was building Persepolis I believe that a distinct Persian style had emerged and the previous experimentation at Pasargadae had been abandoned in favour of their new method.
Found at Persepolis are numerous different masons’ marks which are carved into both the stonework and the sculptures in the city. Michael Roaf claims that these masons’ marks found at Persepolis could be used to divide the workforce into different groups and be able to determine which groups worked in each part of the site. Roaf goes on to critique the statement of Nylander who claimed that one of these marks looked like a symbol from the Lydian alphabet (a statement repeated by Curtis). Masons’ marks are generally crude and therefore have limited options for what simple shape they are able to depict – it is therefore the case that this similarity is more likely to be a coincidence than a deliberate marker of Lydian origin. This is not to say that there were no Lydians or other Greek or Greek-influenced peoples at Persepolis (as the Persepolis Archive does include the payment of these people) and there are allegedly Greek inscriptions which have been found at quarries in Persepolis. This is undoubtable proof of Greek speaking masons at Persepolis, but the exact same assumption here is made as in Susa. People assume that the presence of Greeks means the influence of Greeks, however, the presence of Greek labourers does not imply that there were any Greeks present in high enough positions that they had creative freedom to dictate the representation and style of sculpture and masonry at Persepolis. The Greeks were present purely for their skill in stonework, that the Persians wished to apply to their own style, and, therefore, the work created at Persepolis in both architecture and art is a distinctly Persian affair.
In conclusion, when looking into the heartland of Persia, the assumption made by many scholars that these Persian cities reflect a Greek influence is generally far-fetched and not supported by the evidence that we see from the sites themselves. The Persians had a vast empire which was filled with very many races of people, so their use of Greeks does not indicate a deep appreciation for the Greek artistic purpose but rather an empire simply using the peoples and resources at their disposal to best create their monumental palace complexes. A better argument can be made for saying that there was a Greek influence at Pasargadae, and I do believe there was. The use of tools the same as those found in Greece likely reflects a Persian adoption of Greek practice in order to attempt to create their own method of artistic practice
and methodology. For some reason however Persian builders chose not to stick to the traditional methods of the sculptors that they employed from Ionia, and at the later Palaces of Darius in Susa and Persepolis these methods were swapped out for other ones. It is possible to speculate about why these methods changed but such speculation would likely take us to unsubstantiated conclusions in light of the little evidence that is available.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
A.T. Olmstead (1948); History of the Persian Empire, University of Chicago Press
Henry P. Colburn (2014); Art of the Achaemenid Empire, and Art in the Achaemenid Empire; pp. 1-12
John Curtis (2005); Greek Influence on Achaemenid Art and Architecture
Ian Jenkins (2002); The Parthenon Frieze, Melita Press
Margret Cool Root (2001); The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art, Acta Iranica
Michael Roaf (1983); Sculptures and Sculptors at Persepolis pp.90-93
Pierre Briant (2002); From Cyrus to Alexander
James D. Year 12, Brighton School
Horace Epode XVI
When the day comes that rocks, lifted from the depths, swim back to shore, only then let it not be forbidden for us to return. Let it not be maddening to turn our sailcloths toward home until the Po river will have washed over the treetops of the Matines or the high Apennine will have run ahead into the sea; while remarkable lust will have joined beasts in love so that it might be pleasing to tigers to submit to deer, that a dove might be defiled by a raptor, so that trusting cattle do not fear tawny lions or that a smooth, fishlike goat might love the salty sea.
‘The Shield of Achilles’
In Iliad 18, the shield of Achilles, crafted by Haephestus, god of the forge, sifts through a plethora of scenes depicting the mundanity of life in Ancient Greece. By doing so, Homer presents war as purely a microcosm of human existence, asserting conflict to be an amplification of tensions present in the everyday. These ekphrastic scenes juxtapose tranquility and brutality, creation and devastation. Through a variety of stark images—agriculture, festivals, and battle—Homer presents war not as an isolated event, but as a ritual of daily life. Achilles’s shield reveals that war is part of a larger, cyclical process defined by the perpetuity of both peace and violence, creation and decay.
