Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture [1 ed.] 9781443893183, 9781443890243

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Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture

Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture Edited by

Konrad Dominas, Elżbieta Wesołowska and Bogdan Trocha

Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture Edited by Konrad Dominas, Elżbieta Wesołowska and Bogdan Trocha Academic review: Anna Gemra, Katarzyna Marciniak This book first published 2016 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2016 by Konrad Dominas, Elżbieta Wesołowska, Bogdan Trocha and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-9024-3 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-9024-3

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Illustrations ..................................................................................... ix Introduction ................................................................................................ xi Martin M. Winkler Part I: Antiquity in Popular Literature Antiquity Is Now: Modern Strands of the Mythical Method in Contemporary Young Adult Speculative Fiction .................................... 3 Marek Oziewicz Between the Clichés and Speculative Re-Narration: Features of Ancient Themes in Popular Literature .................................................................... 21 Bogdan Trocha What Undergoes Changes and What Remains Unchanged, or How to Research Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture on the Model of the Trilogy Troy by David Gemmell ..................................................... 37 Konrad Dominas The Ancient Quotations in Marek Krajewski’s Detective Novels ............. 51 Karol ZieliĔski Olympus Shown by Grzegorz Kasdepke and Katarzyna Marciniak, or How We Should Present Mythology to the Youngest Audience........... 65 Monika Miazek-MĊczyĔska The Gladiatorial Games in Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins: Some Thoughts on Antique Culture in the Modern World........................ 77 Zofia Kaczmarek

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Part II: Antiquity in Popular Culture Nec Hercules Contra Plures: What Popular Culture Does With Antiquity (Outline of the Problem)................................................... 91 Anna Gemra Antique Motifs in the Design of Fountain Pens ...................................... 117 Aleksander Wojciech Mikoáajczak Ancient Topics in Anti-Napoleonic Caricature (1796-1821) .................. 127 Agnieszka FuliĔska Sacrum Versus Profanum: The Reception of Holy Mountain Athos in Ancient and Contemporary Culture ..................................................... 157 Rafaá Dymczyk C://Hercules in Computer Games/A Heroic Evolution ........................... 177 Sylwia Chmielewska Pop-Pharaohs – “Reversed Pharaohs”: Remarks on the Carnivalized Model of the Reception of Egypt............................................................. 193 Leszek Zinkow Egyptianizing Motifs in the Products of Popular Culture Addressed to Younger Recipients ............................................................................. 205 Filip Taterka Part III: Antiquity in the Cinema In Theatro Cinematographico Latine Loquentes: Latin in Modern Film ......................................................................................................... 225 Ewa Skwara The Art of Safe Speech: Schünzel’s Amphitruo ...................................... 243 Mary R. McHugh A Thrill for Latinists: Latin Language in Contemporary Horror Films ... 255 Radosáaw PiĊtka

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The Wise Road-Builders and the Empire of Evil: The Image of Ancient Rome in Science Fiction TV Shows ........................................................ 267 Aleksandra KlĊczar The Oedipus Myth in Selected Films: Antiquity and Psychoanalysis ..... 287 Mateusz StróĪyĔski Ancient Rome, Anything Goes: Creating Images of Antiquity in the BBC Series Doctor Who ................................................................ 305 Maria Gierszewska Contributors ............................................................................................. 315 Index ........................................................................................................ 321

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Fig. 2-1. The opening screen from the game Hercules – Slayer of the Damned (1988). Fig. 2-2. Hercules in Kingdom Hearts Re: Chain of Memories (2007). Fig. 2-3. Hercules and Kratos in God of War III (2012). Fig. 3-1. A frame from American Horror Story, season 3, episode 2: Boy Parts (director: Michael Rymer, USA 2013).

INTRODUCTION MARTIN M. WINKLER GEORGE MASON UNIVERSITY

While antiquity exists for us, we, for antiquity, do not. We never did, and we never will. This rather peculiar state of affairs makes our take on antiquity somewhat invalid….We look at antiquity as if out of nowhere.

With these arresting words Nobel Prize laureate Joseph Brodsky began his 1994 essay “Homage to Marcus Aurelius” (Brodsky 1995: 267). The point Brodsky made in his first two sentences is undeniably true, but it is not something that classical scholars and teachers or students of Greece and Rome spend much if any time contemplating. There may well be rather a peculiar state of affairs in regard to our interest in antiquity, which is of a dual nature. It concerns, first, antiquity itself and for its own sake: its history, sciences, philosophy, literature, art, and culture. Secondly, it concerns the continuing importance of antiquity for civilization ever since the fall of Rome or, if you prefer the bigger picture, the fall of Byzantium. But is it correct to say that our take on the past is invalid, even if only somewhat invalid, and, by extension, incorrect or false? Do we really look at antiquity as if from nowhere or as if we had no terra firma under our feet? To paraphrase Archimedes, have we no firm place to stand on, even if we do not intend to move the earth, or even antiquity, from where we are? Do we not instead have for our aides or guides reliable predecessors: countless generations of scholars extending as far back as Aristarchus or the Presocratics, to name only a couple of obvious examples? In fact, we do. (Pfeiffer 1968 and Reynolds and Wilson 2013 are classic works on this subject.) We might not even be far wrong if we considered Homer one of the first archaeologists (in the term’s literal meaning) of antiquity, if there actually was an individual Homer of the kind the Greeks and Romans believed in. The multi-volume series of publications titled Archaeologia Homerica practically tells us so, as do all manner of commentators on the Homeric epics. And, to call on Archimedes the scientist once again for an analogy, is not the entire history of classical and postclassical scholarship and all the fields it touches a kind of intellectual screw, a means with

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which we can raise the level of our understanding of antiquity’s greatness and complexity and, in the process, make our take on antiquity or at least on its continuing influence much less invalid and even worthwhile? Only Beckmessers (but not Brodsky, I am certain) are likely to answer with a resounding No! Or are we facing here a kind of scholarly revival of the Quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns? (On this now Norman 2011.) If we are, this would hardly be the place to continue the debate. But I believe that this is the place to remind ourselves of what one of the Ancients who may well have been a Modern to his contemporaries and to himself, at least to a certain degree, said on this subject about two millennia ago. In Horace’s Epistles 2.1, an open letter addressed to Emperor Augustus, we find traces of a debate about the Ancients, the Greeks, and their Modernizers, the Romans. (I have adduced Horace’s eloquent and sensible perspective on the old and the new in different but not unrelated contexts : Winkler 2009: 68-69 and 2010: 161-162 and 175-176.) Horace writes that those who disdain recent adaptations of works by revered and usually long-dead authors, especially Homer, and who judge nothing to be comparable to the old masters are in serious error. Their judgment is wrong because it is no more than a prejudice against anything modern. “I find it offensive,” says Horace, “when something is criticized...merely because it is new.” Blind adherence to everything ancient and quick condemnation of everything modern denies the great authors of the past one of their most important achievements, which is the creation of a neverending tradition of influence. As Horace points out: “If the Greeks had hated anything new as much as we do now, what would now be old?” (Horace, Epistles 2.1.76-78 and 90-91; my translations). Horace previously observed in this letter that the earliest works of the Greeks are the greatest of all, so the attitude with which he takes issue, had it prevailed, would have stopped any literary creativity since the time of Homer dead in its tracks. That such was not the case is due to two main factors. One is the flexibility and adaptability of myth, the earliest and perhaps greatest source of subject matter in the ancient literary and visual arts. The other is the Greek and Roman view of artistic creativity, which is best described in the Latin terms imitatio and aemulatio. Poets’ creative imitation of, and intellectual competition with, their predecessors ensure the presence of the Ancients among the Moderns without any anxiety of influence. (I borrow this well-known phrase from Bloom 1997.) As Manilius, another Augustan poet, said about Homer: “Posterity has led all the springs flowing from his [Homer’s] mouth into its own poetry and so has dared to distribute [one] stream into [many, if smaller] clear rivers” (Manilius,

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Astronomica 2.8-10; my translation). We may compare another image drawn from the natural world that has been adduced by one of our own contemporaries. Wolfgang Petersen, director in 2004 of the Hollywood epic Troy, said about Homer, the Iliad, and its tradition: “If there is something like a tree of storytelling, on which each book, each film, is a tiny leaf, then Homer is its trunk” (Kniebe 2004, my translation; on the film: Winkler [ed.] 2007 and 2015). Horace was outspoken in his attack on the self-appointed keepers of the classical flame. In his Epistle he reveals a decidedly modern outlook. But Horace was not in the least disdainful of the Ancients and did not deny them their high standing. Virtually all his works, most famously the Odes, illustrate how elegantly Horace balanced the old and the new. In this he could be our model, pointing us to an open-minded appreciation of both. Yes, antiquity does exist for us. Nor, pace Brodsky, do we look at it quite as if from nowhere. Even so, how we see it depends at least as much on ourselves as it does on the Ancients. Nor is what we say about antiquity ever the last word. Panta rhei: Heraclitus’ famous apothegm applies to the works of scholars in any field and of any era just as well. Their endeavors might be – sit venia lusui – invalid, but they are not entirely invalid. Their readers, of course, will have the last word on the degree to which they are or are not. Spiritus flat ubi vult academicus. It seems evident that the study of antiquity and the study of antiquity’s persistence will continue to dare to be distributed ubique terrarum. This pleasing circumstance was exemplified in January, 2014, at the Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ, an institution named after Poland’s influential nineteenth-century epic and lyric poet. As part of an ongoing series of such academic meetings, the university hosted the Seventh International Conference on Fantasy and Wonder (FANCUD 7 to the cognoscenti). Its topic was Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture. Several of the papers given in PoznaĔ appear in this volume in revised form. They demonstrate – of course not exhaustively; no one volume could – the continuing presence of the past or, to put it slightly differently, the importance of the past in the present and, by extension, for the future. The variety of topics to be encountered in these pages is but one illustration of what Horace and Manilius, two representative voices from the past, and Brodsky and Petersen, two exemplars from the present, will have had in mind. Domine, quo vadis? St. Peter’s question to Jesus and the latter’s reply (venio iterum crucifigi) during Emperor Nero’s persecution of Christians in 64 A.D. have been well known since the late nineteenth century through the title of Poland’s most famous novel set in antiquity, Henryk

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Sienkiewicz’s Quo Vadis (1895). Its eventual adaptations to the screen – three times in Italy (1912, 1925, 1985), once in the U.S. (1951), and once in Poland itself (2001) – have kept the legend of Peter’s encounter with Jesus alive even more than the novel could have done. (Zwierlein 2010 examines the textual variants, e.g. quo venis for quo vadis, in the sources. On the films: Scodel and Bettenworth 2009.) So it may be fitting for me to conclude with a rhetorical question and answer that adapt the original exchange to the occasion of the PoznaĔ conference from the temporal perspective of its participants: ANTIQVITATIS FAVTORES, QVO VADITIS? VENIMVS ITERVM EXPLICARE MAGNIQVE AESTIMARE NONNVLLAS RES GRAECAS ET ROMANAS IN VRBE POSNANIA ANNO MMDCCLXVII A.V.C. FELICITER

Bibliography Bloom, Harold. The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. Brodsky, Joseph. “Homage to Marcus Aurelius.” In On Grief and Reason: Essays, 267-298. New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1995. Kniebe, Tobias. “Homer ist, wenn man trotzdem lacht: ‘Troja’-Regisseur Wolfgang Petersen über die mythischen Wurzeln des Erzählens und den Achilles in uns allen.” Süddeutsche Zeitung, May 11, 2004. http://www.sueddeutsche.de/kultur/petersen-interview-homer-ist-wennman-trotzdem-lacht-1.429599. Accessed May 24, 2014. Norman, Larry F. The Shock of the Ancient: Literature and History in Early Modern France. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011. Pfeiffer, Rudolf. History of Classical Scholarship. Vol. 1: From the Beginnings to the End of the Hellenistic Age. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968. Reynolds, L. D., and N. G. Wilson. Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature. 4th ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013.

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Scodel, Ruth, and Anja Bettenworth. Whither Quo Vadis? Malden, MA; Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. Winkler, Martin M. (ed.). Troy: From Homer’s Iliad to Hollywood Epic. Oxford: Blackwell, 2007. —. Cinema and Classical Texts: Apollo’s New Light. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2009; rpt. 2012. —. “Leaves of Homeric Storytelling: Wolfgang Petersen’s Troy and Franco Rossi’s Odissea” / “Foglie di narrazione omerica: Troy di Wolfgang Petersen e l’Odissea di Franco Rossi.” In Omero mediatico: Aspetti della ricezione omerica nella civiltà contemporanea, edited by Eleonora Cavallini. 2nd ed. Bologna: D.u.press, 2010. 153-163 / 165177. —. (ed.). Return to Troy: New Essays on the Hollywood Epic. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Zwierlein, Otto. Petrus in Rom: Die literarischen Zeugnisse mit einer kritischen Edition der Martyrien des Petrus und Paulus auf neuer handschriftlicher Grundlage. 2nd ed. Berlin; New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2010.

PART I: ANTIQUITY IN POPULAR LITERATURE

ANTIQUITY IS NOW: MODERN STRANDS OF THE MYTHICAL METHOD IN CONTEMPORARY YOUNG ADULT SPECULATIVE FICTION MAREK OZIEWICZ UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA

Abstract: This chapter looks at the most common uses of the trope of antiquity in modern YA fantasy and science fiction and theorizes them as strands of what T.S. Eliot once dubbed as “the mythical method.” It identifies two strategies used by authors of speculative fiction – ancient locations and ancient presence – and examines one framing device representative of each strategy: the moving center and the ancient wisdom. The analysis draws on examples of literary and filmic narratives. It suggests why the “Antiquity is Now” concept has become central to many works of contemporary speculative fiction and seeks to account for its continuing appeal to the 21st century audience.

The resilience of myth and mythic structures in literature has been the delight of readers and a despair of commentators. From Church fathers and their medieval successors through Enlightenment philosophers and their 20th century heirs, the big question has been why stories reflecting beliefs that died out millennia ago continue to appeal to modern readers1. How is it that something that can mean many things at the same time (Honko 1984: 41ff) has provided a repository of ideas on which the European nations have built much of their own cultural lores and conceptual structures? The rise of anthropology, folkloristics, fairy tale studies, linguistics and psychology – all of them products of the positivistic 19th century – were informed, among others, by the desire to explain how myths have exercised an unbroken authority over the European imagination and what should replace them in a more rational age. Among the many delightful problems with myth, one that has especially frustrated scholars has been that myth makes something ancient and bizarre appear modern and relevant. In the words of Brian Attebery, myth’s elaborations make “ancient and powerful symbolic structures available to modern readers” (Attebery 2014: 5). This notion

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offends the Enlightenment’s most cherished conviction about the hegemony of reason and questions a conceptual system built upon it, in which myth is synonymous with what is ancient, irrational, and ought to be long dead2. Yet, instead of becoming obsolete, myth has remained a persistent and pervasive force in the modern age. In the past century, boosted by the explosion of speculative fiction, the impact of myth has actually grown. Although literary uses of myth are always appropriations, one possible explanation for the currency of myth in modern literature can be found in T.S. Eliot’s 1923 review of James Joyce’s Ulysses. In this often-quoted piece Eliot identified “the mythical method” as a way to create “a continuous parallel between contemporaneity and antiquity.” The benefit of this method, Eliot asserted, is that authors who build on myth are able to order, shape and give significance “to the immense panorama of futility and anarchy which is contemporary history.” In other words, they can make the modern world “possible for art” (Eliot 1975: 177). To Eliot and his contemporaries who saw the collective suicide of the West as it putrefied in the trenches of WWI, the mythical method was a means to reinvent the novel form. A sort of “ancient stay against the present chaos,” the mythical method soon became widely adopted in fantasy and evolved into what can best be described today as a publishing author’s practice of taking an ancient or received myth, legend, or traditional, archetypal, or historical story … as the skeleton or organizing principle or scaffold or template or infrastructure or pentimento for a narrative or plot that is both ostensibly self-standing and in some sense ‘modern,’ or more contemporary, and yet can be mapped onto a kind of archaeological other original. (Nohrnberg 2011: 21)

The archeological original that Nohrnberg refers to here is an anchoring in antiquity; an anchoring that in narrative fiction is possible only through reference to elements from stories – characters, settings, plotlines and motifs – that are recognized for their ancient provenance. Thus the question Eliot’s mythical method begs – what, really, is myth? – is also a question that can be asked about antiquity. The answer is far from simple. Just as myth is an open-ended category, impossible to be contained in an unequivocal definition, so too antiquity is a stretchable construct. When seen through the European lens, antiquity refers primarily to the Greek and Roman period, but that is not the case in other contexts. For example, editors of the journal American Antiquity, published by the Society for American Archeology, identify antiquity as a period in history of North America rather than Europe. Including essays

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ranging from those on Clovis bison hunting to those on removal of the Potawatomi of northern Indiana in the first decades of the 19th century, this antiquity is a broad term spanning the entire history of North America that predates any living human’s memory. There is also no reason why antiquity should be reserved as a privileged term to describe only European or North American past; each culture and continent boasts of its own antiquity. The term is obviously a politically charged one, in history and literature alike. In African-American fiction, for instance, antiquity functions at the same time as the idea of pre-slavery idyllic life in Africa and the dark time of slavery until the Civil War. In much Slavic literature, by contrast, the default antiquity tends to refer to the pre-Christian world of tribes and beliefs that Christianity wiped out. Without splitting hairs, a modest definition of antiquity for this chapter is a period of existence and the cultural products of a historical civilization that is 1) removed from ours by some radical discontinuity – like white-European conquest of the indigenous Native American cultures – but is at the same time 2) seen as foundational by a particular ethnic, cultural or national group in a way Greece and Rome have been for the Euro-American civilization. Antiquity is clearly a stretchable term in both history and literary fiction. The definition aside, perhaps just as relevant is the question why antiquity should matter. A number of theories have been put forth to explain the meaning of the supposedly ancient past. Eliot’s contention, for example, assumes that antiquity – whose most tangible trace is myth – was a time of order, unity, beauty, creativity or other qualities that are distinctly lacking in modern anomic culture. Antiquity matters for Eliot, because he sees the concept as a synecdoche of a human life making sense. Other answers were offered too: for 19th century evolutionary-comparativist anthropologists from Tylor to Frazer antiquity mattered because it was a childhood of humanity and should be studied to reconstruct the earliest stages of human life and culture3. This Enlightenment premise was also shared by Freud who believed that the history of humanity follows a uniform development everywhere from savagery to civilization4. Relics of primitive belief and custom to be found in myths and folklore, he thought, shed light not just on the evolution of culture but of consciousness too. Alternative theories that emerged in reaction to Freud’s views did not question that antiquity is the record of human psychological make-up; they merely questioned the content of that hidden component. Comparative mythographers and religious scholars such as Cassirer and Eliade, depth psychologists such as Jung and Hillman, as well as myth critics from Campbell through Frye all saw myth not as something humans ought to grow away from but as something to grow toward5. Understanding myth,

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living myth, or perhaps even recreating myth through art became the highest aspiration, a sign of maturity rather than infantile arrested development, in some cases – a lifeboat for crossing life’s stormy waters. This was nowhere more evident than in the field of fantasy where myth and the antiquity it spoke of became the subject of Romantic admiration. Although both Jung and Freud shared a focus on how ancient patterns shape modern human’s behavior, perhaps the most antiquity-centered ethno-psychological theory to date has been the hypothesis of collective amnesia put forth by Immanuel Velikovsky. Much less known but even more widely contested than the theory of primordial urges proposed by Freud, Velikovsky’s hypothesis also deals with what has been suppressed, even though he identifies the suppressed differently. “Freud was nearly correct in his diagnosis when he wrote that mankind lives in a state of delusion,” Velikovsky declares, “but he was unable to define the etiology [… and] the nature of the traumatic experience” (Velikovsky 1982: 33). According to Velikovsky, the great trauma of humanity is not the suppressed desire of patricide and incest, but the suppressed trauma of repeated near-extinctions of the human race as a result of great cosmic catastrophes. In a series of best-selling books – starting from Worlds in Collision (1950) through his magnum opus, the posthumous Mankind in Amnesia (1982) – the Russian-born omnibus scholar collected impressive evidence, based largely on comparative mythology, to suggest that our planet, within the historical memory of human societies, has been subject to numerous cosmic disasters on a global scale. Supposedly recorded by all ancient civilizations as “wars in the celestial sphere” (Velikovsky 1950: vii), these cosmic events “were either accompanied or caused by shifting of the terrestrial axis or by a disturbance of the diurnal and annual motions of the earth” (Velikovsky 1955: 263-4), which led to hurricanes, rain of meteorites, floods and earthquakes. Time and again, these upheavals almost wiped out the entire human race. Provocative yet circumstantial and lacking hard evidence,Velikovsky’s mytho-historical cosmology has been rejected by the scientific community6. Nevertheless, in the light of such happenings as the still unexplained Tunguska event or the Chelabynsk meteor that crashed into Russia in February 2013, it is not unthinkable that similar events did happen in the past, even if on a smaller scale than Velikovsky suggests. Specific dates and scale aside, Velikovsky’s theory is perhaps most interesting when he considers to what extent near-extinction events might have become part of the human unconscious. Here, at least, he speaks not as an amateur astronomer or an armchair world historian, but as a trained

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professional with long clinical experience. Already in Worlds in Collision Velikovsky claimed that [t]he memory of the cataclysms was erased, not because of lack of written traditions, but because of some characteristic process that later caused entire nations, together with their literate men, to read into these traditions allegories or metaphors where actually cosmic disturbances were clearly described. (Velikovsky 1950: 302)

This insight grew into his last book, Mankind in Amnesia. Taking as a starting point the claim that all modern humans are “descendants of the survivors, themselves descendants of survivors” (Velikovsky 1955: 264), Velikovsky claims that the dark anxiety that plagues humans is the fear of a cosmic catastrophe. This fear – whose manifestations range from Celts’ anxiety that the sky would collapse on their heads to stories about the end of the world found in all world religions – has analogs in two common phenomena encountered in psychiatry. One is partial amnesia, the erasure of painful experiences from conscious memory. The other is psychological scotoma: an inability of the afflicted individual to recognize certain phenomena or situations though they may be obvious to other persons (Velikovsky 1982: 10). Velikovsky applies these reactions to all humanity and argues that the traumatic memory of past catastrophes – what today would be treated as post-traumatic stress disorder – has been imprinted in the human collective mind, in which it was suppressed and pushed into the darkest recesses of the unconscious. Because any trauma produces two related reactions – endeavors to remember or relive it and endeavors to forget and erase it – Velikovsky’s mankind in amnesia is caught up in a conflict it cannot resolve. The “repetition compulsion” to relieve the terror and anguish associated with near-extinction explains, according to Velikovsky, some of the human propensity to violence, factual or imagined. The denial reaction, in turn, offers a new perspective on the post-Enlightenment hostility to myth and on the evolution of Western science, whose development Velikovsky sees as “a codification of the oblivion” (43). From Aristotle’s cosmology based on “astronomical uniformitaranism” (52) and designed to eliminate the possibility of planetary near-collisions in a rational and predictably-moving universe through Darwin’s evolutionism based on ascribing all changes in the natural world to a very slow evolution over millions of years and predicated on the assumption about the peaceful history of the Earth, much of Western science, as Velikovsky sees it, appears as a large-scale attempt to reassure humanity that the universe is rational and predictable, that the planet we live on is not an accident-prone vessel, and that cosmic

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catastrophes are so improbable that they do not need to be considered. If Velikovsky were alive, he might also see the current denial of the ongoing environmental derailing as part of the same post-traumatic inhibition. How does all this relate to contemporary speculative fiction in general and young adult fantasy in particular? The connection, I believe, is profound and operates on many levels. For one thing, like Freud, Velikovsky claimed that suppressed memories of trauma lead individuals and groups toward a repetition or recreation of the traumatic experience. If so, might this be one reason behind the rise of apocalyptic imagination that permeates so much of modern fantasy and science fiction? Tolkien was certainly not the only author of speculative fiction who stressed that he always had “a sense of recording what was already ‘there,’ somewhere; not of ‘inventing’ ” (Tolkien 2000: 145). Middle-Earth, he claimed, was “not an imaginary world” (239). Even if one rules out the possibility of a collective suppressed trauma, another connection between antiquity and speculative fiction is that the latter is an attempt to speak for the former. Virtually all psychological theories proposed in the 20th century share a fear or hope that antiquity is far from gone. Whereas genetics sees human individuals as carriers of ancient genetic codes, psychology asserts that individuals and societies alike are motivated by invisible psychological drives rooted in archaic situations. Antiquity thus trickles down to the present not just through our genes but also through the human unconscious. It comes alive through our artistic creations, especially those that recreate mythic stories. That is why, according to Attebery, the history of literary fantasy is a history of mythopoiesis, modern myth-making – though fantasy ‘makes’ myth only in the sense that a traditional oral performer makes the story she tells: not inventing but recreating that which has always existed only in performance, in the present” (Attebery 2014: 4).

Both levels are mutually reinforcing and activate experiences in the other sphere: the unconscious in myth, and myth in the unconscious. For psychologists who wrote about the unconscious – often using myths to support their cases – as well as for scholars who wrote about myth and literature, the antiquity that modern people confront in their own souls and in art is thus a tangible presence that requires attention. In other words, antiquity, in its remembered and forgotten aspects, is an important component of the present. It has implications both for the creative process and for the reception of literature, especially speculative fiction. Like psychology, speculative fiction strikes at the “control belief” foundational to modern science, and does so especially in its questioning

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of the narrow confines of the real. By focusing on the possible or thinkable, science fiction, fantasy and other speculative genres create mental spaces where the reader is free to consider alternative ways of seeing the world, remembering it, or interacting with it. Although not all speculative fiction is explicitly based on myth, most of its genres use the mythical method to achieve their effects and create worlds where elements of the past, present and future coexist seamlessly. In allowing this particular confluence, speculative fiction plays a unique role as a modern mouthpiece of myth. Although it does not tell timeless stories, speculative fiction offers narratives that invite the reader to consider the “antiquity is now” concept as a real possibility. There are at least three general types of antiquity particularization in speculative fiction, two of which may be seen as strands of the mythical method. The first strategy, which I will not discuss here, is setting the story in historical or imagined antiquity that has no relation to the reader’s present. Nancy Farmer’s the Saxon Saga – a mythopoeic fantasy trilogy set eighth century Anglo-Saxon England, Celtic Scotland, and Viking Scandinavia – and Harry Harrison’s West of Eden series – an alternative history science fiction set in the late stone age America, in which the dominant intelligent species are dinosaur-evolved lizards – are two of the many examples for this category of historical and para-historical speculative fiction. The other two strategies of antiquity particularization can be found in fiction whose settings may be contemporary or historical, but where antiquity is embedded in the narrative so as to create a link between the past and the present. The first strategy, which I propose to call ancient locations, is to devise certain places where antiquity – seen as a kind of eternal reality – still exists, although it may be inaccessible except only by supernatural means. This includes Rivendell, Narnia, alternative or parallel worlds, worlds of gods, ghosts, and spiritual/nonmaterial presences. The other strategy, perhaps best captured by the phrase ancient presence, involves awakening modern characters to the realization that aspects of antiquity infiltrate their lives in the present. Conversing with ghosts in dreams or visions, fulfilling one’s destiny through an act that was foretold in the past, time traveling to fix the present, discovering one’s legacy, ancient forgotten wisdom, or places of power are all motifs that support this stepping outside of time. These two strategies are not exclusive and are often used simultaneously. Each is a broad pattern with so many variations that even a modest attempt to review them would burst the frame of a study much larger than this one. In the remaining part of this

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chapter I thus focus on two selected framing devices representative of each strategy: the moving center and ancient wisdom. The moving center is perhaps the most commonly encountered motif in the ancient locations strategy. In classic works of fantasy such as Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, or Alexander’s The Chronicles of Prydain the moving center was usually one or another variation on the theme of thinning: the passing away of a higher and more intense reality and the loss of old richness. As the Third Age draws to a close, elves depart the Middle-earth and magic fades, leaving frail humans in charge and without supernatural help. Magical objects lose their power or are destroyed; magical places disappear or are sealed off; magical beings depart to another reality. The moving center in this traditional version is a representation of a fading Golden Age. More recent fantasy, however, has abandoned thinning. Instead, it has moved toward a conceptualization of the moving center as a secret dimension of the present: something that makes contemporary reality richer rather than diminished. A good example of the use of this framing device is Rick Riordan’s the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Starting with The Lightning Thief (2005), Riordan’s series outlines the contemporary United States as an arena of conflict of ancient Greek gods, heroes, and titans. In the world of Percy Jackson, contemporary characters can literally encounter Poseidon strolling down the beach in New Jersey, Hades cruising through California, and Dionysus who happens to run a summer camp in upstate New York. All these gods did not simply immigrate to America. As the readers learn from Percy’s Latin teacher Mr. Brunner – in fact, the satyr Chiron – it is the ancient and immortal center represented by these gods that has moved to America. “What you call ‘Western civilization’,” Chiron explains, Do you think it’s just an abstract concept? No, it’s a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn’t possibly fade, not unless all of Western Civilization was obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, […] the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. […] They spent several centuries in England. […] And, yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. […] Like it or not […] America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here. (Riordan 2005: 72-3)

In Riordan’s highly Eurocentric series, the moving center concept achieves more than just a recreation of the late 19th century American

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claim that the United States is the new Rome of the world. By linking immortal Greek gods, “great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors” (67), with the metaphor of a traveling flame of Western civilization, it creates a connection between classical antiquity and contemporaneity as filtered through the eyes of a modern American teenage protagonist. Throughout the series Percy and his friends encounter a multiplicity of Greek gods, goddesses, supernatural creatures, monsters, and powers. All of them are both ancient and strikingly modern. For example, although Mount Olympus does look like an ancient Greek city, it is now located in New York, on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building and has a sleek modern zing to it. Its residents are ancient yet modern, taking advantage of everything offered by the past epochs but also by contemporary technology. Thus, Hades’ palace guards include skeletons wearing Greek armor as well as Vietnam-era U.S. Marine uniforms; they are skeletons “from every time period and nation in Western civilization” (311). At the same time, the Kingdom of the dead is run efficiently through several departments, Mount Olympus has HephaestusTV, its streets teem with hawkers and flashy stores, and Zeus wears a dark blue pinstriped suit. Antiquity in the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series is a world parallel to the mundane reality of the early 21st century and inaccessible to most mortals. Nevertheless it is real, impacts the mortal world, and exists no matter whether people believe in these gods or not (68). The Greek mythology used as the underpinning of the series has no religious component, but instead is conceptualized through power. Ancient gods reside where the center of power is. This trope informs not just literary fiction but a number of recent blockbuster movies: fantasy and science fiction like Thor and The Avengers, as well as contemporary realistic fiction. For example, in the political thriller Olympus Has Fallen (2013), Olympus is a code name for the White House, which in turn is a synecdoche for the center of the Western civilization. Although there are no literal gods involved, the potential fall of the White House is projected to entail a thermonuclear annihilation of the United States and with it, in a domino effect, a global war across the planet that would likely end Western civilization. The links between the White House as the center or modern Olympus and Greek mythology are reinforced on multiple levels. For example, the fail-safe deactivation system of nuclear warheads is called Cerberus. The ultimate threat in the movie is that if the terrorists take over Cerberus, they would turn it from being a guardian of world peace to a dog of war.. When in the concluding sequence of the movie the President declares, “Our foe did not

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come only to destroy our things or our people. They came to desecrate a way of life. To foul our beliefs, trample our freedom. And in this not only did they fail. They granted us the greatest gift: a chance at our rebirth. We will rise, renewed, stronger, and united. This is our time. Our chance to get back to the best of who we are” (np), the underlying assumption is that Olympus can never fail. It will not, the film proclaims, because it stands for values that transcend time and are the lifeblood of Western civilization. The moving center motif does not need to be triumphalistic or Caucasian, though. Unlike in Riordan’s series, it can come with a multicultural slant. Such is the case, for example, in Neil Gaiman’s American Gods (2001). While Riordan’s world is a playground for a handful of Greek gods who are as powerful now as they used to be millennia ago, Gaiman’s picture is more complex. On the one hand it expands the trope of the moving center to encompass all religions and cultural traditions of the world. On the other, while it still accords America a status of a special place, the narrative makes it clear that “the center is not a stable place for anybody” (Gaiman 2001: 342). Gods rise and fade as human beliefs change and there is nothing special about Greek gods. Thus Gaiman’s mythological and religious America is a land littered with forgotten gods who arrived in the New World with immigrants from different cultures and religions, many of them long before Columbus. “This country has been Grand Central for ten thousand years or more,” explains Mr. Ibis – the Egyptian god Thoth. “The folk who brought me here came up the Mississippi [… t]hree thousand five hundred and thirty years ago” (153). Although all these gods can still be found in America, they coexist uneasily with one another and grow weaker as the belief in them fades from human memory. Some gods adapt to the new situation: Horus “spends all his time as a hawk, eat[ing] roadkill” (162), Thoth and Anubis live undercover in Cairo, Illinois, running a funeral parlor, and the Queen of Sheba works as a prostitute in Las Vegas. These gods have accepted the inevitability of change and their eventual demise – as did good-hearted Thor who blew off his head in Philadelphia in 1932. Others, like the Norse god of knowledge and wisdom Odin, who is incarnated in the body of a cynical con man Mr. Wednesday, travel across America to rally the old gods to one final stand. Like Mr. Nancy – the African god Anansi – they believe that the forgetting should not have happened and that they must fight for recognition and worship. “Our kind of people,” muses Mr. Nancy, we are […] exclusive. We’re not social. Not even me. Not even Bacchus. Not for long. We walk by ourselves or we stay in our little groups. We do not play well with others. We like to be adored and respected and

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worshipped […]. We like to be big. Now, in these shabby days, we are small. (342)

Throughout American Gods Mr. Wednesday presents the religious change in America as building up toward an inevitable impending war between old and new gods. None of them are immortal, but all vie for human attention. “We may not die easy and we sure as hell don’t die well, but we can die,” Mr. Wednesday admits. “If we’re still loved and remembered, something else a whole lot like us comes along and takes our place and the whole damn thing starts again. And if we’re forgotten, we’re done” (301). Thus the greatest danger to old gods is the snowballing rise of new high-tech gods of modern life clustered around “growing knots of belief” (107) and new technologies: the credit card, freeways, internet, telephone, radio, hospital, television, plastic, and neon. “Proud gods, fat and foolish creatures, puffed up with their own newness and importance” (108), they are eager to replace the old gods. What they do not realize though, is that the entire conflict has been engineered by Loki and Odin who long for a mass blood sacrifice and chaos that would restore some of their lost powers (416). Although the novel ends with a peaceful resolution – despite mutual grudges and animosities the war among gods is averted – what remains is perhaps an even more painful realization that America is “a land that has no time for gods” (349). Old gods and new gods are ultimately in the same camp; their enemy is the fast-paced civilizational change that America embodies. Besides using the trope of the moving center that draws gods and beliefs from other parts of the world and across time, Gaiman reinforces the “antiquity is now” concept in at least two ways. First, he presents multicultural America is a “televisual wasteland” (135), much like Eliot’s modern wasteland, which needs the saving power of mythic belief to make it meaningful. For Gaiman it matters less whether this mythic belief is vested in the Slavic god Czerbobog or in the modern credit card; what matters is the strength of that belief. This emotional intensity, Gaiman suggests, is a quality that has accompanied all religious beliefs of humanity. It is that part of antiquity that carries over from one generation to another. Second, Gaiman suggests the existence of places of power that help people connect to what is both ancient and transcendent. In American Gods most of these places of power are recognized in the supremely American concept of a roadside attraction. Either natural formations or places that in some other way are seen as special, roadside attractions are locations that people, unconsciously, identify as “some focusing point, some channel, some window to the Immanent” (92). Like Cathedrals or stone circles in Europe, so too roadside attractions in America are places

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where people go responding to a mysterious call. As Mr. Wednesday puts it, no matter how modern or non-religious they think they are, “people feel themselves being pulled to places where, in other parts of the world, they would recognize that part of themselves that is truly transcendent” (92). This concept of places of power that connect people with something transcendent represents the other strategy of antiquity particularization, in which modern characters stumble across aspects of ancient wisdom and discover meaningful links between their own lives and antiquity. Although in American Gods this idea of places of power is rather peripheral, a number of other works make it central. For example places of power in the form of ley lines constitute the framing device of Maggie Stiefvater’s The Raven Boys (2012). Set in a small town of Henrietta, Virginia, the novel tells a story of 16-year-old Blue – an odd non-seer from a family of psychics – and her troubled friendship with a group of four boys from the elite high school, Aglionby Academy. Although the many-strands plot of this novel is almost impossible to recount, the key events in the story are related to the existence of the corpse road or ley line that cuts through Henrietta. The ley line is “a perfectly straight, supernatural energy path that connect[s] spiritual places” (Stiefvater 2012: 24) across the globe and explains a number of seemingly unrelated phenomena: it is a path that spirits of those who will die in the following year walk on St. Mark’s Eve, April 24; it is an energy field that keeps alive a ghost of a boy who had been murdered on the ley line several years earlier; it is also a portal into alternative reality where people may disappear and reappear – as does Blue’s father years ago and her aunt in the course of the novel. Seen as the planet’s arteries of spiritual energy, ley lines are currently dormant and are usually buried several meters under the ground. The centers of spiritual and magnetic energy they connect, however, are still active. One of them is a copse of ancient trees outside of Henrietta that introduces itself to the characters as Cabeswater. The thicket is a place where time does not work, where thoughts become reality, and where characters experience visions of the past and future. It is an energy vortex where “everything was alive, alive” (219) and a personification of life responsive to human emotion and desire. It also has a personality of its own and converses with the characters through Latin-speaking trees, a hissing rustle that sounds “distinctly like whispered, dry voices” (248). It is the trees that eventually kill the human villain Whelk, and encourage Gansey, one of the Aglionby boys, to find what he is looking for. This, of course, confirms Gansey’s belief that the ley line hides the tomb of Owen Glendower, a medieval Welsh prince who fought against the English and eventually escaped to Virginia where he was buried not far from Henrietta. Because the ley line

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is an energy field, Gansey believes that Glendower is not dead but – as the legend has it – reposes in magical sleep and will grant a favor to whoever wakes him (46). The quest for finding Glendower and for awakening the ley line is thus the main conceptual framework of the novel. The antiquity Stiefvater presents is one of places of power and ley lines marked in ways that are visible from the air, like the Uffington Horse or the Nazca Lines (208-9). This antiquity is something that has been forgotten but is nevertheless real inasmuch as it attracts modern people who are in search of meaning. For Blue, the quest is to find her father: a man who emerged from Cabeswater at one point and disappeared in it at another. Gansey’s quest, in turn, is to find something material that would confirm his staunch belief in the supernatural: in destiny, in magic, in the existence of the non-material world. Although his focus is the grave of Owen Glendower, Gansey longs for the supernatural, “drawn by a desperate but nebulous need to be useful to the world, to make sure his life meant something beyond champagne parties and white collars, by some complicated longing to settle an argument that waged deep inside himself” (51). What he is looking for is ancient wisdom whose loss has somehow diminished the human potential in the present. This concept of lost ancient wisdom is extremely popular in fiction and in film alike. It is, for example, the framing device of a popular TV series Stargate Atlantis (2004-9). In the series modern humans first discover an Atlantidean base camp under Antarctica and then travel, through a stargate, to the Pegasus galaxy where they reach the city of Atlantis, left dormant by the Ancients millions of years ago. The driving concept of the series is how modern humans learn ancient technology so as to confront the ancient threat of the alien race of Wraith. The rediscovery of ancient wisdom is a scientific rather than spiritual venture. It is possible, in part, due to the fact that some among the mission staff are genetic descendants of the Ancients and are able to activate their bio-sensory technology. At the same time, a lot of ancient wisdom is available to moderns because they can draw on the Greek myth of the lost city of Atlantis. In another science fiction mystery series, Warehouse 13 (2009ongoing), agents working for the top-secret government agency Warehouse 13, are assigned to find, bag, and tag artifacts imbued with supernatural powers. Antiquity is foundational for this series inasmuch as artifacts, at least in the first episodes, are associated with a historical or mythological character or event. Ranging from jewelry, paintings, clothes, mirrors, to pens, magnifying glasses, shoes, and mechanical devices, all these artifacts are imbued with some supernatural power that can endow their users with reality-bending power or subliminally alter the minds of

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anyone they are directed at. Usually dangerous, these artifacts have to be contained lest they bring about a lot of human and material damage. As the series progresses the artifacts become more modern. Also, anything can become an artifact when some extraordinary quality of the person using it is transferred into the artifact-to-be. Nevertheless, the essential concept that makes anything an artifact is that of “mana”: a spiritual or mental energy, measurable magnetically or electrically, that links human thoughts and emotions with physical objects. Thus, agents selected for the job must also exhibit extraordinary skills that have an ancient ring to them: Pete is able to pick up “vibes” about any situation, Myka has an extraordinary eidetic memory, and Leena has a psychic ability to read people’s auras. Also, the very concept of the Warehouse for dangerous artifacts is featured as an ancient invention, first created by Alexander the Great, and then moving from one dominant world empire to another until it was relocated to the US following WWI. However, unlike with all previous Warehouses, whose artifacts were used to further the political power of the rulers or empires that owned them, Warehouse 13 is a place designed only to collect and safeguard artifacts; the US government seems largely unaware of its existence, even though the facility was designed and constructed by such geniuses as Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla and Albert Einstein. Modern speculative fiction, filmic and literary alike, draws its affective sap from one or another version of the “antiquity is now” concept. Its stories create in the reader’s mind a narrative habitus where antiquity and the present are not seen as essentially opposed to each other but are regarded instead as complementary and infiltrating. They remain different yet compatible dimensions, where claims and phenomena do not have to be false just because they are archaic, nor do they have to be true just because they are modern. Speculative fiction written in the mythical mode challenges these absolute distinctions. It questions a view of human history as a process of rational emancipation from the burden of supposedly irrational past. It acknowledges that all human beings are inheritors of former modes of thought and behavior. Whether by describing places where antiquity exists unchanged or by creating situations where modern characters encounter aspects of antiquity in themselves or in the world around them, speculative fiction helps connect the past and the present. It also blurs the line between fact and fiction, inasmuch as the distension of antiquity into fiction is always complemented by the telescoping of fiction into antiquity. While this may seem like a high price, the appeal of the “antiquity is now” concept is that it can both hark back to the psychological trauma from the past and point to a hope for a more fulfilling future. The two

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types of antiquity particularization I outlined are essentially attempts at remembering. By suggesting how antiquity continues to inform the present, they free the reader from the conceptual coddling that underlies the modern worldview, focused as it is exclusively on the present. In fact, the faster the pace of technological change, the faster may grow the appeal of the “antiquity is now” concept to modern audiences. The motifs of the moving center and of ancient wisdom remind readers about ways of interacting with the world that illuminate and enrich the present by stretching it beyond what is immediately available. In this, speculative fiction keeps alive the mythic mode of thought that makes the modern world livable and, as Eliot said, “possible for art” (177).

