Thursday, October 16, 2014

Deianira and erotic alchemy

Deianira's opening speech in Women of Trachis is a powerfully compressed reminiscence of a married woman in the prime of life. Exiled thanks to her husband's horrific act of violence against Iphitus, she looks back to when as a young girl, already the object of desire by the ancient bull-dragon-River God Achelous, she experienced a nightmarish dread of marriage (and of erotic desire), and a kind of dreamlike salvation through the mighty arms of Heracles.

The surfacing of those early fears leads to ruminations on what it's like to be married to a kind of superman action figure always away, always on call. Heracles is hounded by Hera, exploited by Eurystheus, dominated by Omphale, and about to be destroyed by Deianira, who speaks of her man as the sole guarantor of her and her children's lives and happiness.

Trachis opens at ground level, exposing the roots of men and women, the latent terrors and erotic alchemy that make it possible for a young virgin to be attractive to an ancient shape-shifting god who's the scariest thing imaginable to her; etching as well the status of a woman, a centripetal home-maker (and fertile seedbed) yoked to a potent wandering Punisher who is subject in turn to the inestimable enmity of the most powerful goddess.
ἐγὼ γὰρ ἥμην ἐκπεπληγμένη φόβῳ 
μή μοι τὸ κάλλος ἄλγος ἐξεύροι ποτέ
But I was struck with terror,
lest my beauty should win me torment in the end.
Right from the start, Sophocles enmeshes us in a web of opposites that repel and attract. Deianira's word for being "struck" is ἐκπλήσσω:  It carries the sense of being driven out of one's senses by shock, fear, or amazement; panic-struck. It means can also mean: seized with desire, love-struck. 

The opening of Women of Trachis is seething with latent forces, desires, and fears, some of the deepest known to women and to men. Torment and beauty sit at the root of Deianira's and Heracles' world. One might describe such an opening, in short, as over-sexed.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

A lesson in cross-dressing

Ovid's Fasti contain a host of tales, some rather bawdy. Here's part of the tale (Fasti Book 2) of Faunus, who spied Omphale walking with Hercules and was wounded by love.
By chance Tirynthian Hercules was walking with Omphale,
His mistress, and Faunus saw them from a high ridge.
He saw and burned. ‘Mountain spirits,’ he said,
‘No more of your company: she will be my passion.’
It was midnight. What will unruly love not dare?
Faunus came through the dark to the dewy cave,
And seeing the servants lost in drunken slumber,
Had hopes of their master also being fast asleep.
Entering, as a reckless lover, he roamed around,
Following his cautious outstretched hands.
He reached the couches spread as beds, by touch,
And this first omen of the future was bright.
When he felt the bristling tawny lion-skin,
However, he drew back his hand in terror,
And recoiled, frozen with fear, as a traveller, troubled,
Will draw back his foot on seeing a snake.
Then he touched the soft coverings of the next couch,
And its deceptive feel misled him.
He climbed in, and reclined on the bed’s near side,
And his swollen cock was harder than horn.
But pulling up the lower hem of the tunic,
The legs there were bristling with thick coarse hair.
The Tirynthian hero fiercely repelled another attempt,
And down fell Faunus from the heights of the couch.
At the noise, Omphale called for her servants, and light:
Torches appeared, and events became clear.
Faunus groaned from his heavy fall from the high couch,
And could barely lift his limbs from the hard ground.
Hercules laughed, as did all who saw him lying there,
And the Lydian girl laughed too, at her lover.