Gracie M, Saint Ann’s School
The shield presents serenity and brutality, highlighting how war is not a separate entity but a magnification of tensions in everyday life. Depictions of farming, marriage, and festivals depict routine aspects of society. These peaceful moments mix with the violence of war when conflict ravages the same communities. The shield presents two cities—one at peace, the other at war—exemplifying how the same social structures that assist living peacefully rapidly tear apart with violent strife,
Homer’s juxtaposition of these polarizing images suggests that war is not an isolated occurrence but an intensified manifestation of the instability present in human society— any city filled with unions and abundance can be razed by conflict. Therefore, the shield emphasizes that conflict can arise even in a society governed by peace, amplifying the tensions already present in daily life. Further, the shield also presents the cyclical and regenerative nature of life and death, suggesting that war, like other human experiences, is part of an ongoing cycle. Through agricultural imagery, Homer illustrates how growth, decay, and renewal mold life.
“And on the shield he set a fallow field of soft, rich farmland, wide and tripleplowed…Whenever they had circled round and reached the field’s edge, someone came to them and set a cup of honeyed wine into their hands…the earth grew black behind them as if plowed, though it was made of gold.”
(Iliad 18.541 ff.)
Plowing, sowing seeds, and harvesting grain mirror the natural cycles of life, where creation and destruction are inextricably entwined. Just as the harvest resigns itself to death and decay, life frequently progresses towards conflict and war. The alternation between peaceful farming scenes and those of war proves that these cycles are not distinct but are linked; war, like nature, follows its own savage rhythm. Thus, Homer presents war as an inevitable, recurring phase in the broader cycle of human existence, not as an aberration, but as a reality of life.
Beauty in Carson’s Antistrophe β translation
Anne Carson’s translation of Antistrophe β was my favorite. Her poetic eloquence and skillful manipulation of the Greek greatly enhanced Antigone. I especially liked her use of word order when describing Thebes, “...seven gates and in each gate, a man, and each man a death/ at the seventh gate.” This encapsulates the generational trauma endured by the city. The imperative of the statement, “let there be forgetting” implies a finality of the vicious cycle that Creon wishes to complete by discarding the funeral rites of Polynices and in the process rebuilding Thebes. This mirrors the Ancient Greek translation of
Adelaide S., Saint Ann’s School
’, ‘let us make’, the infinitive acting as an imperative, and ‘λησμοσύναν’, translated best as ‘forgetfulness’. This carries through to Carson’ translation, which retains the curt finality of the chorus’s statement. Compared to other translations, Carson retains the meaning of the Greek and manages to add her own touch of simplicity to the often complicated, florid language of other translators like Fagles and Doerries.
More generally, another section of Antistrophe β that I noticed interesting differences between was the mention or omission of Thebes as a city when describing it ‘..Victory now has come, glory matched by joys for chariotfamous Thebes.’ (from Taplin’s translation). I was also intrigued by the use of Thebes’s epithet as ‘chariot driving’. In the Greek, ‘chariot driving’, or ‘ἐλελὶχθων’, actually means earth-shaking. Taplin’s decision to voice the word as ‘chariot driving’ presents Thebes as a battle-hardened city of forward motion and conquest, glorifying it, rather than a city rattled by incest and discord stemming from Oedipus’s curse. Taplin, however, wasn’t the only translator to refer to Thebes as ‘chariot driving’. Fagles also refers to Thebes in such a manner, “...she is winging down to Thebes, our fleets of chariots wheeling in her wake…” Fagles employs strong alliteration here and emphasizes a warlike sense of motion that accompanies Thebes. Heaney’s translation of Thebes’s epithet also concentrated on chariots, but seemed to omit more, “....Dazzling the city she has saved from destruction. Race the chariots and run to the temples.” Heaney chooses not to name Thebes directly, but nevertheless carries the epithet through to the next sentence. His
method of translation changed the epithet to stand as more of an imperative, implying direct motion. Doerries’s translation, however, completely omits the epithet, “...Victory at Dawn, now that we have vanquished our enemies and saved the city from utter destruction…” This reinforces the simplistic style of translation that Doerries consistently applied.
Another nuance of translation I noticed was the mention of ‘Victory’, or Νίκα, as a consistent entity in translation and its importance to Creon’s new regime and thus the Choral elders through personification. Fagles celebrates victory in his translation, “But now for Victory! Glorious in the morning, joy in her eyes to meet our joy..” I liked this translation the best– it personifies victory as being in a partnership with the citizens of Thebes to ensure the success of the city. Heaney also employs personification when depicting victory, “Glory be to Victory. I can feel her wings/Fanning the air.” Heaney’s translation captures the anticipatory feeling of victory and its permeating sense of accomplishment that it infuses the citizens of Thebes with.
Horace Epode XVI
We who are birthed within a godless age of execrable blood, will make it crumble between your eyes, soon the torrid soil on which we lay will be inhabited by savages.