Bibliography Attebery, Brian. Stories about Stories: Fantasy and the Remaking of Myth. New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. Carpenter, Humphrey, and Christopher Tolkien (eds.). The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2000. Eliot, T.S. “Ulysses, Order, and Myth.” In Selected Prose of T.S. Eliot, edited by Frank Kermode,175-178. New York: Harcourt, 1975. Gaiman, Neil. American Gods. New York: W. Morrow, 2001. Honko, Lauri. “The Problem of Defining Myth”. In Sacred Narrative: Readings in the Theory of Myth, edited by Alan Dundes, 41-52. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984. Nohrnberg, J. C. “The Mythical Method in Song and Saga, Prose and Verse.” Arthuriana 21.1 (2011): 20-38. Riordan, Rick. The Lightning Thief. New York: Miramax Books/Hyperion Books for Children, 2005. Stiefvater, Maggie. The Raven Boys. New York: Scholastic Press, 2012. Tolkien, J.R.R. 1965. “Letter to Milton Waldman.” In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Humphrey Carpenter and Christopher Tolkien, 143-161. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2000. —. “Notes on W.H. Auden’s Review of The Return of the King.” In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Humphrey Carpenter and Christopher Tolkien. 238-244. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2000. Velikovsky, Immanuel. Worlds in Collision. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, 1950. —. Earth in Upheaval. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, 1955. —. Mankind in Amnesia. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, 1982.

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Filmography Olympus Has Fallen (director: Antoine Fuoua, USA 2013).

Notes 1

Whereas for pre-modern Christian philosophers the key issue with myth was that it was pagan, for the Enlightenment thinkers myth’s fundamental fault was that it was irrational. The overview of the main lines of attack against myth is beyond the scope of this paper, but can be found in collections such as Alan Dundes (ed.), Sacred Narrative: Readings in the Theory of Myth (1984), Robert Segal (ed.), Theorizing about Myths (1999), and Kevin Schilbrack (ed.), Thinking through Myths: Philosophical Perspectives (2002), as well as in such monographs and introductions as William Doty’s Mythographies (2000) and Robert Segal’s Myth: A Very Short Introduction (2004). 2 For an extended discussion of this issue as it bears on Western philosophy, see Joseph Mali’s The Rehabilitation of Myth: Vico’s New Science (1992). For examination of the intertwined early histories of myth and fantasy – an argument that the emergence of fantasy as a literary mode is also the story of the scholarly discovery of myth – see my One Earth, One People: The Mythopoeic Fantasy Series of Ursula K. Le Guin, Lloyd Alexander, Madeleine L’Engle and Orson Scott Card (2008) and Brian Attebery’s Stories about Stories: Fantasy and the Remaking of Myth (2014). 3 For overview of these early myth theories see Theorizing about Myths edited by Robert Segal (1999). 4 The Enlightenment perspective I mean here is one in which the rational mind confers maturity upon its own workings and finds varying degrees of immaturity in alternative mental habits. Such an evolutionary sequence – beginning with an era of Magic, passing through a period of Religion, and culminating in a final age of human evolution called Science – informs Frazer’s scheme of cultural evolution in The Golden Bough (1890-1915). In Totem and Taboo (1913), Freud synthesized this sequence with his own theory of personality development and offered a comprehensive psycho-cultural theory of human evolution that is a masterpiece of Enlightenment anti-myth propaganda. 5 Some representative works in which these claims can be found include Ernst Cassirer’s The Philosophy of Symbolic Forms (1925) and An Essay on Man (1944); Mircea Eliade’s Myths, Dreams, Mysteries and Myth and Reality (both 1975; C. G. Jung’s “Archetypes of Collective Unconscious” (1908/34) and The Structure of the Unconscious (1916); James Hillman’s Re-visioning Psychology (1975) and Healing Fiction (1983); Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949) and The Inner Reaches of Outer Space (2002); Northrop Frye’s Anatomy of Criticism (1957) and Spiritus Mundi (1976).

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6 One exception has been Mike Baillie, an Irish paleoecologist and dendrochronologist, whose Exodus to Arthur: Catastrophic Encounters with Comets (1999) supports Velikovsky’s hypothesis, although with a different chronology.

BETWEEN THE CLICHÉS AND SPECULATIVE RE-NARRATION: FEATURES OF ANCIENT THEMES IN POPULAR LITERATURE BOGDAN TROCHA UNIVERSITY OF ZIELONA GÓRA

Abstract: In this article the author presents the mechanisms of the functioning of the themes of ancient culture and literature in popular literature. The author discusses the relationship between the world in popular novels and the ancient motives which are introduced into it. In addition, the author shows the rules of the transition from simple re-narration to literary speculation.

Exploring the ancient world Links between the motifs of the classical literature of antiquity and popular literature go back to the origins of the latter. According to the Polish concept regarding popular literature (T. ĩabski, 1983), the origins of this phenomenon can be found in the 19th century and it is associated with the appearance of the mass reader whose expectations and responsibilities differed considerably from those of the classical literature lover. This raises the question as to what the average reader of the popular novels could have known about the ancient world. The answer is obvious – little or even nothing. The exception can be those elements of antiquity, whose message was included in the stories of the Bible. And this fact, in its positive sense, becomes the cause of the attractiveness of the ancient themes for the world of popular literature. Thus, it can be concluded that ancient culture has become, for the type of a reader that interests us, a space of cultural oblivion. Of course, not all aspects of the ancient world could be forced out of the cultural memory, but even the ones that are left in it, have been reduced to very shallow, ready-made situational patterns, calques. Their content would be very difficult to refer to their source and their life went its own laws in the area of cultural meanings. Such forms

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have the birthmarks of ready-made situational patterns (calques) rather, than easy-to-read quotations and cultural references. The essence of the ready-made situational patterns was not only set by the maximum reduction of possible meanings, but also by a formulaic approach which does not initiate any search in the cultural space of antiquity. The readymade situational patter became a mark of having a trace meaning derived from the world of ancient culture. The functioning of the pattern in the world of the popular culture of the 19th century was limited to aesthetic designation of the mysterious, the exotic and, in its ornamental aspect, the attractive. In general, we can assume that among the readers of the popular literature of the 19th century the ancient world is mysterious, and full of great events and almost magical phenomena. This aspect of the attractiveness of the mystery to human curiosity became one cause for the introduction of ancient motifs into the world of popular literature. The first novels in which the themes of ancient cultures appear are situated in the 19th century. They use a variety of poetics but they all have one thing in common. They bring the reader into the world of those realities and make him a witness of contemporary events. It may be the result of reading the diary found during the excavations beside the mummy (Th. Gautier, 2010), the content of which tells a classic romance story, except that it takes place in Egypt in the days leading up to the exodus of the Jewish tribes. Yet there is not too much historical information, there is no name of the Pharaoh who ruled Egypt, and the only recognisable element with its origin in ancient texts, in this case the Old Testament, it is a description of the events related to the current Egyptian plagues in the Book of Exodus (The Holy Bible). Similarly, the novel of Sir Henry Rider Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines (H.R. Haggard, 2013) is also based on information contained in the Bible. Here it turns out that on the African continent there are the remains of the Queen of Sheba’s domain, which Solomon used in the construction of the Temple. Thus, Haggard not only creates the attractive adventure novel, but introduces the mysterious elements of antiquity occurring in colloquial consciousness as mythical ready-made situational patterns connected with the wealth of Sheba and Solomon. We can find very similar treatment in his other novel – Cleopatra (H.R. Haggard, 1889). In this case we are dealing with a much more interesting phenomenon, because it does not apply to rather apocryphal references and religious themes but it focuses on events that are well documented by the ancient writers. It is not about creating a literary re-narration of the fall of Cleopatra and Anthony, but about creating a secret alternative history which is based on the historical events of that period. Similar motifs of alternative history associated with

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the culture of Ancient Rome can be found at least in The Lost Legion ( R. Kipling, Warsaw 1987). Apart from using the ancient world’s motifs in a perspective reduced to their aesthetic attractiveness for literature, very often such elements which had already been mysterious in the ancient world are also used. For this reason, a simulacrum of Atlantis appears in the geography of fantasy worlds, for example in Henry Kuttner’s novel Elak of Atlantis stories (H. Kuttner, 2013). It is easy to see that the beginnings of the implementation of the ancient themes are based on the mechanism of a very specific exploration of the mysteries of this world. At the very beginning there are of course alternative stories involving the cultural aspects of the ancient world as ornamental elements, which do not change the fact that even as the ornaments they become, one more time, the subject of attention, initially only aesthetic, based on a game played with mystery. Later writers, such as David Gemmell in Dark Prince, will also join the historical elements with the literary innovations characteristic of fantasy novels (D. Gemmell, 2007). However, these treatments will be much more accurate in using the facts contained in the texts of the ancient historiographers. Exploring the historical image of the world of antiquity was based not only on the literary use of selected fragments of the ancient history, but very often it used the technique of bringing the two so distant worlds into contact. In such cases we have to deal with the idea of a meeting, which is very interesting and creates multiple meanings. This can be seen even in the novel of Leo Sprague de Camp Lest Darkness Fall (L. Sprague de Camp, 1941), where a young American, Martin Padway, is transferred to Rome into a dictatorship exercised by the Ostrogoths. This novel describes the ancient environment as the space in which you can carry out an apology for American resourcefulness, playing at the same time the image of Rome, where its reality is enriched by modern inventions. A slightly different picture we are meeting in the novel written by Michael Moorcock Behold the Man (M. Moorcock, 1971), where as a result of a scientific experiment a contemporary explorer goes to Judea at the time of Jesus, and as a result of what he sees and what he knows about Christianity he decides to play the role of Jesus of Nazareth until the end. Experimenting with ancient history has several aspects, while those that have been described show that it is not only about the experience of daily life in antiquity, but also verifies information on its key events that shaped the modern world. The first citations of the ancient world motifs are aimed only at attractiveness for the reader of discovering a mystery, and they operate with simple, commonly known clichés which are present even in widely

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known facts from the Bible. However, the subsequent stylistic treatments of operating with mythical themes will go beyond the model of literary evocation of antiquity with the use of simplified schemas. This leads to a slow transcendence of the simplified images of antiquity contained in the cliché and, at the same time, to a more and more complicated and in-depth image of antiquity in literature. The first such treatments were already visible in the Moorcock. A similar treatment is found in the short story by Robert Silverberg Gilgamesh in the Outback (R. Silverberg, 1987), where we have to deal with the plot in the Babylonian afterlife, in which there are not only the souls of the Babylonians, but also other nations, too. The story is interesting for the reason that the theme of Emptiness is juxtaposed with contemporary ideas of the underworld. On the one hand, it is the space of action of science fiction novels, on the other, however, it points to the archetypal actuality of the ancient events, making the sterile philological knowledge into elements of the modern field of cultural references. Hell at this point is no longer the passive space of being and takes on the speculative meanings, which will be taken over by later writers. The phenomenon of blowing up the cliché consists – most often, at least initially – in juxtaposing the mythical outlook on the world with modern science and technology. This can be seen in the novel Ilium by Dan Simmons (D. Simmons, 2003) and in its continuations (D. Simmons, 2006). Simmons introduces not only ancient Greek gods and heroes of Homer’s epics to the classic sci-fi novel, but involves the science fiction story with the story of the Iliad. While we have a similar procedure with connecting the ancient deities with the science fiction realities already used by Roger Zelazny in Creature of Light and Darkness (R. Zelazny, 1969), Simmons was one of the first who introduced to the popular novel the significant parts of the Greek epics, making from their contents the elements of his own world. Of course the treatment applied by a multiworld and reversed time perspective allow the reader to keep track of events described by Homer some time in advance, that is, those that will occur. Even more interesting is the aspect of determining the secret power of the gods, which in this case has a technological explanation. Most interesting, however, is the way of showing a hero, in this case Ulysses, who is forced to participate in the events that go beyond the Homeric reality. Here we have to deal with the inverse of the situation which took place with L. Sprague de Camp, this time, a man of antiquity is thrown into the reality of the latest technology and it turns out that he is still a hero, without losing anything of his own identity. A stylistic transcendence of the simplified images of antiquity is also contained in the cliché of a simplified image of a hero- is also present in Troy Denning’s Pages of

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Pain, (T. Denning, 1996). In the first volume of the duology that refers to the extremely popular computer game Plane Scape, Theseus becomes a character devoid of memory. Like Ulysses in Simmons, also in this case, the hero is transferred to an alternate reality in which he is a subject to many tests, which are often far-reaching modifications of the classic mythologem. He fights with monsters, has to go through the maze and all the time he is “connected” to Poseidon by the commitment he had made. As a result, he undergoes a very modified image of a heroic expedition. In effect, the figure of Theseus is treated to enhance his original characteristics, move the centre of gravity in those characteristics which in the original narrative were fundamental, or even takes on new characteristics. Worrying is just that in the continuation of this literary concept in the novel Torment written by Ray and Valerie Vallese (R. and V. Vallese, 1999) we are dealing with a maximum reduction of ancient motifs, in the sense of aesthetics and details. Another procedure for placing antique items in popular literature is a mechanism of literary development of specific types of borrowings from antiquity. It is not about the re-narrations, but we have to focus on the phenomenon of creating from the concrete part of narration completely new stories which have to take place in the world of the ancient realities or in other universes. Two classic cases are The Gods Behaving Badly written by Marie Phillips (M. Phillips, 2007) and L’île des sortilèges written by Bernard Weber (B. Weber, 2004). The first moves the Olympic gods to modern-day London and toying with mythological motives not only builds the image, which is embedded in a large amount of mythological content, but also takes major issue with the complex relationships of deities and people, leading towards a literary interpretation of this phenomenon. In Weber’s novel we are dealing with the image of the school of young gods run by a deity of Olympus. Despite being very interestingly constructed as a story for a young reader, in this case we are dealing with an attempt to explain the phenomenon of ancient life within of course, the limitations to which poetics allow this. The last model of operating with ready-made situational patterns is the implementation of the content contained therein in the literary reality. In operation that is the use of material and spiritual aspects from the culture of antiquity in order to complete the construction of the presented fictional world and its principles. While in the text by Sprague de Camp cited by me, we are dealing rather with a reduction to the motives of material culture, although showed upon the reader in a very rich way, this is not the only model which in this case, we can point to. Much more complete coverage can be seen even in the Videssos cycle written by Harry

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Turtledove (1996), where a simple story based on the transfer of a Roman Legion into an alternate reality becomes a kind of event which contributes to a contrast of the culture of Rome with that of the barbarians, as is shown in many aspects starting with the material, through the moral, and up to cultural. As a result, the phenomenon of Roman prowess is shown not only in its operation, but above all these the mechanisms of action are explained in this cycle. Thus it can be concluded that the introduction of ancient themes into popular literature begins with the use of very simplified and reduced clichés. But very soon these clichés through literary development connected with pointing to the specific literary, historical and cultural forerunners and sources, are starting to take on the characteristics of intertextuality. Of course, usually they are initially optional intertexts, which does not change the fact that the richness of the culture of antiquity ceases to be treated as a mystery hidden in the stories. It begins to take on more and more the characteristics of a phenomenon whose attractiveness is not only set on a game of mystery but on discovering the mechanisms which ruled this culture. It concerns both the use of cultural clichés in the form of the dominant stylistic feature and narrative development of the fundamental elements of the ancient world from its wealth of material culture through religion and epics to history and tradition. The same period within which the antique themes occurred as aesthetic ornaments or at least developed literary isolated themes, is finished. Popular literature enters into a new area. Worlds constructed by the literature will be introduced into the increasingly complete worlds of the ancient reality, of course recognised in a way such as the poetics of this type of creativity will allow.

The world depicted the world of the reality of the ancient Ever since its advent, the novel set in the ancient times has been a complex, evolving literary phenomenon – as was already exhibited by early works of this type, e.g. Faraon by Bolesáaw Prus (B. Prus., 1978). Prus’ is a pioneering take on the use of ancient setting as a guise in which to show modern issues. Quite differently, however, are the writers such as Haggar. In their writing the ancient themes fulfil the role of organising the aesthetic appeal of the story. The selection of themes in this case is extremely important; on the one hand, the subject aims at cultural clichés lasting in colloquial awareness, like Cleopatra in Cleopatra, while on the other we have to deal with specific forms of the new Apocrypha. Their aesthetic attractiveness lies rather outside the predominant features of the literary world and is set on specific religious needs. Such novels as The

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Robe (Floyd C. Douglas, 1999), Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ (Lew Wallace, 1995) and The Big Fisherman (F.C. Douglas, 1948) are reduced to literary treatments in which the construction of images of the ancient world is only the creation of historical and cultural space where apocryphal narrative may be carried on. This type of novel refers to the extra literary expectations of a recipient. However, it seems that the material and spiritual culture of antiquity itself, referred to by images of the ancient world and reduced to a background for apocryphal narratives became attractive for readers. This led to the emergence of the large group of historical novels, which were made from the re-narration of texts from the Roman historiographers. We can find this evident especially in the novels written by Robert Graves, I, Claudius (R. Graves, 1961) or Claudius the God and his Wife Messalina (R. Graves, 1989). Graves’ works in this case are a milestone for the presence of ancient culture in the popular literature. This is because of the fact that he manages to create a canonical text for this type of reader, like The Greek Myths (R. Graves, 2011), which provides an almost complete set of the myths of Greek Antiquity. Thus, the mythologems of the ancient world will be able to start depicting their contents, derived from antiquity, in the minds of readers. In addition, Graves in his works marks some aspects of the functioning of the ancient contents in the popular literature which are based on apocryphal and religious (King Jesus, R. Graves, 1946), historically predominant features (Count Belisarius, R. Graves, 1954; I, Claudius) or are connected with the re-narration of the great literary texts of antiquity (Homer’s Daughter, R. Graves, 1955). In that moment there was a lack of mythological re-narrations, but there appears to be another extremely important aspect of the implementation of the contents of the ancient world to the popular literature. It is about the specific treatment of the contents contained in the tradition. This leads, on the one hand, to commencing a game with ancient tradition and, on the other hand, to seeking the key to its contemporary reading. You can see these treatments in the prose of Graves, like the novels King Jesus and Homer’s Daughter, where we are dealing with the plots which include traditional messages from the viewpoint which is rather characteristic of such thinkers as Friedrich Nietzsche, Karl Marx or Sigmund Freud. This is somewhat important because it clearly indicates the appearance of such a model of using the ancient contents in pop literature. This model is very distant from the aesthetic ornamentation above mentioned and is slowly acquiring a meaning relevant to a modern man and his questions about the present. This does not mean, of course, that there are not also such storytelling models utilising ancient realities that will pursue other dominants, such as

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adventure, intended for teenagers, which can be seen even in the Czarne OkrĊty cycle of Joe Alex (Alex, [i.e. Maciej SáomczyĔski], 1972-1975). This is a multi-volume story about Trojans, who embark on a search for the land of amber as a result of a conspiracy of the Egyptian priests and court intrigue in Crete. In Graves’ work there are a lot of literary models of the ancient world that have evolved and were variously motivated. In the case of referring to the historically predominant feature we have the novels written by the fantasy writer Gen Wolfe: Soldier of the Mist (G. Wolfe, 1986), and Soldier of Arete (G. Wolfe, 1990), which demonstrate the realities of Greece from the Persian wars. In this case, we are dealing with a mix of historical content given from the perspective of the individual diary of a soldier who suffered wounds and loses his memory. Much more interesting is to show the culture of the everyday life world in a very wide spectrum including material culture, customs, religious rituals and related beliefs, and the political and social mechanisms that govern that world. All of this is shown in the perspective of the everyday problems and related choices and events. The reality of mythological content becomes here the characteristics of religion and cult, and the descriptions of historiographers are depicted in the perspective of individual destinies and popular opinion. David Gemmell refers to historical content a bit differently. In the novels Lion of Macedon (D. Gemmell, 1990) and Dark Prince he combines fantastic elements with historical facts. This leads also to such a situation, in which the events in Greece from the time of Alexander the Great assume many features the sources of which should be looked for in the geography and historiography of this area and period. In this particular case we can observe the desire to manipulate the content of the ancient world in such a way that it allows the author to realise some aesthetic assumptions which are connected with the poetics of convention that he finds attractive, such as the introduction of surreal elements to the renarration of the biography of Alexander the Great. We also have to deal with attitudes, in which the message is subject to specific cultural filters and the passage through tradition, in which the novel appears to be looking for answers to questions concerning the place of women in the ancient world. In this case, we see two types of treatments. The first is re-narration which is showing the fate of great women of antiquity, but made in the first person and from their point of view. Such a treatment was applied in Amanda Elyot’s The Memoirs of Helen of Troy (A. Elyot, 2005), showing the story of Helen in a completely different perspective, although faithfully embedded in the realities depicted in Homer. Another treatment was used by Tanja Kinkel

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in Die Söhne der Wölfin (T. Kinkiel, 2002), which constructed an alternate history showing a woman’s role in the events of the myth of the founding of Rome, although it should be noted that the applied treatment has two characteristics. The first is looking for feminist patterns in the mythopoetic literature, the second one reduces the mythical content and introduces historical information in their place. As a result, we have a feminist novel set in the realities of the beginning of Rome seen in terms devoid of supernatural themes. These treatments find their apogee in the novels taking up the renarration of the great epics of the ancient world. It can be seen it in the Troy cycle written by David Gemmell, Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow (D. Gemmell, 2005), Troy: Shield of Thunder (D. Gemmell, 2006), and Troy: Fall of Kings (D. Gemmell, 2007), which require the knowledge of Homer’s epics from a reader: The Iliad and the Odyssey or the adoption of the vision of events which are depicted there in the form which Gemmell shows. The same treatment can be found in the writings of the two writers Dmitri Gromow and Oleg Ladyzynski, hugely popular in Russia and the Ukraine, who write under the one joint pseudonym of Henry Lion Oldi. This applies in particular to the Achaean cycle: Heros powinien byü jeden (H.L. Oldi, 1996) Ɉɞɢɫɫɟɣ, ɫɵɧ Ʌɚɷɪɬɚ (H.L. Oldi, 2000) and ȼɧɭɤ ɉɟɪɫɟɹ (H.L. Oldi, 2011) which was edited in co-operation with classical philologists . This clearly indicates the fact that the view of the world so philologically advanced calls for help from the classicists in order to better understand this kind of prose.

From re-narration to the literary speculation The mechanism of literary speculation is based generally on the application of a procedure under which the built up story develops in an alternative way some historical or cultural content. In the case of use of the content present in the ancient tradition for this purpose we can indicate at least several types of literary treatments that use literary speculation. They include re-narration, which elaborates the specific literary themes, as in the case in Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin (U.K. Le Guin, 2008) or in The Memoirs of Helen of Troy by Amanda Elyot, as well as demythologising speculation, among which there is Mary Renault’s novel The King Must Die (M. Renault, 1958) or Dan Simmons’s Ilium and Olympos. Two other types of speculative re-narration are problematic re-narration and alternative re-narration. One variant of - alternative re-narrative is where the world of ancient Rome does not collapse but still exists until modern times, as - in Romanitas by Sophie McDougall (S.McDougal, 2007).

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The most interesting literary works are certainly the developed renarrations. The reason for this may be the fact of setting their plot in the masterpieces of antiquity, in this case the Iliad, the Odyssey and the Aeneid, or perhaps it is about an extremely precision in referring to ancient sources and artistry. However, in the case of both Lavinia as well as The Memoirs of Helen of Troy we are dealing with a very interesting phenomenon of popular literature. First of all, the story is set very faithfully, or even philologically on the realities that can be found in the source texts, there is no place for simplification and trivialization or using the clichés. In this case we are dealing with a very intentional stylistic figure. LeGuin develops a seemingly insignificant theme taken from the Aeneid, playing not only with the time setting of the epic and novel but also introducing an alternative conclusion and the character of Virgil, who is conducting wonderful dialogues with a character of his own epic who exists in his own reality. A similar situation we can observe in The Memoirs of Helen of Troy, applying the literary formula based on the diary. In this case we are not dealing with the reworking of Helen’s history and her full presence in the mythologems of those times and their literary continuation. Two issues seem to be the most important. First, as in the case of Lavinia, is an extremely faithful and rich reliance on the ancient sources. The second points to the new perspective in which they can be read. Consequently, this type of writing not only has the function of incorporating the ancient tradition into the modern man’s world, but it also does so through a hermeneutic approach which allows you not only to understand the realities of that culture, but also uses the characters and story lines in such a way that it facilitates the understanding of oneself in the spectrum of meanings generated by the reworking of ancient stories. In this particular case, Helen was depicted in the full perspective of her fate, but the narrative was carried on by herself and this change of the narrator and heroine’s point of view allows us to see her as a figure of femininity which is exposed to the action of the gods, fate, heroes and ordinary people. In a more reduced version the same situation can be seen in Die Söhne der Wölfin of Tanya Kinkiel. In this case we are dealing with the putting through the themes of the mythologem of the founding of Rome by the feminist perspective, which also becomes the aspect of modern attempts to upgrade the ancient content by making it the subject of both the literary experience and possible reflection associated with the experience. In the case of the mythologising re-narration we are dealing with a true use of the ancient material. There are two types of such use. The first reduces the mythologem to the simplest elements of the feature schema,

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posing a great difficulty with the recognition of literary sources (but giving in return a significant possibility of creation), and the matrix so crafted is filled by the elements of the presented world, which very often has nothing in common with the ancient world, creating the hero out of new trials and challenges. In these situations his heroism is tested in the area of high technology, as in the case in Ilium and Olympos, or in the alternative worlds. The second type of schema remains to some extent concurrent with the situations described in the case of developing re-narrations. The main difference is that in these cases, the motif of problematisation is introduced. In Mary Renualt’s works we see the deeds of Theseus, which we know from the ancient narrative, except that in this case they are not supernatural, which does not detract from its form. It indicates rather the mechanism of mythologising the hero. It looks completely different in the case of the Ukrainian writers (Henry Lion Oldi), where the hero is shown not only in a liminal and symbolic perspective, but is deeply tragic and human. His attitude, choices and deeds show the phenomenon of humanity’s struggles not so much with the outside world, but the fundamental philosophical issues, without reference to which humanity cannot exist. Thus, it should be noted that among the demythologizing narrative the most important are the story, in which we can find the literary testing of the hero; his figure has been always attractive, but in these specific renarrations his attractiveness takes on a completely different dimension. The hero is subjected to amnesia in the novels by Wolfe and Denning, with the result that we see him in his multiplied present. In this situation the hero, who is deprived of his own memories, so that any subsequent deed shows heroism in statu nascendi, not burdened with the glory of previous events. In the aforementioned novels by Dan Simmons, Odysseus is transferred into the reality of the cosmic worlds’ technology of sciencefiction; additionally the omnipotence of his gods is explained in a technological way and in changed realities he is forced to work with the qualities assigned him by Homer. The most complicated demythologising structure is used in Heros powinien byü jeden, which forces the reader to follow the ancient mythographers’ narrative, in which Heracles turns out to be the most mysterious of ancient heroes. Interestingly, the story of this popular novel makes Hercules not only mysterious, but by accenting all these liminal events from his biography enriches them with a religious content from the biblical world and makes him a form of archetypal human species. In this particular case demythologisation is open-ended and speculative. This means that the mythical illustration of Hercules’ biography is not reduced by the contents of the supernatural (which have

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no longer the religious significance), but is extended by new aspects which make even more complex the symbolic model of Hercules’s acts and choices. This symbolic model expresses the dilemmas and questions of a modern man. In this way myths were used to create a symbolic storyline raising questions rather than promoting specific type of behaviour. This would indicate a new way to use the ancient myths by modern popular literature. The most commonly used schema in recent times is introducing the ancient themes, both Roman (Tacitus, Livy) and Greek texts (Pausanias, Plutarch, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Polybius, etc.) to alternative worlds. The beginning of this phenomenon was science fiction novels such as Roma Eterna by Robert Silverberg (R. Silverberg, 2008), in which we have to deal with the world so alternative that it reverses the events known from the ancient history. The Jews do not leave Egypt, and there is no Christianity. Additionally, the later events also are changed, so there is no Islam or Middle Ages. There is an evolving tradition of Roman statehood, which encounters the empires of India, China, the Mayans and the Aztecs. In a similar manner are constructed the novels of Sophie McDougall from the trilogy of Romanitas (S. McDougall, 2005, 2007), in this case we are dealing with an alternative reality, but written in the poetics of the political thriller, with all the consequences. It is clear that in the case of constructing these alternative histories, they do not take into account ancient Greece, in these cases Rome is rather preferred in a twofold perspective of capturing the statehood of this civilisation and the consequences of its relationship with Christianity. Of course, for many scholars of antiquity this thesis put in the perspective of philological and historical sources may seem simplistic, but at this stage of the research it is justified. In the latter case, we are dealing with both books, in which Christianity does not become the State religion of Rome, as in the novel of Jacek Inglot’s Quietus (J. Inglot, 1997), or the existence of a religion is not the politically predominant feature. Obviously, it can be concluded that, in the case of the alternative re-narration the literature is coming back, unfortunately, to manipulate the motives of the ancient culture in its ornamental function, which you can see in the political thrillers. It is rather associated with the market phenomenon of this type of novels on the publishing market and related to the exploration of new attractive worlds for the reader. The same situation can be seen even among writers dealing with romances and thrillers. This means not so much to reduce the cultural content of antiquity in popular literature, but is rather about a more formal use of their themes in a manner referred to specific poetics of this type of writing.

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Conclusions It should be noted that the ways of using themes of ancient literature and culture in popular literature has a very strong development, which certainly is not finished at present and will probably be continued. The first attempts have a reductionist character in using the ancient material, which was used as aesthetic ornament for old story lines. This is regardless of whether these were adventure novels (King Solomon’s Mines), romance (Romance of the Mummy and Egypt) or new forms of the apocryphal (The Big Fisherman). The first attempts of introducing the ancient themes to genre fiction were of ludic or religious nature. However, increasingly, the individual themes of the presented world both in terms of material and spiritual culture proved to be so attractive that other writers reach for the themes of that area. These themes began to play an increasingly important role in both situations related to the construction of the presented world and the story. The same antiquity became better recognised as a treasure trove, not only of meanings and themes but also of great narratives. The result is, of course, the advent of the novels which brought the contemporary reader the reality of historical antiquities in a new aesthetic and poetic form both in its political (I, Claudius), epic (The Memoirs of Helen of Troy), or mythical aspect (The King Must Die). This led to two very interesting phenomena. The first consisted in an increasingly precise and exact presentation of the ancient world in relation to its literary, linguistic and historical patterns. The themes of antiquity became very developed semantically, linked to the images of their cultural sources which branched off from the formal restrictions of the clichés which they had initially and becoming equally both the medium of the knowledge of antiquity as well as signs indicating the out-of-plot sources. This can be seen in the reading lists of ancient and modern studies attached to books that the writers utilised while they were working on the text. The second phenomenon connected with the evolution of the using of classical themes in popular literature is associated with the changes in customer expectations from this type of literature. In this case, it turns out that it is not possible to talk about a single use of these themes. So different are the recipients, their aesthetic preferences and reading skills, that different too will be the application of ancient themes in popular literature: from very precise treatment of particular theme which focuses on the functioning of a Roman legion and making it a dominant or a leitmotif (as in the Videssos cycle by Harry Turtledove) to the use of cultural and historical realities in which to place the schemas of romances and crime stories to speculative re-narratives requiring major effort from the reader to understand the

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meaning of semantic shifts introduced into the ancient matrix by the writer. The same can be said that discovering the ancient culture the popular literature faced questions and open and symbolic themes. Their attractiveness is not only aesthetic, but it is increasingly becoming a cognitive appeal. The same novels using these themes are offering to the present customer the opportunity to experience the hermeneutical meaning of that culture and enriching the understanding of one’s self in this space of meanings. This affects the competence of the recipient in both formal and technical as well as philological perspective. However, the most important aspect of this phenomenon of reinventing antiquity by the writers of popular literature goes on the one hand back to the works of great narratives and not only in the aspect of imitative tracing (following) of the plot, but very often through the perspective of the changing position of the narrator, which results in a totally innovative reading, which does not exclude classic lessons, but rather captures them in a new perspective. And the discovery of many aspects of the ancient culture was at the root of speculative re-narrations, showing the topical meanings of this culture, even in the post-modern world of the 21st century. Thus it can be concluded that the ancient culture seen in the popular literature not only brings the aesthetic value of those worlds to its readers, but above all points to the timeless relevance of the figures through which it describes the Man and his condition. And this brings us to the fundamental conclusion that at least in the case of speculative renarrations popular literature has truly discovered and assimilated the masterpieces of classic literature.

Bibliography Alex, Joe. Czarne OkrĊty cycle, the cycle Czarne OkrĊty includes the following volumes: —. Ofiarujmy bogom krew jego. Warszawa: Ruch, 1972. —. CieĔ nienawiĞci królewskiej. Warszawa: Krajowa Agencja Wydawnicza, 1974. —. Kraina umaráych liĞci. Warszawa: Krajowa Agencja Wydawnicza, 1975. —. Sam bądĨ ksiĊciem. Warszawa: Krajowa Agencja Wydawnicza RSW Prasa-KsiąĪka-Ruch, 1975. Denning, Troy. Pages of Pain. Lake Geneva, WI: TSR, 1996. Douglas, Lloyd. C. The Robe. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1999. The Big Fisherman. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1948.

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Elyot, Amanda. The memoirs of Helen of Troy. New York: Crown Publishers, 2005. Gautier, Théophile. “The Romance of a Mummy and Egypt.” In The Works of Theophile Gautier. Vol. V. London, 2010. Gemmell, David. Dark Prince. New York: Ballantine Books, 1993. —. Lion of Macedon. New York: Ballantine Books, 1992. —. Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow. London: Corgi Books, 2006. —. Troy: Shield of Thunder. London [etc.]: Bantam Press 2006. Gemmell, David and Stella Gemmell. Troy: Fall of Kings. New York: Ballantine Books, 2007. Graves, Robert. Count Belisarius. New York: Literary Guild, 1938. —. Claudius the God and his Wife Messalina. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England: Penguin Books, 1943. —. King Jesus. New York: Creative Age Press, 1946. —. I, Claudius. Penguin, 1953 (Reprinted 1986). —. The Greek Myths. Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1955. —. Homer’s Daughter. Garden City, N.Y., Doubleday, 1955. Haggard, Henry R. Cleopatra. London, Macdonald, 1958. King Salomon’s Mines. London: Puffin Books, 1993. Inglot, Jacek. Quietus, Warszawa: Zysk i S-ka Wydawn., 1997. Kinkiel, Tanja. Die Söhne der Wölfin. München: Goldmann, 2002. Kuttner, Henry. Elak of Atlantis stories. Bellevue, Wash.: Planet Stories; London: Diamond [distributor], 2007. Le Guin, Ursula K. Lavinia. Orlando: Harcourt, 2008. McDougall, Sophia Romanitas. London: Orion, 2005. Rome borning. London: Orion, 2007. Moorcock, Michael. Behold the Man. London, Allison & Busby, 1969. Oldi, Henry L. Heros powinien byü jeden. Vol. 1-2. Translated by A. Sawicki. Lublin: Fabryka Sáów, 2009. —. Ɉɞɢɫɫɟɣ, ɫɵɧ Ʌɚɷɪɬɚ, Moscow, 2000. —. ȼɧɭɤ ɉɟɪɫɟɹ, Moscow, 2011. Philips, Marie. The gods behaving badly. New York: Little, Brown and Co., 2007. Prus, Bolesáaw. Pharaoh. Translated by Ch. Kasparek. Warsaw & New York: Polonia, 2001. Renault, Mary. The King must die. New York: Pantheon 1958. Silverberg, Robert. “Gilgamesh in the Outback.” In The Year’s best science fiction : fourth annual collection, edited by Gardner R. Dozois. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1987. —. Roma Eterna. New York: Eos, 2003. Simmons, Dan. Ilium. New York: EOS, 2003.

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—. Olympos. New York: Eos, 2005. Sprague de Camp, L. Lest Darkness Fall. New York: Ballantine Books, 1949. Turtledove, Harry. Videssos cycle, the cycle Videssos includes the following volumes: —. The Misplaced Legion. New York: Ballantine Books, 1987 —. An Emperor for the Legion. New York: Ballantine Books, 1987. —. The Legion of Videssos. New York: Ballantine Books, 1987. —. The Swords of the Legion. New York: Ballantine Books, 1989. —. Krispos Rising. New York: Ballantine Books, 1991. —. Krispos of Videssos. New York: Ballantine Books, 1991. —. Krispos the Emperor. New York: Ballantine Books, 1994. —. The Stolen Thron. New York: Ballantine Books, 1995. —. Hammer and Anvil. New York: Ballantine Books, 1996. —. The Thousand Cities. New York: Ballantine Books, 1997. —. Videssos Besieged. New York: Ballantine Books, 1998. —. The Brigde of the Separator. New York: Ballantine Books, 2005. Vallese Ray and Valerie Vallese. Torment: a novelization. Renton, WA: Wizards of the Coast, 1999. Wallace, Lew. Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ, Boston, 1995. Werber, Bernard. Nous les dieux: roman [1], L’île des sortilèges. Paris: Librairie générale française, 2006. Wolfe, Gene. Soldier of the Mist. New York, N.Y. T. Doherty Associates, 1986. Soldier of Arete. New York, N.Y. T. Doherty Associates, 1989. Zelazny, Roger. Creature of Light and Darkness. New York: Avon Books, 1969. ĩabski, Tadeusz. Proza jarmarczna XIX wieku. Próba systematyki gatunkowej. Wrocáaw: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocáawskiego, 1993.

WHAT UNDERGOES CHANGES AND WHAT REMAINS UNCHANGED, OR HOW TO RESEARCH ANTIQUITY IN POPULAR LITERATURE AND CULTURE ON THE MODEL OF THE TRILOGY TROY BY DAVID GEMMELL KONRAD DOMINAS ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: The aim of this article is to look into the mechanisms of reception and eventually the appearance of a myth, literature and the ancient culture in the trilogy Troy by David Gemmell. It is a question not only about the place of antiquity in Gemmell’s literary workshop, but also about what happens to antiquity when it is written into a new, not completely discovered, space. This issue is particularly interesting in the methodological context – working out a description which would enable the researcher to embrace certain schemes, building the topic of antiquity’s presence in popular literature.

Helicaon, Antenor’s son and Laodice’s husband, is in Greek and Roman mythology an episodic character. In the corpus of ancient texts he shows up merely five times and always on the margin of other, more or less known heroes. Wilhelm Roscher in the Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen Mythologie dwells for only four sentences on him (Roscher 1884-1890: 1985), similarly Pierre Grimal in Dictionary of Classical Mythology (Grimal 1997: 126). Robert Graves in The Greek Myths mentions his name twice when describing the last days of Ilion (Graves 2011: 622-623). H.J. Rose focuses on Antenor and his family’s fate – Helicaon is nowhere to be seen (Rose 1990: 252). Helicaon is also skipped by Michael Grant (Roman Myths), Mark P.O. Morford and Robert J. Lenardon in Classical Mythology, and the lexicon The Classical Tradition edited by Anthony Grafton, Glenn W. Most, and Salvatore Settis, as well as by famous Polish mythology writers: Jan Parandowski (Mitologia. Wierzenia i podania Greków i Rzymian, Lwów 1924),

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Zygmunt Kubiak (Mitologia Greków i Rzymian, Warszawa 1997), Wanda Markowska (Mity Greków i Rzymian, Warszawa 1968), Aleksander Krawczuk (Mitologia staroĪytnej Italii, Warszawa 1982), Jan Pietrzykowski (Mitologia staroĪytnej Grecji, Warszawa 1978). How is it possible then, that nearly an anonymous character looms from the corners of ancient literature and becomes the main hero of the trilogy Troy by David Gemmell (although the third part of the trilogy was finished by Gemmell’s wife, Stella, after the author’s death in 2006)1, which tells the story – the genesis, progress and consequences – of one of the most renowned motifs in world literature? Gemmell uses the full scope of antiquity. He selects, rejects and modifies hundreds of excerpts from which is built the myth of the Trojan War. The world created, with a number of characters bordering between a myth and history, not only fits into the heroic fantasy stream, but enriches the plot with the right rhythm and dynamics. Thanks to this, the reader discovers Troy anew, only sometimes viewing the images and impressions from his memory about the Homeric world known from history and literature lessons. Troy is an example of a simple ancient motif and theme appearance, e.g. in the form of recognizable heroes – Odysseus, Priam, Hector, and Achilles, as well as some sophisticated amendments of little-known stories, whose replaying is not obviously necessary. The authors reach though, at one time for Homer or Virgil, whereas at another time for the authors known only from scarce fragments, e.g. for Hellanicus of Lesbos. In this case we could trace a quite complex process of reception consisting of modification, renaming, adding, and demythicizing of history, for which the foundation is usually ancient literature. But is it only this? Studying the trilogy of Gemmell shows that a simple juxtaposition of the world presented with antiquity is not always sufficient, it does happen that one needs to reach “to the outside”, to mass culture, so that one could fully understand the scheme used by the authors. It means it is not only and solely a world of two dimensions – antiquity and Troy – but of popular culture as well, which for many threads defines a new function, their new dimension. Moreover, an exceptionally vital aspect is the way specific motifs are joined, their selection, and the role which they play in the story. The key letting us understand the most important mechanisms for the reception of Greco-Roman literature and culture in the trilogy by David Gemmell is the transformation of the main hero – Aeneas – into Helicaon. This transformation is partly a background for the remaining mechanisms which not only remind of, or reinterpret some known motifs from the mythology, but also modify them in such a way that they become more

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familiar to a simple reader. It is noticeable that “closer”, from the point of view of antiquity’s appearance, will not denote at all anything simpler or poorer. In this situation, “reception” is becoming the operant term. Lorna Hardwick and Christopher Stray define that term in the following way: “By ‘receptions’ we mean the ways in which Greek and Roman material has been transmitted, translated, excerpted, interpreted, rewritten, re-imaged and represented” (Hardwick, Stray 2008: 1). Such an approach relies mostly on registering antiquity in the form of a great number of fragments, quotations and references in literature, culture, art, etc. In the case of the trilogy, the most essential thing seems to be the grasp of the mechanisms by means of which the transformation of a specific motif or ancient thread occurs. An approach of this kind focuses then on some precise tools of reception. When it comes to the transformation of Aeneas into Helicaon, so apart from placing these characters in the corpus of Greek and Roman texts the starting point should be finding an element joining the heroes, and furthermore concentrating on the mechanism of their transformation. In this particular case, such a mechanism will be a function of the plot and also the changes occurring in connection with popular literature and culture. According to the above pattern, the reception of antiquity resembles an irreversible chemical process, in which the newly born literary element is processed by cultural mechanisms. These mechanisms make the gist become subject to many transformations leading, e.g. to a change in the primary sense (Dominas 2014: 104). Therefore, it is so relevant in the research on antiquity in popular literature that classical philologists and historians cooperate with mass-culture researchers. It is they who are able to answer the question of whether a given mechanism is a new idea, or perhaps it is now fixed element of stories, films, computer games, etc.