 Tintoretto: Hercules expels Faunus from Omphale's bed

Xenocleia's tripod

The stories about Heracles are so various and numerous as to dwarf all other heroes. The tale of Xenocleia, linked to the murder of Iphitos and the mandatory service to Omphale, is worth a look:
Xenoclea, who appears as a character in the legend of Hercules, was the Pythia, or priestess and oracle, of the temple of Apollo at Delphi.
The Delphic oracle was a historical reality and was established in the 8th century BC. 
According to Pausanias and others, Hercules travelled to Delphi to consult the Oracle following the death of Iphitus, whom he had thrown off a wall in the city of Tiryns while Iphitus was staying with him as a guest. Suffering from nightmares, Hercules sought advice as to how to be cured. However, when he came to address his request to Xenoclea, she refused to help him, considering that he was still unpurified from the blood and death of Iphitus and also being shocked by the nature of his crime. Her only answer to him was "You murdered your guest, I have no oracle for such as you".  
This contemptuous reply so enraged Hercules that he sacrilegiously seized the priestess's Delphic tripod, took it away, and would not return it until she had agreed to grant his own request.
After the return of her tripod, and after bathing in the Castalian Spring, Xenoclea pronounced that Hercules would be purified of the death of Iphitus only by serving a year as a slave, with the price he fetched going to the children of Iphitus as compensation for the loss of their father. Asked who was to buy him, Xenoclea replied that it would be Omphale, Queen of Lydia. Hercules accepted the guidance of the oracle and agreed to serve Omphale for one year. 
Ancient depictions of the incident in the temple survive. On one ancient vase, Hercules is shown carrying off the sacred tripod, while Apollo, holding a branch of laurel, struggles to recover it and Xenoclea, apparently terrified by the dispute, looks on from a window, awaiting the outcome.
Heracles is more than the brilliant hero of the labors. He struggles with gods, scares oracles, and destroys innocent humans, including his first wife and children. Yet he was the splendid, saving alternative to Achelous:
Deianira: But at last, to my joy, the glorious son of Zeus and Alcmena came and closed with him in combat and delivered me.

Apollo and Hercules struggling for possession of the tripod, with Artemis on the left helping her brother, and Athena, in the center, helping Hercules.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Hercules in chains - of gold

Ovid offered another perspective on Hercules and Iole in Heroides 9, a letter from Deianira to the hero, with a sly dig - here's Kline's translation:
Now a foreign rival is brought before my eyes,
and I cannot hide from myself what I suffer!
You won’t let me avoid her: she walks like a captive
through the middle of the city to be seen by unwilling eyes.
But not with unbound hair in the manner of a captive:
she confesses her good fortune by her seemly looks,
walking, visible far and wide, covered with gold,
just as you yourself were dressed in Phrygia:
Omphale in Hercules' garb

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Heracles still at work

The BBC brings us yet another Heracles. A show in which the images allegorize the achievements of the Russian strongman.

He grapples with the hydra of Western sanctions:

Here, Putin is destroying the coarse "oligarch beasts":

Here he's riding a Crimean ox that's broken away to return to mother Russia:

The participating artists preferred to remain anonymous. More here: The 12 Labours of... Putin.

[Added]: Happy Birthday Mr. Putin

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Heracles, Theseus, Achelous, & Deianira in Metamorphoses

A few of the many questions that Ovid's text of Hercules, Achelous, and Theseus provokes for me - no particular order:

Why the careful set-up of the exquisite dinner party in Achelous' grotto - (a setting so intriguing that it was imitated in Renaissance gardens for hundreds of years)?

Ovid also depicted Theseus at the notorious dinner party for the wedding of Pirithous - what does this conjunction suggest?

What is Achelous's relation to his nature as a river?

Asking why water, trees and transformation run deeply throughout the tales told in the grotto, all precedent to the entrance of Heracles in Book 9.

One might notice, though not right away, that the story of Deianira frames all of the tales between the end of the Calydonian Boar hunt in Book 8 and the death (and birth) of Hercules in Book 9. Does this suggest a relation between the Boar (and Hunt) and the strange career of Hercules and Deianira?

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Heracles' footstep

The legendary beginnings of the city of Heracleion include Helen and Paris, as well as its namesake:
It was believed that Paris and Helen of Troy were stranded there on their flight from the jealous Menelaus, before the Trojan war began. Also, it was believed that Heracles himself had visited the city, and that the city had gained its name from him.
The city's name is a small indication of the afterlife of Heracles, a truly outsized hero even by Greek standards:
Greek texts referred to a place called Heracleion. The Egyptians had a city called Thonis. For centuries, Egyptologists puzzled over these two cities, but in 2000, French underwater archeologist Franck Goddio solved the mystery: Thonis and Heracleion were two names for the same place. 
In the 5th century BC, Greek historian Herodotus wrote that a great temple was built where the hero Heracles first stepped onto Egyptian soil (hence the name). 
Located in Aboukir Bay and founded around the 8th century BC, the city thrived as Egypt’s primary port for all boats coming from Greece. Canals ran all through it, forming islands and harbors. More than 700 ancient anchors have been found there, along with more than 60 shipwrecks dating to between the 6th and 2nd centuries BC. Because so much of the treasure recovered there dates to that period, scientists believe it was the city’s heyday.
So what happened — and when? Everything found at Thonis can be dated to the late 8th century AD or earlier, so scientists believe it sank then — along with the nearby cities of Portus Magnus and Canopus — for a few reasons: 
• A series of natural disasters, including earthquakes and floods
• Slow sinking of the soil, compounded by rising water levels
• The weight of heavy stone buildings, such as temples, which may have sped up liquefaction of the soil. 
Goddio says we’ll be studying the site for 200 years to come — it’s that rich.   (Link)

Friday, September 19, 2014

Helen at play

Two more marvels from the ever beguiling Helen. The passages have been reworked from Perseus and Showerman (Loeb) to approach their complexity. Thanks to Peter d'Epiro for his very helpful suggestions.