James R.,Saint Ann’s School
Adelaide S., Saint Ann’s School
Horace Ode. 1.9
Do you see how Soracte stands in the deep snow? And now see how the working forests may not withstand the burden, and how the streams shall be frozen together by the sharp cold?
Dissolve the cold! Generously replacing the wood above the hearth, and, more lavishly, bring out the 4-year-old sabine jars, O Thaliarchus, bring the pure wine.
In ancient Rome, the cosmetics, hair, and jewelry used by Roman women were important indicators of their wealth and social status. Therefore, women were bound by societal standards and expectations dictating their beauty routines and the resources dedicated to their appearance. Women were expected to actively manage their appearance and would exert considerable effort to create a flattering appearance.
For hair, the more elegant or complicated a hairstyle was, the higher in social status women were seen. Therefore, “natural hairstyles” were not accepted, mainly because “natural” was a term of opprobrium, indicating a lack of social control. Wealthy women’s hair was tended to by enslaved people, who cut their hair short to reflect their lower status. Headpieces and accessories were used to achieve these grande hairstyles. First, hairpins tightly held women’s hair buns so they wouldn’t come undone. Wigs and hair pieces were used to add volume, structure, and length to their natural hair. Wigs also allowed women to change their hair as they pleased without the need for drastic alterations to their natural hair. Blonde hair was the prized hair color, and Roman women used a form of hair dye to achieve this. Also, costly ornaments of gold or ivory female coiffures and highly polished bronze or silver mirrors connoted wealth and luxury.
Additionally, hair functioned as a gender marker in ancient Rome. Hairdressing scenes, such as mirror gazing, appear in the context of women’s tomb reliefs. This symbolic imagery suggests that hairdressing and mirror gazing represent the essence of female life itself, which obviously has a controversial implication. Women’s locks had to be kept firmly in place using hairpins, nets, and snoods to ensure that their coiffures had none of the lively movement that animated man’s hair. The lack of movement referred to the concept that they didn’t have the mobility to move around and were trapped by societal norms. In ARISTOPHANES’ “WOMEN AT THE FESTIVAL” (Thesmophoriazousae), he highlights the contrast in men’s and women’s styles when Euripides, a man, disguises himself as a woman:
Matteo F. Saint Ann’s School.
“He is dressed in exaggerated women’s clothes.
On his head, he wears a hairnet.
Above his dress, around his waist, he is wearing a tight, broad girdle.”
Our project focused on the Flavian dynasty, where hairstyles were raised dramatically by roles of false curls. While extravagant, blonde-colored hair was sought out in Ancient Rome, an appreciation for simplicity has grown. The routine of getting ready for the day (waking up in the morning, getting out of bed, checking the mirror, etc.) is a process that has endured across
cultures and periods. In ancient Rome, women were confined to their households, and their social status depended on their beauty. As a result, they were given the luxury of spending hours on these meticulous routines. In Ovid’s Medicamina Faciei Feminae, he touches on extravagant skincare routines, including stage horns, wheat, beans, narcissus bulbs, eggs and honey, healing spots, and whitening formulas. This poem provides precise measurements and ingredients for recipes that aim to rejuvenate the skin.
Makeup was considered essential for both wealthy and non-wealthy women to enhance their attractiveness and femininity. Makeup crossed economic boundaries, and women aimed to preserve their natural beauty without excessive unnatural embellishment. Makeup was intended to enhance and portray a fair, smooth complexion, signifying social status. Women often used “rouge” or blush to accentuate their femininity, applying solid sticks made from cinnabar, minium, and other harmless materials to gently coat their cheeks with a rosy color. Women applied false eyebrows and used a substance called calliblepharon for eyeliner, which was made into sticks dipped in water or oil before use. Ochre, iron ore, and fucus were used to make
lipstick, giving the lips a red or purplish color. However, using lipstick could be dangerous because some formulations contained deadly, poisonous substances like mercuric plant fucus. Poor people used red wine as an alternative to color their lips, but it was safer than other, more expensive, poisonous formulations. Today, estheticians note that more people are becoming skin minimalists, as they don’t have as much time to do excessive routines. Therefore, skin streaming, which involves keeping your skincare routines to three or four essential products, is growing in popularity. Because women are no longer restricted to their households as women from ancient Rome were, the present-day minimalistic routines are possibly a testament to the increased power and mobility that women are now allowed to exercise.