Aeneas versus Helicaon Anchises and Aphrodite’s son draws the attention of researchers due to many reasons, with two of them being particularly crucial: uniting two cultural traditions – Greek and Roman and apart from that a political context, especially important at the final times of the Roman Republic and at the times of Augustus Caesar. For the Romans, Aeneas was an indisputable symbol of Rome. Caesar in Suetonius’ De Vita XII Caesarum utters the following words: (Divus Iulius 6): Amitae meae Iuliae maternum genus ab regibus ortum, paternum cum diis inmortalibus coniunctum est. Nam ab Anco Marcio sunt Marcii Reges, quo nomine fuit mater; a Venere Iulii, cuius gentis familia est nostra. Est ergo

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What Undergoes Changes and What Remains Unchanged in genere et sanctitas regum, qui plurimum inter homines pollent, et caerimonia deorum, quorum ipsi in potestate sunt reges. The family of my aunt Julia is descended by her mother from the kings, and on her father’s side is akin to the immortal Gods; for the Marcii Reges (her mother’s family name) go back to Ancus Marcius, and the Julii, the family of which ours is a branch, to Venus. Our stock therefore has at once the sanctity of kings, whose power is supreme among mortal men, and the claim to reverence which attaches to the Gods, who hold sway over kings themselves (translated by John C. Rolfe).

So it is not a coincidence that the pivotal point of the Forum of Caesar, a new city space symbolising the change of the then style of governance, became the temple of Venus Genetrix – the mother of Aeneas. Even the very sources telling of Aeneas’ life could fit into a separate monograph. Wilhelm Roscher depicting the history of this hero from the cradle to the grave, devotes a few dozen pages, listing almost all ancient texts referring to this character (Roscher 1884-1890: 157-190). Among them we can identify primary sources (Dominas 2012: 139-140): Homer’s Iliad (II 819-823; V 166-275; V 297-317; V 431-470 and many others), both Virgil’s Aeneid and Ovids’ Metamorphoses (XIII 623-XIV 608), as well as Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ Antiquitates Romanae (I 44, 3-I 73). Nonetheless, equally important are the secondary texts, e.g.: Hyginus’ Fabulae, Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita Libri (I 1-7), and Pausanias’ Description of Greece (I 11, 7; II 23, 5; III 22, 11). A meaningful topic in this context is the fragmentary aspect of many sources: Marcus Terentius Varro’s Antiquitates rerum humanarum et divinarum, of Roman annalists or Greek historians and mythographers. In comparison to Aeneas, Helicaon is an episodic character. He is mentioned first time by Homer in the third book of his Iliad (123-126): ੏ȡȚȢ įૃ Į੣șૃ ਬȜȑȞૉ ȜİȣțȦȜȑȞ૳ ਙȖȖİȜȠȢ ਷ȜșİȞ İੁįȠȝȑȞȘ ȖĮȜȩ૳ ਝȞIJȘȞȠȡȓįĮȠ įȐȝĮȡIJȚ, IJ੽Ȟ ਝȞIJȘȞȠȡȓįȘȢ İੇȤİ țȡİȓȦȞ ਬȜȚțȐȦȞ ȁĮȠįȓțȘȞ ȆȡȚȐȝȠȚȠ șȣȖĮIJȡ૵Ȟ İੇįȠȢ ਕȡȓıIJȘȞ. But Iris went as a messenger to white-armed Helen, in the likeness of her husband’s sister, the wife of Antenor’s son, even her that lord Helicaon, Antenor’s son, had to wife, Laodice, the comeliest of the daughters of Priam (translated by Augustus T. Murray).

The mentioned țȡİȓȦȞ ਬȜȚțȐȦȞ appears also in the Pausanias’ text, which again – although in a different environment – allies with Laodice. The

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author of Description of Greece takes up a debate with Euphorion of Chalcis on the life of Priam’s daughter (X 26,8): ȁȑıȤİȦȢ į੻ IJİIJȡȦȝȑȞȠȞ IJઁȞ ਬȜȚțȐȠȞĮ ਥȞ IJૌ ȞȣțIJȠȝĮȤȓ઺ ȖȞȦȡȚıșોȞĮȓ IJİ ਫ਼ʌઁ ੗įȣııȑȦȢ țĮ੿ ਥȟĮȤșોȞĮȚ ȗ૵ȞIJĮ ਥț IJોȢ ȝȐȤȘȢ ijȘıȓȞ. ਪʌȠȚIJȠ ਗȞ Ƞ੣Ȟ IJૌ ȂİȞİȜȐȠȣ țĮ੿ ੗įȣııȑȦȢ țȘįİȝȠȞȓ઺ ʌİȡ੿ ȠੇțȠȞ IJઁȞ ਝȞIJȒȞȠȡȠȢ ȝȘį੻ ਥȢ IJȠ૨ ਬȜȚțȐȠȞȠȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȖȣȞĮ૙țĮ ਩ȡȖȠȞ įȣıȝİȞ੻Ȣ ਫ਼ʌઁ ਝȖĮȝȑȝȞȠȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ȂİȞİȜȐȠȣ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ: Ǽ੝ijȠȡȓȦȞ į੻ ਕȞ੽ȡ ȋĮȜțȚįİઃȢ ıઃȞ Ƞ੝įİȞ੿ İੁțȩIJȚ IJ੹ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȁĮȠįȓțȘȞ ਥʌȠȓȘıİȞ. Lescheos says that Helicaon, wounded in the night battle, was recognized by Odysseus and carried alive out of the fighting. So the tie binding Menelaus and Odysseus to the house of Antenor makes it unlikely that Agamemnon and Menelaus committed any spiteful act against the wife of Helicaon. The account of Laodice given by the Chalcidian poet Euphorion is entirely unlikely (Translated by William H.S. Jones)

A completion of these stories can be found in Servius’ words (In Vergilii carmina comentarii, I 242) and Martialis’ (X 93) and Athenaeus’ Deipnosophistae (VI 232c). What makes Aeneas and Helicaon become with Gemmell the same character? Perhaps it was the future itself which shaped up for the heroes after the fall of Ilion. This future is told to Aeneas by Poseidon in the twentieth book of the Iliad (XX 75-352): the further life paths of Helicaon are not confirmed only by the Pausanias’ texts, but also by the Servius’ and Martialis’ ones. For Antenor, the key role plays on his father’s friendship with Menelaus and Odysseus, which is mentioned by both Homer (Iliad III 204-211) and Livy: (I,1). In this motif there appears a well-known leopard pelt, which was to be hung on Antenor’s door as a symbol of immunity. It was noticed by Strabo (XIII 1, 53) after Sophocles and Pausanias (X 27,3): ਩ıIJȚ į੻ ȠੁțȓĮ IJİ ਲ ਝȞIJȒȞȠȡȠȢ țĮ੿ ʌĮȡįȐȜİȦȢ țȡİȝȐȝİȞȠȞ įȑȡȝĮ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJોȢ ਥıȩįȠȣ, ıȪȞșȘȝĮ İੇȞĮȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਰȜȜȘıȚȞ ਕʌȑȤİıșĮȚ ıij઼Ȣ Ƞ੅țȠȣ IJȠ૨ ਝȞIJȒȞȠȡȠȢ. There is the house of Antenor, with a leopard’s skin hanging over the entrance, as a sign to the Greeks to keep their hands off the home of Antenor (Translated by William H.S. Jones).

The same tradition is also recognised by the author of the scholia on the Aves of Aristophanes (933) and Eustatios in the scholia on the Iliad of Homer (III 207).

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The mythological relations between Aeneas and Helicaon are visible only to those, who using Greek and Roman literature are able to point to the stories (different versions of particular myths) joining the heroes. However, for a regular receiver, the point of reference is undoubtedly the plot of Troy. What, then, pushed Gemmell to use the elements of transformation, coalescing the two independent heroes into only one? Why could not he make Helicaon the main character from the very first instant? In order to answer this question, the issue should be presented in two dimensions: by means of the history built by Gemmell and by putting it into the popular culture space. Gemmell, by constructing the new history of Aeneas (a new myth), based it on the commonly accessible sources, mostly: Homer’s Iliad, Virgil’s Aeneid, Hymn 5 to Aphrodite. Young Aeneas is in this way Anchises’ son, the king of Dardania and the main ally of Troy, and the woman whose name, for many reasons, is not revealed in the story. Anchises is a typical example of a father-tyrant shown through a completely different lens than in Virgil’s Aeneid. By the same token, the author of Troy presents other tyrants: Peleus, Achilles’ father, and Priam. The mythological lover of Aphrodite serves in the story a relevant purpose, becoming the spiritus movens of the intrigue, which will oppose the two great friends against each other – Aeneas/Helicaon and Odysseus – in the Troyan conflict (according to the classical version of this myth). The turning point in the life of young Aeneas is now the death of his mother (Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow: 52): ‘His mother killed herself,’ Anchises said suddenly. ‘The boy has not been the same since. The stupid woman told him she was the goddess Aphrodite, and that she was going to fly back to Olympos. Then she leapt from the cliff. He saw her and tried to follow, but I grabbed him. He refused to believe she was insane. So I took him to the body, and he saw the ruins of her beauty, broken bones jutting from her flesh. He has been... useless to me since. He is frightened of everything. He speaks to nobody and goes nowhere. He will not ride a horse, nor dive or swim in the bay.

Gemmell is giving up in this fragment the idea of Aeneas’ mother as a goddess of love. As Odysseus recalls in the trilogy (Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow: 51): “The idea of the Goddess of Love falling for a dry, dull brigand like Anchises was laughable.” Anchises remarries Halysia, making her son Diomedes the inheritor of the throne. Odysseus’ recollections draw closer the moment of transformation of a boy teased by his father into a real man, Aeneas into Helicaon. The person

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responsible for that is the king of Ithaca himself, in his first conversation with Aeneas claiming (Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow: 54): ‘Good! That is a beginning. Now all you need to do is seek out that hero, boy, and embrace him. I can help you. For I know his name.’ ‘His name?’ ‘The hero inside you. You want to know his name, so that you can call for him?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Aeneas, and Odysseus saw the desperation in his eyes. ‘His name is Helicaon.’

A moment later Odysseus throws himself from a cliff into the sea, pretending he has drowned. Aeneas in the extraordinary circumstances rescues Odysseus and when Penelope enters on board his ship – the king admits (…): “You scattered your enemies, Helicaon. I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. You found the path to the hero. You will never lose it again.” From that moment onwards Aeneas will be called Helicaon mainly by Priam, Anchises and a host of writers addressing him officially – for his enemies he will always remain Helicaon, never Aeneas. After many adventures with Odysseus, Helicaon turns into an invincible warrior and a great hero, known to the whole world of those days. The process of initiation for the main heroes in this kind of literature is not anything unusual; however in this particular example, the leading characters of the story – Aeneas, Hector, Odysseus, Priam, Helen, Andromache – are famous in literature and culture. This is the reason why, from the point of view of the reception of antiquity, the moment of Aeneas’ transformation into Helicaon is so important. Responsible for that is a cultural mechanism known from popular comic books. Peter Benjamin Parker, before he changed into Spider-Man, had been an orphan, raised by the loving uncle’s family, and in addition he was a loner. A conjunction of various events, which led to him getting stung by a radioactive spider made him a superhero. A similar mechanism can be found in the series of Batman comics. Similarly, Aeneas becomes Helicaon, a superhero. Just like Parker/Spider-Man and most of the other comic characters he has a dark side to his character, arousing fear even in those closest to him – he is not able to forgive, and taking vengeance on his enemies he grants no mercy. At the plot level we are dealing with a rather simple mechanism consisting of the creation of the main hero’s story, which rests on the commonly available mythological sources. Such a story is further adjusted to the main objectives of the literary work, and in this respect also the primary character changes, as well as the aims of the other characters. At

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the level of popular culture, Gemmell applies the mechanism – whether consciously or not – which made a Helicaon almost anonymous in the mythology a person closer to many readers.

From Aeneas to Helicaon – a case study The Trojan-Mycenaean War required from Gemmell a hero who would be capable of deciding the fortune of the war. Aeneas seemed perfect for that purpose. On the one hand the key figure in the dispute, on the other hand still not as renowned in popular culture as Odysseus, Achilles or Hector, and in this way attractive and intriguing. Considering the example of Wolfgang Petersen’s Troy (USA, Malta, UK 2004), Aeneas appears in the final scene of the film, in which Prince Paris asks him about the skills of using a sword. An exceptional problem arises though, for the author of Troy, and that is Virgil’s Aeneid. Gemmell refers to the epic more than often, particularly in the scenes of conquering Ilion, as a complimentary source for Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. However, the Aeneid means mainly threads and motifs, which earned a deserved place in the European culture. It is hard to imagine Aeneas without Dido, Lavinia, Evander and Pallas, Latinus, or the war with Turnus. Transforming Aeneas into Helicaon let Gemmell eliminate these fragments of the myth, which owing to the plot became uncomfortable, much less the fact that Helicaon also was destined to survive the Trojan war. By no means is this an exceptional mechanism in the trilogy. A similar situation can be noticed in the context of Odysseus. Gemmell resigns completely from the Odyssey, extracting from it only the parts which refer to a quite unusual affection between the King of Ithaca and Penelope. The myths of Odysseus’ adventures after the fall of Troy are narrowed down to hilarious stories, incredibly captivating for the audience, which Odysseus the storyteller spins during the numerous voyages, winning not only huge approval but also influence and money (Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow: 70): The gifts he received for storytelling had begun to exceed the amount he earned from trading on the Great Green. Last year, at the court of Agamemnon, in the Lion’s Hall, he had spun a great epic tale of a mysterious island, ruled by a Witch Queen who turned his men into pigs. He had made that story last throughout a full evening, and not one listener had left the hall. Afterwards Agamemnon gave him two golden cups, inset with emeralds and rubies. The same night Agamemnon had stabbed to death a drunken Mykene nobleman who doubted him.

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Gemmell employs a mechanism known from many stories with mythological threads in the background (e.g. Mary Renault’s novels about Theseus: The King Must Die, 1958; The Bull from the Sea, 1962; Tanja Kinkel’s Die Söhne der Wölfin, 2002) consisting of demythicising a mythical story and presenting it with a similarity to the events which could have happened in the remote past. It also refers to the already mentioned plot of Aeneas’ mother, who throwing herself down the cliff thought of herself as Aphrodite – this is why we do not find her name in the story. The characters of the trilogy are not therefore heroes who like Bellerophon soar in the air on Pegasus to fight with the Chimaera – they are characters made of flesh and blood: loving, hating, having their ups and downs, and ultimately dying. Perhaps the choice of Helicaon was dictated by the tradition which from the great hero in the Iliad and the Aeneid made him a traitor, helping the enemies of Ilion. It is worthwhile mentioning two sources. The former comes from Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ Antiquitates Romanae, in which the author quotes Menecrates of Xanthus (I 48.3). Also a known author, although only from a few fragments, he tells the story of a betrayal which was meant for Aeneas as a result of a conflict with Alexander. This fragment ends with the following statement: ǹੁȞİȓȘȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਙIJȚIJȠȢ ਥઅȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ ਝȜİȟȐȞįȡȠȣ țĮ੿ ਕʌઁ ȖİȡȑȦȞ ੂİȡ૵Ȟ ਥȟİȚȡȖȩȝİȞȠȢ ਕȞȑIJȡİȥİ ȆȡȓĮȝȠȞ: ਥȡȖĮıȐȝİȞȠȢ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ İੈȢ ਝȤĮȚ૵Ȟ ਥȖİȖȩȞİੁ. For Aeneas, being scorned by Alexander and excluded from his prerogatives, overthrew Priam; and having accomplished this, he became one of the Achaeans (Translated by Ernest. Cary).

However an anonymous work De origine gentis Romanae (IX 2) quotes Lutatius, who mentions two traitors – Aeneas and Antenor: “At vero Lutatius non modo Antenorem, sed etiam ipsum Aeneam proditorem patriae fuisse tradit”. It was ancient literature which enabled Gemmell to put together the whole story responsible for the trilogy, thanks to the plot of a great friendship between Aeneas/Helicaon and Odysseus. The story ends namely in a land (town) which, though not directly called Rome, by its description and name – Seven Hills – leaves no doubts (Troy: Shield of Thunder: 238):

46

What Undergoes Changes and What Remains Unchanged The stockaded fort was on a hill overlooking the great river Thybris, and a busy community had developed around it, flourishing in the soft, verdant land so different from Ithaa and Dardanos. The people had started building a stone wall around the fort, for they had to fend off attacks from local tribes that resented the presence of foreigners from far across the seas. But the king of one of the tribes, Latinus, had welcomed them and joined his forces to theirs, and the community of the Seven Hills grew.

The following plot was possible due to the sources which in ancient times gave the priority in establishing Rome not to Romulus (a canonical version of the myth consolidated mainly thanks to Livy and Plutarch) but to Aeneas or even to Odysseus. Here, a Greek logographer, Hellanicus of Lesbos, puts forward a version of the myth in which the founder of the Eternal City becomes Aeneas, and depending on the interpretation of the Greek word “ȝİIJ੹”, it happens either with Odysseus as a participant (“ȝİIJ੹” means in this situation “from”) or after Odysseus (Antiquitates Romanae I 72,2; Müller 1891: 52): ੒ į੻ IJ੹Ȣ ੂİȡİȓĮȢ IJ੹Ȣ ਥȞ ਡȡȖİȚ țĮ੿ IJ੹ țĮșૃ ਦțȐıIJȘȞ ʌȡĮȤșȑȞIJĮ ıȣȞĮȖĮȖઅȞ ǹੁȞİȓĮȞ ijȘı੿Ȟ ਥț ȂȠȜȠIJIJ૵Ȟ İੁȢ ੉IJĮȜȓĮȞ ਥȜșȩȞIJĮ ȝİIJૃ ੗įȣııȑĮ ȠੁțȚıIJ੽Ȟ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ IJોȢ ʌȩȜİȦȢ, ੑȞȠȝȐıĮȚ įૃ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ਕʌઁ ȝȚ઼Ȣ IJ૵Ȟ ੉ȜȚȐįȦȞ ૮ȫȝȘȢ. But the author of the history of the priestesses at Argos and of what happened in the days of each of them says that Aeneas came into Italy from the land of the Molossians with Odysseus and became the founder of the city, which he named after Rome, one of the Trojan women (Translated by Earnest Cary).

It is wise to quote in this context the words of Sallust from the introduction to De coniuratione Catilinae (6): Urbem Romam, sicuti ego accepi, condidere atque habuere initio Troiani, qui Aenea duce profugi sedibus incertis vagabantur, cumque iis Aborigines, genus hominum agreste, sine legibus, sine imperio, liberum atque solutum. The city of Rome, according to my understanding, was at the outset founded and inhabited by Trojans, who were wandering about in exile under the leadership of Aeneas and had no fixed abode; they were joined by the Aborigines, a rustic folk, without laws or government, free and unrestrained (Translated by John C. Rolfe).

It is hard though, to determine whether the mythological foundations for Gemmell’s trilogy were popular interpretations of myths or perhaps

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ancient sources. The mainstream view is that the point of reference for such literature is a variety of dictionaries and lexicons, which means secondary texts versus their ancient originals. An attempt to dissolve this issue could be rather problematic, unless the author himself makes such information available (e.g. the already quoted Mary Renault and Tanja Kinkel). An argument for using the ancient texts, even those very rare (diverse scholia, the mentioned Hellanicos of Lesbos), is the easiness of access to them by means of new media, especially the Internet, and all the works quoted in my paper can be freely found there. We can recommend at this moment not only web services such as The Latin Library, Bibliotheca Augustana or Perseus Digital Library, but also PDF files of such literary pieces as T. Müller’s, Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum (Internet Archive). The web page Theoi Greek Mythology. Exploring Mythology in Classical Literature & Art, apart from the brilliantly prepared mythological dictionary, offers dozens of works (Ovid, Plutarch, Hesiod and many more) accessible in English – out of which the majority were published by Loeb Classical Library (cf. Greek Mythology Link – http://www.maicar.com/GML/). What is characteristic in this process is that often the only knowledge required is an acquaintance with on-line media and browsing skills. The new media are becoming not only a new distribution channel for the ancient gist – simple, quick and comfortable, but also a new reception space, which is beginning to play a larger role in the research on the existence of antiquity in the contemporary culture. Hundreds of web services, forums and blogs, Wikipedia, thousands of comments and Internet users’ opinions on social networks, undoubtedly make up the material which provides abundant information on how Greek and Roman antiquity is perceived by ordinary recipients. This is the information on how they view antiquity, what they find fascinating and what discouraging. Millions of people speaking dozens of languages, thanks to the possibilities offered by the new media can express their opinions about antiquity. Perhaps it is not rare to find out that many ancient plots or book and film motifs are scrutinised by means of the new media tools. The important point to make at this moment is that the digital media are less and less willing to use knowledge from the real world. The Web can quote itself thanks to its users – the basics could be antiquity, but this what happens afterwards, and escapes the traditional methodology of research on reception (Czeremski, Dominas, Napiórkowski 2013: 66-69). The multithreading of various myths and the easiness of access to them is becoming for many popular culture authors a condition sine qua non for building an occasionally complicated plot, which draws the world of

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antiquity closer to the reader but in a slightly different form from that of typical academic or even popular scholarly knowledge. This multithreading plot resembles the creation of a mosaic from hundreds of colourful glass pieces. In order to arrange them, it is not only sufficient to possess the knowledge of ancient literature and the skill in using the media, necessary is also an idea – the right mechanism – by means of which an image will be created. Such mechanisms have their onset not only in the riches of ancient culture, but also in popular culture and the new media – as it is getting harder and harder to set the border between this what is elite and that what is popular.

Bibliography Ancient Sources Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Roman Antiquities. Vol. I. Books 1-2. Translated by E. Cary. London: William Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1937. Homer. Iliad. Vol. I. Books 1-12. Translated by A.T. Murray. Revised by W.F. Wyatt. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1924. Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum. Edited by Karl O. Müller, Theodorus Müller and M. Letronne. Parisiis: A. Firmin Didot, 18411851. Pausanias. Description of Greece. Vol. IV. Books 8.22-10 (Arcadia, Boeotia, Phocis and Ozolian Locri). Translated by W.H.S. Jones. London: Heinemann; Cambridge (Mass): Harvard University Press, 1935. Sallust. The War with Catiline. The War with Jugurtha. Translated by J.C. Rolfe. Revised by J.T. Ramsey. Cambridge, Massachusetts; London, England: Harvard University Press, 2013. Suetonius. Lives of the Caesars. Vol. I. Translated by J.C. Rolfe. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914.

Modern Sources Gemmell, David. Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow. London: Corgi Books, 2006. Troy: Shield of Thunder. London [etc.]: Bantam Press 2006. Gemmell, David and Stella Gemmell. Troy: Fall of Kings. New York: Ballantine Books, 2007.

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Secondary literature Czeremski, Maciej, Konrad Dominas and Marcin Napiórkowski. Mit pod lupą II. Kraków: Wydawnictwo LIBRON, 2013. Dominas, Konrad. “Internetowa recepcja mitu na przykáadzie wybranych podaĔ grecko-rzymskiej literatury.” In Báocian, Ilona and Ewa Kwiatkowska (eds.), 135-157. ToruĔ: Wydawnictwo Adam Marszaáek, 2012. —. “Mechanism of ancient literature reception in the digital media. Methodological context.” Scripta Classica, vol. 11 (2014): 101-111. Graves, Robert. Mity greckie. Translated by H. Krzeczkowski. Kraków: Vis-a-Vis Etiuda, 2011. Grimal, Pierre. Sáownik mitologii greckiej i rzymskiej. Translated by M. Bronarska et al. Wrocáaw: Zakáad Narodowy im. OssoliĔskich, 1997. Hardwick, Lorna and Christopher Stray (eds). A Companion to the Classical Tradition. Malden, MA; Oxford: Blackwell, 2008. Roscher, Wilhelm. Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen Mythologie.Vol. 1. Leipzig: Teubner, 1890 Rose, Herbert J. A handbook of Greek mythology: including its extension to Rome. London: International Thompson Businness Press, 1997.

Filmography Troy (director: W. Petersen, USA-Malta-UK 2004).

Notes 1

All the quotations included in this article come from the following works: D. Gemmell. Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow. London: Corgi Books, 2006. Idem. Troy: Shield of Thunder. London [etc.]: Bantam Press 2006. ; D. Gemmell, and S. Gemmell. Troy: Fall of Kings, New York: Ballantine Books, 2007.

THE ANCIENT QUOTATIONS IN MAREK KRAJEWSKI’S DETECTIVE NOVELS KAROL ZIELIēSKI UNIVERSITY OF WROCàAW

Abstract: Marek Krajewski, the popular author of crime novels, publicly declares that he is a classical scholar by profession. In his novels he creates a bygone world in which knowledge of classical literature and the heritage of antiquity is still alive. The characters of his books frequently use ancient sayings and quotations from classical authors. My aim is not verifying Krajewski’s erudition but assessing the nature of these quotations in the context of the disappearance of a quotation culture in oral communication.

There is a phenomenon in culture, somewhat ignored, which we can call a quotation culture. The point is that in our everyday life in various situations we use literary quotations which very often lose their original sense. Therefore, to give our opinion we have ready phrases, known from literature, for every occasion. Since I represent classical studies, let me present the problem from the perspective of Graeco-Roman antiquity. In the latter part of the article this perspective will show its benefits. The first stage of literacy is, of course, the oral tradition, but in the oral tradition the citing of literature does not exist. As a matter of fact how could it? A characteristic of the oral text is its variability, multiformity and absence of author. Every singer has his own way of presenting a plot. We can add that not everyone has the same silver tongue. In spite of the fact that formulaic language is very mechanical, it is actually impossible to invoke an oral text in a situational context because it does not exist as a text. It is able to function only as a picture in the performer’s mind and as a picture it can be invoked in the language typical for the particular oral tradition.1 The latest research on the earliest Greek written texts, saved on pottery, confirms that such records as that on “Nestor’s cup” do not constitute quotations of poetry, but can only be the allusions to an epic picture; they are specific substitutes for the oral poetry performed at symposiums.

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Only after the text can be repeated in the same form, is the use of quotation possible. Certainly, such a possibility is offered by the writing, but it is obvious that the writing still does not guarantee a stabilisation of a text in one version. There is still the whole problem of the multiformity of written texts. However, the most important thing for us is the presence of the oldest quotations in Greek literature: in comedy, in the speeches of orators, in the philosophical dialogues. They occur there mainly owing not to the fact that they had been read in the written form, but that they were present in the rhapsodic performances, in the theatre, at the symposiums, in the komoses, etc. Certainly, it is a transitional phase between orality and literacy according to Ong’s terminology.2 Things are also similar in the writing and typographic culture. Personally, I remember a time when not only academic professors and schoolteachers used to cite poets on various occasions. At present, in the era of cinematography and computers, school education increasingly less often requires that students learn poems by heart, so the place of literary quotations has been taken by quotes from songs and films. In ancient times, in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, literary quotations were used very often, as we can conclude from the sources. In the older classical studies the practice of counting all literal and inaccurate references to the earlier literature was often in use, even popular, since it allowed us to assess the author’s scale of erudition. Such collecting of quotations fed off the notorious classical “philology of influences.” At present it seems to me to be of much more value to observe the situational and sociological context in which it was used. As this has still not been an area of research, let me present two typical examples. One of the most famous sentences attributed to Caesar is “the die is cast” iacta alea est said before the crossing of the Rubicon. However, probably not only classicists know that it is the quotation from Menander’s comedy (cited by Athenaeus XIII 8, 32 Kaibel = Men. fr. 59. 4 Arrephoros or she-fluteplayer). As for Caesar, he did not mention it in his memoirs3, but Suetonius describes this situation in detail (Div. Iul. 33. 1). Plutarch states that Caesar said these words in Greek: anerríphtǀ kýbos (Pomp. 60). Of course, our confidence in the credibility of these biographers should be limited, but even so not one historian succumbed to this spectacular picture which emerges from their descriptions: hesitation of the great leader is overcome by putting all his eggs in one basket. Such is the magic of the image, but near its sources lurks maybe another situational context. According to Suetonius, Caesar expresses his doubts ad proximos, i.e. to his personal retinue. It is possible that he directs to his officers also the sentence in which his hesitations are dispelled. In their case we can

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assume that they have some knowledge of literature – many of them came from well-off families and very often they combined an army career with a career of a politician and lawyer. For them discrimination in literature, even refinement, was necessary. Caesar says these words in Greek. He must have supposed therefore that they either had read Menander or knew him from the stage. So we can infer that at such an important moment Caesar is very theatrical and the whole situation, if it is true, appears to be a performance arranged earlier culminating in a carefully selected bon mot. Let us take the other example from Plutarch’s The Life of Alexander (10. 6). When he is talking about rumours concerning the possibility of acquainting Alexander with the plot against his father Philip, he treats as a slander a story according to which Alexander was to answer Pausanias, who has been complaining to him about the king, with the verse from Euripides’ Medea (v. 288), in which Creon is afraid that Medea could do something wrong: IJઁȞ įંȞIJĮ țĮ੿ Ȗ੾ȝĮȞIJĮ țĮ੿ ȖĮȝȠȣȝ੼ȞȘȞ to the one who marries his daughter off, to the one who marries her and to the one who gets married

It is not really important if Alexander had a hand in this practice or not and if he resorted to the quote from Euripides to say something indirectly, as if in cipher readable only to those who understand. But it is important that the author of the biography, like his source, considers this way of using such a quotation as entirely natural. In Alexander’s answer a distinct élitism is also seen. It is not appropriate to say something straightforwardly, yet you can use a quotation which refers seemingly to something completely different. Quoting then is reserved for the intellectual élite, it constitutes a kind of code characteristic of the educated people. These questions of theatricality of quoting, the elitism of understanding quotations and their reception by representatives of various social groups will play an important role also in Marek Krajewski’s detective novels analysed below. These things have still been waiting for their own researcher, but now I owe an explanation as to why I chose the crime novels by Marek Krajewski from all contemporary popular literature to portray the phenomenon of the quotation culture. He is a very popular writer in Poland and known in other countries of Europe. One of his distinctive features is diverse references to ancient culture and literature. It is not my aim to assess the erudition of the author, but only to show the ways of quoting these well-known citations and to observe the contexts in which

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they appear. From among the works by Krajewski I am going to take into consideration the books depicting the investigations of Eberhard Mock and Edward Popielski because both characters were to come earlier into contact with classical studies and both are adepts of ancient literature.4 Analysing Krajewski’s output from this point of view is quite accidental and it can serve only as an example in the considerations of a regression and possibly a disappearance of the culture of literary quotations in our times. It would not be out of place to mention that the plot of these novels is set mostly in the period between the First and the Second World Wars. This time is treated there as something different in many respects from the contemporary world, in some matters concerning manners, attitudes, and to some extent views and the specific results of education. References to antiquity do occur in various forms in books by this author. Besides the desired quotes Latin sayings appear: those serious in mood, like pacta sunt servanda (E 149), when Popielski makes a promise, dum spiro, spero (FB 35), which Mock uses setting out on a risky escapade in the enemy territory as a password for the guards, and those less serious in mood: barba non facit philosophum (WMB 41), when Ollenborg draws Mock’s attention to the obvious fact that not every man who has a sailor hat on his head must be a sailor, nec Hercules contra plures which Renata Sperling reminds Popielski, ready to help her (LC 75), etc. All these sentences are used appropriately to the context. The language of characters and of narration is interspersed with various interjections established in Polish such as ad rem, sensu stricto, volens nolens, mutatis mutandis, in statu nascendi, lege artis and similar ones. Not infrequently, when a character infers conclusions, he stresses it with phrases belonging to philosophical and scientific discourse: ergo, quod demonstrandum erat, etc. The author enjoys using Latin phrases present in pre-conciliar Catholic liturgy and in the language of the clergy, such as Laudetur Iesus Christus, and fragments of sacred songs. There are also medical terms: syphilis mentalis, epilepsia photogenica and others, and scientific terms: here, apart from the Latin names of fauna and flora, other words applied in the scientific world are occasionally seen: vir doctus, summa cum laude, spondeo et polliceor uttered in a doctoral oath. Besides these, we can say, appropriately applied sentences, phrases and terms, we can encounter those which are intentionally modified by the author. The well-known Fiat iustitia et pereat mundus “Let the world perish so as justice might triumph” in Mock’s lecherous mind changes into Fiat coitus et pereat mundus (WMB 210). Popielski comes up with a sentence being in accordance with his nature: ordo in mensa scriptoria,

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ordo in vita cottidiana, which means literally “order on your desk, order in your everyday life.” Popielski adds to the translation some kind of commentary: It is true, he thought, on my desk there is always exemplary order, strictly marked on both sides by the margin of vacant space of exactly five centimetres. My life is a rearranged periodical function, whose minima – gluttony, drunkenness and debauchery – as well as maxima – starvation, abstinence, and celibacy – follow with mathematical strictness. (E 145146)5

A predilection of both main characters for good and generous eating is stressed by the citation by Mock and Popielski the Latin sentence primum edere, deinde philosophari in separate situations but in the sequence of following scenes (GM 36, also KĝB 46). An ironic meaning is conveyed by the proverb: Ne ultra crepidam, used by Baron von der Malten towards Mock, which is translated in the footnote by Krajewski: “cobbler, stick to thy last!” The baron pointed out to the son of a shoemaker where his place was (ĝB 59). As a play of this kind we can acknowledge a misuse of Latin set phrases in obituaries in the papers, which was to be an identification of a criminal organisation of misanthropes: requiescat in pacem instead of in pace,6 non ommis moriur instead of non omnis moriar (DB 104, 109). Responding to the password dum spiro mentioned earlier, corporal Hellmig gives the amusing countersign: spermo, but he is immediately corrected by Mock (FB 106). Amongst the abundance of mythological and literary images it seems that some of them are his favourites, because they are referred to several times. The motif of an exchange of armor taken from the Iliad is used quite unceremoniously as a demonstration of a masculine friendship, in one case less sincerely, when the false friend Rüthgard offers to Mock an exchange of waistcoats (WMB 82), in another more sincerely, when Mock and Mühlhaus exchange outer garments (DB 247). As we will see in a moment, Krajewski regularly goes back to the scene when Hephaestus catches his wife in flagranti with Ares. The most intriguing in this regard and probably the most genuine are Krajewski’s references to the research on antiquity. We should not forget that he is a classicist by profession and that for fifteen years he had worked as an academic teacher at the university in Wrocáaw. I can add that it is then that our friendship started and that we were colleagues working in the same department. As a reminder of a not easy time learning Greek as a student I find the passage (KĝB 192): “The writer was clearly worried

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about something. His face reflected the astonishment of a primary school pupil who has been told to conjugate all the basic forms of the Greek verb gignomai.”7 More than once Krajewski presents deliberations concerning linguistics and metrics, both close to his heart. Admittedly, they are often streaked with an undertone of humour and irony towards both the subjects and ways of doing research. His first novel (ĝB) features names wellknown to every classicist, though with different first names: Maass (with added “s” at the end), Friedländer, Lachmann.8 One of the main characters in this book, Herbert Anwaldt, is named after our common master in studying classics: Herbert MyĞliwiec (private communication from the author). Interesting characterizations of researchers, holding each other in contempt, draw attention in the same novel, which we can describe in the words of another of our common masters in Classics, Jerzy àanowski, that God created a professor but the devil created his colleague. As concerns the appropriate literary quotations, at the beginning we should notice that they appear not only in the verbal discourse of characters but also in what the omniscient narrator says looking into their skulls. However, they cannot be ignored because they constitute a component of the discourse with the outer audience. This is the audience not only observing the characters who in the already distant past use forgotten pieces of wisdom in a completely or increasingly more foreign language, but also the audience which is reminded about the world that has vanished but claims the right to live as the basis of European culture. Krajewski, as perhaps every classicist, often has had to feel obliged to explain, asked or not, the sense and need of using and understanding classical languages. Hence, like Homer, who has to justify every event in the chain of causation, every time when one of his heroes quotes something from ancient authors, Krajewski explains how it was possible. When the sailor Ollenborg reminds Mock of the already mentioned proverb about the beard of a philosopher, he explains that he had read Büchmann’s Geflügelte Worte a few times during his voyage to Africa (WMB 41). When seducing Mock, the prostitute Erika Kiesewalter addresses him with the words attributed to Archimedes Noli turbare circulos meos (properly because he erased with his shoe the inscriptions made by her on the sand), Mock is thinking how a girl of her profession can know Latin (WMB 217). He does not ask her about this but later he finds out that for this reason she was carefully selected by a sect practising the occult as well as that she had had a classical education. We suppose that everything was needed only in order for Mock to hear something in Latin and this would help him to fancy the girl. It is a simply humorous instance of drawing attention to the possibility of feminine intelligence for

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a person who is only attracted to the virtues of women’s bodies. However, this is not the place to assess such a portrayal of the female sex by the writer. Men from the elite, persons of high standing, doctors – all of them could know Latin by virtue of their education. Rarely Latin is also used by Mock’s superior in the police – Heinrich Mühlhaus, citing for instance a saying attributed to Appius Claudius Quisque est faber fortunae suae (DB 238). Its place seems appropriate – it happened at a meeting of a Masonic lodge. Baron von der Malten, quoted above, is an old friend from the university. Doctor Pidhirny deliberately used a Latin phrase, correcting the head of the investigative department in Lwów, Marian Zubik, who addresses him as a doctor, that he is “even doctor rerum naturalium – …[he said] intending to annoy somewhat the head of the department, who did not know Latin” (E 139). However, when Pidhirny speaks with Popielski, remembering about his knowledge of Latin, he takes the liberty of adding the phrase viribus unitis that they will achieve something “with joined forces” and this appears in the sentence as a macaronic term. The murderer Otto Rüthgard is also such an expert on classical languages, who can translate from these languages and even cites in his diary a long passage from Pliny the Younger about a ghost (WMB 70-72). He also uses quotation in speaking when he mentions the inscription from the Delphic oracle gnothi seauton (“know thyself”) to hypnotise Mock, who must remember how he once hurt his sect (WMB 287). Rüthgard cites a classic as well: “Deus sive natura – wrote Spinoza” (WMB 234). The main role of proponents of classical languages and culture falls to the main characters – the investigators Mock and Popielski. The author tries to talk with irony about it, sometimes even to sneer a bit. He is doing this in order that they might not to seem to the reader, from whom it is necessary to evoke at least a shadow of a liking, to be stuck-up turkeycocks showing off Latin and a knowledge of literature. The criminals Wirth and Zupitza, who assist Mock in using his method of blackmailing in the investigation, called by him a “vice”, with boredom and indifference accept the policeman’s references to the ancient wisdom (DB 202, 206). The corporal of German troops reluctantly accepts the password in Latin proposed by Mock (FB 35). About Popielski they say that “he still cast Latin sentences needlessly” (LC 35), with reference to the Polish saying “to cast Latin” in the meaning of “to swear”. A distance from the Latin is necessary to secure the hero pronouncing the quotation even in such a case as when he is simply theatrical. Loading the corpse of a cruelly raped girl onto a cart, Mock, instead of saying the carter to which cemetery he should be taken, recites a four-versed passage from the Aeneid about shipping the dead by Charon (Aen. 6. 298-301). The