     Sic certe felix esse coacta forem.


Wrongs can grace those who suffer them. I surely could have been compelled to happiness. While it's new, let's struggle against this love barely begun! The kindling spark will abate with a little water. Love isn't steadfast in travelers; it wanders like themselves, and just when you feel that nothing could be more firm, it flees.
     A verbis facies dissidet ista tuis.

     Bella gerant fortestuParisemper ama!
     Utererutetursiqua puella sapit — 
You vaunt your valor, and recount your mighty acts: those looks betray your words. Your limbs are more apt for the delights of Venus than for the rude encounters of Mars. Let the strong wage war; you, Paris, always love! Assign Hector, whom you praise, to fight in your place. A different warfare suits those graceful motions. If I were bolder and savvier, I'd use them; any girl with taste would use them! Perhaps, conquered by time, I'll savor them yet -- casting off modesty, I'll give my hot yet hesitant hands to you.
Helen and Aphrodite

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Ovid's rendering of Heracles

Our next reading will be Sophocles' Women of Trachis, but given our recent involvement with Ovid, the plan is to spend one session on Ovid's treatment of the theme, which mostly falls into Metamorphoses 9.

I've pasted the entire section relating to the river Achelous below the fold, including the tales at the end of book 8, since that is where Theseus, returning from the Calydonian Boar hunt, meets the river, hears his stories, including those about Heracles, before moving on. The text is from here. The blog pertaining to the Metamorphoses is here.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

An Athenian vase painting in Boston

Jutta shared this from the WSJ
. . . a salad bowl-sized vessel on display in the Homer gallery depicts Helen of Troy's reluctance to leave for Greece with Paris—the action that sparked the Trojan War. In contrast to most art that has survived from the era, the artists of this work are known: Makron, who painted the figures, and Hieron, who made the cup, put their names on it. Makron, who worked around 490 to 480 B.C., is one of the best of the Athenian vase painters, known for oversize figures and fluid lines, Ms. Segal said. She noted the hesitance evoked by a small curve in the drape of Helen's robe—her left hand pulls her dress slightly away from Paris, demonstrating her innocence in the conflict. Though the Greeks laid much of the blame for the war on Helen, the robe "speaks to the ambivalence that the Greeks had about their own heroes," Ms. Segal said.

Saturday, September 06, 2014

The greatest glory: Helen to Paris (II)

...picking up the thread from here...

Ovid of course was familiar with the allegorization of the Judgment of Paris as a parable of choice. At stake is nothing less than one's fate, since the choice concerns the human values assigned to the pursuits of politics (action) philosophy (contemplation) and pleasure (aesthetics) -- a standard theme within the Greek and Roman thought about education (paideia). How one orders these values has everything to do with the kind of life one will live.

The first thing one notices about Paris's letter to Helen (Heroides 16) is that apart from a quick nod to Juno and Athena, he only speaks of Venus and of the love she has ignited in him. Paris seems quite unreflective about the stakes, implications and ultimate consequences of his judgment. He's all about wanting to get Helen aboard his ship and out of Dodge.

Helen's response - rescribendi - (Heroides 17) is about something else.

A word both Paris and Helen use is rustĭcus. At one point, Paris calls Menelaos "that rustic" with the sneer of an aristocrat describing a boorish oaf or peasant. Paris then applies the word to Helen:

     Hanc faciem culpa posse carere putas? (285-88)

Do you feel shame and fear to violate your wedded love, to be false to the chaste oath of the marriage bed? Ah, too simple, nay, too rustic Helen, do you think that beauty of yours can be free of fault?
The reader can safely be assumed to be summoning up a passel of movie scenes involving the city slicker coming on condescendingly to the lovely small town girl. 