Many rich Roman women owned expensive jewelry, wearing precious stones such as opals, emeralds, diamonds, topaz, and pearls as earrings, bracelets, rings, brooches, necklaces, and diadems. We have several references to jewelry in contemporary literature – usually by male satirists complaining about women’s extravagance in this respect. Pliny stated that women spent more on their ears with earrings than any other part of their bodies, saying, “Women glory in hanging pearls on their fingers and using two or more for a single carring … as if they enjoyed the sound and mere rattling together of the pearls.” Bracelets were of different sizes and designs and made of bronze, bone, and jet. They were essential as they were often buried with the dead and were found as grave goods. Men, women, and children wore rings. They were made of silver, gold, bronze, iron, and jet and sometimes had precious stones and intaglios set in them or were just plain bands. In Ancient Rome, jewelry had symbolic value, signifying social rank, religious beliefs, and marital status. Additionally, many materials used in Roman jewelry design were chosen for their symbolic meanings or were believed to have magical properties. For example, emeralds were said to bring intelligence and health. Today, jewelry still reflects beliefs
and values, and good luck charms are evident through birthstones, healing crystals, and four-leaf clovers added to the jewelry. I have a necklace with a cross, representative of Christianity, to protect and bless me. From ancient Roman times to the present day, the historical use of makeup and beauty standards demonstrates various connections. These include using cosmetics as indicators of social status and the continuous development of beauty products and techniques to align with changing aesthetic ideals.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bartman, Elizabeth. “Hair and the Artifice of Roman Female Adornment.” American Journal of Archaeology 105, no. 1 (2001): 1–25. https://doi.org/10.2307/507324.
Briddock, Heather. Narrative and Duality in Ovid’s ‘Medicamina Faciei Femineae’. Medium. Last modified April 18, 2020. Accessed May 31, 2024.
https://medium.com/ostraka-a-durham-university-classics-society-blog/ Narrative-andduality-in-ovids-medicamina-faciei-femineae-e3978a628a50.
Goff, Barbara, ed. “Citizen Bacchae Women’s Ritual Practice in Ancient Greece.”
Emma D.Nightingale-Bamford School
Heritage Fund. Corinium Museum. Accessed May 31, 2024.
https://coriniummuseum.org/schools/resources/roman-jewellery/.
OLSON, KELLY. “Cosmetics in Roman Antiquity: Substance, Remedy, Poison.” The Classical World 102, no. 3 (2009): 291–310. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40599851.
“Roman Haircare.” Corinium Museum. https://coriniummuseum.org/2016/07/romanhaircare/.
“Roman Hairstyles.” Tributes and Triumphs. http://www.tribunesandtriumphs.org/roman-clothing/roman-hairstyles.htm#google_ vignet te.
Schaffer, Sarah E. “Reading Our Lips: The History of Lipstick Regulation in Western Seats of Power.” Food and Drug Law Journal 62, no. 1 (2007): 165–225.
http://www.jstor.org/stable/26660916
Wilner, Ortha L. “Roman Beauty Culture.” The Classical Journal 27, no. 1 (1931): 26–38. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3290598.
Rota Fortunae/Wheel of Fortune
Fortuna, Roman goddess of luck, fate, and fortune- the toss of a coin, the spin of a wheel, the reason your comrade drowned yet you remained unscathedlounged upon her celestial throne, her wheel at her side. Far below, Mount Vesuvius lay serene- for the moment- in the light of dawn. Beneath it, a patchwork of vineyards with copious grapevines, luxuriant cascades of green and purple, gave way to sprawling farmhouses, daubs of ochre amongst thick paint strokes of verdant green. In the distance, cerulean waves lapped gently on the Bay of Naples. Oh, how looks can be deceiving!
10 HORAS IN MANE
Rectina stood in her garden, marvelling at the full clusters of roses that she had planted the previous summer. A delightful aroma of gardenias permeated the thick August air and the sound of trickling water from the fountain at the garden’s centre soothed her. She proceeded to water the roses, then secured them in orderly rows before pausing to slake her own burgeoning thirst. As Rectina raised the hydria of water to her lips, a violent tremor knocked her off balance, causing the contents of the jug to slosh onto her finely woven tunic. “Clemens! An earthquake!” she called to her slave. A moment later, a fine layer of grey powder descended upon the garden. “By the Gods! This is surely something worse than an earthquake,” Rectina cried, alarmed, as she hurried inside, shielding herself from the residue. Entering her husband Tascus’s empty tablinum, she snatched a stylus and a piece of parchment. She hastily composed a message to her old friend Admiral Gaius Plinius, head of the Roman Naval Force. Oh, how she wished Tascus had not gone away for his Imperial conscription!