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bizarreness of his behaviour is justified by the scenery of besieged Wrocáaw, in which death and damage prevailed, which the narrator emphasized with a remark: “The carter was not surprised at anything.” (FB 47). Both main characters are known for their penchants and everybody in contact with them accepts it. It is as if they constitute the last pockets of resistance for a culture gone for good. It lives in symbiosis with a depiction of multicultural cities Wrocáaw and Lwów falling into an abyss of oblivion. Mock and Popielski are to stay as lighthouses casting the Apollonian light into the darkness and the turmoil of war. Regrettably, the author does not cast light on our present and the shape of European culture in the post-war scene. And unfortunately, there is no place to explore the essence of antiquity as well. Mock and Popielski stay on their marbled pedestals and only their simply bestial sybaritism provides them with a little warmth and life. Citing ancient authors acquires a special justification with Mock. For different reasons (which is a little inconsistent in particular volumes) he used to remember even long passages of ancient works assimilated during his studies. This motif appears in the second crime fiction The End of the World in Breslau (KĝB 82): Mock recites in his mind Horace’s Exegi monumentum (C. 3. 30) to steady his tense nerves. However, we have not a whole poem but only a mention that he reached the famous non omnis moriar. In the same order he recites in his mind the no less famous Horatian Odi profanum vulgus (C. 3. 1) but to the recipient it is suggested that he did not have to continue after the first strophe (KĝB 252). In the next novel Mock uses the same method but in different circumstances: he evokes in his mind first verses of Lucretius’ De rerum natura and sets in motion his unbridled erotic imagination at a mention of a sex scene with Mars and Venus (WMB 137). Once again an instance of repeating memorised texts in moments of irritation and anger is mentioned but we hear only about references to “the exalted and succinct Seneca’s phrases, the agile Homer’s hexameters and the sonorous ending of Ciceronian periods” (WMB 153). In the same whodunnit Mock remembers his declamation in school of the passage from the Odyssey about the Sirens’ song and it reveals to him what in fact the singing is that is audible in a building (it appeared it was a chant of a criminal sect) (WMB 251). At another time Mock tries to recite the first 20 verses of the Aeneid to control his state of intoxication (WMB 271-272). He cannot even begin his recitation to calm himself because he is not able to remember if Cicero’s Pro Archia poeta starts with siquid or with quodsi (DB 63)9. Similarly, in another place his attempt failed since: “Today, however, neither the Horatian Soracte, or Virgilian sylvan pipe of Tityrus, or the sacred

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incantations of the priest could help me” (DB 122-123). We understand that Mock’s anger is too great to be appeased – so it is like the anger of Achilles. The set of remembered texts coincides by and large with a typical book-list of Latin texts (plus Homer) for students of classics at the Polish universities and, before the war, probably at the classics-oriented secondary schools. We can acknowledge it as the basic canon of classical authors. From time to time in this citation the writer is able to afford to make some mistakes. The sentence from Seneca’s De consolatione: Quid est enim novi hominem mori, cuius tota vita nihil aliud, quam ad mortem iter est “What is so strange when a man dies? His life, after all is no more than a journey towards death”10 in The End of the World in Breslau was declaimed by Mock’s teacher, which the detective had just remembered (WMB 154). While in “Erinyes” (E 229, 270) it is the epigraph of Popielski written on his visiting card and later on his gravestone. In the second novel mentioned above (KĝB 140) deliberations on the other sentence of Seneca: Quod retro est, mors tenet appear. In subsequent Rivers of Hades (RH 195) we can observe that the writer has already checked how exactly this sentence sounds and provides it in the right version: Quidquid aetatis retro est mors tenet adding the double translation: “What went past, it is immersed in death. What happened, you can’t turn back – he interpreted it in a familiar way”. It proves that the author quoted first from memory,11 which is characteristic for the quotation culture, where an established phrase is prone to be subject to modification – it is a phenomenon typical of verbal communication. Another kind of inaccuracy we find in the first detective novel (ĝB 6970), where the narrator says about Mock: “He believed in the Latin proverb that love wins everything – amor omnia vincit.” Firstly, this is not a proverb but the quotation from Virgil (Ec. 10. 69). Secondly, it sounds a little differently because it has to fit into a hexameter: Omnia vincit amor. It would be appropriate for a classicist to be conscious of the fact but we do not see at least any writing from a collection of Latin sentences. Since we point out mistakes to the writer as a classicist, it would be right to mention the scene in which Popielski is coming into a compartment with a prostitute and announces to her that he “immediately wants to relieve his virile force” and then he takes action “so beautifully paraphrased by Archilochus” (E 111). Afterwards, when the force has left him, in accordance with the circumstances the detective used to read Cicero or Lucretius but we had better watch the reference to the Greek iambic poet. Krajewski alludes here to the Polish translation of Archilochus’ fragment 196a, 52 W made by Jerzy Danielewicz. This

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anachronism can be forgiven but the problem is that it is impossible to refer to any other earlier translation because the original text was first published in 1974, being the most sensational discovery in papyrology in those years. Popielski in no way could know it.12 What is worse, the words referred to by the writer are not a paraphrase of a sexual act but a quite euphemistic paraphrase of what the Greek poet said: Ȝİȣț]ઁȞ ਕijોțĮ ȝ੼ȞȠȢ “I released my white force [on her body].” Krajewski’s works abound with sex and it is no wonder that many quotations and references to books of classics appear in an erotic context. In Death in Breslau (ĝB) the leading role apart from Mock is played by his subordinate Herbert Anwaldt, who has in common with his boss nothing other than studying classics and love for ancient literature. In one of the conversations about a scorching summer (ĝB 85) he points to Hesiod describing this season and quotes in Greek the verse13, which can be translated “women are then the randiest but men the most lumbering.” Mock either observes his physiological reactions triggered by sexual arousal and compares them to the pathographies of love in Lucretius, Sappho and Catullus analysed in a classical club at school (WMB 199200) or cites a translation of the first lines from Lucretius’ poem “the breath fixes on the goddess’s lips” so as to collate it with the second song of Demodokos from Book VIII of the Odyssey, taking up the same theme of the romance of Aphrodite and Ares (DB 132-133). If a thread of female homosexuality appears, Krajewski makes an explicit reference to Sappho and “her pupils” (e.g. DB 24), heedless of the fact that in the science of the time (the interwar period) the dominant view acquitted Sappho of lesbianism. Several times an excuse for placing a quotation is an encounter of the hero with a book being an edition of an ancient author. Mock not only likes to read Lucretius or Cicero (sometimes, as we saw, in strange circumstances), but also Horatian Carmina. With the latter he has, however, certain difficulties, for which his wife reproached him saying that he cannot manage without a school commentary (KĝB 16).14 Mock orders brought to him at the prison the elegies of Theognis in its original version so as to be able to cite, first in Greek and later in translation, a couplet suitable for the situation in which the policeman found himself: “It is not possible to penetrate a woman’s or man’s thoughts, before you do not test them as oxen with a yoke put on” (DB 176). Anwaldt comes across Oedipus the King in the Greek version on the train, which provokes him to translate a few verses (685, 1068) and to pronounce it in hushed tones (others passengers do not know what he is saying, ĝB 197-198). In this quite blatant way the writer has drawn the reader’s attention to a

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parallelism of the situations of Oedipus and Anwaldt. Similarly, Popielski meets a student reading Caesar’s Commentarii de bello Gallico in the porter’s lodge. Although, this time no quotation is being cited and the policeman tells the student, who has problems understanding the text, basic forms of irregular verbs (E 169-171). Looking at this world evoked by Krajewski, in which quotations from the classics are the key factor, reconstructing a kind of paradise lost, it is necessary to notice that it is artificial also in the sense that there are in fact no quotations from other literatures. The Germans do not cite Goethe, and the Poles do not quote Mickiewicz. There are only a few exceptions.15 However, the way Krajewski uses ancient quotations differs characteristically, in my opinion, from many approaches of this sort taken by other authors of popular literature. Krajewski perceives them not as a set of enigmatic conventional wisdom, book learning or bon mots, but as particles of the rich and consistent literature preserved as a holy relic by supporters of the classics. As the greatest value of such citation I would view the referral of the reading public to the original sources – well-known quotations do not remain excerpts from a collection of maxims. This literature constitutes a kernel of the culture of the European world16 but this world cuts itself off from it. Attitudes of incomprehension and boredom are presented, but even among them suddenly one hears voices referring to this past sinking into oblivion. It is worth remarking that a conventional, today it can be called schoolish, presentation of ancient culture is appropriate to the scientific and cultural atmosphere of this time. Only then do any new attempts of showing a real, authentic antiquity, such as Eric Dodds’ Greeks and the Irrational (1951) begin to break through a shell of stereotypes. Sullying this sanctity is certainly unconventional, guarded as a holy flame in the souls of the main characters, by putting them into the cruel and depraved world described in the crime novels, where not only policemen but also ordinary men and often cultured, distinguished members of the élite appear in this or other way sunk in the dirt. A Greek or Latin quotation finds a suitable place for itself in unsuspected circumstances: in prison, in a brothel, under the influence, under brutal, shameful questioning. Krajewski also perceives antiquity not so much from the angle of its culture as from its languages. As a matter of fact he never interprets any quotes. His depiction of ancient sources is, as we saw, very clichéd, while not infrequently he notices linguistic problems, which sometimes support a crime riddle (e.g. the question of the various understanding of ancient texts, of the development of any ancient language in the course of time – problems which non-specialists very rarely realise). Krajewski also sees

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the antiquity in this old-fashioned but very valuable way, according to which European culture is a heritage of the three sacred languages: Greek, Latin and Hebrew. It is a very traditional stand. The development of research in the last decades indicates that in the whole Mediterranean area the influences of various cultures interweaved with each other, which enabled the crystallisation of classical Greece and Rome as well as further evolution, resulting in diverse transformations of what was Greek and Roman – all this is absent there.17 All the same, the writer managed to avoid other traditional views, which have settled for good in modern popculture as for instance the conception of a progressive collapse and degeneration of the ancient culture, located at a concrete point on the axis of time – usually during the spectacular reigns of one of the Caesars, most frequently Nero or Marcus Aurelius. Finally, it is necessary to note that quotations and references to ancient literature become less and less frequent in subsequent volumes. This can be explained in two ways: the writer takes marketing into consideration or he alone becomes more distant from this ancient world with the passage of time, since when he left the university. Nevertheless, it seems to me that since the next novels with Mock and Popielski as the main characters are already planned and prepared, the writer will not completely resign from their the most characteristic feature – searching for the answer with the help of quotations from ancient literature.

Bibliography Dodds, Eric Robertson. The Greeks and the Irrational. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951. Ford, Andrew Laughlin. Homer: The poetry of the Past. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992. Merkelbach, Reinhold and Martin L. West. “Ein Archilochos-Papyrus.”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 14 (1974): 97-122. Minchin, Elizabeth. Homer and the Resources of Memory. Some Applications of Cognitive Theory to the Iliad and the Odyssey. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Ong, Walter Jackson. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London; New York: Methuen, 1982. West, Martin Litchfield. The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth. Oxford [England]; New York: Clarendon Press, 1997.

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ZieliĔski, Karol. Iliada i jej tradycja epicka. Studium z zakresu greckiej tradycji oralnej. Wrocáaw: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocáawskiego, 2014.

Notes 1

Ford 1992 proves that vividness is the main aim of epic singers and that pictures in their minds remain at the root of their performances. See also Minchin 2001, ZieliĔski 2014. 2 Ong 1992. 3 C. Iulius Caesar, Bellum Civile. Probably he did not think that it is something worth noticing (of course, if indeed it was actually said). If so, it may mean that for him uttering such quotations was something natural and without deeper meaning. 4 The works in chronological order (with abbreviations used in the article): ĝmierü w Breslau, Wrocáaw 1999 (ĝB), Koniec Ğwiata w Breslau, Warszawa 2003 (KĝB), Widma w mieĞcie Breslau, Warszawa 2005 (WMB), Festung Breslau, Warszawa 2006 (FB), DĪuma w Breslau, Warszawa 2007 (DB), Gáowa Minotaura, Warszawa 2009 (GM), Erynie, Kraków 2010 (E), Liczby Charona, Kraków 2011 (LC), Rzeki Hadesu, Kraków 2012 (RH). In English translation appeared: Death in Breslau, trans. by Danusia Stok, London 2008 (ĝB), The End of the World in Breslau, trans. by Danusia Stok, London 2009 (KĝB), Phantoms of Breslau, trans. by Danusia Stok, London 2010 (WMB). Page numbers of the quotations are taken from Polish editions. 5 If not marked in another way, translations of Krajewski’s books are mine. 6 We should notice that it is a typical grammatical mistake in the use of this Latin sentence. 7 Trans. by Danusia Stok. We can add that the gignomai is one of the irregular verbs which – with different forms in particular tenses – is hence difficult to learn. 8 Paul Maas (1880-1964), the author of the groundbreaking “Die Griechische Metrik” (1921). In the case of Friedländer there might be hesitation as to whether is an allusion to Ludwig Friedländer (1824-1909), the author of the great history of Roman culture “Darstellungen aus der Sittengeschichte Roms in der Zeit von August bis zum Ausgang der Antonine” (1862-1871), or to Paul Friedländer (18821968) the eminent expert of the Greek tragedy and of Plato (“Die griechische Tragödie und das Tragische” 1925-1926, “Platon” 1928-1933). Karl Lachmann (1793-1851), the versatile researcher of antiquity, but in modern studies known mainly as an editor of Lucretius (1850) and the author of the so called “Lachmann’s law”. 9 The correct answer is siquid. 10 Trans. by D. Stok. 11 I do not think that such an - error might be made intentionally. I cannot find a place for licentia poetica in this case, especially as errors in Latin phrases play a key part in the intrigue of DĪuma w Breslau, mentioned above.

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The Ancient Quotations in Marek Krajewski’s Detective Novels

Merkelbach/West 1974 (Pap. Colon. 7511). Hes. Op. 568 ȝĮȤȜંIJĮIJĮȚ į੻ ȖȣȞĮ૙țİȢ, ਕijĮȣȡંIJĮIJȠȚ į੼ IJȠȚ ਙȞįȡİȢ. 14 When Mock comes into Popielski’s compartment, he discerns a book with Latin verses. He guesses that it is Horace (GM 112). 15 Mickiewicz is cited in RH 191. In “Liczby Charona” Count Bekierski takes the liberty of citing Dostoevsky “Dear sir, forgive me, but such a kind of deal we do not make” (LC 237). In the same novel in Popielski’s head lingers the beginning of Elliot’s The Waste Land in Polish translation (LC 57). In the latter case it is a little anachronistic because it is not very probable that Popielski would know this poem in the original version and Polish translations appeared only after the Second World War. 16 We can assume that in certain measure it determines the affiliation of Eastern Europe to Europe – from the point of view of Western Europe eastern areas of Germany and Poland frequently seemed to resemble barbaria. Krajewski makes a reference to this problem in the “Liczby Charona” (LC 9-12), where the narrator depicts the dilemmas of a Norwegian reporter, who does not reveal any knowledge of the history of this part of Europe and to whose attention is brought the cultural and scientific grandeur of prewar Lwów. 17 The flagship title in this respect is M.L. West’s The East Face of Helicon (West 1997). 13

OLYMPUS SHOWN BY GRZEGORZ KASDEPKE AND KATARZYNA MARCINIAK, OR HOW WE SHOULD PRESENT MYTHOLOGY TO THE YOUNGEST AUDIENCE MONIKA MIAZEK-MĉCZYēSKA ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: Authors of books and stories presenting Greek mythology to the youngest readers face the dilemma of how detailed they should be in recounting myths to children. They want to preserve the ancient beauty and message without revealing too much cruelty and horror, which are part of many myths. Recently, young Polish readers interested in stories about ancient gods, heroes and creatures are offered two new publications: Mity dla dzieci (Myths for Children) by Grzegorz Kasdepke and Moja pierwsza mitologia (My First Mythology) by Katarzyna Marciniak. Their interpretation of Greek myths provides us with two completely different mythologies, two separate views on Mount Olympus, and comparing these two worlds may be surprising – and not only for the children.

Is Greek Mythology for children? Greek mythology was not for children. This statement does not require many comments or justifications – the number of rapes, murders, incestuous relationships, acts of infidelity, illegitimate offspring, and overwhelming cruelty described in myths is so large that no sane parent would choose them as a bedtime read. Nevertheless, parents aware of the importance of ancient culture in the education of their children and those who love mythical stories (especially classical philologists), bravely try to show the mythical world to their kids in a way that would not cause nightmares, but rather spark their imagination, resulting in the future conscious decision to read the works of Sophocles and Ovid. Some writers want to help these parents and try to make Greek mythology more “child-friendly” by presenting it in nice and pleasant stories for the youngest audience (who are not even readers yet) to be read by parents or grandparents1. Even Jan Parandowski, the author of the best-

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ever selling mythology stories for young readers in Poland, divided his work into two parts: the first, entitled Eros na Olimpie (Eros on Olympus) is for adults only, while the second – Mitologia (Mythology) – is carefully “smoothed” by removing the most dramatic elements. A similar approach was used by Wanda Markowska in her work Mity Greków i Rzymian (Myths of the Greeks and Romans), which is widely used in Polish primary schools, the same as Parandowski’s Mitologia is in secondary schools. We cannot deny that this way of presenting the myths, unambiguous in its moral message, is fully reasonable, taking into account the age of the readers. G. S. Kirk even emphasises that the mythology written for children is the only desirable kind of interpretation for Greek myths, and should be unambiguous and emotionally balanced: The only paraphrases [of Greek mythology] that satisfy are of the Tanglewood Tale kind2. They are spare, simple, slightly emotional, and intended for children. Unfortunately they can only satisfy children or the childlike. Not because myths themselves are necessarily childish and innocent, or have come down from “the childhood of the race”; rather their narrative charm survives better in a bare and evocative outline than in a detailed account that lacks the colour of the original language and literary form (Kirk 1974: 13-14).

Therefore, currently the Polish book market offers at least a dozen books (first issues and re-issues) presenting mythology to children and teenagers. These books are both translations and works of contemporary Polish writers. Their common feature is vivid graphic design. They have plenty of colourful, full-page illustrations and ornaments in a “Greek style”. Often, these mythologies are written with tongue in cheek3. More serious publications almost always include a glossary of difficult terms or a list of gods and mythical figures with a brief description. All the authors are guided by the idea that: “If you don’t want to be an ignorant, you must know myths” (Olczak and Lubomirska 2005: 3), and that myths for children should entertain and teach. In this context, I would like to analyse two books published recently and presenting Greek mythology to children. They are written by Polish authors – Grzegorz Kasdepke and Katarzyna Marciniak. Kasdepke is a popular author of children’s books and a winner of many awards. He is also the author of two mythology volumes – Mity dla dzieci (Myths for Children – àódĨ 2009) and Zeus i spóáka (Zeus and Company – àódĨ 2012). The huge popularity of his earlier books and long-term presence on the Polish market provide a quality guarantee for many readers, and they prefer his books over many others on the same subject. On the other hand,

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in the autumn of 2013, Katarzyna Marciniak published her book Moja pierwsza mitologia (My First Mythology – Warsaw 2013), which in my opinion has the chance to become an all-time genre classic. Both books share one important element – they try to make mythology more modern and to customise its language and psychological dimension to our reality, sometimes going even further by suggesting far-reaching analogies between the ancient and modern worlds. They differ, however, in terms of language and their target reader. The books are written for different age groups. Grzegorz Kasdepke addresses his story to slightly older children (9-12), as we may conclude from the introduction to each chapter. Katarzyna Marciniak sees her target group as the youngest children, pre-schoolers, who can only listen to the stories read by their parents or grandparents, as she indicates by the first words of the book: “In the beginning there was Chaos. Anyone who has ever entered a kindergarten early in the morning, knows what I mean” (Marciniak 2013: 9)4.

Greek mythology by Grzegorz Kasdepke Since the beginning was Chaos, let us start by looking at the mythology shown by Grzegorz Kasdepke. In my opinion, some of this chaos is reflected in his book, as the author did not use any orderly or logical system to select stories and facilitate young readers in creating a structured view of gods and heroes. They cannot smoothly enter into the mythical reality, which is remote from them. Kasdepke selected myths in a completely random manner, based probably on his personal preference. He begins by explaining why pharmacy display windows have the snake twined around a cup, telling the myth of Asclepius who, after all, is certainly not the most important figure of the Greek pantheon. However, when finally other gods enter the stage, they present themselves as very unpleasant and selfish figures, for example: x divine Apollo, who is furious and after hearing the news that the unfaithful nymph Coronis wants “to cry on his sister’s shoulder” (Kasdepke 2009: 4); x Artemis, who “has not loved anyone in her life, so that it was difficult for her to understand [...] her own brother“ (Kasdepke 2009: 4), but had no problem with killing Coronis and her beloved Ischys;

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x Zeus, who is disgusted by the growing fame of Asclepius, eavesdrops on requests to this brilliant doctor and grinds his teeth with rage because Asclepius helps people. The scene is finished by Zeus yelling at Apollo and thoughtlessly piercing Asclepius with his thunderbolt. Such are the Greek gods shown by Grzegorz Kasdepke: weepy Apollo, cold Artemis, short-tempered and cruel Zeus. Other gods are not presented with more sympathy. Eros may look like an innocent lad, “but just have a look at his sharp, mischievous eyes and understand that he is really a little rascal” (Kasdepke 2009: 19). Aphrodite is “almost green with envy” (Kasdepke 2009: 24) because of Psyche’s worshipped beauty. Poseidon, mumbling under his breath that he should rule the world and instigating the other gods into rebellion against Zeus, is moreover quite amorous, and “when he saw a beautiful woman, he would disappear from his underwater palace for weeks” (Kasdepke 2009: 83). And Hera, angry at Zeus for his numerous betrayals, chases him with a broom around Mount Olympus to hit him on the head. In general, the Olympian gods shown by Grzegorz Kasdepke are malicious, envious and skilful in tormenting people, even those who put their trust in them, as in the case of Syrinx who was chased by Pan and asked the gods for help, who did not wait long (as ironically explained by the author) and “helped the nymph in their own twisted way [...] by transforming her into a reed” (Kasdepke 2009: 45). The only exceptions to the rule include: Athena, who is nicely introduced in the chapter title as “Cute and clever” (although the order of these attributes, placing the goddess’ beauty before her intellect, is quite unusual if we remember that Athena was a goddess of wisdom); Hephaestus, who “was a quiet, straightforward god that did not like to beat anyone on the head with his axe” (Kasdepke 2009: 12); and maybe Hermes, but his adventures are described mainly in the second volume Zeus and Company (this title also suggests some daring and cunning grouping not very suitable for gods, because the Polish word “spóáka” can be translated also by the English “gang”). Mount Olympus, the home of immortal gods pictured by Grzegorz Kasdepke, is a dull place mostly due to the endless monotony of the feasts It is so boring that witty and intelligent Pan cannot stand it anymore, “because how long can you party with the same gods?” (Kasdepke 2009: 42). Moreover, as evidenced by Sisyphus after his visit to Mount Olympus:



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The Greek gods played so many pranks on each other that hearing them, your ears would fall off: they kidnapped the wives of other gods, they argued and competed over who was prettier or wiser - in other words, they were really obnoxious (Kasdepke 2009: 87).

Knowing the whole of Greek mythology, it is difficult to disagree, but this is not the only valid image of the Olympian residents. Certainly, it is not the one that should be shown to children at early school age, as it may be their first contact (hopefully not the last) with the ancient world. Still, Grzegorz Kasdepke deliberately descends further into the circles of mythological hell, and after the story of Sisyphus he enters the dominion of Tantalus, one of the most extreme figures in the mythology. Tantalus’ story is a tale of a father killing his son and serving him up in a banquet for the gods. It is meant to be a kind of “scientific experiment” (in Kasdepke’s book, Tantalus explains indistinctly that it was meant to be a “joke”). Kasdepke describes the Greek gods collectively in the story of Tantalus and shows them in the worst possible light. He starts with the following sentence: The Greek gods were not angels – they often resembled spoiled brats, not role models to be followed by people. They were jealous, angry, nasty, too complacent or too cruel, and yet, even among them there were only a few very bad boys who could be compared with cruel king Tantalus (Kasdepke 2009: 98).

This is the opinion of the narrator and it is followed by the description made by Tantalus, feasting with the gods on Olympus: Yes, Athena is not stupid, but calling her the goddess of wisdom is probably an exaggeration, isn’t it? Zeus? Well, if not for his thunderbolt, which he uses to strike the disobedient ones, nobody would listen to him – in addition he is terribly afraid of his wife. Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, is a silly girl, and Ares, the god of war, is an ordinary bully. Hephaestus, the divine blacksmith, is a true handyman, but he is only useful in striking things with his hammer. Hermes cannot sit still for two minutes, Apollo is still a daydreamer, Dionysus is a regular drinker, while Poseidon is an ill-mannered boor and Hades is a gloomy chap! (Kasdepke 2009: 99).

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Of course, we all understand the irony of this description, and it is present in the entire book. It is clear to adults, and sometimes even funny (it must admitted that Kasdepke can be funny), but such an approach may not be recognized by child readers. Unfortunately, this is the image that children get from Myths for Children written by Grzegorz Kasdepke, as the tale of Tantalus ends the first volume of this book. This one-sided, negative opinion, repeated twice in the last chapter of the book, influences children’s perception of all Greek mythology, obscuring its beauty and wisdom, which should not be forgotten. In addition to these insensitive gods, Kasdepke’s book also presents positive characters. They include Chiron the Centaur, “our friend” Prometheus, Pan, and charming and beautiful nymphs or heroes (e.g. Perseus), but compared to them, the Greek gods look even more ridiculous, and they lack dignity and majesty because how can we admire and respect the mighty Zeus, the ruler of Mount Olympus and all the world, the wisest of the gods, when his childhood on the island of Crete is depicted in the following way: “[...] Zeus did not differ much from the rest of the children. He soiled his underpants, talked back to his parents every evening refusing to go bed, and he loved sweets” (Kasdepke 2012: 9). Maybe this is just a next step to underline the similarity between the ancient Greek and their gods, who could love and hate in the same way. Despite that, it sounds a little bit inappropriate when we talk so disrespectfully about the gods, even if nobody believes in them anymore. We may forgive Kasdepke some minor errors, as he often refers to the underworld ruled by Hades as Tartarus, and repeatedly uses the name Hercules instead of Heracles. We may forgive his stereotypical views on women, when he calls some of them silly or greedy for luxury (e.g. Amphitrite submits to Poseidon, tempted by the splendour of his palace, because: “It is widely known that wealth may soften almost every woman’s heart” (Kasdepke 2009: 84)). However, creating so repellent an image of the Greek gods and presenting it to children should not take place. After reading the first volume of Kasdepke’s book, it is difficult to believe that these were the mighty gods worshipped by Greeks, who built the Parthenon and the temples of Olympia for them. Kasdepke seems to forget that the Greek myths were created by people, but are related to the sacred sphere of beliefs – for ancient Greeks they opened the mysterious, mystical dimension, outside their rational knowledge and perception. If the myths are deprived of these features, they would become a collection of tales about bizarre and emotionally disturbed creatures having “superpowers”, similar to modern cartoon characters. Their adventures could be used as examples or warnings (depending on the “hero” selected),

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but without some positive examples connected with hope, care and goodness, which were not alien to the Greek gods, they would be completely separated from their spiritual meaning. And this aspect should not be forgotten, even if we treat modern mythologies only as works of fiction.

Greek mythology by Katarzyna Marciniak Perhaps the key issues in telling children stories based on Greek myths are their proper selection and the skill of “abridging” overly explicit fragments in order to “smoothly” reach the original ending. These two techniques are presented by Katarzyna Marciniak in Moja pierwsza mitologia (My First Mythology)5. Her book – when compared to the work of Grzegorz Kasdepke described above – may be placed at the other end of the storytelling scale. It is thoughtfully organized, even though it also starts with Chaos, but then the author quickly moves to order and harmony, dividing the mythology into two parts – the first related to the gods, and the other to the heroes. My First Mythology is a positive book, in which the author uses beautiful language to present characters in an affirmative manner and without unnecessary violence. Here, nobody is judged on appearance – even the smallest being is important and successful, whereas those who have committed mistakes admit it and repent them without denials (almost eagerly). The gods are fair and just (even Dionysus, who invented wine only when he reached his adulthood) and their small imperfections make them more authentic. Violence in the book is reduced to almost nothing – it is allowed only against monsters. The innocent use of an axe by Hephaestus, which was necessary to bring Athena into the world (as we know, Hephaestus had to cleave Zeus’ head with the axe to allow the goddess in full battle gear to leap out of it), is not mentioned in the book. Here, Zeus suffers from persistent migraines. Hephaestus sees this and “immediately rushed to help his father. He never forgot what he saw – a girl jumped out of the god’s head” (Marciniak 2013: 34). That was all. The pain ended and, “the girl politely greeted those around her: Hello Dad, hello brother, I’m Athena” (Marciniak 2013: 34). Everything happened without bloodshed in a nice, natural setting – somewhere on the cloud where Zeus had taken a rest to ease the pain. Any more dramatic and reprehensible deeds of the gods are ignored by the author, as in the tale of “wise and courageous” Athena where the name of Arachne is not even mentioned (while Kasdepke turned the shameful deed of Athena into her virtue – thanks to this incident she learned how to

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control her anger). When any of the gods do something wrong (from the human point of view), it is always in the name of a higher justice. It is significant that Zeus sent Pandora and the flood to the world, not because people offended him by their pride and lack of respect, but because (as he explained to Hera), “people invent more and more dangerous weapons. They fight among themselves, harm animals and destroy the earth” (Marciniak 2013: 129). This environmentally friendly dimension of the mythology presented by Katarzyna Marciniak is particularly significant, and her kindness to animals is visible in almost every tale. It becomes evident when we notice that the narrators of the first part of the mythology (describing the gods) are animals. For example, the birth of Aphrodite is told by dolphins and doves, an eaglet hears the history of Zeus and Hera’s engagement from its eagle dad, and the myth of Demeter and Persephone is told in a nest of cranes getting ready for their autumn flight. Animals skilfully commenting on the lives of gods and men are not a novelty in ancient literature (e.g. Aesop’s Fables) or in children’s literature, but this combination is really innovative. Here, the myths are told by many animals, such as a swan, a bat or an ant. Moreover, this method of storytelling always includes a dialogue – mostly between an animal child and adult of the same species (e.g. an eagle dad, a granny doe or a grandpa wolf). It is a very clever solution, as the young ones may ask questions similar to those asked by young readers, and they always get an answer corresponding to their sensitivity. It must be said that this strong ecological trend in the book written by Katarzyna Marciniak is a bit tiring for adult readers, or at least is not very plausible. It is hard to believe that Augeas, looking at his messy stables, was ashamed of the way he took care of his horses, or that little Heracles did not strangle the snakes in his crib, but grabbed them and threw them out of the house, shouting joyfully “Boom!” The adult readers would not be surprised if the last page of the book had the disclaimer: “No animals were harmed in the making of this book”. But for the youngest children this should not be an obstacle, as it corresponds with their way of perceiving the world. In her mythology, Marciniak seems to confirm the Gaia hypothesis, promoted in some anthropological research6. One of the mythologists supporting this theory was Joseph Campbell, who assumed that the goal of a modern, universal mythology (if such may be created) is to rebuild the unity of man with nature and earth perceived as one organism (cf. Flowers 1994: 63). Undoubtedly, this message is communicated by the mythology interpreted by Katarzyna Marciniak, who underlines that the characters she

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describes have their origins in an agrarian and pastoral culture. However, she seems to forget that mythological heroes did not use ploughs or pastoral staffs as often as bows and swords, which were their tools for killing monsters, enemies, and sometimes even close relatives (accidentally or by the will of the gods). It is significant that instead of the word “killed” in the tale of Heracles, she softens the message by stating that “he completed the task”, whereas describing the mares of King Diomedes, which were fed with human flesh, she reports that they “tried to bite anyone who approached them” (Marciniak 2013: 200). In strong contrast to Kasdepke, Marciniak presents the image of heroes and gods so noble and faultless that sometimes they are close to being caricatures of themselves. For example, when Perseus stole the only eye and tooth from Phorcydes, they asked him: “Give us back the eye and the tooth. Why are you so naughty?” (Marciniak 2013: 228). It is really hard to believe that the original dialogue was even close to that, but – once more – My First Mythology was written for the youngest, and so uses childlike terminology and expressions. If we try to describe the mythologies presented by Kasdepke and Marciniak in terms used by the famous Polish writer Witold Gombrowicz, we could say that Kasdepke gave gods “a mug” (a face or mask that is not a real one) while Marciniak made their rumps low (patronized them a bit). Between two evils, the second approach seems to be less harmful for young readers and for Greek mythology itself, especially in that, in many places of the text, some subtle suggestions are made that the story may be told in another, more serious manner, too difficult for pre-schoolers or children from primary schools. But this “adult” version will be available later in books written for teenagers or youths, but only for those who have firstly become enraptured with the everlasting beauty of the ancient Greek myths. Yet another big advantage of My First Mythology is its stylish entwining of ancient stories with the present. Each mythical story is accompanied by a short scene taking place nowadays, showing how to use newly acquired terms such as “Pandora’s box” or “Titanic effort”. Moreover, the text contains information about selected characters also present in Roman mythology and their Latin names, so the young readers are able to understand why the story of Eros includes the phrase “Cupid’s arrow”. Looking at the two described methods of presenting Greek mythology, we should ask ourselves: what is their purpose, and what benefits do they bring to young readers? Should they be used just for entertaining children, or maybe they should introduce them to a number of characters and topics

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that re-occur in various versions in European culture and pop culture? Or maybe their task is even more serious? Joseph Campbell says that myths have a fourfold function within human society (Flowers 1994: 60-61): x the Metaphysical Function – they open the world to the mysterious dimension; x the Cosmological Function – they show the real shape of the universe and help to understand it; x the Sociological Function – they validate and support the existing social order; x the Pedagogical Function – they show how to live a human life under any conditions. In the modern world, where nobody believes in the Olympian Gods, where the knowledge of remote corners of the universe is available with a single finger stroke on a smartphone screen, and where family and social relations only slightly resemble the ancient Greek world, the myths may perform only the last of the above-listed functions. They still may help us to distinguish good from evil and show us what is noble and what is immoral. And this function cannot be overstated. Therefore, reading myths to children is worthwhile – even as bedtime stories.

Bibliography Sources Kasdepke, Grzegorz. Mity dla dzieci. àódĨ: Literatura, 2009. Zeus i spóáka. Mity dla dzieci. àódĨ: Literatura 2012. Marciniak, Katarzyna. Moja pierwsza mitologia. Warszawa: “Nasza KsiĊgarnia”, 2013.

References Flowers, Betty Sue (ed.). PotĊga mitu. Rozmowy Billa Moyersa z Josephem Campbellem. Translated by I. Kania. Kraków: Signum, 1994. Kirk, G. S. The Nature of Greek Myths. Woodstock, N.Y.: Overlook Press, 1974. Marciniak, Katarzyna. “Po co mitologia? – ĝwiat wspóáczesny w zwierciadle mitu”. PAUza Akademicka 103-105 (2009-2010): 9-11.

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Mitologia grecka i rzymska. Warszawa; Bielsko-Biaáa: Wydawnictwo Szkolne PWN, 2010 Markowska, Wanda. Mity Greków i Rzymian. Warszawa: Iskry, 1968. Olczak, ElĪbieta and ElĪbieta Lubomirska. Mity greckie na wesoáo. Warszawa: Muza, 2005. Parandowski, Jan. Eros na Olimpie (first edition). 1924 Mitologia (first edition). 1924.

Notes 1

The same process can be observed in almost all new versions of the traditional fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen, which are rewritten to remove the most cruel elements of the plot. 2 Tanglewood Tales for Boys and Girls (first edition 1853) is a book by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It is a re-writing of well-known Greek myths in a volume for children. 3 E.g. Mity greckie na wesoáo (Greek myths are fun) by ElĪbieta Olczak and ElĪbieta Lubomirska (Warsaw, 2005). 4 All quoted fragments of both described mythologies have been translated into English by Krzysztof Niklaus, specifically for this paper. 5 Katarzyna Marciniak first wrote mythology for adult readers (cf. Marciniak 2010). As she wrote in one article: “Mythology creates our identity, gives us a chance to understand each other, a sense of community, and a consciousness of our roots that is indispensable to looking into the future without fear” (Marciniak 2009: 9). It seems the same values accompanied her during her work on the mythology for children. 6 The Gaia hypothesis was formulated by the chemist James Lovelock and codeveloped by the microbiologist Lynn Margulis in the 1970s. They postulated that the activities of all living creatures are connected to ensure optimal living conditions. The hypothesis states that our planet is a self-regulating entity.

THE GLADIATORIAL GAMES IN HUNGER GAMES BY SUZANNE COLLINS: SOME THOUGHTS ON ANTIQUE CULTURE IN THE MODERN WORLD ZOFIA KACZMAREK ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: Classical culture is still considered to be fascinating, especially mesmerising in the way it mixes beauty and cruelty in one attractive package. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins is a perfect example of how antiquity can inspire modern authors. The analogies between The Hunger Games and the Roman gladiatorial games are numerous. By comparing the differences and similarities between the Roman munera as presented in ancient sources and fictional games as described in Collins’ book, I hope to prove that antiquity provides eternal motifs which are recognizable even to a historically indifferent receiver.

Ancient culture has rooted itself deeply in modernity. It has become an inspiration for numerous writers, painters, screenwriters and other artists. It is also a carrier of the motifs which are perfectly understandable and recognisable even to the historically indifferent receiver. I believe that the source of the success of the antiquity phenomenon is the spectacular mixture of beauty and cruelty that it offers. This is best exemplified by the gladiatorial games. In this paper I would like to focus on one of the many aspects of constant presence of the antique heritage in the modern world and in its culture. As an example I would like to give the Hunger Games – the fictional deathly competition, which was created by Suzanne Collins – and which is also, as the author herself admits, an updated version of gladiatorial games (Collins 2008). The book The Hunger Games tells the story of Katniss Everdeen, citizen of the futuristic country of Panem. Panem is located in the place which once was North America. It consist of its capital – Capitol – and twelve districts. There is no need here to give a more detailed plot overview, suffice it to say that Katniss volunteered as a “tribute” in an annually organized competition – the Hunger Games. The rules of the

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competition were simple: twenty-four tributes (twelve girls and twelve boys), which were selected from twelve districts, were sent to a vast, outdoor arena to fight to the death for the purpose of the entertainment of the Panem capital – Capitol. The last tribute standing wins (Collins 2008: 18). The other two parts of Collins’ trilogy, Catching Fire (Collins 2009) and Mockingjay (Collins 2010), continue Katniss’ story – the events that took place after her rebellious performance in the Arena, especially the second rebellion of the districts and the political change that followed. They bring no further information on the course of the Hunger Games (although one more of the Games is described in Catching Fire). As I already mentioned, the authoress herself admits that, when creating The Hunger Games, she was inspired by the Roman gladiatorial games. So it should be no wonder that the Hunger Games reminds us so much of the actual munus. In this paper I will focus on some selected examples. I will refer mostly to the first part of The Hunger Games trilogy, which gives an almost complete overview of the Hunger Games, their origins, significance and course. The popularity of the trilogy benefited greatly from the film based on Collins’ book entitled The Hunger Games (Dir. Gary Ross, USA 2012). As the author worked on the screenplay, the film follows her story almost literally. Nevertheless, sometimes pictures speak better than words, which I will try to prove. First, I would also like to note that whenever I speak of Rome or ancient Rome, I mean the Roman state – the City along with the Apennine Peninsula and all the provinces. Apart from the origins, I will speak of the gladiatorial games from the moment they became a political event – that is around the 3rd century BC until the 1st century BC, when the laicization of the munera began along with the monopolization of the games in the hands of the rulers (dictators and then the Caesars), who also integrated different spectacles into one (Sáapek 1995: 15-16, 40-41). However, it is worth mentioning that during the principate, when the significance of the comitia diminished, ludi became the barometer of the people’s political likes and dislikes (Flaig 2013: 236, 241).

Origins and significance The origins and significance of the Hunger Games are clearly stated in the book. They were established as a punishment for the Dark Days – an uprising of the districts against the Capitol. The competition was supposed to be a reminder that the rebellion must never be repeated and that the

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defeated were at Capitol’s mercy. Its purpose was also to encourage animosity among the districts and to discourage any act of disloyalty (Collins 2008: 18-19). The origins and significance of the Roman gladiatorial games are more complicated. It seems that the idea of munus derives from the funeral ceremony and the games which were given in honour of the dead. They were to replace the human sacrifice (which was eventually banned by the Roman Senate in 97 BC) which was offered on the grave of the dead (Sáapek 1995: 25-27). The meaning of the word munus – duty, gift, sacrifice to fulfil the duty – seems to support this theory (Sáapek 1992: 50; Dunkle 2008: 6; Flaig 2013: 235). What is more, the first gladiators were named bustuarii, the word derived from Latin bustum – the funeral pyre, the grave – which seems to indicate where the original gladiators’ duels took place (Kamienik 1981/1982: 13; Sáapek 1995: 28). There is also a hypothesis which combines munera with war. According to this, the purpose of the games was to recreate the battlefield mainly for propaganda reasons – they were supposed to be a constant reminder of Roman victories (Flaig 2013: 249). This theory is supported by the fact that the first gladiators were prisoners of war (Sáapek 1995: 35, Dunkle 2008: 12). Likewise, the first gladiators were named after Roman enemies – The Gaul, the Samnite or the Thracian (Dunkle 2008: 23). To see their failure at the arena was to see Roman victory (Dunkle 2008: 1112). This, on the other hand, indicated the profits of belonging to Roman society, and so had the function of integrating the citizens (Sáapek 1995: 49-50). By defying the other – the enemy – the Romans could feel pride in being part of the ever victorious state (Flaig 2013: 237). A similar function of indicating the profits of belonging to the exclusive group of Roman citizens was the abuse of the provinces. In order to reduce the costs of the game’s organization, special taxes could be imposed on the province’s inhabitants. They could also be forced to present useful ‘gifts’, like wild animals or people (Sáapek 1995: 70). Another objective of Roman gladiatorial games was to humiliate the defeated. After the victory over the Samnites (309 BC) the Campanian allies of Rome held celebratory banquets at which, as entertainment for the diners, gladiatorial duels were held. The gladiators were clad in Samnite armour and even called the Samnites, thus representing all the hatred the Campanians felt toward their enemies (Liv. 10.17). Later, this custom was eagerly copied by the Romans themselves. This was also supposed to be the greatest insult for the defeated (Dunkle 2008: 22-23, 92; Heather 2007: 87)

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The other significance of the munus was to provide a proper entertainment, which would prevent boredom, fatal for morale. Even though the origins and the significance of Roman munera are more complicated than the origins and significance of the Hunger Games, we can observe many resemblances. The first, and most obvious, is that both games were to provide entertainment that only the proper citizens (the Romans and the inhabitants of Capitol) could appreciate as they never became gladiators or tributes themselves. The second of these resemblances is that both games were to commemorate victory and humiliate the defeated. As the first gladiators were prisoners of war, the same could be said of the tributes – they too were once defeated, and although they were never called prisoners of war, they certainly were such – they had to work for and submit to Capitol. The districts, the same as the provinces, had to pay special taxes in the fruits of their work and in people designated to entertain their superiors. Finally, both games recreated the battlefield, a reminder that the powerful state can never be defeated. When we compare the official description of Panem (Collins 2008:18) with Aelius Aristides’ The Roman Oration (Klein 2007:10), we can notice astonishing resemblances – they both stress the peace and the beauty which is achieved thanks to the state’s commitment. What is more, they both stress the role of the games as an indicator of the achievements.