Helen picks up the word and gives it her own twist:

You who entered in, were you a guest, or an enemy? I doubt not that my complaint would be called "rustic" in your judgment. Let me be rustic, so long as my chastity is not forgot, and the whole tenor of my life is without stain.
Further on in her letter, Helen uses the word once more - by now she's well past centering her response upon chastity's cold comfort:

     Vi mea rusticitas excutienda fuit
     Sic certe felix esse coacta forem.
What you basely urge on me, would that you could honorably compel me to! You should have vehemently taken my "rusticity" by force. A lawless act can bring gain to the one who suffers it. So I'd have been compelled to happiness.
Helen regards the predicament of Paris - his and hers - with an expansive, dispassionate clarity that dwarfs his simplicity. She shows him what to do with his view of her as the simple rural waif. Paris thought he was plucking a flower among the rubes, but he found Lauren Bacall, calmly appraising the goods.

Even more, Helen reflects upon what is at stake for her, and for them, with zero illusions. This woman understands herself, him, and all their options and the consequences of each down to the ground:
Oh that you had then visited our coasts in a nimble bark, when a thousand rivals solicited my virgin love! Had you appeared, you would have triumphed over the thousand; nor could my husband have justly blamed my choice. Now, alas! you come too late to joys that are the right of another; and your slow hope invades a plighted love. But although it would have been more to my wish to live with you, yet Menelaus does not possess me against my will.
Nor be you too much displeased, that I am rather incredulous; for things of moment are not credited with ease.
It is in fact Helen's ability to examine, to question with critical insight, that puts her in a league with Penelope, who simply refused to believe her husband had returned, despite his standing before her, until she tricked him into betraying the one secret that she knew no other man could know. Helen's mind and heart weigh everything that is happening. It is she, not Paris, who ponders the meaning of the judgment of Paris:
You chose me in place of valor, in place of a noble kingdom; it would be inhuman, not to receive a heart so wholly mine. But trust me, I am far from being inhuman; and only struggle against loving a man whom I scarcely can hope ever to possess.
And this is the wholly Ovidian irony of this pair of letters, that the philosophical choice every man faced according to the moralists and wise men, the choice of Athena, Juno, or Venus, was wasted upon poor Paris, who was too young, impetuous and dazzled to think much about anything. Helen's mind is a mirror to the perplexing, deep questions latent in the event called the Judgment of Paris. This man has commenced an invasive action upon her that echoes earlier and later assaults:
. . . it is still more that you love me, that you run such hazards for my sake, and follow hope through all the dangers of the main. Nor do I overlook the signs you make at our table, though I artfully dissemble all notice.

I observe your ardent wistful looks, and those meaning eyes that almost dazzle mine. Sometimes you sigh, and, snatching the cup, fix your lips where mine had been before. Ah! how oft have I marked the hidden signs wafted from your fingers, and the lively language expressed in your eye-brow!
She's the man here, and as she reads his face and ponders all of what lies before her, she is experiencing the truth of that judgment, even as she's judging Paris himself. It is about nothing but love:
Your letter is filled with ample promises, such as might move even Goddesses to yield; but if ever I violate the laws of chastity, yourself shall be the more powerful cause of my crime.
And the campaign waged by Paris is taking its toll - foreshadowing the battles before Troy, the walls of her virtue have been wounded:

     Neve mihiquam te dicis amarenoce;
Cease then, to pluck with your words at my faltering heart, and do not give pain to her you say you love.
Her word here for "pluck" is convellereit's a strong word (root of "convulsion"), redolent of rape, and of the field of battle. Perhaps it reminds her of the giant creature that took her mother Leda by force. A battle is being waged, and she sees how it will end:
     Di mihi sunt testes — lusimus arte virum.

I am unpracticed in the theft of love and never yet - the gods are my witnesses - have I made made wily sport of my man. Even now, as I entrust my words to the voiceless page, my letter performs a strange new service. 
It would be hard to imagine a more extraordinary image of the writer's critical consciousness of and in the act of writing - rescribendi. Just as Paris could not avoid betraying his love by merely asking if he should speak, Helen's written response commits her to a voiceless trace of an action. She is in wonder as she apprehends the uncanny way her inscription takes on a life of its own, leaving her to herald the inward choice that will launch 1000 ships, trigger the greatest song ever sung, spin the greatest web ever spun.

Ovid's Helen is not merely the precipitate cause of the Trojan war, or its final cause. Her clear eyes see it all right from the start, and her part in it, her heroic part, is to respond fully to this one great love despite all the dire prophecies and premonitions. For Ovid, the greatest glory accorded to anyone at the contest of the horse-taming Trojans and the bronze-clad Achaeans was not accorded either to Achilles or Hector. Only a true poet of Amor could say it, and Ovid is saying it: The greatest glory of the song of heroes goes to Helen.