Dear Gaius,
The earth rumbles, flakes fall from the sky, and a strange odour permeates the air. I must leave by boat tonight. I will await you at the port at 6 this evening. Please come!
Your friend, Rectina Caesia.
Satisfied, Rectina rolled the parchment into a scroll then pressed it into Clemens’s hands. “Deliver this to Gaius without delay!” she commanded. Clemens nodded deferentially then departed.
RECTINA’S MESSAGE
4 HORAS POST MERIDIEM
Rectina arranged her traveling stola, a small leather pouch of golden sesterces and a honey cake in a hessian bag. She knelt before the bronze shrine of Fortuna and lit a stick of incense. Inhaling the heady scent, she uttered a prayer, “Your favour, goddess, can enrich our lives; its lack can destroy us. Guide me on my journey to the port and beyond and shield me from the virile wrath of Neptune.” Then heart thumping, clasping her bag in one hand and Fortuna’s statuette in the other, Rectina hastily bade farewell to her empty home.
Ash and white rock rained down, littering the cobbled via and injuring anyone in its path. A stream of people hastened towards the port, while others sought refuge under awnings or in nearby shops, hoping the deluge of rocks would soon abate. As Rectina walked, she prayed that Gaius would be waiting for her.
he port was abuzz with fear and uncertainty when Rectina finally arrived. Women wailed, children cried, and men bellowed in panic. Some prayed to the gods; while others proclaimed there were no gods and the world was surely ending. Undeterred, Rectina threaded her way through the masses, many of whom were attempting to secure safe passage to sheltered shores, calling “Gaius, Gaius Plinus” to no avail. It was becoming a strain to draw breath; her throat was thick with sulphur and ash, but Rectina continued her search. “I know he will come. He must!”
7 AT NOCTE
There was a thunderous crack followed by a heavy rain of large rocks. Terrified, people shrieked and jostled, forming a human tidal wave that engulfed Rectina and propelled her towards a nearby ship. “Femina’’, bellowed a sailor, “Climb aboard for two hundred sestercii!”. “Oh, no… I’m waiting for a friend, Admiral Plinus. He is arriving soon by boat!” “Columba, no one is coming. Look around! We will be blessed if Fortuna enables our departure from this forsaken port! All those boats are filled with fleeing citizens. Take it or leave it, columba. ” Rectina faltered, uncertain,“I only have 100 sestercii, sailor.” Smirking, the sailor replied, “I’ll take the bronze statuette to cover the rest. Dea Fortuna will guide
my rudder to safer shores.” Rectina weak and afraid, acquiesced. She tentatively boarded the crowded ship and found a sheltered corner in which to rest. “Fortuna” she prayed.
Above the port, Fortuna sat wreathed in a cloud of mist, her golden glow suffused, invisible to mortals. Her face hard and impassive, she spun her wheel, which came to rest on the skull. Death to one and all, she declared with a clap of her hands...
Suddenly, a colossal boulder plummeted from the sky, striking the stern of the ship directly. A sickening crack split the air as the ship’s wooden hull fractured in two. Water surged in, filling the void and sweeping Rectina into the frigid waves. She thrashed violently and gasped for air but despite her efforts Rectina felt herself dragged sharply down, the water eddying around her as she sank to the bottom of the Bay of Naples.
Across the bay, Admiral Gaius Plinius’s fleet edged towards Pompeii.
Finis.
Orpheus and Eurydice Artistic Rendition Latin X
Deep in the shadows, I stay, Not knowing the difference between night and day, Wishing that my death was unweaved, I’m sure my death Orpheus grieved, He must wish he could redo my untimely fate, And that he could kill the snake that ate. From my chambers, I heard his song, Oh, how my Orpheus is so strong! Hades’ condition hurt me so As you could never again see my face aglow Still overcome by love, you dared to stare, But I was already gone, and your gaze reached mere air I fell down far below the sky, Waving nothing but my final goodbye.
Daedelus and Icarus Artistic Rendition
My job was to bind the wings. So they could escape the evil King. Daedalus told him to avoid the sun. As Icarus was his only son And this advice was quite wise But while flying through the skies, he began to rise The sun made me melt. And as Icarus fell, his pain I felt. To his safety, I was the key. But instead, he fell into the endless sea.
Eve Hecht, Nightingale-Bamford