The training The tributes were trained before entering the arena. The major role in the training was played by the former tributes, who were guides on how to behave in the arena (Collins 2008: 46-47). The training was good, covering all the possible techniques of combat (but not the use of firearms, which is curious) and survival, but it was too short to be called complete. Its main purpose was to train tributes to not be killed right away, but to provide proper entertainment. The tributes were prepared to kill or be killed. The gladiators were also trained before entering the arena. Their teachers were the former gladiators called doctores. They were experts in one or more gladiatorial fighting techniques (Nosow 2011: 145). The gladiators’ training was very similar to that of the tributes. They too were to provide entertainment, so they were supposed to know how to fight, but the main goal of the munera was to show death, and in order to do so the training should be thoughtfully prepared. The gladiators, just like the tributes, were prepared to kill or be killed.

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The tributes’ training took place in the gymnasium. There, the Gamemakers of Panem had an opportunity to see the tributes as they were training before the Hunger Games (Collins 2008: 97). They were sitting in the elevated stands that surrounded the training room and recall the Roman cavea so much. After they finished the training, the tributes also had an opportunity to present their special skills to the Gamemakers (Collins 2008:91, 100-101), who awarded them with points. In gladiatorial schools, especially in the biggest ones like the Ludus Magnus in Rome, there were amphitheatres where one could watch the gladiators being trained. It was a good way for the aediles, the private game organizers and fans (Dunkle 2008: 44), to see the gladiators “in action” and make sure the ones they would pick were the best to provide entertainment. The above-mentioned arguments clearly show that the training of both the tributes and the gladiators was similar. Also analogous is the setting of Panem’s gymnasium and the Roman ludus. In both locations one could see and admire the trainees’ skills.

Pompa – The Procession The Hunger Games were opened by the procession (Collins 2008: 6768), during which every tribute was supposed to wear something that suggested his or her district’s primary industry. That was also the way in which the spectators could identify the contestants and better remember them. This could be useful for the tributes themselves, since the fondness of the crowd could win them help (i.e. parachutes with medical supplies) during the Games. During the opening ceremonies of the Hunger Games, there was also a musical accompaniment, which could be heard all over Capitol. The tributes rode along the crowd-lined streets. We can also note the presence of the horses that were pulling the chariots in which the tributes were riding (Collins 2008: 67-68). Katniss describes the crowd’s reaction to her and Peeta’s appearance in the procession line as an initial alarm which changes to cheers and shouts as the spectators notice their outfits. Then, when they begin to weave the crowd go “nuts, showering us with flowers, shouting our names, our first names, which they have bothered to find on the programme” (Collins 2008: 70). I believe that the people of Rome could react in exactly the same way at the appearance of their favourite gladiators. The procession was yet another feature of the munera which resembled the procession in Panem and was also held at the beginning of the games.

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Its main purpose was to provide a dignified start for the munus. It also created a great opportunity for the spectators to see and to evaluate the contestants (Dunkle 2008: 76). The best representation of the pompa we have is the Pompeian basrelief from the necropolis at the Stabian Gate. In the picture we can see the participants of the procession probably entering the arena. There is no need here to describe all of the depiction, but I would like to point out two features. The three figures we can see in the right upper corner, coming after the first two figures (probably lictors), are musicians carrying trumpets. There is also one more musician playing a short curved trumpet; he is walking before two figures leading horses. It seems that their task was to provide musical accompaniment for the procession (Dunkle 2008: 76-77). What is omitted from the depiction are the gladiators themselves, even though they were probably the most important participants of the pompa. It seems that their absence in the depiction is caused by the lack of space, and perhaps because we can see them fighting in a lower panel of the relief (Dunkle 2008: 77). However, during the procession they wore their best armour, which allowed the audience to recognize them as one of the several gladiator types. Both processions, the one at the beginning of the Hunger Games and the one at the beginning of the munera, were held to give the games a proper start. There were music and animals (i.e. horses) to add splendour to the ceremony. The procession allowed the audience to become acquainted with the contestants so that later they could recognize them in the arena. They were also the opportunity for the tributes/gladiators to gain the fondness of the spectators, which could benefit them in help like the parachutes from sponsors or the mercy which the spectators could show towards the defeated gladiator after the fight.

The score keeping The tributes, after having ended their training, had an opportunity to present their special skills before the Gamemakers (Collins 2008:91, 100101). After this performance they were given marks between one and twelve. The mark didn’t guarantee whether the tribute would win or not, but it gave a certain indication of the contestants’ possibilities. It could help or harm, since the generosity of the sponsors depended much upon the score (Collins 2008: 104-105). The gladiators did not get marks, but their failures and wins were noted (Dunkle 2008: 45). The scores were kept and sometimes even written on a

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wall as a kind of graffiti, the kind we know from Pompeian walls (CIL IV 10237, 8055). The best gladiators gained fame and, of course, the fondness of the crowd. Some of them even had groupies (note that victorious tributes also had groupies, (Collins 2010: 170)). Although gladiators, unlike the tributes, did not get marks, the score keeping had the same function, allowing the audience to acknowledge the best of the contestants.

The arena Obviously, the arena in ancient Rome and Panem is exactly the same thing – a vast, outdoor space where the gladiators/tributes fought each other. In Panem the arena was surrounded by a force field, and the audience could follow the competition via national television or on the special screens located in Capitol and in the districts. Also, the large space under the arena was used. “The catacombs” that lay under the arena in Panem are described as an underground tube (Collins 2008: 144). There the Launch Rooms, chambers for the tribute’s preparation, were located. The tube underground was watched by the Peacekeepers – a special sort of police force. The scene when Katniss walks towards the Launch Room along the corridor lined with Peacekeepers is one of the most dramatic in the film (the book does not mention their presence). The tributes got into the arena by a cylindrical lift (Collins 2008: 147). The sensation, which Katniss described when the cylinder pushed her up into the open air, the blindness in the bright sunlight, might be the exact sensation the gladiators felt when they were led or pulled up into the arena. The gladiators could get into the arena on foot, but also by a system of lifts. From the Coliseum we know of at least three types of lift (for reconstructions see Nosow (2011: 124-125, 127)). The lifts also helped to transport additional decorations and animals to the arena. However, they did not allow for a big entrance because their movement was not very smooth, as they were part of a manually operated system (Dunkle 2008: 250). In ancient Rome the arena was encircled and enclosed by wooden or stone seats (cavea) from which the spectators could watch the show. Just as in Panem, in Rome the space under the arena called the hypogeum was used. This was the place were gladiators were prepared before entering the arena and where animals were kept (Dunkle 2008: 250, 278-279). Here, as well as in the whole amphitheatre, a military guard was often located to

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prevent possible rebellion or to neutralize the threat of an attack by the gladiators and/or wild animals (Dio 61.8.3, Dunkle 2008: 150-151). It is also worth mentioning that in ancient Rome, as well as in Panem, the arena was the place where the contestants got their real (not wooden or blunt) weapons (Dunkle 2008: 76). In Rome there was a special ceremony – probatio armorum – after which the gladiators were given their weapons. In Panem, the tributes could find the weapons, along with any other object needed to survive the Games, at the Cornucopia (Collins 2008: 148), which was located next to the place where the tributes were launched into the arena. The locations of the gladiatorial games and the Hunger Games shared not only the name arena, but also its settings. Both arenas were vast and outdoors, but somewhat closed. Both had their undergrounds used for the purpose of preparing the contestants and both were watched by military contingents. Both could be reached by a system of lifts. In both, the contestants got their actual weapons. .

The audience Both audiences in Rome and in Panem could react with great excitement not only to what was happening on the arena, but also to the situation outside it. In the story of Katniss Everdeen we are dealing with a certain breakthrough in the tradition of the Hunger Games. The heroine’s behaviour in the arena, especially the attention she gives to the proper “funeral” of her killed companion (Collins 2008: 237), the affection she showed toward Peeta Mellark, another tribute from her district, and her final disobedience to the Hunger Games’ rules (Collins 2008: 344-345) lead to some dramatic events in Panem, which are described in the next two books. Especially the “funeral” of Rue, who was not even from Katniss’ district and therefore her enemy, seems to cause the most damage to Panem. This is best pictured in the film, where the spectators watching Katniss’ behaviour in the arena follow her gesture of respect from the twelfth district – pressing three middle fingers of the left hand against one’s lips and holding them out towards another - and start riots. The rebellion is not solely against the Hunger Games, but also against Panem’s policy. It is an outburst of anger because people are displeased with their situation. The Roman theatre and the gladiatorial games also became forums for the people to express their sympathies and antipathies, especially after the

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role of other formal assemblies had diminished (Kamienik 1981/1982: 10; Sáapek 1995: 75-76, 81; Dunkle 2008: 147, 180; Flaig 2013: 240-241). They reacted especially when a famous person – a politician, for example – entered the amphitheatre (Kamienik 1981/1982: 15). According to Cicero (Cicero Att 2.19.3, Sest 117) the audience could express their emotions in a couple of ways. For example, the spectators could applaud the organizer of the games loudly and some might even cry from happiness, and for others the audience could give a standing ovation. The unpopular politicians, on the other hand, could be welcomed with silence, which was a deprivation of a proper greeting. The most disliked senators could be booed or the crowd could even throw objects at them. Sometimes, the events at the amphitheatre became more serious, as in AD 59 when Pompeiians clashed with the spectators from the nearby city of Nuceria. The riots, described by Tacitus, led to some serious consequences. Not only were an unknown number of people killed or injured, but also the Senate of the City of Rome had to take some steps to punish the city. It decided to ban the munera at Pompeii for a ten-year period, dissolve all illegal social clubs, and finally exile the organizer of the games for his role in inciting the riots (Tacitus Ann 14,17, Dunkle 2008: 151). Probably, the riots had nothing to do with the ongoing games, but were the consequence of the pre-existing animosity between the two cities (Dunkle 2008: 151). Tacitus, however, gives us no information about the reasons for the event. The Hunger Games and the munera became barometers of people’s emotions, which concerned not only the games but also reached deeper into political life. The events at the 74th Hunger Games led to changes in the political life of the state. The riots at the gladiatorial games never led to such dramatic events, but also had some political consequences (the involvement of the Senate of the City of Rome in Pompeii being a good example).

Antique culture in the modern world There are even more analogies between the Hunger Games and the gladiatorial games. For example, gladiators and tributes were given a proper feast before the fight (Collins 2008: 44; Plut. Mor 1099B; Dunkle 2008: 74-75), or the prizes for winning the competition were similar – money and eventually release from the service as gladiator/from participation in the Reaping, when the tributes were selected (Collins 2008: 19; Dunkle 2008: 143-144). But I think that the ones I mentioned above are enough to make my point. In spite of several differences, we can find the gladiatorial

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games in The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. In both games, the most important thing was the fight in the arena, but in Panem, as well as in Rome, an emphasis was also put on the entourage of the games – the preparations and the ceremony. The question arises of whether knowledge of these analogies is necessary to understand the plot or appreciate the book? Unfortunately, the answer is no. However controversial the thesis, I do not mean to undermine my work, but simply to prove that although knowledge about antiquity is diminishing in modern society, which is best exemplified by the abridging of lessons about ancient Greece and Rome in Polish schools, there are still some motifs which are perfectly recognizable. Furthermore, these motifs have not lost their potential and can still serve as an inspiration for artists. Needless is to say, The Hunger Games is a worldwide bestseller, translated into 51 languages (http://www.suzannecollinsbooks.com/bio.htm), which should be encouraging for any author seeking his or her muse. It seems as if we still need ancient culture to recognize our own parentage, and the origins of our culture. Antiquity cannot be simply eradicated from the modern world, especially when it is the basis of our culture. Books like The Hunger Games show that the antique heritage has rooted itself deeply in us and still has a powerful potential. Some motifs, although the world has changed from the times of the Roman Empire, are constant and still understandable. Moreover, since antique culture is still understandable, even to the historically indifferent receiver, it can be a carrier of and a parable for important messages regarding the modern world and for painful problems which otherwise would not be so effectively dealt with. It is also worth remembering that human cruelty can take various, even visually attractive forms. It seems that nowadays our need to see blood and experience the suffering of the others is satisfied mainly by the everyday news on the television (Dunkle 2008: 28-29). But in these times, when more and more lines are crossed for the purpose of entertainment, the scenario of the Hunger Games seems too realistic. Maybe a proper knowledge of Rome’s gladiatorial games could be the real lesson worth reminding ourselves of.

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Bibliography Literary Sources Cicero Tullius Marcus. Epistularum ad Atticum. Letters to Atticus with an English Translation by E. O. Winstedt. Book I. London, 1911. —. Orationes. Pro P. Sestio, In P. Vatinium, Pro M. Caelio, Recognovit C.F.W. Mueller. Leipzig, 1886. Dio Cassius Cocceianus Lucius. Dio’s Roman History with an English Translation by E. Cary. Book VIII. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann, 1925. Livius Titus. Ab Urbe Condita. Livy with an English Translation by B. O. Foster. London, 1926. Plutarch. Moralia. Translated by Benedict Einarson and Phillip H. De Lacy. Vol. XIV. Cambridge, 1967. Tacitus Cornelius Publius. Ab Excessu Divi Augusti. Tacitus the Annals with an English Translation by J. Jackson. Book IV. London, 1962. Zangmeister, C., and Schoene, R. (eds.). Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Book IV. 1871 (see also http://cil.bbaw.de/cil_en/index_en.html).

Books Collins, Suzanne. The Hunger Games. New York: Scholastic Press, 2008. —. Catching Fire. New York: Scholastic Press, 2009. —. Mockingjay. New York: Scholastic Press, 2010. —. Q&A Letterhead – Suzanne Collins. http://d3r7smo9ckww6x .cloudfront.net/Suzanne%20Collins%20Q&A_3.pdf. 2008. Accessed April 10, 2014. Dunkle, Roger. Gladiators. Violence and Spectacle in Ancient Rome. Harlow, England; New York: Pearson/Longman, 2008. Flaig, Egon. Zrytualizowana polityka: znaki, gesty i wáadza w staroĪytnym Rzymie. Translated by L. Mrozewicz, A. Pawlicka. PoznaĔ: Wydawnictwo PoznaĔskie, 2013. Heather, Peter. Upadek Cesarstwa Rzymskiego. Translated by J. SzczepaĔski. PoznaĔ: Dom Wydawniczy Rebis, 2007. Kamienik, R. “Gladiatorzy i igrzyska gladiatorskie w ostatnim wieku republiki rzymskiej”. Rocznik Lubelski 23/24 (1981/1982): 7-22. Klein, Richard. Imperium Romanum w ocenie pisarzy greckich okresu Wczesnego Cesarstwa. Translated by L. Mrozewicz. PoznaĔ: Wydawnictwo “Contact”, 2007.

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Nosow, Konstantin. Gladiatorzy. Krwawy spektakl z dziejów staroĪytnego Rzymu. Translated by M. Rabsztyn. Warszawa: Bellona, 2011. Sáapek, Dariusz. Gladiatorzy i polityka. Igrzyska w okresie póĨnej Republiki Rzymskiej. Wrocáaw: FNP: Leopoldinum, 1995. —. “Munus, ludus czy spectaculum gladiatorum? Terminologia igrzysk gladiatorskich schyáku republiki rzymskiej”. Historia 27 (1992): 5966.

Filmography The Hunger Games (Dir. Gary Ross, USA. 2012).

PART II: ANTIQUITY IN POPULAR CULTURE

NEC HERCULES CONTRA PLURES: WHAT POPULAR CULTURE DOES WITH ANTIQUITY (OUTLINE OF THE PROBLEM) ANNA GEMRA UNIVERSITY OF WROCàAW Translated by Beata àuczak

Abstract: There are plenty of more or less hidden references to antiquity in popular culture texts. Myths, themes, literary and historical characters, historical events and also the knowledge of the world represented by the scientific works of antiquity are all used there. There is probably no single element of the ancient culture unexploited by contemporary artists: authors, directors, game designers, etc. Their primary aim is to entertain the audience. Most of them, therefore, approach this heritage with a great freedom, trying to reshape it so that it becomes attractive and brings tangible (financial) benefits. And benefits are indeed brought, but with side effects that cannot be underestimated.

It would seem that popular culture texts would hardly refer to antiquity1: their readers, surely above all, are expecting “current” works to present problems that are close to them, that they face every day, or are convinced they have enough information about. Antiquity does not belong to this type of the audience’s main spectrum of interests: knowledge about it gained in school is in fact small and superficial, and the connection between the distant past and the present seems to be illusory. Problems of long-dead people, fallen and forgotten empires, and civilizations extinct for centuries seem to be so distant from today, completely irrelevant in the eyes of consumers, and completely uninteresting, especially because they are usually presented as a dry list of facts, past issues, impersonal and completed. School excels in this: though many years have passed since the publication of the book by Lucy Maud Montgomery, Jane of Lantern Hill (1937), it is difficult not to agree with the narrator when she describes the attitude of the main character to what she communicates about antiquity: “Jane had told him [dad] she always found those subjects [history and

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geography] hard. [...] history [...] seemed a clutter of dates and names in some dim, cold antiquity”2. Also probably not without significance is the fact that scholars of ancient cultures are quite reluctant to share their knowledge with “ordinary” citizens. It is difficult to assess the reasons for that attitude – is it the desire to protect the excavations, ancient artefacts, finds etc. against the depredations of amateur archaeologists or thieves3, or for example the belief that this information is too specialized (poorly understood) for an average citizen, a kind of “secret knowledge”, available only to a privileged few? Joyce A. Tyldesley mentioned this, writing – in regards to the Egyptologists that they essentially are (not: they were, but: are) – that they are a group closed, uncommunicative, and busy with their own research, ignoring the “rest of the world” (Tyldesley 2002: 85). The reluctance to publish discoveries can also be seen among other researchers: an example is when archaeologists from the “University of Warsaw discovered in Peru the intact pre-Columbian tomb of 64 skeletons and more than 1,300 precious objects”4. Their success has not gained special prominence in Poland – though “the American magazine Archaeology considered this discovery as one of the ten most important achievements of world archaeology in 2013”5 – because, among other reasons, the archaeologists themselves were not especially willing to talk about what they had found. This does not mean that we generally have no knowledge on the latest discoveries of archaeologists and scholars of ancient cultures – such information is published by the press, and appears on the Internet and television – but they are not hyped enough for an audience to pay special attention to them. There is, moreover, very little of it and it gets lost in the sheer volume of cases and issues concerning our present times. The media focus on the life and problems of today, paying little attention to the past – especially that as distant as ancient times. More importantly, information about the most recent discoveries and archaeological finds arrives relatively late, or not at all, and when it does it is to a very limited extent, incorporated into school textbooks. Thus, it does not actually have the ability to reach a young audience and deepen their knowledge of antiquity. It seems that the educationalists a priori assume that what the student should know about antiquity is already in the textbooks; anything else is additional information designed to meet the needs of eventual enthusiasts. The opportunity for discoveries to be mentioned in the curriculum is limited to only those discoveries which completely change the knowledge of antiquity, revolutionising it – such as the time Troy was discovered. But those are few; reviewing textbooks from past years, you can get the

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impression that there are almost none. So children learn the same thing as their parents, grandparents and sometimes even great-grandparents once did. As a result, the mass audience has a rather basic knowledge of antiquity, remaining the same for years, and further discoveries do not have any impact on the state of this knowledge. In this situation, it seems quite natural that it is relatively hard to find a pop-culture work with its plot set in antiquity. Films and Role Playing Games (RPG) – more on them later – are managing better with this matter (though with varying degrees of artistic quality), but literature less so. Even works of fantasy, in accordance with the requirements of the conventions of the genre, placing fictional events in the “past”6 but usually by only using elements of a broadly, and rather widely known, defined antiquity, do not place the action in the times that would be considered “ancient”, meaning: correspondent with a history known to us. This is due to the fact that, as already mentioned, readers en masse generally have a limited, basic knowledge of antiquity. The need to establish a relationship with the audience, to communicate with them, imposes on the author some restrictions7: they have to choose elements of the storyline and artefacts of a presented world etc. so the audience is able to decode them as belonging to “ancient times”, as is implied. Works of popular culture have to reach as wide an audience as possible, as this is the only way to fulfil its basic task: the generation of an adequate financial return. To be successful, creators must primarily rely on elements of common knowledge shared by potential readers, viewers, players, etc. from different countries and continents. Even the “age of the Internet” has not changed this. Of course, you can easily find detailed information on reliable websites, but the audience in general is rarely looking for it (they would have to stop themselves from reading, playing, watching a film, etc.), content with the knowledge they already have. Indeed, the pop culture audience usually chooses such creations that fit in its world-view, based on common (but not that which is widely available) knowledge that does not force you into too much intellectual effort, as the second primary task of these works, in addition to raising revenue for authors, publishers, producers, directors, etc., is to provide customers with entertainment. Knowing this, the creators of works of popular culture are trying to provide works that meet the requirements of the audience in this regard. As it seems, the main role of selective references to antiquity is to intensify the impression of ancientness, distancing time from the presented universe, emphasizing its distinctiveness in relation to the world known to the reader. Hence using it even when we are dealing with a secondary world fantasy (SWF)8, or as the researchers say, something “completely

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fictitious”9. This happens because for the readers to be able to take part in the “game of make-believe”10, they have to assume that the world shown is “real”. Using elements which are in some way familiar to them, the ones they are accustomed to, even unknowingly, helps to associate the world with “ancientness” in this process. This applies, for example, to vocabulary, items used by heroes, religion, clothing, food or architecture.

Antiquity as the time-setting of the plot One of the writers who went beyond the scheme to only operate with elements of antiquity and placed the storyline within it is Robert Ervin Howard, creator of Conan the Cimmerian, Kull of Atlantis and Bran Mak Morn (among others). The first of these is also known as Conan the Barbarian, as derived from Cimmerian barbarian tribes. The second is also called Kull the Conqueror, and is descended from the inhabitants of a legendary underwater land, about which, among others, Plato wrote. The third is, as indicated by the narrator, the last king of the Picts11, reportedly living in the lands of today’s Scotland until the Middle Ages. In all cases, we therefore have references to antiquity through the expressions barbarian, Atlantis and the Pict that give a reader the right associations. They also imply that the storyline will be taking place in distant times. But this is a contractual antiquity, not in the range of time considered by historians: although there is no consensus as to the dates of the frameworks, generally it is considered that the beginnings of the antiquity can be accepted as the end of the fourth millennium BC, the time humanity began to write12. The storyline of the Conan adventures is set in “the Hyborian Age” – a fictional period in history between 20,000 BC and 9,500 BC. Kull of Atlantis refers to an even earlier era: the hero was born about 100,000 BC. Only the storyline of king Bran Mak Morn is set in the “real” historical antiquity. However, the readers do not notice that the times and places of the Conan or Kull storylines have nothing to do with antiquity as such, i.e. that which they learn in school13, and if Bran Mak Morn would actually be the last, in the historical sense, king of the Picts, then the period of his reign would have taken him to the Middle Ages. Howard, in the universes created by him, used common ideas that audiences have of the distant past and established on these basics a very suggestive vision of “antiquity”, linking elements of various eras (mostly ancient and medieval) with those of ancient fiction born in the imagination of The Phoenix on the Sword author. This resulted, so to speak, in a convincing, fictional portrait of “antiquity” which had a strong influence on readers’ imagination and their way of understanding antiquity and the

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way they think about it. They are not surprised by the sophisticated (for those times) weapons used by characters, architecturally complex structures, advanced technology, the existence of large cities and developed civilisations – although virtually nothing is known about the times as distant as the ones in the Conan or Kull stories. Even Atlantis is, after all, only a “myth”, an unconfirmed story of the lost and wonderful land, every archaeologist’s “promised land”. Howard’s “cunning” writing should be admired – although he sometimes gives information in order to place the action of his works in the history of the Earth14, you cannot dispute this image of the world created by him, as there is not enough information available with which to do so. “The times of Atlantis” or “the Hyborian Age” invented by Howard are for fantasy writers what the far future is for science fiction fans: it gives them greater artistic freedom. Much less is allowed as in e.g. René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo’s comic book series about the adventures of Asterix and Obelix released in 1961 as the volume Asterix the Gaul (Astérix le Gaulois). The time frame is defined – it is the period of the rule of Gaius Julius Caesar, years 50 to 40 BC. Whilst the comic book has a primarily humorous (and patriotic15) aspect, the authors took care to include the characteristic artefacts, details, clothing, etc. of the era. There is no lack of historical events, for example an account of the Battle of Gergovia, the Battle of Alesia (also known as the Siege of Alesia) and Vercingetorix’s defeat, Caesar’s conquest of the Provincia Britannia (Roman Britain) and Gaul, and the Battle of Thapsus. The main characters also come across various historical figures – or they are mentioned the text – such as Brutus16, Cleopatra17, the Roman consul Metellus Scipio18, Spartacus19, Vercingetorix20, the already mentioned Caesar, and his son Caesarion21. From the start it should be stressed that both descriptions of characters and events are adapted to the profile of the whole series and correspond only partially to the historical truth22. In each of the comic book volumes can be noticed numerous political, literary, and historical allusions, along with references to well-known maxims or citations. Examples of the latter are: “cogito ergo sum” (Asterix the Legionary); “alea iacta est” (e.g. Asterix the Gaul, Asterix the Gladiator; Asterix and the Big Fight); “tu quoque fili!” (e.g. Asterix the Gladiator; Asterix and Son); “Audaces fortuna iuvat”; “vade retro” (Asterix and the Chieftain’s Shield); “vae victis!” (Asterix the Gaul; Asterix and the Cauldron); “veni, vidi, vici” (e.g. Asterix the Gaul; Obelix and Co.; Asterix and the Secret Weapon); “morituri te salutant” (e.g. Asterix the Gaul; Asterix the Gladiator; Asterix and the Cauldron; Asterix in Belgium)23. They are part of common knowledge; if kept in Latin, often regarded as “dead” by audiences of popular culture and therefore

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belonging to the distant past, they evoke associations with ancient times, similar to the names of some tribes and lands often already used in the titles (e.g. Gaul, Helvetia)24. In certain scenes they become an opportunity for a play on words, to introduce situational, language-based, characterbased humour, which is partly due to the fact that the implied reader, the recipient of Goscinny and Uderzo’s comics, has knowledge that allows him to place a given quote in a particular historical context; he also knows the fate of historical characters’ interrelationships and can therefore relate what he reads (and sees) to the familiar, extra-textual reality. Although Latin is not commonly known, it is often not even explained in the footnotes25, both because, as I already mentioned, they are usually very famous sayings (and scenes), and as a lot can be explained through pictures, which are a visual commentary of what is expressed in words. Used in the new situational context, “old” maxims, proverbs etc. become in the recipient’s eyes fresh and interesting26. They cease to be symbols of distant, dusty history and become easier to remember. Purposely or not, René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo have in this way accomplished two out of the three features which, according to Cicero, a good text should have: docere et delectare27 – though perhaps in reverse order. The authors of the comic book establish a dialogue with fictive readers in other ways: so, next to more-or-less coded references to the historical events and phenomena, emerge the ones related to the current events, situations and problems. Combining the “old” with the “new”, Goscinny and Uderzo made comic books a medium to pass on comments, observations, and suggestions as to what once happened and is happening now28. It then becomes a kind of “game with the reader” and the “ark of that most holy plight/ Between the years of yore and younger years”29, creating an intellectual bridge between the past and present. It is a way to give the audience a realisation of historical continuity, cultural continuity, the fact that past, present and future are its immanent and inseparably connected components. Perhaps also, although probably to only a small extent, it can help in learning the history (so we again have here a docere et delectare aspect). Goscinny and Uderzo present ancient clothing, weapons, ways of communication, travel, professions, and lifestyles, and give reference to the words and gestures whose meanings have been lost or forgotten. Enjoying the read, as if in passing, the reader is learning the knowledge that is passed onto him or her in a friendly, unforced way. However, s/he must remember that s/he is dealing with works of fiction, works of art, and not a scholarly or historical publication. Here it is hard to find, just as in character or historical references, reliable, historical truth. Here, for example, the defeat of the Britons against the Romans (Asterix in

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Britain, 1966) the authors generally attribute to the strange customs of the islanders: they do not fight on the weekends and every day, punctually at five in the afternoon, break battle to drink hot water with a drop of milk. Caesar, therefore, decided to fight only on weekends and from five in the afternoon, so it is no surprise that he wins. In the vision of the authors of the comics, Vercingetorix, defeated at the Battle of Alesia, not so much lays down his arms at Caesar’s feet but throws them (Asterix and the Chieftain’s Shield, 1968) – a gesture which has a completely different meaning. Although the siege of Alesia is considered by historians and scholars of war as one of Caesar’s largest military ventures (if not in all ancient times), which cemented both his fame as an outstanding leader and strategist and, for several centuries, Rome’s domination in Europe30, the comic books dedicate little time to the battle itself: it would be absurd to devote more attention to your own defeat. The authors also show how the vanquished blur the memory of their own defeat: Vitalstatistix: – Why not have an Arvernian holiday? See the beautiful countryside … Take a trip to Gergovia, scene of our immortal victory … Asterix: – How about Alesia? Vitalstatistix: WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ALESIA? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE ALESIA IS! NOBODY KNOWS WHERE ALESIA IS! (Goscinny, Uderzo 1977: 12)

The situation repeats itself when Asterix and Obelix visit Arverni’s local attractions. When Asterix asks the guide about Alesia, he hears in response: “ALESIA? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ALESIA, EH? WHY BRING ALESIA INTO IT? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE ALESIA IS, SO THERE!” (Goscinny, Uderzo 1977: 19), and, enraged, the guide leaves. Today, for many readers, especially if non-French, the meaning of these excerpts can be difficult. However, this is a reference to the fact that actually for centuries it was not known where Alesia was. The narrative comment in the comic book suggests that it was the Gauls’ attitude in regards to Alesia that effectively destroyed the memory of the place of their defeat: “An attitude which has persisted down the centuries, with the result that the scene of Gauls defeat by Caesar is still unknown … A regrettably chauvinist state of affairs” (Goscinny, Uderzo 1977: 19). In the nineteenth century, excavators commissioned by Napoleon III claimed to have found the remains of Alesia near Dijon; in the 1960s another discovery showed a completely different location. There is no consensus on the subject among the French today, and likewise on Alesia’s role in the formation of their national identity31.

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The previously mentioned discrepancies (distortions?) appear in many comic volumes. Here, for example, menhirs, the “production” of which Obelix deals with, are characteristic of the much earlier (Bronze and Neolithic) ages. Historically speaking, meetings between Normans (descendants of the Vikings), the Gauls and the Romans, as it was in Asterix and the Normans (Astérix et les Normands, 1966), were impossible; the Vikings invaded the territory of today’s Normandy from roughly CE 9. Careful readers will notice that Asterix, asked by the Norman Chief Olaf Timandahaf how he and his warriors can return the favour of teaching them what fear is (“How can I express my gratitude, Gaul?”), replies: “Well, you and your men could go home in your long ship, Norman, and stay away a few centuries longer!” (Goscinny, Uderzo 2004: 44). In the issue Asterix and the Black Gold (L’Odyssée d’ Astérix, 1981), Caesar’s agent Dubbelosix wonders how to thwart Asterix and Obelix’s mission, thinking: “I am sure the Gauls won’t give up at this point! I’ll tell Caesar to have all stocks of rock oil in Palestine destroyed!” (Goscinny, Uderzo 1982 A: 28), but the country of that name did not yet exist. There are multiple examples of a lack of accuracy throughout, although it does not really matter: the comics were not created in order to provide historical truth, but to provide entertainment and – sometimes – to be a commentary on the present. Howard’s works or Goscinny’s and Uderzo’s comics are only selected examples of these creations of popular culture, whose storylines take place in ancient times. The list is much longer, especially if the films or games are included. The largest group of texts is made up of those which only use a few elements of antiquity, rather than locating the action in an appropriate time frame. I do not mean here such works in which the only reference to the ancient times (although understood narrowly as the culture of Hellas and Rome) is for example quoting Latin and Greek maxims, as it is in Maágorzata Musierowicz’s young adult series “JeĪycjada”32, but those which include some aspects of spiritual, material etc. culture a reader associates with antiquity and which give impressions of it. A characteristic of speculative fiction, especially fantasy, is to include the heroes of ancient beliefs, polytheism, and images of gods who maintain a relationship with ordinary people, often even living amongst them. At the same time, narrators use first names and proper names in reference to common knowledge, or that known only to the audience in certain cultural circles. For example, in the book Herbata z kwiatem paproci (Tea with Fern Flower, 2004) by Michaá Studniarek – classified as “urban fantasy” – the nymph Goplana, whom Poles recognise from Juliusz Sáowacki’s tragedy Balladyna, domowiki (domovye), leszy (the Leshy, Lesovik), utopce (no

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English name but in some translations the word “drowner” is used), káobuki (no English name) and many more appear. The author here used a trick known from, among others, American Gods (2001) by Neil Gaiman, and previously known, for instance, from the works of H. P. Lovecraft, where still known or already forgotten gods live on Earth with ordinary people. In Gaiman, for instance, appear Odin, Loki, Thoth, Anubis and Czernobog – to name only the better known. Living in the modern world, using different names, sometimes they forget (or rather do not want to remember) what their true natures and identities are33. In Lovecraft we have the worship of the Great Old Ones, ancient, forgotten gods from space, of which the best known to the readers is Cthulhu. Although dormant, they are still on Earth and maybe one day will wake up to take it over. Also, Anna BrzeziĔska, in her series “Saga o Zbóju TwardokĊsku”, which consists of five novels, created fictitious gods and a whole system of beliefs. There are, among others, Reigrulleong, Splatający WĊzáy i Wichry, Fea Flisyon, Bad Bidmone, Zird Zekrun Od Skaáy, Org Ondelssen Od Lodu, and many other gods and demigods34. Andrzej Sapkowski approached it differently: in the series of novels and short stories “Saga o wiedĨminie” (“The Witcher Saga”), in which there is a witcher named Geralt, he refers generally to the Nordic, Semitic, Baltic, Germanic or Celtic gods, goddesses and demons, who should be familiar to the reader, for example Freya, Melitele, Nehalennia (in Sapkowski called Nehaleni) or Baal-Zebuth (Beelzebub), but there are also fictitious gods like Coram Agh Ter, Lwiogáowy Pająk (Lionhead Spider)35. Terry Pratchett used yet another trick: gods, appearing in his series “Discworld”, have names created by a narrator, but the roles they fill force readers to seek a connection to an extra-textual reality in the world of gods known from different mythologies. It is hard not to see the connection between Patina, Ephebian Goddess of Wisdom, and the Greek Pallas Athena (Roman Minerva): both are goddesses of wisdom, but Athena is accompanied by an owl, and in the Discworld series “the Goddess of Wisdom carried a penguin. […] It should have been an owl. Everyone knew that. But one bad sculptor who had only ever had an owl described to him makes a mess of a statue”36. Blind Io can strike Discworld with lighting that resembles Zeus’ thunder (Roman Jupiter); the Moon Goddess’ archetype could be Cybele, Rhea, Hera (Roman Juno) or Demeter; Bibulous recalls Bacchus, Neoldian – Hephaestus (or in Roman Vulcanus), and The Summer Lady – Persephone, the daughter of Demeter and Zeus. All of them, in one way or another, can contact people37. And Pratchett did not just stop at creating his gods in the likeness of those who exist in “real-world” beliefs. Using the opportunity that SWF gives to the

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author, he placed the action of his stories from the Discworld series in a universe which, in many ways, reminds us of known antiquity – or rather, again, refers to some of its concepts. This also applies to artefacts used in the presented world, and to political systems, beliefs, weapons, customs, etc. At the same time, however, Pratchett uses elements characteristic of the Middle Ages and other eras, referring to the legends, tales, beliefs and superstitions of various folks, but also to current phenomena and problems, just like Goscinny and Uderzo did. The vision of the world, which is a combination of elements not always seemingly “matching” one to other, is remarkably consistent, but readers probably do not notice that its individual components come from different periods. Their historical and temporal awareness could be similar to that of Anne Shirley’s young charge Davy Keith: “Mrs Lynde was awful mad the other day because I asked her if she was alive in Noah’s time. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I just wanted to know. Was she, Anne?”38 Old ages are generally just a “past” and its division to individual sections is not that important. To be aware of it, as they wrote, allowed authors, including Pratchett, a great creative freedom, but they can also use its existence to build in an educational function. The reading of such works may indeed bring readers to the conclusion that “history repeats itself”, and that “there is no new thing under the sun” (Eccl. 1: 9). Nothing – war, discrimination, religious and political persecution, etc. – can therefore be considered a closed chapter. There is no difference whether we are living in the 2nd, 12th or 21st century: people behave similarly and the motives of their actions are still the same. What happened once can happen again. Actually, Pratchett is not alone in this way of building a presented world; most fantasy creations locate the storyline in “old” times, using the most recognizable elements of antiquity as signs that the average recipient can recognize and assign not so much to the specific era, but to the wildly understood “past” without paying attention to whether it is antiquity, the Middle Ages or perhaps “legendary tales” (elements of myths and legends). A special case could here be the Matthew Stover series The Acts of Caine (1997-2012), in which the author creates Overworld, a fantasy world where you can make virtually any change from “outside”39 – from the Studio placed in the parallel world of twenty-third century Earth. Overworld is a de facto game platform where the action takes place in a specific universe, not only having characteristics of antiquity, but also, for example, the Middle Ages. As with Pratchett, they are so interconnected that they form a coherent vision, adequate for the general conviction as to what the distant past could look like.

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In the works of popular culture, ancient time is, as can be seen, therefore more of a concept, and its image is based more on audience imagination than on solid knowledge. In this context it can be concluded that, contrary to appearances, popular-culture texts are full of more or less implied references to antiquity. Myths, themes, characters (literary and actual) and historical events (to a lesser extent) are used, as well as knowledge of the world brought about by current scientific findings. There is probably no element of ancient culture that contemporary artists would not use. However, it must be emphasized that they carry out a clear selection of what they will use, choosing almost exclusively what, in their opinion, is known to the recipient from school education or what has already existed in culture for a long time and is still alive in the popular imagination. In this way they, as it were, “tame” the strangeness and distance of the antiquity; the audience does not have the feeling of an encounter with something unknown and badly suited to modern times. Utilization of the ancient heritage in the popular culture texts is done on specific conditions. Licentia poetica, which allows creative freedom, is here exploited more than traditionally accepted – or rather is reasonable. The main task of an artist is to provide a customer with entertainment; therefore, they freely use antiquity as a source of inspiration, caring mainly that their works are attractive to the audience in order to produce measurable (financial) benefits40. To these criteria are subjected all, or nearly all, decisions made with regard to their works. It is then difficult to find in their creations historical truth or an accurate representation of ancient times (not even on a scale that works of fiction should potentially be), although, it must be admitted, that many try to live up to their task, especially at the primary level,41 and in regards to those issues the audience is relatively able to verify them. These types of manoeuvres, probably practised since the beginning of popular culture, make individual works/creations – films, RPGs (including video games), comic books, novels – gain in attractiveness; they are greatly popular with the audience and as a result generate huge profits. However, the “side effects” of such manipulation are enormous, taking into consideration that the authors of popular culture usually do not use the original sources but the texts of their predecessors, especially if these were popular and, therefore, solidified in the general culture and audience’s knowledge, creating a stereotypical, often false vision of antiquity and that which is associated with it42. As a result, the mass cultural knowledge of antiquity is often very specific, comprising a combination of real and fictitious information acquired by an audience from books, films, games, etc. and accepted as

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“genuine”. The effects are highly surprising, like for instance the results of a survey carried out in Poland. “On behalf of the University of Warsaw’s Institute of Archaeology, Sopot’s Market Research Company took a survey from 1052 adult Poles. It turned out that Indiana Jones, Pan Samochodzik, Professor Kazimierz Michaáowski and Heinrich Schliemann (discoverer of Troy) were most associated with archaeology, Howard Carter (discoverer of Tutankhamun’s tomb) were in lower places or not mentioned at all”43. 62% of respondents listed Indiana Jones as the most famous archaeologist, 24% Pan Samochodzik, and 21% Lara Croft; archaeologists Michaáowski, Schliemann and Carter were known to approximately 10% of responders, but considered as not only archaeologists but also “treasure hunters”, associating their job with those of their “rivals” from works of fiction44. The screening of the American TV Show Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (broadcast between 2003 and 2005 on Polish television), according to the information provided by teachers, resulted in students including the show’s characters in the myth of Hercules45. Students took Xena, the main character of the show Xena: Warrior Princess, broadcast on TV at the same time as Hercules, for a figure of Greek mythology. Currently, a similar impact on students comes from games, and Rafaá Kochanowicz, amongst others, has written about it in the book Fabularyzowane gry komputerowe w przestrzeni humanistycznej. Analizy, interpretacje i wnioski z pogranicza poetyki, aksjologii, dydaktyki literatury (2012). Metaphysical thrillers like Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code (2003) play their role in creating the image of antiquity in mass culture’s awareness, which suggests that the Church (and other institutions) hide from people the truth about ancient times, falsifying history and manipulating the facts so that they are convenient to them. Imitating the scientific method of analysis, and factual (cryptology) and fictional (e.g. symbology) fields of science, the narrator refers to and characters practise hypothesis-making and conclusions supported by evidence in the form of the extra-textural reality of paintings, engravings, book excerpts, architectural details, etc., which makes the fictional events (especially the part about Christ being married and having a child, concealed by the Church) credible to the average reader, more so because the author has affixed a note titled Fact, proving that what he writes is true46. The Da Vinci Code is classified as theology fiction, and it gives an audience a new outlook not only on the history of the Church, but the whole of modern Western Civilisation that grew out of Christianity. Similarly, the much earlier work The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail (1982) by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh and Henry Lincoln, had the same subplot (Christ’s marriage to Mary Magdalene and their offspring).

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This work, aspiring to be scientific research47, has gained immense popularity, although is heavily criticised by the scientific community as a set of hypotheses and unsubstantiated conspiracy theories, designed to cause sensation and not giving reliable knowledge. Many discussions on the content of The Holy Book and The Holy Grail came back when The Da Vinci Code was published; the failure of scientists’ arguments is visible even in the popularity of tours given in the footsteps of the characters of Brown’s novel The Da Vinci Code, or the earlier Angels & Demons (2000). In this context, one cannot fail to mention the books by Erich von Däniken48 that imitate the scientific method which, since the late 1960s, have popularised information about how the remains of ancient cultures are evidence of contact between Earth people and aliens. Dressed in the garb of scientific reasoning, they impress certain parts of the public, especially those unprepared to receive such texts and whose outlook they fit into. It is hard to be surprised if, for example, information about the “curse of the mummy” is provided by the Egyptologist curator of the British Museum, E. A. Wallis Budge49. His reasons behind this are not important overall50; important is the final effect – and that was the solidification of opinion about the curse incurred by those who have discovered the tombs of the pharaohs and taken away mummies. It does not seem possible to stop the process of the “pauperization” of antiquity through the works of popular culture. On one hand, this phenomenon can be considered good: it plays a very important role in education, and “sneaks in” the information that in other situations would not be at all interesting to the audience51. But on the other it plays its role in a way that is at least imperfect, promulgating and perpetuating stereotypes, misperceptions or simply mistakes. Attempts to discredit this type of work resemble Hercules fighting the Lernaean Hydra: one “bad” work is replaced by, not necessarily better, others. However, this does not mean giving up; on the contrary, it should be fought with the same “weapon”: well-chosen and well-made cultural texts that establish a reputation of “belonging” with the mass audience, representing their tastes and expectations, such as comic books, games, movies and “genre fiction” (gothic stories, fantasy, detective stories, crime, horror, war, political or adventure fiction, romance novels, etc.), which will introduce and communicate knowledge about antiquity in accessible and interesting ways. It is not true that the public of mass culture do not want to learn: it is, however, true that they do not want to be bored.

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Bibliography Books Baigent, M., R. Leigh, and H. Lincoln. The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail. New York: Delacorte Press, 2005. Beard, M. Confronting the Classics: Traditions, Adventures and Innovations. New York: Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2013. Breasted, J. H. The Conquest of Civilization. New York and London: Harper, 1938. Brown, D. Angels & Demons. A Novel. New York: Atria Books, 2005. —. The Da Vinci Code. New York: Doubleday, 2004. BrzeziĔska, Anna. Letni deszcz. Kielich. [Saga o zbóju TwardokĊsku 3]. Warszawa: Runa, 2004. —. Letni deszcz. Sztylet. [Saga o zbóju TwardokĊsku 4]. Warszawa: Agencja Wydawnicza Runa A. BrzeziĔska, E. Szulc, 2009. —. Plewy na wietrze. [Saga o zbóju TwardokĊsku 1, popr.]. Warszawa: Agencja Wydawnicza Runa, 2006. —. Zbójecki goĞciniec. Saga o zbóju TwardokĊsku 1. Warszawa: SuperNOWA, 1999. —. ĩmijowa harfa. Saga o zbóju TwardokĊsku 2. Warszawa: SuperNOWA, 2000. Clarkson, Tim. The Picts. A History. Edinburgh: John Donald, 2010. Cummins, William A. The Age of the Picts. Gloucestershire: A Sutton Pub., 1996. Däniken, E. von. Arrival of the Gods: Revealing the Alien Landing Sites of Nazca. Shaftesbury: Element Books, 1998. —. Chariots of the Gods: Unsolved Mysteries of the Past. Translated by M. Heron. New York: Berkley Books, 1999. —. Odyssey of the Gods: The Alien History of Ancient Greece. Translated by Matthew Burton. London: Vega, 2002. —. The Eyes of the Sphinx: The Newest Evidence of Extraterrestrial Contact in Ancient Egypt. New York: Berkley Publishing Group, 1996. —. The Gods and Their Grand Design: The Eighth Wonder of the World. Translated by M. Heron. London: Souvenir Press, 1984. —. The Stones of Kiribati: Pathways to the Gods? Translated by M. Heron. London: Souvenir Press, 1982. Davies, Norman. Isles. A History. New York & Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Day, Jasmine. The Mummy’s Curse. Mummymania in the EnglishSpeaking World. New York: Routledge, 2006.

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Ecclesiastes. In The Holy Bible Containing the Old and New Testaments. King James Version. New York: American Bible Society, 1999. Gaiman, N. American Gods. New York: William Morrow, 2011. Gemmell, D. Dark Prince. New York: Ballantine Books, 1993. —. Lion of Macedon. New York: Ballantine Books, 1992. —. Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow. New York: Del Rey Books, 2005. —. Troy: Shield of Thunder. New York: Ballantine Books, 2006. Gemmell, D., and S. Gemmel. Troy: Fall of Kings. New York: Ballantine Books, 2007. Glassner, Jean-Jacques. The Invention of the Cuneiform. Writing in Sumer. Translated and edited by Z. Bahrani and M. van de Mieroop. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003. Goscinny, R., and A. Uderzo. Asterix and the Black Gold. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1982. —. Astérix le Gaulois. Neuilly-sur-Seine: Hachette, 1961. —. Astérix Légionnaire. Paris: Hachette, 1967. —. Asterix and the Chieftain’s Shield, Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London. —. Asterix in Britain. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1981. —. Asterix and Obelix All the Sea. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1996 B. —. Asterix and Son. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1983. —. Asterix and the Banquet. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1995 A. —. Asterix and the Big Fight. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1988. —. Asterix and the Cauldron. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1987. —. Asterix and the Magic Carpet. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1996 C. —. Asterix and the Normans. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 2004. —. Asterix and the Roman Agent. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1982 B. —. Asterix and the Secret Weapon. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1991. —. Asterix and the Soothsayer. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1995 B. —. Astérix chez les Helvètes. Neuilly-sur-Seine: Hachette, 1963.

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—. Astérix chez Rahàzade. Neuilly-sur-Seine: Les Éditions Albert René, 2001. —. Asterix in Belgium. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1980. —. Asterix in Switzerland. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1995 C. —. Asterix the Gaul. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1973. —. Asterix the Gladiator. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1971. —. Asterix the Legionary. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1989. —. L’Odyssée d’ Astérix. Paris: Les Éditions Albert René, 1981 B. —. La Galère d’Obélix. Paris: Les Éditions Albert René, 1996 A. —. La Zizanie. Une Aventure d’Astérix. Neuilly-sur-Seine: Hachette, 1970. —. Le Devin. Neuilly-sur-Seine: Hachette, 1972. —. Le Tour de Gaule d’Astérix. Neuilly-sur-Seine: Hachette, 1978 A. —. Obelix and Co. Translated by A. Bell and D. Hockridge. London: Orion, 1978 B. Homer. Iliad. Translated by M. Hammond. Harmondsworth (UK): Penguin, New York (USA): Viking Penguin: 1987. —. The Odyssey. Translated by E. Rees. New York: Modern Library, 1960. Howard, R. E. Conan the Barbarian. New York: Del Rey/Ballantine Books, 2011. —. The Hyborian Age. E-book. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2013. Inker, P. A. Caesar’s Gallic Triumph: Alesia 52BC. Barnsley (UK): Pen & Sword Military, 2008. Lanning, Michael. L. The Battle 100. The Stories Behind History’s Most Influential Battles. Naperville (Ill): Sourcebooks, 2003. Luckhurst, Roger. The Mummy’s Curse. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Mickiewicz, Adam. Konrad Wallenrod and Other Writings of Adam Mickiewicz. Translated by D. Prall Radin, G. Rapall Noyes, and J. Parish and others. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1925. Musierowicz, Maágorzata. “JeĪycjada” (series). Akapit Press [etc.]: àódĨ [etc.], 1977. Niziurski, Edmund. Sposób na Alcybiadesa. àódĨ: Nasza KsiĊgarnia, 1995.

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Poole E. S. (ed.). The Thousand and One Nights, Commonly Called, in England, the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. Translated by E. W. Lane. Illustrated by W. Harvey. London: Chatto and Windus, 1889. Pratchett, Terry. Small Gods: A Novel of Discworld®. HarperCollins ebooks (Kindle Edition) 2009. Prus, B. Pharaoh. Translated by Ch. Kasparek. Warsaw & New York: Polonia, 2001. Sapkowski, A. Baptism of Fire. [Witcher 3]. Translated by David French. New York: Orbit, 2014. —. Blood of Elves. [Witcher 1]. Translated by Danusia Stok. New York: Orbit, 2009. —. Pani Jeziora. [Saga o WiedĨminie 5]. Warszawa: SuperNOWA, 1999. —. The Time of Contempt. [Witcher 2]. Translated by David French. New York: Orbit, 2013. —. WieĪa Jaskóáki. [Saga o WiedĨminie 4]. Warszawa: SuperNOWA, 1997. Shakespeare, W. Othello. Edited by N. Sanders. Cambridge & New York, 1984. Sienkiewicz, H. Quo Vadis. A Tale of the Time of Nero. Translated by J. Curtin. New York: Dover Publications, 2011. Sáowacki, J. Balladyna. Wrocáaw [etc.]: Zakáad Narodowy im. OssoliĔskich, 1986. Starr, Chester. G. A History of the Ancient World, New York: Oxford University Press, 1991. Stover, M. W. Blade of Tyshalle. [Acts of Caine 2]. New York: Ballantine Publishing Group, 2001. —. Caine Black Knife. Acts of Caine 3. New York: Del Rey/Ballantine Books, 2008. —. Caine’s Law. The Third of the Acts of Caine. New York: Del Rey/Ballantine Books, 2012. Heroes Die. Acts of Caine 1. New York: Ballantine Pub. Group, 1998. Studniarek, Michaá. Herbata z kwiatem paproci. Warszawa: Runa 2004. TrĊbicki, G. Fantasy. Ewolucja gatunku. Kraków: Towarzystwo Autorów i Wydawców Prac Naukowych Universitas, 2007. Tyldesley, J. A. 2002. Mumia. Zagadki mumifikacji, mumie staroĪytne i wspóáczesne, poĞmiertne losy faraonów, mumie zwierząt, rola mumii w kulturze masowej XX wieku. Translated by M. Klimowska. Warsaw: Klub dla Ciebie, 2002. Tymn, Marshall. B., K. J. Zahorski, and R. H. Boyer. Fantasy. A Core Collection and Reference Guide. New York & London: R. R. Bowker Co., 1979.

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Virgil. The Aeneid. Translated by R. Fitzgerald. New York: Knopf, 1992. Walton, Kendall. L. Mimesis as Make-believe: On the Foundations of the Representational Arts. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990.

Netography “A kto dziĊki MM [Maágorzacie Musierowicz] zainteresowaá siĊ áaciną?” Accessed March 19, 2014. http://forum.gazeta.pl/forum/w,25788,139018338,,A_kto_dzieki_MM_ zainteresowal_sie_lacina_.html?v=2. Asterix i Obelix. Accessed March 19, 2014. http://forum.eksiazki.org/komiksy-f10/asterix-i-obelix-t1673.html. “Authors lose appeal over Da Vinci Code plagiarism”. The Guardian, March 28, 2007. Accessed March 19, 2014. http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2007/mar/28/danbrown.books. “The British Museum’s Cursed Mummy”. Accessed March 15, 2014. http://darkestlondon.com/tag/sir-ernest-wallace-budge/. Brown, D. The Da Vinci Code. Book Excerpts. Accessed February 20, 2014. http://www.danbrown.com/wp-content/themes/danbrown/assets/ db_dvc_book_excerpts.pdf. BrzeziĔska, A. Saga o zbóju TwardokĊsku. Accessed March 14, 2014. http://www.runa.pl/saga-o-zboju-twardokesku-bogowie.html. Ciceronius, Marcus Tullius. Brutus. Accessed February 18, 2014. http://www.attalus.org/old/brutus4.html#276. —. Brutus. Accessed February 18, 2014. http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/9776/pg9776.html. —. Brutus, section 276. Accessed February 18, 2014. http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/cicero/brut.shtml. “Dan Brown wins ‘Da Vinci’ battle”. Accessed March 19, 2014. http://edition.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/europe/04/07/uk.davinci.court/in dex.html?iref=newssearch. Erskine Andrew. (ed.). A Companion to Ancient History. Malden, Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 2009. Accessed February 16, 2014. http://books.google.pl/books?id=Eev4Z947Fi8C&printsec=frontcover &hl=pl&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false. “Indiana Jones i Lara Croft najpopularniejszymi odkrywcami”. Accessed March 17, 2014. http://londynek.net/newslajt/article?jdnews_id=1402. “Kajko i Kokosz vs Asterix”. Accessed March 19, 2014. http://www.zaginiona-biblioteka.pl/viewtopic.php?t=801. Kowalski, Krzysztof. 2014. “Kogo posadziü w oĞlej áawie”. Rzeczpospolita, February 22, 2014. Accessed March 17, 2014.

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http://www.rp.pl/artykul/1089152.html. Kumar, Mohan. “Docmo”. “Hilarious Adventures of Asterix and Obelix”. Accessed January 15, 2014. http://docmo.hubpages.com/hub/TheHilarious-Adventures-of-Asterix-and-Obelix. “Lexicon Alea iacta est”. Accessed January 15, 2014. http://www.comedix.de/lexikon/db/alea_iacta_est.php. Montgomery, Lucy Maud. Jane of Lantern Hill. Accessed January 11, 2014. http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks02/0200881h.html. —. Anne of the Island. Accessed April 16, 2014. http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51/51-h/51-h.htm. Murphy, Megan, and James Lumley. “Dan Brown Defend’s ‘Da Vinci Code’ in Plagiarism Case (Update2)”. Accessed March 19, 2014. http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=newsarchive&sid=aiBYrF 36Kqjg. “Official Cool Latin Phrases thread”. Accessed March 19, 2014. http://www.internationalskeptics.com/forums/showthread.php?t=18197 5&page=1. Sage, Adam. “Francuzi znowu chcą zarobiü na Asteriksie i jego kumplach”, Polska The Times, March 29, 2012. Accessed March 1, 2014. http://media.wp.pl/kat,1022949,title,Francuzi-znowu-chca-zarobic-naAsteriksie-i-jegokumplach,wid,14372119,wiadomosc.html?ticaid=112b88&_ticrsn=3. Sanchéz, Alfredo. “Locuciones latinas que aparecen en las aventuras”. Accessed January 15, 2014. http://diccionarioasterix.blogspot.com/2010/02/frases-en-latin.html Sapkowski, Andrzej. The Lady of the Lake. Accessed April 17, 2014. https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1rde0VNEyFKTTFxNzFQaWlZdFU/ edit?pli=1. “Sentencje áaciĔskie sprawdzonym popisem retorycznym – których chĊtnie uĪywamy?”. Accessed March 19, 2014. http://forum.mlingua.pl/archive/index.php/t-20437.html. Tolkien, John Ronald Reuel. “On Fairy-Stories”. Accessed January 12, 2014. http://public.callutheran.edu/~brint/Arts/Tolkien.pdf. Urzykowski, Tomasz. “‘MieliĞmy wielkie szczĊĞcie’. Sukces archeologów z UW [ROZMOWA]. Gazeta Wyborcza. Warszawa, December 22, 2012. Accessed January 12, 2014. http://m.warszawa.gazeta.pl/warszawa/1,106541,15167070,_Mielismy _wielkie_szczescie___Sukces_archeologow_z.html.

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List of Games CD Projekt RED. 2007. The Witcher. Atari, Inc. CD Projekt RED. 2011. The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings. Cdp.pl. Atari, Inc. Bandai Namco Games. CyberFront.

Filmography 300 (USA 2006. Dir. Zack Snyder). Agora (Spain 2009. Dir. Alejandro Amenábar). Alexander (USA 2004. Dir. Oliver Stone). Centurion (UK 2010. Dir. Neil Marshall). Gladiator (USA 2000. Dir. Ridley Scott). Noah (USA 2014. Dir. Darren Aronofsky). Quo Vadis (Poland 2001. Dir. Jerzy Kawalerowicz). Rome (UK/USA/Italy 2005-2007. Dir. Michael Apted et al. TV Series). Spartacus (USA 2004. Dir. Robert Dornhelm. TV Movie). Spartacus (USA 2010. Dir. Rick Jacobson et al. TV Series). Troy (USA/UK 2004. Dir. Wolfgang Petersen). The Passion of the Christ (USA 2004. Dir. Mel Gibson). Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (USA/New Zealand 1995-1999. Creator: Christian Williams. TV series). Xena: Warrior Princess (USA/New Zealand 1995-2001. Creators: John Schulian, Robert G. Tapert. TV Series)

Notes 1 The terms “antiquity” (Polish: antyk) and “ancient” (Polish: staroĪytnoĞü) are usually considered to be equivalent and are used interchangeably, also in Polish. So that is how they will be used in this work – for stylistic reasons. I personally share the opinion of those scholars who distinguish between “ancient” as a concept covering the whole world and having a very broad time frame (from the invention of writing, that is, from about the fourth millennium BC) and “antiquity”, often with the adjective “classical”, as referring to the Mediterranean countries which had an impact on the shape of Western civilization, and which has a narrower time frame (from about 776 BC). The Polish language, instead of the words “antiquity”, sometimes uses the term “kultura klasyczna” (equivalent to “classical antiquity”), which uniquely identifies the object of study. Cf. e.g., Ch. G. Starr, A History of the Ancient World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991). In regards to problems of defining the concepts of “ancient” and “antiquity” and determining their timeframes see, e.g., A Companion to Ancient History, ed. A. Erskine

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(Chichester, UK; Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), Ch. 9, & 2 [in:], http://books.google.pl/books?id=zN2kqjun3VAC&printsec=frontcover&dq=ancie nt&hl=pl&sa=X&ei=FUdyU9PrETb7AaGuoDYBA&ved=0CDYQ6AEwATgK#v=onepage&q=ancient&f=false, accessed: 16/02/2014. 2 L. M. Montgomery, Jane of Lantern Hill, [in:] http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks02/0200881h.html, accessed: 11/01/2014. 3 The trading of goods stolen from archaeological sites is very lucrative. It involves no longer just individual thieves but also well-organized gangs. So, the archaeologists try to protect themselves against theft by all means. E.g., Miáosz Giersz, head of Polish studies near Huarmey (PER), in conversation with Tomasz Urzykowski said that after the discovery of the tomb the crew worked for a long time “in secret, so as not to attract criminal organizations specializing in trading stolen relicts”, http://m.warszawa.gazeta.pl/warszawa/1,106541,15167070,_Mielismy_wielkie_sz czescie_Sukces_archeologow_z.html, accessed: 12/01/2014. 4 http://m.warszawa.gazeta.pl/warszawa/1,106541,15167070,_Mielismy_wielkie _szczescie_Sukces_archeologow_z.html, op. cit. 5 Ibidem. 6 It is an agreed-on term: the plot of a fantasy work often takes place in fictional universes that could be called “alternative” or “secondary”: even if they resemble “our” world (and it is a must when taking into consideration that they need to establish a narrator’s dialogue with the reader), it is still difficult in any way to relate its timespan to “our” historical time. Some researches call this reality “exomimetic”. See e.g., G. TrĊbicki, Fantasy. Ewolucja gatunku, (Kraków, 2007), p. 9 and n. 7 Some of them, moreover, do not have the proper knowledge of how to construct a story with the action taking place in antiquity – assuming of course that we are not dealing with so-called secondary world fantasy. 8 The term was probably used first by J. R. R. Tolkien’s essay On Fairy-Stories (1947). See http://public.callutheran.edu/~brint/Arts/Tolkien.pdf, accessed: 12/01/2014. Brought into general use by: M. B. Tymn, K. J. Zahorski, R. H. Boyer, Fantasy. A Core Collection and Reference Guide, (New York & London: R. R. Bowker Co., 1979). 9 It is a moot point, because all the worlds presented are entirely fictional. Controversy on this theory should not be a matter for this article. 10 See: K. L. Walton, Mimesis as Make-Believe: On the Foundations of the Representational Arts, (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1990). 11 Historians do not agree as to who the Picts actually were; many incline to the view that it was neither one tribe nor folk, but several tribes joined in a union, perhaps military. On the subject of the Picts see, among others, N. Davies, The Isles: A History, (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); W. A. Cummins, The Age of the Picts, (Gloucestershire: A. Sutton, 1996); T. Clarkson, The Picts. A History, (Edinburgh: John Donald, 2010).

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12 Regarding cuneiform writing. So far, no evidence has been found that people used letters previously – but that does not mean they did not. The invention of writing is considered to be the beginning of the civilizations of antiquity. On this subject see, among others, H. Breasted, The Conquest of Civilization, (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1938); J.-J. Glassner, The Invention of the Cuneiform: Writing in Sumer, trans. and ed. Z. Bahrani, (Baltimore: M. van de Mieroop, 2003). 13 Textbooks focus on Europe, the Middle East and North Africa. 14 See, e.g., Howard’s essay The Hyborian Age published in its entirety in 1938, after the writer’s death. Full text: http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0603571.txt. 15 Readers, also French, often wrongly identify the Gauls with the French and Gaul (Latin: Gallia) with France. The authors of the comics strengthen this misconception – a classic example of this might be Asterix and the Banquet (Le Tour de Gaule d’Astérix, 1965), in which the main characters tour the entirety of Gaul – in the comics its borders are practically the borders of today’s France. On Asterix and Obelix’s route are cities such as Rotomagus (now Rouen), Lutetia (Paris), Camaracum (Cambrai), Durocortorum (Reims), Lugdunum (Lyon) or Burdigala (Bordeaux). The Gaelic village (nameless), which successfully withstood the Romans, is a kind of pars pro toto: a miniaturized manifestation of the “myth” of invincible France, which in the opinion of its citizens, effectively prevailed against many invaders. 16 Marcus Junius Brutus – Caesar’s adopted son. He appears in several comic books including Asterix and the Soothsayer. 17 Cleopatra VII Philopator. 18 Quintus Caecilius Metellus Pius Scipio Nasica. He appears in comic book Asterix the Legionary. 19 As Spartakis in the volume Asterix and Obelix All the Sea. 20 Chieftain of the Arverni tribe, leader of the Gauls in a revolt against Caesar, defeated in the Battle of Alesia in 52 BC and strangled after Caesar’s triumph in 46 BC. 21 Ptolemy XV Philopator Philometor Caesar, offspring of Caesar and Cleopatra, one of the Asterix and Son characters. 22 Similarly, e.g., David Gemmell’s “Greek Series” (Lion of Macedon, 1990; Dark Prince, 1991) and “Troy Series” (Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow, 2005; Troy: Shield of Thunder, 2006; Troy: Fall of Kings, 2007 [completed by his wife Stella after the writer’s death]), belonging to “historical fiction” within so-called “historical fantasy”. One should also mention Quo Vadis. A Tale of the Time of Nero (1896) by Henryk Sienkiewicz and Boleslaw Prus’ Pharaoh (1895), novels from which Polish readers often got basic knowledge about ancient Rome and Egypt, which was an easier and cheaper way for them, as the book was originally published in instalments in daily magazines. Although both writers extracted information about periods they were interested in from the works of historians and writings from the epoch, they have adapted it to the needs of their own texts. 23 For other examples see: http://docmo.hubpages.com/hub/The-HilariousAdventures-of-Asterix-and-Obelix,

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http://diccionarioasterix.blogspot.com/2010/02/frases-en-latin.html, http://www.comedix.de/lexikon/db/alea_iacta_est.php, access: 15/01/2014. 24 Sometimes, this quality gets lost in translation. The original title Asterix chez les Helvètes (1987) sounds completely different to Asterix in Switzerland. One thing is suggested by the title Asterix chez Rahàzade (1987) and something else by Asterix and the Magic Carpet: the first explicitly refers to Scheherazade and the works of the One Thousand and One Nights (also known as the Arabian Nights), the second only to the story of the magic carpet, which is not exclusive to the One Thousand and One Nights. La Galère d’Obélix (1996) has a different connotation than Asterix and Obelix All at Sea; similarly, La Zizanie (instigator; sower of discord) and Asterix and the Roman Agent. In the latter case, the English title does not correspond to the concept of the original title at all – it would be better to use the name of Iago, for example, the character known from William Shakespeare’s tragedy Othello (c. 1602). Such examples could be multiplied; referring not only to the titles, but the content of the book, this remark also applies to other issues, such as play on words, language specific phrases, and contextual jokes. 25 The English version does not translate Latin maxims at all. 26 If the text does not have a translation, curious readers often seek clarification on Latin inclusions on their own, indirectly familiarising themselves with, if even only slightly, this language. In this case, the role of “pop culture” at work is surprising. No one probably assumes that comic books can teach Latin – and debaters on internet forums write: “Studying Latin in high school, left in my memory virtually no phrases […]. Studying law at my […] international studies – probably nothing either. But reading Asterix – alea iacta est and veni, vidi, vici! [...]. Other that come to mind – [...] pecunia non olet, dura lex sed lex” (user: anna_ag); “Generally I do not use and do not like to use Latin phrases, for me they are a sign of the times when Latin and Greek were the sign of intelligence and education, although in practice the use back then was practically none and came down to the pseudo-intellectual posing. Basically, they were only welcomed in Asterix” (user: ArX). See http://forum.mlingua.pl/archive/index.php/t-20437.html, accessed: 19/03/2014; “Asterix and Obelix traveled virtually all over the world. In addition to the nifty fun, it had a lot of educational value. Particularly, it was from Asterix I know a lot of Latin sayings and words” (user: Jachu) http://www.zaginiona-biblioteka.pl/viewtopic.php?t=801, accessed: 19/03/2014; user moorec: “For me, after it, I was left with the sentiment to Latin phrases – somehow so nicely memorable. Because of this sentiment I started to learn Latin”; user lofcia: “I was learning from it Latin vocabulary whilst at University” (http://forum.eksiazki.org/komiksy-f10/asterix-i-obelix-t1673.html, accessed: 19/03/2014). See also: http://forums.randi.org/archive/index.php/t-181975.html; http://forum.gazeta.pl/forum/w,25788,139018338,,A_kto_dzieki_MM_zainteresow al_sie_lacina_.html?v=2. Translation retains the original punctuation and spelling. 27 The third function is movere (to move). See M. Tulli Ciceronis’ Brutus, section 276, [in:] http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/cicero/brut.shtml, accessed: 18/02/2014.

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English translation: “to prove, delight, and force the passions”. See http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/9776/pg9776.html, accessed: 18/02/2014; other translation: “to instruct, to please, and to move the passions” (http://www.attalus.org/old/brutus4.html#276, accessed: 18/02/2014). 28 Mary Beard writes more on the subject, among other things, in her book Confronting the Classics: Traditions, Adventures and Innovations, (Bungay UK: Profile Books Ltd., 2013). Available at: http://books.google.pl/books?id=utO7Qgok3G4C&printsec=frontcover&dq=confr onting+the+classics&hl=pl&sa=X&ei=TctzU4zbC8bi4QS46oDAAQ&ved=0CDI Q6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=Ast%C3%A9rix&f=false. 29 A. Mickiewicz, Konrad Wallenrod and Other Writings, transl. D. Prall Radin, G. Rapall Noyes, J. Parish and others, (Berkeley: California University Press, 1925), p. 35. 30 Cf. e.g., P. A. Inker, Caesar’s Gallic Triumph: Alesia 52BC, (Barnsley UK: Pen & Sword Books, 2008); M. L. Lanning, The Battle 100: The Stories Behind History’s Most Influential Battles, (Naperville Ill.: Sourcebooks, 2003). 31 Discussions on this subject are still very much alive, see, e.g., http://media.wp.pl/kat,1022949,title,Francuzi-znowu-chca-zarobic-na-Asteriksie-ijego-kumplach,wid,14372119,wiadomosc.html?ticaid=112b88&_ticrsn=3, accessed: 01/03/2014. 32 However, it should be noted that these texts promote a vision of a world in which Latin and Greek cultures play an important role in Western civilisation’s foundation; the knowledge of relevant Latin and Greek maxims determines a character’s manners and education. 33 I do not talk here about new gods who are in the works of fiction (e.g., The Technical Boy or The Black Hats), as the form of the article does not allow a more detailed examination of their role within it. 34 For these and others gods and demigods see Anna BrzeziĔska’s series “Saga o zbóju TwardokĊsku” at: http://www.runa.pl/saga-o-zboju-twardokesku-bogowie .html. 35 A much richer world of gods is set in RPG’s The Witcher (2007) and The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings (2011), using a fictional universe known from Sapkowski’s series “The Witcher Saga”. 36 T. Pratchett, Small Gods: A Novel of Discworld®, HarperCollins e-books (Kindle Edition, 2009). 37 In the movie Noah (USA 2014, dir. Darren Aronofsky), God makes contact with people through signs that must be interpreted accordingly. In Pratchett, gods can talk to people, speak to them through signs and symbols, and take an active part in their lives, and it happens in many novels of the series. 38 L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, [in:] http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51/51-h/51-h.htm, accessed: 16/04/2014. 39 The changes are the results of how the screenplay has been acted out by the “Actors”; it can be shaped also by e.g. “Administrators” and “Executives”, demanding more attractive, exciting entertainment, bringing increased revenue. To

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some extent, the “Actors” may also have an influence, because ultimately they decide how (and whether) to do the job that the script provides. 40 See, e.g., the film Troy (USA-UK, 2004, dir. Wolfgang Petersen). The changes in relation to Homer’s Iliad, which in theory it is an adaptation of, are enormous. However, non-compliance with the original does not bother viewers: most of them did not read Iliad (or other works, fragments of which were used in the film, such as Homer’s Odyssey and Virgil’s Aeneid), so there is no awareness of the changes, more so if the plot fulfils their expectations, based on familiarity to other, similar works. 41 Meaning the weapons, everyday objects, architecture or the way they dress. Even here, however, one can observe a reference more to the ideas of the era than to the facts. 42 This is a mass phenomenon. The commercial success of one of the creations means that the next artists will resort to similar themes in the hope of achieving at least the same profits. This is particularly easy to see in the movies which use antiquity that have been released in recent years. For example, movies released in the first decade of the twenty-first century such as Gladiator (USA, Dir. Ridley Scott) in 2000, Quo Vadis (Poland, Dir. Jerzy Kawalerowicz) in 2001, The Passion of the Christ (USA, Dir. Mel Gibson), Alexander (USA, Dir. Oliver Stone), Troy (USA, Dir. Wolfgang Petersen) and the TV movie Spartacus (USA, Dir. Robert Dornhelm) in 2004; in 2005 on TV screens came the BBC and HBO series Rome (Dir. Michael Apted, two seasons: 2005-2007); 2006 brought 300 (USA, Dir. Zack Snyder) and 2009 Agora (Spain, Dir. Alejandro Amenábar). In 2010 came the first of three seasons of the American TV series Spartacus (Dirs. Rick Jacobson et al.) and the movie Centurion (UK, Dir. Neil Marshall). And that is only a small part of the movie productions which used antiquity in their storylines (not to mention movies with Asterix and Obelix). 43 http://www.rp.pl/artykul/1089152.html, accessed: 17/03/2014. Pan Samochodzik – the nickname of Tomasz N. N., protagonist of a young adult series by Polish writer Zbigniew Nienacki; Professor Kazimierz Michaáowski – Polish archaeologist and Egyptologist. 44 http://londynek.net/newslajt/article?jdnews_id=1402, accessed: 17/03/2014. 45 This information has been passed on to me by many teachers – unfortunately, not in writing. 46 See http://www.danbrown.com/wp-content/themes/danbrown/assets/db_dvc _book_excerpts.pdf, accessed: 20/02/2014. Brown mentions organisations like the Priory of Sion and Opus Dei, adding: “All descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents, and secret rituals in this novel are accurate”. To average readers it is a signal that the novel is practically based on facts – they cannot see here the writer’s artistic catch. 47 The authors have lost by advertising their work as scientific. When Leigh and Baigent sued Random House, which published Brown’s novel, believing Brown guilty of plagiarizing their work, the judge ruled that The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail was released as a scientific work and Brown’s as a fictional one. It cannot be a case of plagiarism as artists have the right to use scientific findings in their

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works. Leigh and Baigent also lost an appeal. For more about the plagiarism case see, among others: http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=newsarchive&sid=aiBYrF36Kqjg http://edition.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/europe/04/07/uk.davinci.court/index.html?ir ef=newssearch, http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2007/mar/28/danbrown.books, accessed: 19/03/2014. 48 See, e.g. Chariots of the Gods (1969), Pathways to the Gods: the Stones of Kiribati (1982), The Gods and their Grand Design: the Eighth Wonder of the World (1984), The Eyes of the Sphinx: the Newest Evidence of Extraterrestrial Contact in Ancient Egypt (1996), Arrival of the Gods: Revealing the Alien Landing Sites of Nazca (1998), Odyssey of the Gods: the Alien History of Ancient Greece (2002) and many more. 49 On this subject see, e.g., R. Luckhurst, The Mummy’s Curse, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), p. 38 and n.; p. 137 and n.; J. Day, The Mummy’s Curse. Mummymania in the English-speaking World, (Abingdon: Routledge, 2006), p. 49. Wallis Budge is also often quoted, apparently saying: “Never print what I saw in my lifetime, but the mummy case of Princess Amen-Ra caused the war”. Source: http://darkestlondon.com/tag/sir-ernest-wallace-budge/, accessed: 15/03/2014. 50 It is believed that although he was a proponent of occultism and spiritualism, by spreading such rumours he tried to protect the holdings of the British Museum and arouse interest in the exhibition. 51 Let me recall here the book Sposób na Alcybiadesa (1964; How To Get Alcibiades) by Edmund Niziurski: Students, not wanting to prepare for lessons, and wanting to have good grades draw history teachers into a chat. In the end, even though they did not intend to, they gain considerable knowledge of antiquity and other eras, learning everything in passing, listening to the teacher and preparing questions for him.

ANTIQUE MOTIFS IN THE DESIGN OF FOUNTAIN PENS ALEKSANDER WOJCIECH MIKOàAJCZAK ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

In the research on semiotics of popular culture, the issue of using antique motifs in the contemporary design of functional items is almost completely absent. Meanwhile, postmodern tendencies in design, developing since the 1970s, have inspired many creators of industrial forms to make reference to historical styles and the cultural heritage of the past (Sparke 2009: 214; Miller 2009: 218). Their actions, often having their roots in the premises of deconstruction, have led to the reinterpretation of antique signs and symbols in the sphere of design in the eclectic spirit of postmodernism. In any case, this phenomenon deserves deeper examination, the more so because it draws our attention to the earlier stages of design development, which embodied antique motifs in a different way. The aim of this article is to show how antique motifs are used today in the design of writing instruments and what their role is in the marketing and usage of those items. Fountain pens seem to be an excellent example for such reflection, since by serving as an intermediary between human thought and its permanent form put down in writing, they are perceived both as functional and symbolic artefacts. From this point of view they can be defined as “semiotic items” (ĩóákiewski 1985: 105), which combine material and sign functions. This explains the abundance of cultural references in the contemporary design of fountain pens, which often showcases antique motifs. It seems interesting to analyse the nature of those motifs and how they are embodied in particular designs. This would let us determine the role which the “antique” design of stationery plays today in social communication processes. To begin with, the above conception of the discussion requires a few methodological remarks. If we follow Deyan Sudjic’s assumption that “design is a language used by a society to create items representing its values and aims” (Sudjic 2013: 55-56), then fountain pens can indeed be

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treated as semiotic items, of which three major aspects can be distinguished: syntactic, symbolic and pragmatic. The first one in reference to the use of antique motifs concerns the ways they are articulated in a pen’s design, that is the syntax of the design’s language. The second aspect concerns the function of these motifs in symbolic communication, where the pen becomes a means of conveying intentional meanings. The last one, pragmatic, doesn’t refer to the functional roles of the item itself, but to the cultural usefulness of the antique symbolism it displays. By means of combining those three aspects of the fountain pen as a semiotic item, its designer makes it a sort of medium conveying information not only about the item itself, but also about everything it expresses in its symbolic aspect and about its functions (Sudjic 2013: 40). By implementing antique motifs, design functionally combines them with those aspects, and as a result, according to a well-known statement by McLuhan, the medium (in this case the pen) is the message. This specificity results from the fact that writing instruments are created at the meeting point of technology and various human needs, inherent in a changing cultural context (Lussato 1997: 7). The process of designing, producing, marketing, and using items is, as a result, closely connected with industry, trade and the market, with shaping identity and taste, as well as with prestige and social status (Sparke 2009: 230). Due to all these multiple and complicated determinants, the issue of the reception of antique motifs in the design of stationery cannot be examined on one ontological plane. As objects, pens are something different when they are manufactured in a factory, something different when they enter the market, and become yet another different thing in the users’ hands. This results from the fact that the work put into the pens’ manufacturing makes them objects having particular value, which in the process of market exchange gain specific, non-material features, and finally, in the hands of their owners perform various, not only utilitarian, functions (cf. Bogunia-Borowska 2003: 182-187). Pens involved in these processes, like other artefacts, successively change their ontological status. At the stage of design and manufacturing they are products, while on the market they become merchandise – that is, the means of conveying marketing meanings – while in the hands of their owners they reveal the features of functional items. In the perspective of research on the reception of the antique in functional items, these three things, product – merchandise – object, are at once three methods of embodying antique motifs in the pen’s design. The first one concerns the syntactic aspect of the design’s language, the second

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is connected with its symbolic aspect, while the third represents its pragmatic aspect. Such an understanding of design enables us to discern in the reception of the antique not merely simple expressions of particular motifs, but also the process of shaping their message in the course of successive changes to the item’s ontological status. This approach enables us to determine the role which antique borrowings play in the system of social communication which takes place by means of the very specific medium of a fountain pen. Following the above assumptions, the analysis of the reception of antique motifs in the design of fountain pens should be started with the product stage, in which a pen gains its potential ability to fulfil its various functions. It needs to be mentioned that the process of designing and manufacturing also considers the other functions of a pen apart from writing, such as: brand promotion, giving aesthetic pleasure, underscoring the owner’s status, honouring people and events, or encouraging collecting. Whether and to what extent a pen meets those requirements depends largely on the solutions adopted in design, among which references to cultural legacy, including antiquity – not only Greco-Roman ࡳ have appeared already in the first half of the 20th century. The embodiment of motifs borrowed from ancient times can concern the syntactic aspect of the reception of antique content, which can be articulated in the design in three different ways, which I subsequently call a mode of nominalisation, fabrication and ornamentation. The earliest method used was nominalisation, which consists of assuming a name of a Greek or Roman provenance by a company or in giving pen models names which associate them with antiquity. A good example of nominalization consists of the traditional Italian brands such as Nettuno, a company established in 1911 in Bologna by Umberto Vecchieti (Lussato 1997: 181), named after a Roman god of the sea, or Aurora, established in 1919 in Turin by Isaia Levi (Kurtenbach 2010: 232), making reference to the name of the goddess of the dawn. It is worth underlining that this practice differed from the earlier tradition in the American cradle of fountain pens, where they were named after the companies’ founders. Today, we can enumerate the names of such companies as Delta, established in 1982 in Naples (Lucht 2010: 268), which makes reference to the third letter of the Greek alphabet, or Stipula (Lussato 1997: 178), founded in 1991 in Florence, which means “straw” in Latin. As far as the nomenclature of particular pen models is concerned, tendencies to make references to antiquity emerged in the 1930s, an example of which may be Stilus 625 (in Latin “stylus”, but also “style”) manufactured since 1930 in Turin’s Filli Pecco factory (Ibid.: 117), or

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Asterope (in Greek mythology one of the Pleiades), manufactured since 1935 by Aurora (Ibid.: 129). Nowadays, such references abound outside the sphere of Western civilization, for example Confucius (the Latinised name of Kǂng Fnjzӿ, a Chinese philosopher from the 6th or 7th century BC) produced by Duke in Taiwan.1 As far as the articulation of those names is concerned, it needs to be stated that while companies’ logos have usually been placed on pen caps’ rings, clips or barrels, they have rarely borne the name of the particular model, which has been indicated solely on the packaging. The second way of expressing the syntactic aspect of antique reception in the design of fountain pens at the product stage is fabrication. This consists in the conscious use of materials utilised in antiquity and ancient decorative techniques. In 1925, Ryosuke Namiki, the founder of the Japanese company Pilot, patented a method of protecting a pen’s ebonite barrel from oxidation by covering it with a layer of lacquer, a resin of the Rus verniciflua tree (Borkowski 2010: 410). This technique, called in Japan urushi, was widely implemented in Japan in the Heian period, often combined with pearl overlay (raden) or a decoration using powder made of noble metals (makie-e). Nowadays, this method is still implemented in the production of pens of such brands as Pilot-Namiki, Sailor or Nakaya, which consciously refer to its ancient origin. Similarly, Platinum in Tokyo uses in its Yaku-Sugi series wood from thousand-year-old cedar trees from Yakushima island,2 and Visconti manufactures in Florence its Homo sapiens model using Vesuvius lava.3 This way, both ancient technologies and old materials used in the process of fabrication make pens appear as quasi antique objects. The third method of embodying antique content in pen design is ornamentation, consisting of the decorative use of signs and symbols drawn from the legacy of ancient cultures. Regarding their nature and ways of articulation, I would divide this sort of motif into: stereometric, iconographic and additive. In the syntactic aspect of design, ornamentation is the most recognizable strategy of using the antique in design, as it most often refers to the repertoire of ancient things domesticated in popular culture. Among those cultural signs, stereometric motifs are articulated by means of giving pens shapes resembling the spatial forms of various ancient objects. A good example of this is Doric, produced since 1931 by the American company Wahl Eversharp, which has twelve faceted sides, owing to which it brings to mind a Doric column (Geyer 2010: 458). Nowadays, Stipula has adopted a similar approach and has shaped the barrel of its Etruria pen as a slim Etruscan amphora.4 These motifs in the

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syntactics of the design language concern the pen’s construction and need to be analyzed in the context of production technology. Their articulation in the design influences the functional qualities of an object, which in a rational design shouldn’t be subjected to the symbolic expression of a pen. Another type of antique ornamentation is the iconographic motif derived from the repertoire of antique symbols and cultural signs. In the designs, they are most often articulated in the form of tiny structural elements, such as the clips or rings strengthening pen caps, and decorations on the barrels. A good example is the motif of a meander, which is easily recognizable as a graphic sign associated with ancient Greece, owing to its characteristic shape. It appeared in pen ornamentation in the 1920s and is still used in contemporary stationery. It was implemented for the first time by the American company Wahl Evershap, which engraved it on the ring of a Personal Point pen cap, which has been produced since 1929 (Lussato 1997: 119). An early example using this motif is another model, Etiopia, introduced by Aurora in 1936. This pen was meant to commemorate the conquest of Abyssinia by Mussolini’s army, which is why its barrel showcases a Roman legionary eagle, a symbol broadly used by fascist visual propaganda (Ibid.: 133). Today, when some companies abandon modernist stylistics in stationery design, we can notice the phenomenon of creating whole antique decorative programs for fountain pens, which display truly baroque ornamentation. This is a sign of immoderate consumerism, which manifests itself in the manufacture of luxurious goods of scanty practical usefulness, which are designed to have mainly symbolic and prestigious function. A good example here is a limited edition of only fifty pens by Omas called Ellas, which are meant to be a tribute to Greek art. Their design combines geometric motifs known from black-figured Greek vases which cover the barrel and a cap with golden applications depicting sculptures of Greek gods, heroes and architectural details.5 One can easily notice here a combination typical for postmodernism of elements of historical styles taken out of the context, used to achieve an effect of surprise and to disturb the aesthetic cohesion of the design. Additive motifs, less frequently used in pen design, are part of the same postmodern stylistics. They include various types of supplements to writing instruments which aren’t connected in any way with their practical function, but are surprising or amusing gadgets. In the syntactics of the fountain pen, they refer to the symbolic aspect of the design’s language and constitute a manifestation of the change of a writing instrument into a luxurious toy. Antique motifs used in this function are subject to postmodern redefinition, becoming a part of the ludic nature of popular

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culture. For instance, the savivon (in Yiddish dreidel) has such a character, which is a Hanukkah spinning top, hidden in the barrel of a pen of the same name produced since the beginning of the decade by Delta.6 This item has its roots in the cultural and religious traditions of ancient Israel and is connected with practices dating back to the Greco-Roman era and the occupation of Palestine (Polski Sáownik Judaistyczny, http://www. jhi.pl/psj/drejdl). According to the legend, when rabbis were teaching children the forbidden Torah, in case of danger they hid the holy books and to avoid discovery gave their pupils the savivon to play with in order to mislead their persecutors. The three ways of embodying antique content discussed above, nominalization, fabrication and ornamentation, define its decorative syntactics, and therefore determine the status of a pen as a product. However, they reveal their semantic potential only when a pen becomes an item of merchandise and a subject of the marketing and advertising processes. On the market it loses its status as an item and becomes a type of complex sign, whose semiotics refers to its signified reality. Free from its product form, it gains the ability to play a role in the era of consumption as a magical product of both market and media. The meaning of antique motifs articulated in the pen’s design is updated, conveying marketing and advertising content. In this way, an image of the pen as merchandise is born in the imagination of potential buyers, which is only a promise included in its symbolism. This leads to the manipulation of consumers’ needs, who don’t buy the item but its mythologised meanings. The easiest way to describe giving meanings to antique motifs in the marketing and advertising processes is by showing the process of updating their semantic potential comprised in a pen at the stage of product. Among the numerous examples of sign updating created as a result of nominalization, one can point at the marketing and advertising use of its brand name by Aurora, which refers to the dawn goddess and brings to mind associations with the daybreak and the dawn’s early light. As was mentioned before, the company was founded soon after the end of World War I in Italy, a poor and ruined country, which was however coming back to normal life. In this context, naming the company Aurora was a reference to hoping for a better life and, on the wave of post-war enthusiasm, was supposed to encourage consumers to buy luxurious and expensive goods, which at the time fountain pens were. On the other hand, different emotions are connected with the name of the company from Florence, Stipula. This word, signifying a “stalk” or “straw” in Latin (cf. Stipula, [in] Sáownik áaciĔsko-polski, vol. V, 1979: 218), makes reference to the Roman tradition of confirming deals by breaking a branch or a

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straw. This is why in contemporary Italian the word “stipulare” signifies signing a final agreement in front of a notary (cf. Stipulare, [in] Soja, Zawadzka, Zawadzki 1989: 333). The marketing of Stipula pens uses these associations as an excellent recommendation of their solidity and reliability, encouraging consumers to buy them despite their high price. Moreover, antique motifs distinguished according to the means of fabrication create huge possibilities for giving them desired meanings in the marketing process. An early example of this phenomenon is the first celluloid pen, produced in 1924 by the American company Shaeffer, known as Lifetime Jade Green (Lucht 2010: 432). The material of which it was manufactured can take any colour, unlike ebonite, which enabled its producer to give it the colour of green jade (Lussato 1997: 28). The aim was to make the impression of using a precious material for the production of the pen, associated with a favourite stone of the ancient Chinese. This was the time when the Art Deco style flourished, inspired both by antique and exotic art (Kozina 2013: 27); therefore, using a material imitating ancient Chinese jade was supposed to encourage consumers following the newest trends to buy it. Wishing to appear more snobbish, Shaeffer even changed the name of celluloid to hide its modest origin by referring to it under the commercial name of “radite”. Ryosuke Namiki, the already mentioned founder of the Japanese company Pilot, aiming at giving a truly antique value to his urushi pens, co-operated with Ganroku Matsuda, a master of lacquer painting, who decorated them using the ancient techniques maie-e and wajima (Borkowski 2010: 410). Alfred H. Dunhill, delighted with these works, started distributing them in Europe, where, on a wave of fascination with the Orient and exotics, Dunhill-Namiki pens achieved great success at Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels in Paris in 1925 (Kurtenbach 2010: 272-274). A yet-more complex issue is giving market meanings to antique motifs which belong to the type of signs embodied in pen design owing to ornamentation. Nowadays, this is achieved by means of marketing and advertisements referring to popular ideas and associations with antiquity, shaped by popular culture and media. It can be well illustrated by the example of the Spartacus model by the Italian brand, Tibaldi. Postmodern stylistics made it appear more like a gallery of paintings and low reliefs depicting gladiator fights, rather than a writing instrument. The pen cap is decorated with hand-painted miniatures by Lorenzo Staffi, showcasing silver sculptures of fights, while the top of the pen is decorated with a clip in the form of a Roman sword and imperial eagle. The main idea of this iconographic program is explained in the promotional materials which accompany the pen. It says: “The legend of Spartacus was born a long

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time ago, but it is still relevant due to its peculiarity. Tibaldi has the pleasure to introduce a series of pens which are not only a tribute to him, but also to a great tradition of gladiators, created thanks to his indomitable spirit”. In order to finally encourage potential consumers to buy this stationery curiosum, the producer makes reference to the Hollywood film by Stanley Kubrick, Spartacus, from 1960, starring Kirk Douglas. 7 In the end, all marketing and advertising actions have one goal: to transform people who have free will into consumers – seemingly conscious purchasers, but in reality dreamers, who allow myths to seduce them. As a result, pens-as-merchandise become, in their hands, pens-asitems, fetishes, thanks to which seductive narrations of the world of consumption expand their Machiavellian intentions to the end users (Bogunia-Borowska 2003: 237-238). The postmodern reduction of human into consumer unavoidably leads to treating them as an object, but this thought would direct our reflections on the pragmatic aspect of the reception of antiquity in design towards completely different topics, worthy of separate examination. To conclude, let me mention that the richness of antique motifs, their diversity and the deep symbolism embodied in design nowadays make fountain pens more and more symbolic items. The more symbolic roles they play, the less they are considered as writing instruments. Perhaps Devan Sudjic, director of the Design Museum, is right when stating that: “Some objects are more unnecessary than others. The mechanical wristwatch stills keeps it prestige, but the fountain pen loses the appeal which it enjoyed in the past” (Sudjic 2013: 109).

Bibliography Bogunia-Borowska, Maágorzata. “Dylemat drugi: konsumpcja”. In Bogunia-Borowska, Maágorzata and Marta ĝleboda, Globalizacja i konsumpcja. Dwa dylematy wspóáczesnoĞci, 182-187. Kraków: Towarzystwo Autorów i Wydawców Prac Naukowych “Universitas”, 2003. Borkowski, J. “Pilot Namiki”. In Il grande libro delle penne, edited by Barbro Garenfeld. Milano: Gribaudo, 2010. Geyer D. “Wahl Eversharp” In Il grande libro delle penne, edited by Barbro Garenfeld. Milano: Gribaudo, 2010. Kozina, Irma. Art déco. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo SBM, 2013. Kurtenbach, Ch. “Aurora”. In Il grande libro delle penne, edited by Barbro Garenfeld. Milano: Gribaudo, 2010.

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Lucht, S. “Delta”. In Il grande libro delle penne, edited by Barbro Garenfeld. Milano: Gribaudo, 2010. Lussato, Bruno. “Introduzione”. In Penne stilografiche: storia, design, collezionismo, edited by Giuseppe Fichera and Giorgio Dragoni. Milano: Mondadori, 1997. Miller, Judith. 20th century design: the definitive illustrated sourcebook. London: Miller’s; New York, N.Y.: Octopus Books, 2009. Polski Sáownik Judaistyczny, ĩydowski Instytut Historyczny im. Emanuela Rigelbluma. Accessed August 28, 2014. http://www.jhi.pl/psj. Sáownik áaciĔsko-polski. Vol. 5. Edited by Marian Plezia. Warszawa: PaĔstwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1979. Soja, Stanisáaw, Celeste Zawadzka and Zbigniew Zawadzki. Maáy sáownik wáosko-polski, polsko-wáoski. Warszawa: Wiedza Powszechna, 1989. Sparke, Penny. The Genius of Design. London: Quadrille, 2009. Sudjic, Deyan. JĊzyk rzeczy. Dizajn i luksus, moda, sztuka. W jaki sposób przedmioty nas uwodzą? Translated by A. Puchejda. Kraków: Wydawnictwo Karakter, 2013. ĩóákiewski, Stefan. Wiedza o kulturze literackiej. Gáówne pojĊcia, Warszawa: Wiedza Powszechna, 1985.

Notes 1

www.dukepen.eu. Accessed August 28, 2014. www.platinum-pen.co.jp. Accessed August 28, 2014. 3 www.visconti.it. Accessed August 28, 2014. 4 www.stipula.com. Accessed August 28, 2014. 5 www.omas.com. Accessed August 28, 2014. 6 www.deltapen.it. Accessed August 28, 2014. 7 www.tibaldi.it. Accessed August 28, 2014. 2

ANCIENT TOPICS IN ANTI-NAPOLEONIC CARICATURE (1796-1821)1 AGNIESZKA FULIēSKA JAGIELLONIAN UNIVERSITY

Abstract: The official propaganda of the French Republic, Consulate and Empire abounded in classical motifs and themes. One would expect, therefore, that the response to such a public image would be full of ancient allusions as well, but this is not the case: caricatures alluding in any way to classical antiquity are relatively rare. Moreover, they seem to be evoked quite randomly, and not always with all the possible connotations taken into account. In this paper occurrences of such topics in the anti-Napoleonic satirical cartoons from Britain, France and Germany are discussed, together with the reasons for the small number of representations exploiting the motifs otherwise extremely popular in the period.

It would be trivial to state that the 18th century, with its enlightened and neoclassical movements, based its official imagery of power on the ancient models as had been the earlier tradition, if not to the same extent. The great kings of France, Henri IV and Louis XIV, were very frequently represented in the costume of ancient gods, heroes or historical figures (see e.g. Bardon 1974: passim; Burke 1994: 127 and passim), and 18th century enlightened absolutist monarchs would eagerly portray themselves in such costumes as well. Finally, the revolutionary movements from the American War of Independence to the French Revolution would incorporate a number of ancient motifs, topics and subjects in their political rhetoric and visual representations. This tendency was inherited in France by the Consulate and Empire, whose very names, together with the Republic, point at the conscious emulation of ancient Rome. Both official and popular imagery of Napoleon Bonaparte, in all his capacities ever since he appeared with force on the military and political scenes, abounded in classical imagery. The comparisons to the great leaders of antiquity – Caesar, Hannibal, Scipio, and Alexander – were commonplace during the Italian and Egyptian campaigns of young Bonaparte as well as during the wars of 1800-1815, but after the coup

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d’état of 18 Brumaire, Augustus became the role model for the attempts at creating a pan-European empire and introducing the pax Napoleonica. The tell-tale evidence for such comparisons throughout the Napoleonic period is the eulogistic poetry and medallic production, both official and spontaneous, which employ these topics in abundance; also, Napoleon’s own enunciations and bulletins, as well as the memories dictated during the exile years (1815-1821), bear witness to the purposeful exploitation of such topics. The visual arts, especially those that easily served the purpose of propagating political and social ideas, were also to a great extent based on classical models, as far as imagery and ideas conveyed are concerned. In the years 1802-1814, Antonio Canova sculpted a series of portraits of the various members of the Bonaparte family, some of them in ancient costume: Napoleon as Mars the Peacemaker, Madame Mère (Letizia Bonaparte) as Cornelia, Pauline Borghese as Venus Victrix, Alexandrine de Bleschamp (Lucien Bonaparte’s second wife) as Terpsichore, and eventually the empress Marie-Louise as Concordia – each of these works of art a clear political message. After 1815, the Napoleonic legend employed ancient motifs with the same fervour, and the Second Empire eagerly evoked them in order to present political and dynastic continuity. One might, therefore, expect that this omnipresence of ancient motifs should produce a counter effect, and the anti-Napoleonic propaganda, which was flooding Europe from the very beginning of Bonaparte’s career, should exploit the same topics, turning them into grotesques and caricatures. Nonetheless, such topics had not won great popularity. In the present paper, their presence in pictorial caricature and selected texts will be discussed. *** Caricature is often regarded as the most powerful weapon that the British launched against Napoleon, and it is not surprising that it flourished in the country where the traditions of political satire were particularly rich (Benoit 1996: 8-9), and where the opposition against both French revolutionary ideas and then the reign of Napoleon as Consul and Emperor was the strongest, at least partly due to the fact that Britain was France’s main economic rival. French and German anti-Napoleonic caricature was not so abundant before the year 1813; the Russian production is still the least known due to the lack of publications or even catalogues of collections2, and the same applies to other countries whose satirical production is usually treated at best marginally in publications. Therefore, the British corpus is the largest and should serve as the point of

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comparison for others, especially given that English images were also often reproduced or imitated in other countries.

Britain The first pieces of anti-Napoleonic visual propaganda known to us appeared in Britain very early: during the first Italian campaign of 17961797, which was the first great success of the young general in military and diplomatic terms, but also a masterpiece of self-presentation. The proclamations to the troops issued by the general in chief of the Army of Italy employed the comparison of the French troops to the Roman legions, of the Republican government to Brutus, conqueror of Tarquinius, and of the generals to Scipio Africanus, Caesar and Alexander (FuliĔska 2013). Medals struck in that period, mostly by private entrepreneurs, exploited ancient topics as well, while panegyric poems abounded in comparisons to Caesar, Hannibal, and Scipio3. And yet the earliest caricatures were generic: they operated on the basest and most vulgar associations, as if their only purpose had been to blacken their object in a way that would appeal to a very wide and not necessarily educated public (the average “John Bull”), which probably was the case. They usually present the typical “abominable revolutionary”4, devoid of the classical allusions so important for the self-presentation of the Republican elites (the exception being the Phrygian cap, which, however, for the general public had by that time become the symbol of revolution rather than an ancient prop, despite its ideological and iconographic origins). Bonaparte is depicted either as the bogeyman (“The French Bugaboo Frightening the Royal Commanders”; I. Cruikshank, Apr. 14, 1797; BMSat 9005) riding the dragon, or the rude upstart and nouveauriche (“Buonaparte at Rome giving Audience of State”; I. Cruikshank, Mar. 12, 1797; BMSat 8997). Noteworthy, in the circumstances of the conflict between revolutionary France and the Papal state, the Italian campaign and the peace of Tolentino, is that English publishers decided to defend and support their ages-long enemy, the Papacy. As far as British caricature, which presents the largest corpus, is concerned, the tendency for producing generic images of an overambitious brigand, tyrant or devil incarnated in numerous threatening, comical or vulgar situations would persevere5, and the images would employ classical motifs relatively rarely: among hundreds of drawings by the most prolific English caricaturists, Isaac and George Cruikshank, James Gillray and Thomas Rowlandson, only a handful features any kind of ancient elements6. Moreover, in most cases these motifs appear without

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any particular deeper meaning, their function decorative or generic (i.e. that of costumes or props) rather than ideological or intellectual (i.e. that of telling a story through iconography). It is noteworthy that the British would on occasion use comparisons to the “bad guys” of their own history or culture, such as Oliver Cromwell (see Semmel 2004: 32; cf. the anonymous poem The Bonaparteid of 1816, p. 15), Guy Fawkes (GrandCarteret 1895: 18) or Macheath (BMSat 10102). However, the favourite topic of British caricaturists, at least since 1798, was the confrontation between John Bull personifying England and the “petit Boney” represented as a miniature man (often as Gulliver in the land of Brobdingnag, with George III as its king; e.g. BMSat 10019 and 10227) prone to uncontrollable anger, the Corsican ogre, bloodhound, ape or spider, and numerous other derogatory figures7. The repertoire of cultural allusions in caricature does include frequent Biblical topics, in which Napoleon is most frequently portrayed as the beast of the Apocalypse or the disguised devil (Grand-Carteret 1895: 33), a topic also popular in literary propaganda8. In the case of early British satirical production, classical motifs had been aimed at the Republican topics rather than Napoleon himself9. The exception is “Buonaparte the modern Alexander on his journey round the world” (R. Newton, 1797; De Vinck 6917), which nonetheless presents a hardly sophisticated concept, the image being of the generic revolutionary “bugaboo” of the aforementioned type10, and only the caption alluding to Alexander’s conquests and insatiable appetites. The year 1803 (with the breaking of the Treaty of Amiens by England in May) produced two interesting, and certainly of the best artistic quality, British antiNapoleonic images, both by J. S. Barth after the design of John Boyne, and both related to Alexander the Great. The “Gallic Idol” (Aug. 20, 1803; BMSat 10070) is a portrait bust in profile, resembling the typical modern representations of Alexander rather than the Roman Emperors (cf. the helmet, the intense gaze and longish hair, reminiscent in the first place of the Alexander from the 17th century paintings of Charles Le Brun, but also of some Roman sculpted portraits of the Macedonian). The bust is shaped like the arrangements of ancient sculptures popular in 17th and 18th century cabinets, with modern additions of marble or porphyry “fabric” around the visible part of the torso, from under which a skeletal body appears. The only pictorial element is actually the bust, so one has to assume that the comparison itself, reflecting the official image in France, points at insatiable ambitions of conquest; the words “invasion, rapine, lust, murder”, which surround the head emerging from snake mouths (the snakes form the ribbons of the laurel wreath that decorates the helmet),

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emphasize the message. Iconographically, the traditional imagery of Alexander, based on Plutarch’s remarks concerning ancient portraits of the king, and especially the expressive eyes (Plut. De Alex. fort. 2.2), comes in very handy for the image of Napoleon promoted by British satire: bulging eyes, giving the air of madness, are one of the most common features of “Boney”. The deification of Alexander in the Hellenistic and Roman periods may be one of the reasons for calling this representation a French “idol”. From the ideological point of view, “A Sacrifice to Ambition” (J. S. Barth after John Boyne; Dec. 12, 1803; Broadley 1911: 208), which depicts Napoleon in the ancient costume of a legionary officer or emperor, performing a sacrifice before an altar decorated with skulls, can be treated as complementary to the previous one. The meaning of both these images is not very deep, and antiquity serves as little more than the costume, but one may wonder if in both cases what had been intended to be read in these representations was the idea of hubris. One of the modes of perception of the figure of Alexander ever since Roman times had been that of an overambitious king who fell prey to his divine pretensions (see e.g. Sen. Ben. 1.13.1-3); the title of the second image clearly makes use of this notion. To call upon the negative image of Alexander may have been particularly important for Napoleon’s critics, because English supporters would gladly compare him to the Macedonian king: “the greatest man that events have called into action since Alexander of Macedon” (Robert Southey, Feb. 1800; quoted after Semmel 2004: 24); similarly, Charles James Fox declared in 1800 that Napoleon “surpassed Alexander and Caesar” (Mitchell 1992: 167). In 1803, such views were countered apart from pictorial satire, as in the pamphlet published in Edinburgh, Rassurez Vous; or the Improbability of an Invasion and the Impossibility of Its Success Demonstrated, which labelled Alexander and Caesar bad men, but also stated that, compared to them, even in wrongdoings, “the Consul of France is as a pigmy to a giant” (cf. Semmel 2004: 32). Among the most interesting cases of British caricature employing ancient themes is the anonymous drawing from 1807 (“The Modern Atlas asking a favour of John Bull”; Grand-Carteret 1895: cat. No. 185), presenting Napoleon carrying the globe on his shoulder, and asking Hercules (John Bull) to help him support the conquered world by means of filling the cracks in the globe with British possessions. The image is loosely connected with the story of the golden apples, and the main aim of its employment seems to be the comparison of Britain to Hercules, the strongest of all heroes of antiquity, whose main activity consisted of freeing people from monsters. Bonaparte as Atlas is of minor importance

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in this picture; the story as such, however, could be counted upon to be remembered by the author’s public. The treacherous nature of the titan who tricked Hercules into taking his job of supporting heaven would fit the image of Napoleon that the English satire propagated, especially that in the end Hercules out-tricked Atlas. Another appearance of Atlas in British anti-Napoleonic caricature is the “Grasp All Lose All – Atlas enraged – or the punishment of unqalifed [sic!] ambition” (anonymous; Dec. 1, 1813; BMSat 12107), in which the titan throws the globe on the raging Napoleon11. Also worthy of interest is the employment of one of the most wellknown fables of Aesop in the caricature of Louis Bonaparte on the occasion of his ascension to the throne of Holland (“Jupiter Bonney granting unto the Dutch Frogs a King”; S. Knight, June 26, 1806; BMSat 10581). Napoleon is portrayed as Zeus/Jupiter seated on an eagle, with Talleyrand as a contemptuous Ganymede at his side, while King Louis in the shape of a stork flies down towards the Dutch assembled around a log with a human face resembling William of Orange. The text accompanying the picture points at the source of the imagery, as drawn from modern adaptations12, and the fable is summarized in the speeches of the personages, but one may wonder whether the authors expected the public to know the meaning of the text as it had been perceived in the modern era, i.e. the Peisistratid tyranny in Athens. Even if this meaning had been unintelligible for the general reader, the direct allusion was clear. Interestingly, this caricature, like numerous others which do not allude to classical themes and therefore are not discussed in this paper, shows one more interesting aspect, i.e. the attitude of the British towards not only Napoleon and France, but also towards other nations: the Dutch are portrayed stereotypically, as fat and dull bourgeois13. Another caricature which makes a relatively educated allusion to ancient literature is “The parting of Hector-Nap and Andromache or Russia threatened” (anonymous14; 1813; BMSat 12034). This particular image is the only one to portray Napoleon as one of the most widely admired characters from ancient literature – the unambiguously positive, tragic hero. The subject, which in earlier and contemporary art had been perceived as noble and sublime, is of course ridiculed and shown in a grotesque way here; the exaggerated characters belong to parody and farce rather than tragedy. One of the elements of the not very tasteful ridicule can be the fact that Napoleon and Marie-Louise’s marriage was one of convenience, while the relationship of Hector and Andromache had been regarded by art and literature as one of the models of ideal marital love. The scene, which traditionally had been lyrical and tragic at the same time,

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is here transformed into a scene between grotesque Hogarthish characters, which corresponds with the general image of Napoleon as upstart and a bloodthirsty boor so popular in British caricature. The little King of Rome/Astyanax is portrayed as a belligerent boy, and even Marie-Louise of Austria is not spared: she encourages both her husband and son to killing and tyranny. The antiquity-related satirical expression of this image is enhanced by the words spoken by Napoleon: “I go! I’ll see! I’ll conquer!”, which by April 1813, when the caricature was published, had received a highly ironical meaning. The exile to St. Helena brings a small number of relatively interesting images and topics. A caricature by George Cruikshank, dated to September 1815 (the second table of the tripartite sequence; BMSat 12608), exploits the Emperor’s own ancient allusion, made in the letter sent to the Prince Regent after the abdication, by putting these words in Napoleon’s mouth when speaking to John Bull from the stern of the Bellerophon: “My most powerful & most generous enemy, how do you do? I come like Themistocles to seat myself upon your hearth – I am very glad to see you.”15 John Bull sneers at this comparison in his answer: “So am I glad to see you Mr Boney but I’ll be d[amne]d16 if you sit upon my hearth or any part of my house – it has cost me a pretty round sum to catch you Mr Themistocles, as you call yourself; but now I have got you I’ll take care of you.” Among other noteworthy ancient allusions in pictorial satire during the exile years, one should mention the image that combines references to a particularly interesting variety of earlier works, the “Boney’s meditations on the island of St. Helena – or – The Devil Addressing the Sun. Paradise Lost Book IV” (G. Cruikshank, Aug. 1815; BMSat 12593)17. It not only employs the image from Milton, but also repeats the satirical pattern from 1782 when James Gillray portrayed in the very same way Charles James Fox, British secretary of foreign affairs and leader of the House of Commons, criticized by the conservative publicists for his revolutionary sympathies towards both America and France (“Gloria Mundi, or – the Devil addressing the Sun”; see Patten 1992: 115; NPG D12310). In both cases the sun towards which the main character turns has the face of King George III. The main difference, however, is that while Fox stands upon a roulette table placed over the globe, Napoleon stands astride rocks resembling the shape of St. Helena in a pose reminiscent of that of the Colossus of Rhodes, as it had been reconstructed in the 18th and 19th centuries. Apart from being one of the wonders of the ancient world, the Colossus had become the symbol of short-lived fame and glory, easily destroyed by a disaster18, which corresponds with the recurring topic of

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anti-Napoleonic propaganda, loosely connected with classical antiquity due to the origins of the myth, first recorded by Herodotus in the 5th century BC, i.e. that of the phoenix. The Colossus had actually made his first appearance in the time of Bonaparte’s Egyptian campaign (“Destruction of the French Colossus”; J. Gillray, 1798; BMSat 9260), where the statue, decorated with the symbols of the French Revolution, and with his two feet on Europe and Egypt, crumbles into pieces in an allegorical representation of the destruction of the French fleet by Nelson in the battle of Aboukir. Much as the Colossus seems to be the metaphor of the ultimate vanquishing, the “Corsican phoenix” had been the symbol of Napoleon as the indomitable and indestructible enemy who would rise from the ashes. The association of the rebirth with fire was being used in the first place to show Napoleon as the tyrant who burns the whole world in order to thrive and revive himself, as in “The Apotheosis of the Corsican Phoenix” (J. Gillray, 1808; BMSat 11007). Another image employing this topic was “The mock phoenix!!! Or a vain attempt to rise again”, published after the battle of Leipzig (T. Rowlandson; Dec. 1813; BMSat 12116), and quite naturally the motif reappeared during the exile to Elba and the Hundred Days. One of these images (anonymous, Apr. 1815 (?); BMSat 12535) shows a profile bust of Napoleon rising from the flames, and the composition bears some traits of “hieroglyphic prints”: it is composed of meaningful elements that form a complex picture; in the case in question, various animals (serpent, cock, leopard) take the place of various parts of dress (epaulet, mantle, etc.), and at the same time symbolize the vices associated by British propaganda with the Emperor of the French. The other phoenix caricature from this period (“The Phenix [sic!] of Elba resuscitated by Treason”; G. Cruikshank, 1815; BMSat 12537) is probably the most interesting of this group from the point of view of the present paper, because more prominent than the phoenix theme is the general situation in which it is presented. Apart from relating to generic witchcraft it can possibly hint at the myth of Medea (a treacherous barbarian sorceress from the classical sources), or, more precisely, with her ability to rejuvenate people by a magic ritual performed with the use of the cauldron, as in the picture19. Above the cauldron, from which the bird with Napoleon’s face emerges, uttering the phrase “Veni Vidi Vici”, hovers winged Fate with a balance (on the scales are the imperial insignia vs. the noose and the guillotine). One more use of ancient reference is worth mentioning with more than a cursory commentary: the caricature mocking the numerous official and semi-official depictions of Napoleon’s coronation and the ceremony itself

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(“The Grand Coronation Procession of Napoleone the 1st, Emperor of France, from the Church of Notre Dame, Dec. 2d 1804”; J. Gillray, 1805; BMSat 10362). Its setting is entirely modern, and alluding most likely to the popular prints and drawings which must have circulated in Europe following the coronation, or even to a generic representation of such a procession, rather than to any of the famous paintings on the topic20. Two things in this image are, however, interesting from the point of view of the present paper. Firstly, Napoleon’s sister Pauline and his two sisters-in-law, Hortense and Julie21, are represented as the dancing Graces in the arrangement reminiscent of the famous Hellenistic group and possibly also of the composition by Antonio Canova22. This comparison, which could otherwise be flattering, adds to the lack of dignity present in the whole depiction and presentation of the characters. The other ancient element takes the central place in the composition: over the heads of Napoleon and Joséphine on a crimson canopy are inscribed the words “redeunt Satania regna, Jam nova progenies coelo demittitur alto!”, a clear paraphrase of Virgil’s Eclogue 423, but also an apparent mockery of the Augustan mode in which the Consulate (i.e. Republic) had been transformed into the Empire. This element can also mock the general mood of the official eulogistic poetry in France, which would praise the Consulate and Empire in ways resembling both Virgil’s Eclogue 4 and Horace’s Carmen saeculare (e.g. the text of Étienne Méhul’s Chant national du 14 juillet 1800), and it also alludes to the aforementioned Apocalyptic theme of the propaganda. Napoleon’s fall inspired the cartoonists, as well as writers, to employ one more classical topic: the myth of Prometheus. The heroic titan, punished for his hubris by the gods, and in both aspects admired by the Romantics, gained association with the fallen Emperor during his exile to St. Helena, often nicknamed “the rock” in the texts of the period. This Romantic perception of Napoleon, and even the exile to St. Helena, was preceded by three of George Cruikshank’s cartoons. “The Prophecy or the Devil will have his Due at last” (1813; De Vinck 8787) is a rather crude and literal rendition of the chaining of Napoleon to the rock by the allied powers, with the eagle attacking his heart; “The downfal [sic!] of Tyranny & return of peace” (1814; BMSat 12251) is more of an allusion to the topic: Napoleon is being chained to the rock by the devil, while Justice advances towards him, and Peace and Plenty bless the earth in the presence of the enthroned Britannia. “The Modern Prometheus, or Downfall of Tyranny” (1814; BMSat 12299), however, proposes the allegorical treatment of the same subject. It shows Napoleon chained to a rock, with the eagle tearing at his body, and Justice showing him the

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scales, on which the Bourbon crown outweighs the republican and imperial insignia. In the background, personifications of peace and abundance reside over the globe24. The identity of the caption with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein’s subtitle is incidental, but not long after Cruikshank’s employment of this topic for his satirical cartoons the tide of the perception of Napoleon in Britain was about to change, and the Promethean association to become far more ambiguous25. On the whole, the ancient elements chosen for the British caricatures seem random, and are rarely recurrent; Atlas, Prometheus and the phoenix, as well as the phrase “Veni vidi vici”26, being the exceptions, but not necessarily systematic. A relatively large number of incidental motifs fall into the category that has been labelled in this paper as decorative. In this group one must include such images as the caricature showing the scientists besieged on top of the Column of Pompey during the Egyptian campaign (“Siege de la Colonne de Pompée – Science in the pillory”; J. Gillray, 1799; BMSat 9352); the winged Fame (resembling by the arrangement the expected Victory) expelling Napoleon from Egypt (“Bonaparte leaving Egypt”; J. Gillray, 1800; BMSat 9523); the shield and spear of “The Genius of France nursing her darling” (J. Gillray, 1804; BMSat 10284); the erotes in the background of the famous caricature entitled “Ci-devant occupations – or – Madame Talian [sic!] and the Empress Josephine Dancing Naked before Barrass [sic!] in the Winter of 1797 – a fact!” (J. Gillray, Feb. 20, 1805; BMSat 10369); the use of the Latin phrase in the caricature on life on Elba (“Otium cum dignitate, or a view of Elba”; G. Cruikshank, May 1, 1814; BM Sat 12255); and the mock “triumphal pillar” in one of the caricatures on the return from Elba (G. Cruikshank, May 12, 1815; BMSat 12541). Even “The Departure of Apollo & the Muses, or Farewell to Paris” (I. Sidebotham, Oct. 1814 (?); BMSat 12619), which abounds in “ancient” images of the works of art being returned to Italy and other countries, can hardly be regarded as an ancient topic par excellence. Obviously, in order to comprehend fully these elements and their function in the pictures, some level of cultural competence was required from the public, but their message was intelligible without proper interpretation of the details, while the caricatures that have been described here as examples of the “educated” use of ancient topics demanded better knowledge of their classical context, otherwise their meaning would be lost on the reader. In order, however, to reach a broad public, they were usually accompanied by textual explanation, either in extensive speeches by the depicted characters, or by additional captions, the trademark of British cartoons.

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France Ancient themes in cartoons produced in countries other than England are not numerous either, although given that the French anti-Napoleonic caricature flourished mostly in the short period of 1813-15 (Benoit 1996: 10), the proportions seem to be in favour of such topics in France to a greater extent than in other countries27. In many cases, however, their meaning and function are superficial; for instance, the personifications of war, discord and misery in the French “Sujet allégorique [Bonaparte fuit de l’ile [sic!] d’Elbe et ramène à sa suite la discorde, la guerre et la misère; la mort qui le precede se livre à allégresse]” (181528; De Vinck 9406) relate iconographically to antiquity, but to an even greater extent to the modern neoclassical tendency of representing personifications in ancient costume. Slightly more sophisticated is the imagery of “Le génie de la France renversant le grand éteignoir imperial” (Aug. 4, 1815; Hennin 13783), which employs attributes of prosperity, abundance, agriculture and trade (ears of corn, fruit baskets, the caduceus), often known already in antiquity. Also the allegorical personages in this picture allude to classical imagery: the naked genius (male, unlike in most British caricatures) and the personification of French monarchy are shown in poses known both from ancient models and neoclassical art, including Napoleon’s own propaganda. A rare depiction of Napoleon himself in the ancient costume appears in the cartoon dated to late 1813 (after Leipzig) with the caption “Charlemagne II vainqueur dans la course” (Arenenberg 337). The fleeing Napoleon wears a Greco-Roman style armour combined with modern boots and hat; ancient motifs are complemented by the personification of the Rhine, emerging from the river, as Napoleon leaps over it. As far as imagery and educated allusions are concerned, of major interest is the caricature “Le grand Dardanus et ses Capitaines de recrutement” (1813/1814 (?); De Vinck 9315), which is aimed not directly at Napoleon, but at one of his closest associates ever since the coup d’état of the 18 Brumaire, Jean-Jacques-Régis de Cambacérès, the former Second Consul and the main author of the code of laws. This image, far more vulgar than most French caricatures29, attacks in the first place the well-known homosexuality of Cambacérès, presenting him as the obese glutton admiring the beautiful body of a young conscript. That homosexuality, apart from the gluttony symbolized by omnipresent cutlery in decoration, is one of the main accusations made by this royalist caricature, and is emphasized by the presence of the busts of Hadrian and Antinous on the pilasters in the background.

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The title of the image in question, together with the whole setting, clearly relates to antiquity, but its meaning is not entirely clear. The catalogue of the Arenenberg collection (Mathis et al. 1998: cat. No. 204) suggests that the Dardanus mentioned in the caption is Claudius Posthumus Dardanus, the early 5th-century Roman prefect of Gaul, and describes the latter as “the dissolute Roman prefect of Southern Gaul, homeland of Cambacérès”. However, since there is no source given for such an assessment of Dardanus’ character30, it may be worthwhile looking for other interpretive possibilities31. The other Dardanus which comes to mind is obviously the mythical hero, son of Zeus and one of the Pleiades, Electra, or their grandson, whose father would be Corythus, eponym of one of the Etruscan cities32. In the Virgilian version33 Dardanus was a Tyrrhenian prince, and this location could serve as an allusion to Cambacérès’ imperial title of the Duke of Parma. Some value can be added to such association by the fact that Napoleon’s native Corsica is an island on the Tyrrhenian sea. The intelligent use of ancient allusions is made in the cartoon “T[alma] donnant une leçon de Grâce et de Dignité Impériale” (1814/15; De Vinck 7959). Napoleon, short and clumsy, as in many British caricatures, is contrasted with the pose full of dignity of the greatest actor of the age, François-Joseph Talma, who indeed had been the coach for Napoleon in matters of gait and posture before the coronation. Talma debuted in the Comédie Française in Voltaire’s Brutus and Mort de César shortly before the Revolution, and in the 1790s became friends with the young Bonaparte, who in 1799 nominated him “le comédien préféré”; the friendship and cooperation survived to the end of the Empire. Talma is known, among others, to have introduced the fashion for period costumes in performances, and to have been the first to appear on stage in the Roman toga. The cartoon takes advantage of the real-life closeness of the Emperor and the actor, but its meaning seems to be such that out of the two artificial emperors the actor is the more convincing, and resembles the ancient models to a greater extent. According to the early biographer of Talma, Napoleon saw this particular cartoon on Elba, and back in Paris during the Hundred Days commented on it to the actor, forgiving him his career under the first Restoration34. Another interesting example of the exploitation of ancient topics is the cartoon captioned “L’olive de la paix en vain lui fut offerte, | Il suit l’ambition qui le mène à sa perte” (July 20, 1814; BMSat 12240). Apart from the iconography (Peace with the cornucopia and olive branch, armed War on the chariot), it seems to allude to the motif of the Choice of Hercules, which had been very popular in the art of the 17th and 18th

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centuries. The composition resembles the rendition of this myth by Annibale Carracci (1596; Naples, Museo di Capodimonte), with Hercules in the middle, and the personifications of Virtue and Pleasure showing him two possible destinies, represented symbolically. In the cartoon in question, the rendition of possibilities is more literal: Peace shows an ideal landscape of plenty, harmony and eternal spring, while War leads towards the winter landscape of poverty and destruction. The exile to Elba produced yet another image: “Nicolas Philoctète dans l’Île d’Elbe (N’a jamais passé La Manche)”35, which alludes to the miserable fate of the Homeric hero, but apparently in the general iconographic scheme rather than with any deeper meaning. NapoleonPhiloctetes is depicted as solitary on a small island, with all the props of the mythological hero – the bow, the snake approaching in order to bite him (even though the wound in the calf is already present) – but we must assume that the author of this cartoon had not considered the possible associations with the figure of Philoctetes within the Trojan myth. The ultimate defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo produced a number of satirical images in France. An interesting case is the caricature captioned “Son nom paraîtra dans la race future | Aux plus cruels tyrans une cruelle injure” (July 1815; BDR 232036). The title is a paraphrase of Racine’s Britannicus (Act V, scene 6), in which the words are directed by Agrippina to Nero, and relate to the murder of his adoptive brother, Britannicus. One may argue, however, that the exact context of the play, however meaningful (fratricide), is overshadowed by the general associations with Nero’s cruelty36: as far as Nero’s crimes are concerned, the most commonly known was the murder of his mother, Agrippina the Younger, and the motif of matricide can also be present in the intended meaning of the image37. The other ancient element in this caricature is Chronos holding scales, on which the crimes of Robespierre are balanced against Napoleon’s, which outweigh even the revolutionary terror. Another Waterloo-related cartoon, “La justice et la vengeance divine poursuivant le crime” (July 1815; De Vinck 9805), shows Napoleon surveying a battlefield full of corpses, with the winged goddesses Themis and Nemesis attacking him from above. Interestingly, the topic is derived here not directly from ancient sources, but by its subject and composition relates to the painting of one of Napoleon’s court painters, Pierre-Paul Prud’hon, which bore the same title as the caption of the caricature, and was exhibited at the Salon of 180838. The main satirical intention in this particular case lies in the fact that Prud’hon had been one of the prominent court painters for Napoleon.

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A unique image of Pandora (and at the same time personification of France?) opening her box, from which Napoleon arises, surrounded by corpses and weapons (Hennin 13696) is dated again to the time directly after Waterloo (July 1815) and interpreted as the “balance of the Empire” (Clerc 1985: 263). This representation is close to what has been labelled in this paper as the superficial use of ancient motifs, even though it does require some degree of classical erudition to be deciphered properly. Like in Britain, a substantial number of ancient allusions in French caricature are incidental and devoid of deeper meaning; e.g., “Du Bas en haut, ou le Titan nouveau” (Apr./May 1814; BMSat 12242), with a weak allusion to the reign of the titans overthrown by Zeus and no ancient iconographic elements – Napoleon is simply traversing the globe (cf. similar caption, different image: Napoleon falling from a horse in “La chute du Titan moderne”; 1814; De Vinck 9003; where the classical allusion is limited to the title); “C’est la cravate a papa” (July 1815; De Vinck 8597) with the boy Napoleon II approaching the herm of his father (the head sports donkey ears to emphasize the negative image) with a coil of rope39; the thunderbolts and the eagle in “Départ pour l’Armée” (Jun. 12, 1815; De Vinck 8881) do evoke the imagery of Jupiter but had also been the attributes of the French Empire; in “César dans son palais” (1817 (?)40; BMSat 12903) only the name given to the dog with Napoleon’s face, contained in a kennel, brings any ancient connotations. Out of this group, the “Autant en emporte le vent” (1814; De Vinck 8986) draws attention, since it features the personification of the wind (the northern wind inscribed with the names of Russia, Prussia and Austria) in the form known already in Rome: a face with puffed out cheeks, blowing air – but much as it could be a mockery of Napoleon’s official medallic issue related to the retreat from Moscow, which also showed the personified Boreas following the French troops41, the employed ancient topic is generic. One more French cartoon should be mentioned here, however: “Le Robinson de l’Île d’Elbe” (July 16, 1814; De Vinck, 9371), despite its obvious primary association with Daniel Defoe’s novel, makes one wonder if the way Napoleon wears the tiger skin is supposed to resemble the typical depictions of Heracles/Hercules in his lion scalp and hide; the choice of tiger most likely alludes to a number of mostly British caricatures which portrayed Napoleon as this animal. The arrangement of the hide is exactly as in Hercules’ iconography; the serrated sabre (saw) in Napoleon’s hand could be reminiscent of Hercules’ club. Assimilation with Hercules had been the tradition of rulership ever since the time of Alexander the Great: Hellenistic kings, Roman emperors and modern

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monarchs would gladly portray themselves in the guise of the hero; in France, this tradition had been particularly important for one of Napoleon’s heroes, Henri IV, and Napoleon himself was represented in the lion scalp recalling the popular images of Hercules. It’s worth noting that the ridiculed Hercules furens appears on one of the illustrations to the heroicomic poem by William Combe (under the nickname of Dr. Syntax), The Life of Napoleon, a Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos, which appeared in London in 1815 and became one of the flagships of the late anti-Napoleonic satire. The poem’s account of the childhood years includes a cruel trick against his schoolmates at Brienne (Canto I), which may be an echo of the stories about Napoleon’s leadership abilities shown in a snowball battle at that school (a topic popular in Napoleonic legend; see Chuquet 2013: 66f.). In Combe’s version the young Bonaparte devises revenge on his schoolmates in response to their mockeries42, and is described as “Th’heroic Boney, with a club” – a phrase complemented by a suitable cartoon showing little Napoleon as a raging Hercules, beating other schoolboys with a club.

Germany German, i.e. mostly Prussian, cartoons are generally more sophisticated intellectually and less vulgar than the British ones, even if, on the whole, they are at least as virulent as in Britain, especially after 1813 when the alliance of German states with the French Empire ended (Benoit 1996: 15). In their case, ancient elements are employed relatively rarely in decorative or indicative function only (e.g. “Herr Noch Jemand auf Elba”; 1815; BMSat 12319, with the fasces with axes as one of the symbols of power; “Napoleon und das Glück”; 1814; Scheffler 3.90, with the figure of Fortuna). One of them employs the Atlas motif well known from British cartoons (“Eitles Bestreben – endlicher Lohn”; late 1813; Arenenberg 384): Napoleon reaches for the globe from a broken ladder and falls onto the house of cards standing on a small table. Behind Atlas the personification of justice accompanied by the genius of Victory with a palm branch in his hand sits on the cloud that overshadows the setting sun (a possible allusion to the motif of the “sun of Austerlitz”, popular in imperial propaganda; cf. Mathis et al. 1998: 585). This topic returns in another cartoon (“Finale”; Feb. 1814; Arenenberg 401), which in a way is the continuation of the former one: Napoleon kneels, with Atlas supporting the globe, and an overturned table decorated with imperial eagles (similar to the table in the former example) lies on the ground.

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The cartoon “Laterna magica” (1814; Arenenberg 344) makes an intelligent use of the Chronos motif, showing the bearded titan with a scythe in his left hand, and a laterna in his right: the picture cast by the contraption shows Napoleon in the years of his (past) glory, brandishing a sword and a palm leaf but seated on a wreath43 with naked buttocks. The message is simple: Napoleon’s fame and glory dwindle with time; the topic is complementary to the Rhodian Colossus and phoenix motifs known from Britain. Interestingly, Bonapartist propaganda and legend in the 19th century would often use the same figure of Chronos, but in a reverse meaning: in several apotheoses of Napoleon the personified Time is shown as vanquished by the Emperor’s immortal greatness. A very sophisticated piece is the cartoon entitled “Cerberus” (late 1813; BMSat 12318)44. It belongs to the class of the so-called hieroglyphic prints, more popular in anti-Napoleonic Continental propaganda than in Britain: these were either puzzles composed of overlapping images which together usually formed yet another image, or consisted of an apparently ordinary image, which was divided into sections with inserted texts45. Verbal explanations of the elements of such compositions were required in order to comprehend their meaning and symbolism; such is also the case of the cartoon in question. The picture evokes the infernal symbolism of the Greek mythology: Cerberus himself, who is supposed to represent Napoleon (whose profiles appear in the curve of the hellhound’s tail and under his hind legs, and on the surface of the globe; various parts of the animal are labelled as elements of Napoleonic power) and the three rivers of the Hades (the fires of the “Pyriphlegeton” resemble the flames in the phoenix cartoons). From the sky, thunderbolts with the names of the generals of the coalition strike at both Cerberus and Napoleonic imperial symbols, including one of the coronation insignia, the Hand of Justice. The pillar in the background is decorated with a mock trophy, consisting of agricultural implements and female clothing instead of the traditional weapons and armour. The Caesarian phrase “Veni vidi vici” relates to the Coalition’s victory at Leipzig. Classical details serve here the satirical, tendency widespread in Germany at the time, of Napoleon’s demonisation (see Pelzer 2000: 147-152 for the more traditional depictions of the topic). Another Leipzig-related cartoon (“Sein Denkmal”; 1813/14; Arenenberg 393) shows Napoleon as the two-faced Janus, but the image does not follow the traditional Roman associations with this deity46 as the tutelary one, looking on both sides of the world. This trait is apparently mocked here: Napoleon-Janus indeed gazes to the East (Germany) and West (France) – not as a protector, however, but a destructor. The most interesting feature of this particular image is, however, technical, as it

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were: the engraving is double-layered, and when regarded in plain sight it shows the lands to the east devastated, while the west prospers (cf. the Choice of Hercules cartoon, supra), but when regarded against the source of light, the landscapes reverse (Mathis et al. 1998: 592). One more example is worthy of attention: the anonymous cartoon from 1814 (Arenenberg 388), which can easily be overlooked as one with ancient connotations, but is apparently one of the most intelligent uses of classical motifs. It shows Napoleon holding a lantern in his left hand, with downcast eyes and right hand extended towards the earth, in conversation with a German peasant, who asks him what he is looking for, to which Napoleon answers: “Everything that I have lost”47. The answer relates to the collapse of his rule, but the question and the lantern are clear allusions to the famous anecdote concerning the philosopher Diogenes, who allegedly walked the agora in Athens with a lantern, looking for “a man”. *** The research into occasional pamphlets and other ephemeral publications might produce more contributions to the topic, but it seems unlikely that their number would grow substantially and that such a search would yield as-yet unknown motifs. The relatively scarce presence of ancient topics appears as a striking feature of anti-Napoleonic propaganda, especially in the context of the predominant literary and artistic tendencies of the period. The instances listed above allow for their classification into three main categories: 1) random evocations of negatively associated themes (most popular); 2) ridicules of comparisons known from imperial art and literature; 3) exploitation of whole topics or stories as allegories. Within these broad categories one can distinguish the use of myths, literary themes, names, catchphrases or just costumes/props. Another striking characteristic of the use of classical motifs in antiNapoleonic caricature is the lack of deeper consideration: unlike official art, satire chooses its subjects from the ancient repertoire according to the immediate need and, moreover, in many cases apparently according to very superficial associations. Much as some of the connotations can be assumed to have been counted upon and expected, many others are obviously not designed to trigger particular reactions based on education. The otherwise correct opinion (Kaenel 1998: 103) that: “all that is distinctive about Napoleonic caricature only can be grasped by comparison to other genres, to other mediums such as painting, sculpture, numismatics, or what is considered serious engraving”, applies to the subject of ancient inspirations only to certain extent. We have seen images

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that parodied or mocked official art, as well as traditional representations, but one would look for a pictorial or ideological programme in the use of classical themes in satire in vain, while in official Napoleonic art such premeditated series of paintings, sculptures or medals abounded. This is not to say that caricature is inconsistent about the general image of Napoleon – just the opposite. Ancient themes and motifs, however, unlike in official art and later in legend, are not in any way favoured or treated as an ideological entirety: they are part of the general repertoire just as any other historical, traditional or contemporary prop. In this respect, caricature does not respond directly to the other arts. What is at least equally interesting, from the academic point of view, are the reasons for this relative scarcity and randomness of classical elements in the satirical texts and caricatures, especially given their enormous popularity in the period. They may actually be quite simple: the primary association of such topics was positive; as has already been mentioned, almost every monarch or politician would at some time be portrayed in classical costume. Therefore, even if it employed ridicule, grotesque or mockery, the black legend avoided comparisons to persons who would be perceived as desired role-models, ideal rulers, etc.48 In the period when antiquity formed an important part of education, even on the basic level, in a world full of classical allusions and motifs in art, literature, architecture and objects of everyday use, the comparison of the enemy with the heroes of the ancient times, even if satirical, could bear unwanted associations. It is worthy of note that “internal” British satire did employ ancient topics, as for instance when it dressed Nelson and Lady Hamilton in Mark Antony’s and Cleopatra’s costumes in the famous caricature of Lord Hamilton (“A cognocenti contemplating ye beauties of ye antique”; J. Gillray, 1801; BMSat 9753), or the Addington government and the opposition in the costumes of the gods and giants attacking the Olympus (“ConfederatedCoalition; – or – The Giants storming heaven; – with, the Gods alarmed for their everlasting-abodes”; J. Gillray, 1804; BMSat 10240). Meanwhile, in the case of anti-Napoleonic propaganda, topics that are presented in the official French art with allusions to antiquity are often devoid of such associations in caricature, as the majority of prints relating to the retreat from Moscow shows. In some cases, the meaning and intention of images that use the same style and repertoire of topic and props are ambiguous, as in the case of a French cartoon executed during Napoleon’s exile years, and featuring the “modern Prometheus”, well known from Britain. “Le Promethée de l’Isle Ste Hélène” (Jean Baptiste Gautier, Sept. 1815; BMSat 12627) is a literal

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picture of Napoleon chained in a way that is reminiscent of the crucifixion to the very distinctive rock of St. Helena (together with the view of Jamestown in the background), with the realistic eagle tearing at his heart. By the rock stands a candlestick captioned “Flambeau de Promethée” and “Gloire”, covered with the extinguisher inscribed “Mont St Jean” (the nickname of Waterloo). These paraphernalia are well known from the French caricature, associated in the royalist imagery with the extinguishing of faith and liberty, and the style of the image is consistent with the style of anti-Napoleonic cartoons of the years 1813-1815, but the whole picture sends a message apparently contradictory to the appearances: that of the martyred hero, suffering for civilization and humanity. It is possible, therefore, that this image is not a caricature (as Eggs and Fischer 1985: 35, see it), or even an ambiguous depiction showing deserved punishment as well as glory of past deeds (Mathis et al. 1998: 512), but simply one of the earliest testimonies to the Napoleonic legend, as Glory extinguished at Waterloo, as well as the additional caption in heroic verse, the alexandrine49, would clearly indicate. Even some British prints in a way prophesized what was about to happen in Bonapartist legend after Napoleon’s death: in 1807 Charles Williams produced a caricature captioned “Napoleon’s Anticipated Apotheosis” (BMSat 10761), showing the celestial Orion pulling Napoleon to heaven; the concept is that of German scientists deciding to rename the constellation after Napoleon with the additional “Query – Did the Wise Men of Leipsic mean it as an honor [sic!] or a reflection on the turbulent spirit of Boney, as the rising of Orion is generaly [sic!] accompanied with Storms and Tempests, for which reason he has the sword in his hand”. The composition of the image resembles popular depictions of heroes taken to Olympus or saints taken to heaven, with the difference that Napoleon is shouting that he would rather stay on Earth. After 1821, images with the topic of apotheosis were produced in abundance by the supporters of the Empire. However, the irony is that the composition and iconographic scheme of the caricature would not win popularity in Napoleonic apotheoses (its variant, with the father greeting the son, is present in the apotheoses of Napoleon’s son, the Duke of Reichstadt after 1832), while it was employed ca. 1818 in the painting by Pierre Nicolas Legrand de Lérant showing the apotheosis of Nelson.

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Bibliography Abbreviations for catalogues, collections of letters, etc. Arenenberg = Mathis et al. 1998. BDR = Brown University Digital Repository BMSat = F. G. Stephens, M. D. George, Catalogue of Political and Personal Satires in the Department of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum, vol. 1-11, (London, 1870-1954). Corresp. = Correspondance de Napoléon Ier, publiée par ordre de l’Empereur Napoléon III, vol. I-XXXII, (Paris, 1858-1859). De Vinck = Recueil. Collection de Vinck. Un siècle d’histoire de France par l’estampe, 1770-1870, vol. 1-248, (Paris). Hennin = Recueil. Collection Michel Hennin. Estampes relatives à l’Histoire de France, vols. 156-157, (Paris). Millin = A. L. Millin, Medallic History of Napoleon. A Collection of All the Medals, Coins, and Jetons, Relating to His Actions and Reign. From the Year 1796 to 1815, (London, 1819). NPG = National Portrait Gallery, London; inventory. Scheffler = S. Scheffler, E. Scheffler, G. Unverfehrt, “So zerstieben getraeumte Weltreiche”. Napoleon I. in der deutschen Karikatur, (Stuttgart-Hannover, 1995). Ashton, John. English Caricature and Satire on Napoleon I., vol. 1-2. London: Chatto and Windus, 1884. Bardon, Françoise. Le portrait mythologique à la cour de France sous Henri IV et Louis XIII. Mythologie et politique. Paris: A. et J. Picard, 1974. Benoit, Jérémie. L’anti-Napoléon. Caricatures et satires du Consulat à l’Empire: Musée national des châteaux de Malmaison et de BoisPréau, 30 mai-30 septembre 1996, exhibition catalogue. Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 1996. Blum, André S. “La caricature politique sous le Consulat et l’Empire.” Revue des études napoléoniennes 13 (1918): 296-312. Broadley, Alexander M. and J. Holland Rose. Napoleon in Caricature 1795-1821. London, John Lane; New York, John Lane Co., 1911. Burke, Peter. The Fabrication of Louis XIV. New Haven, Conn., London: Yale University Press, 1994 Burrows, Simon. French Exile Journalism and European Politics, 17921814. Suffolk; Rochester, NY: Royal Historical Society, 2000.

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Champfleury, [Jules François Felix Fleury-Husson]. Histoire de la caricature sous la République, l’Empire et la Restauration. Paris, II 1877. Chuquet, Arthur. L’enfance et l’adolescence de Napoléon. Paris: Editions Laville, 2013. [First edition: 1899] Clerc, Catherine. Caricature contre Napoléon. [Paris]: Editions Promodis, 1985. Eggs, Ekkehard and Hubertus Fischer. “Die Kehrseite der Medaille”. Napoleon-Karikaturen aus Deutschland, Frankreich und England. Hannover: Institut français de Hanovre, 1985. Fazio, Mara. François Joseph Talma Primo Divo. Teatro e storia fra Rivoluzione, Impero e Restaurazione. Milano: Leonardo arte, 1999. FuliĔska, Agnieszka. “Ancient topics in Napoleon’s proclamations to the army”. Classica Cracoviensia XVI (2013): 29-43. Grand-Carteret, John. Napoléon en images. Estampes anglaises (portraits et caricatures), avec 130 reproductions d’après les originaux. Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1895. Kaenel, Philippe. “Notes on the Corpus Napoleoni”. In Mathis et al. (eds.), 1998: 101-105. Livermore, Harold. Twilight of the Goths. The Rise and Fall of the Kingdom of Toledo c. 565-711. Bristol: Elm Bank, 2006. Mathis, Hans Peter, Guisolan Michel, Ferloni Valerio, and Maurer Salome (eds.). Napoleon I. im Spiegel der Karikatur: ein Sammlungskatalog des Napoleon-Museums Arenenberg mit 435 Karikaturen über Napoleon I. Zürich: Verlag Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 1998. Millar, Eileen A. Napoleon in Italian Literature 1796-1821. Roma: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1977. Mitchell, L. G. Charles James Fox. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. Patten, Robert L. George Cruikshank’s Life, Times, and Art, Volume 1: 1792-1835. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1992. Peltzer, M. “L’iconographie satirique napoléonienne”. Revue Belge d’Archéologie et d’Histoire de l’Art 35/1-2 (1966): 71-100. Pelzer, Erich. “Die Wiedergeburt Deutschlands 1813 und die Dämonisierung Napoleons”. In “Gott mit uns”: Nation, Religion und Gewalt im 19. und frühen 20. Jahrhundert, edited by Gerd Krumeich and Hartmut Lehmann. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000. Petiteau, Natalie. Napoléon, de la mythologie à l’histoire. Paris: Seuil, 2004. Semmel, Stuart. Napoleon and the British. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004.

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Tissot, Pierre-François. Souvenirs historiques sur la vie et la mort de F. Talma. Baudouin frères (Paris) 1826. Tulard, Jean. Le Sacre de l’empereur Napoléon. Histoire et légende. Paris: Fayard: Editions de la Réunion des musées nationaux, 2004. Tulard, Jean. L’anti-Napoléon. La légende noire de l’Empereur. Édition revue et augmentée. [Paris]: Gallimard, impr. 2013.

Notes 1

Most of the caricatures listed in the text with signatures De Vinck can be viewed at the Gallica site of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (http://gallica.bnf.fr); those with signatures BMSat can be viewed on the official website of the British Museum (http://www.britishmuseum.org). 2 Catalogues and monographs cited in this paper yielded no Russian images relevant to the present topic. The closest to the ancient themes is a caricature by I. I. Terebenev concerning the appropriation of objects of art in Italy (“ɇɚɩɨɥɟɨɧɴ ɩɪɨɞɚɟɬɴ ɫɴ ɦɨɥɨɬɤɚ ɩɨɯɢɳɟɧɧɵɟ ɢɦɴ ɚɧɬɢɤɢ”; 1812/1813; Peltzer 1996: 84). M. Peltzer (1996: 86) mentions that the series of caricatures related to the Russian entry to Paris in 1814 was preceded by an “artistic note” also by Terebenev, and describes it as follows: “‘L’évacuation des chefs-d’oeuvre du musée de Paris, à l’approche des armées alliées’ montrant une statue de Napoléon dans un champ, un lièvre à ses pieds, ainsi que les bustes d’Attila, Néron et Cromwell”, but does not reproduce the image. 3 For the general reaction to the first Italian campaign in Italian poetry, and the image of Bonaparte as the liberating hero, see Millar (1977: 12ff.). In 1797 a scholar and poet from Ferrara, Vincenzo Monti, produced the first major literary work devoted to Bonaparte as the “new hero” (novello eroe), which was entitled Il Prometeo (an ironic coincidence with one of the prominent topics in the caricature related to the St. Helena years, infra). A whole range of ancient allusions appears in the last stanza of Giovanni Pindemonte’s sonnet A Buonaparte il giorno 1 di giugno 1796 (apud Millar 1977: 13): “Se vera acquistar vuoi perenne gloria | Cesare ed Alessandro imitar dei | Non Attila, Odoacre, o Genserico.” The literary anti-Napoleonic propaganda reacted almost immediately with texts exploiting classical themes, one of the very first pamphlets being the I Romani nella Grecia, published anonymously (by Vittorio Barzoni) in 1797. The true meaning of this pseudo-historical account of the Roman invasion of Greece was made public on the title page of the 1815 Milan edition: “Under the name of Flaminius Bonaparte is figured. Under the name of the Romans the French are depicted; under that of the Greeks – the Italians. The author does not intend to give the story of Titus Flaminius, the Roman Consul, but that of Bonaparte in Italy (…). This book was printed for the first time in 1797”. 4 One of the most prolific cartoonists, James Gillray, had been a steadfast opponent of the Revolution and produced numerous caricatures vilifying the revolutionaries

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in the years 1789-1800, see Champfleury 1877: 238; he had also allegedly called Bonaparte “un Robespierre à cheval” (Champfleury 1877: 298). The general mood of the cartoons by Isaac and George Cruikshanks does not leave much doubt about their political sympathies, either. In the view of the early British caricatures it is difficult to support the vision offered by Burrows (2000: 211) that “Prior to the peace of Amiens, Napoleon was depicted as a revolutionary general in the British press and popular ephemera, and popular images of Bonaparte were positive, or at least ambiguous”. 5 Cf. the opinion of one of the early publishers of this production (Ashton 1884: v): “The majority of the caricatures are humorous; others are silly, or spiteful – as will occasionally happen nowadays; and some are too coarse for reproduction – so that a careful selection has had to be made”. 6 In the monograph of Grand-Carteret (1895), who is concerned almost exclusively with the British production, only ca. 10 caricatures out of 374 listed allude to antiquity; in the Arenenberg collection catalogue (Mathis et al. 1998), which is one of the largest in the world, listing 435 cartoons from England, France, Germany and Russia, ca. 20 can be considered as related to ancient motifs; the same proportion applies to the catalogue in Clerc (1985) for the French production. In all cases many of the allusions are purely superficial. The authors of these compilations estimate the general numbers of English caricatures against Napoleon at ca. 600, and the general number in Europe at ca. 1500, but admit that many of them were repetitions of the same topics and images, which did not contribute to the iconography or ideology. The research undertaken for this paper yielded some more examples, without, however, changing the proportions dramatically. 7 For an extensive list of less sophisticated epithets compiled from the British press in 1815 by R. Stoddart, see Semmel (2004: 1-2). 8 Among the literary analogies the most important one is the anonymous pamphlet L’Apollyon et le Gog de l’Apocalypse ou la Révolution Française predate par S. Jean l’Évangéliste (1816). 9 Out of these, “The Apotheosis of Hoche” (J. Gillray, 1798; BMSat 9156) is the most interesting, as it presents the deceased general being taken to heaven in the pose reminiscent of ancient representations of Orpheus, only that he holds in his hand the guillotine instead of the lyre. 10 With great moustache, bulging eyes, great teeth and the Phrygian cap; popular in the cartoons of the 1790s. 11 Open anti-Napoleonic propaganda did not monopolize the topic: the 1806 cartoon captioned “Modern Atlas’s tottering under a globe of their own formation!!” (BMSat 10590) was aimed at the supporters of the liberal policies of Ch. J. Fox, who sympathized with the Revolution and then Napoleon (see supra), and until his death in 1806 advocated peace with France, which in a way places this caricature on the fringe of the anti-Napoleonic corpus. An allusion to Fox is also made in the caption of the aforementioned “Gallic Idol” (1803). Noteworthy, Fox would remain the target of anti-Napoleonic caricature even after his death: on a cartoon that presents the apotheosis of William Pitt the Younger (Pitt died in the 1806 the same as Fox) rising in a chariot towards heaven from the “rock of ages”,

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this undistorted and in its style very Roman image is contrasted with the group of followers of Fox clustered on the “dunghill”. In the background the tiny figure of Napoleon is struck by one bolt of the lightning that is generally directed towards the opposition. 12 The details of the fable vary: the earliest version recorded by Phaedrus (Ranae regem petunt), as well as the medieval retellings which include this particular fable, feature the water snake or hydra instead of a bird (heron, crane or stork) – the latter appear in the 16th c. and later versions. In Britain apparently the stork had become most popular; in the earliest comprehensive volume of traditional fables (see e.g. The Fables of Aesop and Others, Newcastle 1818, illustrated by Thomas Bewick, p. 135f.). Modern versions of the fable, including La Fontaine, omit the part in which Zeus sends the frogs, the eel or water snake, which are regarded by them as too gentle, and so does the caricature, which indicates that it is based on such abridged retellings rather than the original. 13 For the stereotypes of nations cf. the Egyptians portrayed as crocodiles in Gillray’s “L’Insurrection de l’Institut Amphibie – The Pursuit of Knowledge” (1799; BMSat 9356), or the French represented as frogs in the anonymous “The Corsican Crocodile dissolving the Council of Frogs!!!” (1799; BMSat 9427). 14 The authorship of this caricature is disputed, since it is not signed by the designer. Grand-Carteret (1895: 133) attributes it to G. Cruikshank, but the fact that the facial features are realistic and not distorted seems to exclude both Gillray and the Cruikshanks. The British Museum catalogue (BMSat 12034) suggests the attribution of a whole series of Russian campaign caricatures to C. Williams (“One of a set of eight by Williams, of which Plate 3 is not in the B.M.”), but since this plate does not feature any of the signatures characteristic for Williams, the attribution is also dubious (the stylistic comparison to the signed works of Williams does not favour it). 15 Cf. Corresp. 22066 (Au Prince Régent d’Angleterre, Île d’Aix, July 14, 1815): “Altesse Royale, en butte aux factions qui divisent mon pays et à l’inimitié des puissances de l’Europe, j’ai terminé ma carrière politique, et je viens, comme Thémistocle, m’asseoir au foyer du peuple britannique. Je me mets sous la protection de ses lois, que je réclame de Votre Altesse Royale, comme du plus puissant, du plus constant, du plus généreux de mes ennemis.” 16 Words or expressions considered vulgar or inappropriate were often omitted or abbreviated in British cartoons. 17 Grand-Carteret 1895: cat. No. 359, attributes this caricature erroneously to L. Marks. 18 The colossal statue, sculpted by Chares of Lindos in 280 BC, survived less than one century, and collapsed in an earthquake of 226 BC, never to be rebuilt. 19 Cf. the composition of “The Corsican Conjurer raising the plagues of Europe” (anonymous, published by P. Roberts, 1803; BMSat 10083), with Napoleon as the sorcerer, raising “Anarchy”, “Confusion”, “Treason”, “Terror”, and other evils from a steaming cauldron, around which the snake coils, as in Cruikshank’s image. 20 The best known Sacre de Napoléon by Jacques-Louis David had already been in the process of being painted, but would not be finished until late 1807, and was

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presented at the Salon of 1808. The most important documentary collections of drawings and engravings (Le Livre du Sacre by Jean-Baptiste Isabey, Charles Percier, Pierre François Léon Fontaine; Percier and Fontaine’s Recueil des décorations exécutées dans l’église Notre-Dame pour la cérémonie du 2 décembre 1804 et pour la fête de la distribution des aigles au Champ-de-Mars le 5 décembre 1804) would not be completed before 1807, either; actually, Le Livre … had never been published, but only circulated unofficially in privately engraved specimens during the Restoration (see Tulard 2004: 70). 21 The choice seems well considered. Pauline, since 1803 the wife of prince Camille Borghese, was the favourite sister of Napoleon, famous for her liberal lifestyle (her famous naked portrait as Venus Victrix by Canova dates later, however), and was by the virulent critics of the Empire accused of incestuous affairs with her brother; Hortense de Beauharnais, daughter of Joséphine, wife of Louis Bonaparte, accused by anti-Napoleonic sources of the affair with her stepfather (which is echoed here by the caption “chere ame [sic!] of ye Emperor”); Julie Clary, wife of Joseph Bonaparte, was the sister of Désirée Clary, Napoleon’s first serious love, who after her wealthy family’s refusal to marry her to an impoverished officer, married Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte, republican general and Marshal of the Empire, later to become the king of Sweden by adoption. 22 The most prominent Roman copy, ex Collection Borghese, is in Paris, Musée du Louvre, inv. Ma 287. Canova’s best known versions of the Three Graces (St. Petersburg, The State Hermitage; Edinburgh, National Gallery of Scotland; London, Victoria & Albert Museum) date to 1814 and later, but the painting on this topic and the earliest sculptural versions were executed by the artist around 1799. Cf. also the portrayal of the three sisters of Napoleon in Gillray’s 1803 “The Hand-Writing upon the Wall”; BMSat 10072. 23 Cf. Verg. Ecl. 4.4-7: “Ultima Cumaei venit iam carminis aetas; | magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo: | iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna; | iam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto.” 24 This series of caricatures is complemented by G. Cruikshank’s 1814 laudatory print “Brittannia [sic!] and the Seven Champions or Modern Christendom restored” (BMSat 12298), presenting the triumph of Britannia and the allied forces. Despite stylistic similarities the image is very different in its expression from the satirical mode employed by British cartoonists, which is a tell-tale testimony for the political sympathies of its author. 25 See Semmel (2004: 222-226) for the analysis of literary evidence; see also note 47 of this paper for further commentary on the topic. 26 This phrase is probably the most commonly exploited, and very easily recognizable. It is usually quoted in its original form, but sometimes translated, paraphrased or only alluded to. See, e.g., the heroicomic poem The Bonaparteid, published in London in 1816, p. 3, stanza 14: “Like Caesar he conquered as fast as he ran”. 27 C. Clerc (1985: 121) argues that the French royalist cartoonists on the one hand drew from the British experience (before 1814 French caricature had been produced mainly by the émigrés in England), but also were to a greater extent

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aware of the symbolic meaning of art as such, and caricature in particular (it had not been long since their patrons were the main topic of revolutionary satire). This may at least be partly responsible for the more sophisticated treatment of subjects as far as cultural allusions go, even if the British satire is usually regarded as superb within the genre (Benoit 1996: 8). 28 Unlike British cartoons, the European caricatures are very rarely signed by their authors (designers). Therefore, where there is no name given in the description of French and German images, they are anonymous. 29 However, one should note that some of the royalist caricatures had been criticised for their vulgarity and bad taste even by other cartoonists active under the Restoration (Blum 1918: 306 and n. 2). J. Tulard (2013: 10) distinguishes between two main tendencies in the early French satire: the “Jacobin” trend would criticize Napoleon for the treason of revolutionary ideals, while the “royalist” one would see him in the first place as the usurper to the throne. By 1813 the former trend would be mostly non-existent, with the latter triumphant in all its conservatism and unconcealed hatred. One of the recurrent topics of the royalist cartoons, however – the motif of the extinguisher of light and freedom – seems to draw upon its former Jacobin counterpart. 30 See Livermore (2006: 31): “Dardanus had a long career as governor of Vienne and quaestor and was both a ruthless enemy of usurpers [i.e. the Gallo-Roman selfproclaimed emperors Constantine III and Jovinus] and a zealous Christian. He founded his Theopolis or City of God at Sisteron in the French Alps, and corresponded with St Augustine, who addressed him as beloved and with Jerome on a point of theology, who was equally cordial”; cf. RE, s.v. Dardanos (10) [O. Seeck]. Such a character hardly fits the needs of ultra-Catholic royalists as a denigrating analogy for how they intended to portray Cambacérès. Also, his enmity towards rulers considered as usurpers should make him a hero of the royalists and anti-Bonapartists. 31 One must bear in mind that in modern Latin authors, after Virgil, “Dardanus” is frequently the synonym of “Trojan” (due to either the myth that Dardanus, son of Zeus, was the grandfather of Tros, ancestor of the Trojan royal family, or an immigrant in Troy; see RE, s.v. Dardanidai [E. Thraemer], and s.v. Dardanos (3) [O. Seeck]), but this does not appear to offer any promising possibilities for the interpretation of the image in question. The only conceivable link between Troy and homosexuality is the story of Ganymede (son of Tros), but in such case the “Dardanus” would have to relate to the young conscript rather than to the “king”. The voluptuous Trojan could be Paris, but this figure does not fit the image in question, either. 32 Etruscan Curtun, modern Cortona. 33 The two “Italian” versions appear in Virgil’s Aeneid (3.167, 7.207, and 7.29, 10.719, resp.), and therefore they must have been well known to 18th/19th-century authors. 34 See Tissot (1826: 39-40): “Pendant son séjour à l’île d’Elbe, Bonaparte, convaincu qu’appartenait dès-lors à l’histoire, il devait connaître de quelle manière les divers partis s’exprimaient déjà sur son compte, avait lu attentivement tout ce

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qui avait été imprimé sur lui pendant son absence, sans en excepter ces libelles, toujours vendus au pouvoir, quel qu’il soit, et pour qui le malheur ne fut jamais une chose sacrée. « Eh bien! » dit-il à Talma, lorsque celui-ci se présenta devant lui, « on dit donc que j’ai pris de vos leçons? – Au reste, » ajouta-t-il en souriant, et avec ce ton aimable et séduisant qu’il savait si bien prendre, quand il voulait se donner la peine de plaire: « si Talma a été mon maître, c’est une preuve que j’ai bien rempli mon rôle; » puis changeant de conversation: « Eh bien! Louis XVIII vous a bien reçu; il vous a bien jugé; vous devez avoir été flatté de son suffrage; c’est un homme d’esprit qui doit s’y connaître; il a vu Lekain [the famous actor from the time of Louis XVI]. »” This anecdote, whether true or belonging to the Napoleonic legend, sheds some light on the dissemination of cartoons and their perception. For Talma’s lifelong admiration for Napoleon and attitude towards the exiled Emperor see Fazio (1999: 236). 35 The subtitle in brackets, elaborating on the homonymity of the French word for sleeve and the name of the English Channel, seems to allude to a much earlier caricature, dated to the last days of the Consulate (1804), which shows Bonaparte trying on a new costume, and in vain pushing one of his hands into the sleeve, with the legend “Jamais je ne passerai cette manche-là” (see Blum 1918: 302). Nicolas is the nickname of Napoleon in many satirical French texts. 36 Cf. the popularity of this comparison in textual satire and black legend; e.g. Les Crimes secrets de Napoléon Buonaparte faits historiques recueillis par une victime de sa tyrannie (1815, p. 14), the aforementioned L’Appolyon... (1816, p. 137), but also the failed suicide scene in W. Combe’s (as Dr. Syntax) The Life of Napoleon, a Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos (1815; Canto XV). 37 Cf. the comparison of Napoleon’s attitude towards Letizia in Lewis Goldsmith’s Secret History of the Cabinet of Bonaparte (1810), one of the focal works of antiNapoleonic propaganda. 38 The motif was also repeated in the more traditional, from the stylistic point of view, frontispiece of Les Crimes secrets... (see supra, note 35). 39 Mathis et al. (cat. 227) propose an interpretation of this image in terms of the fate of the King of Rome (Duke of Reichstadt) in Austria, in stating that “Rumour long had it that the potential heir to the French Empire was being robbed of his French roots and alienated from his father by his stay in Vienna. This cartoon carries the alleged effects of his re-education to the furthest limits”, but this is definitively too far-fetched. The caricature is dated to the period of the Hundred Days, which makes it impossible for it to allude to the factual imprisonment of Napoleon II in Schoenbrunn after the Congress of Vienna. Also, the King of Rome in this cartoon is dressed in a French, not Austrian, uniform. 40 There is a confusion concerning the dating: the print itself has “1815 13 Oct” in the caption, and it is dated so in the British Museum description (see also Clerc 1985: 240), but this chronology must be rejected in the light of the presence of Hudson Lowe in the picture (he arrived in St. Helena in April 1816). M. D. George (BMSat) dates this image tentatively to 1817. 41 Millin 279, Pl. LI. The wind in this medal is depicted, however, as a winged young man, holding an inflated sack in his arms, from which the air blows, while

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the French troops are epitomized by a Roman legionnaire and a fallen horse. In the majority of cartoons on the retreat from Russia, the French army is chased either by the “Russian bears” or by Jack Frost. 42 It is well known that the Bonaparte brothers, who hardly spoke French when admitted to the school in Autun, had been mocked for their accent; at Brienne Napoleon encountered mostly sons of continental French noblemen, who looked down upon a boy from Corsica who never lost his accent, and who studied on a royal stipend (Chuquet 2013: 62f.). 43 Mathis et al. (1998: 548) seem to contain some misinterpretations of this image; firstly, the object held by Napoleon is the symbol of victory rather than peace, since it is a palm leaf and not an olive branch (the symbolism of peace is secondary for the palm leaf at best), and it is also disputable whether the greenery upon which Napoleon sits can be described as “a patch of nettles”, since it is shaped very clearly as a wreath and it is impossible to discern the species of the plant. 44 There are at least two versions of this cartoon. The cited British Museum specimen, dated to 1814 or 1815, also in the Arenenberg collection (Arenenberg 385), is captioned with a four verse poem: “Sonst war ich der grosse Napoleon | Jetzt [sic!] – dien’t ich der Hölle um Lohn | Und bringt man mich dem Feuer zu nah – So bin ich gleich als Camäleon da”, while the specimen in Cornell University Library (Id. No. RMC 2008_0860, dated to 1814) is captioned “Ich heiße Cerberus bin auch Chamäleon, erhitzt wechsle ich die Farbe”. Apart from the caption, the two versions differ only slightly in the stylistic execution of details (the BM version is a better quality engraving, while the Cornell version has the central figure of Napoleon as more prominent, for instance). 45 The most famous of this group of cartoons is “La tête du tyran est érasée par l’aigle des allies …” (De Vinck 8862), with national variants. They could serve also the laudatory purposes, cf. a much later “Portrait of a Noble Duke” [Wellington] (1829; BMSat 15691). 46 Apart possibly from one: the symbolism of his temple, whose doors remained closed during peace-time. The confinement of the Napoleon-Janus figure inside an enclosure could be an allusion to that custom, but this interpretation may be too far-fetched even for the age when classical associations were common knowledge. The figure of Janus appeared much earlier in the work of W. Burdon, The Life and Character of Bonaparte, from his Birth to the 15th of August, 1804, (Newcastle 1804), p. 276-277. In British pamphlets this metaphor had been associated mainly with the protean politics of Napoleon (see Semmel 2004: 33-34). 47 It is worth mentioning that this cartoon makes a difference between the language of the two persons: while the peasant speaks the Plattdeutsch (“wadt sucht he den”), Napoleon answers in elegant German (“Alles, was ich verloren habe”). I would like to thank my friend Ms. Maágorzata Wilk, German philologist from Vienna, for consultation on this matter. 48 We have ample testimonies of Napoleon’s awareness of the role and power of the public image, also in the context of satirical images and texts, which resulted in the control of not only internal caricature but also that which attacked the enemies of France, since it could provoke sentiments contrary to the intended (Blum 1918:

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305f.). The fact that already by the time of the retour des cendres in 1840 the public opinion (and queen Victoria herself) saw in Napoleon a Romantic hero rather than the indomitable enemy of Britain (and by the end of the 1810s the public opinion swayed towards demanding better treatment of the prisoner of St. Helena) seems to corroborate this intuition. Cf. Semmel (2004: 222): “The meteoric fall of Napoleon, more than his meteoric rise, recommended him to the Romantic imagination. British sympathizers called attention to the incredible turn of fate he had suffered, and to his stalwart bearing through it all.” The colossal success of Emmanuel de Las Cases’ Mémorial de Sainte-Hélène, published after the Emperor’s death (the canonical version was established between 1822 and 1842), only added to this perception (see Petiteau 2004: 23ff). 49 “Sur un rocher brûlant, Promethée étendu | Repaît de son flanc noir un Vautour assidu”.

SACRUM VERSUS PROFANUM: THE RECEPTION OF HOLY MOUNTAIN ATHOS IN ANCIENT AND CONTEMPORARY CULTURE RAFAà DYMCZYK ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: This article presents the role of Holy Mount Athos in the past and in contemporary culture. The research is focused on the present myths and legends, mostly being Christian, and of course on the literature. The article describes and interprets an amazing variety of appearances of the Athos motif in the literature. This analysis leads to the conclusion that the Holy Mount has become a synonym of mystery, used by different authors in their texts.

Holy Mount Athos has for many ages offered inspiration for religion and theology researchers, culture and literature experts, historians and linguists1. Despite such a broad academic perspective, there is a shortage of works which describe the presence of Athos in popular culture or literature. The lack of such examples and the selection of the correct reception methodology are troubling. Nevertheless, many works – collections and monographs –have been published recently dealing with the reception of antiquity in pop culture.2 One might ask whether the models applied can be accepted in the works concerning the Holy Mountain. How much does the topic of antiquity in popular culture refer to an objective reality, and how much does it deal exclusively with a relation between antiquity and the contemporary world? These questions can be answered not only through the subject literature, but also through everyday life. Lorna Hardwick and Christopher Stray, in the introduction to their book A Companion to Classical Receptions, consciously use the term “receptions”: “By ‘receptions’ we mean the ways in which Greek and Roman material has been transmitted, translated, excerpted, interpreted, rewritten, re-imaged and represented” (Hardwick and Stray 2008: 1). The definition can obviously be applied to studying other cultural phenomena.

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In the circle of Orthodox culture countries – Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, Macedonia – for which the Holy Mountain extends to a sacrum sphere, its various keepsakes (icons, pictures, magnets or booklets) can be bought as easily as the gifts connected with ancient culture. This is the closest, and at the same time the simplest, instance of a transfer from a sacrum to a profanum sphere. It is worthwhile noticing here that there can be a very different meaning of those tokens for Orthodox believers, and for representatives of other cultural and religious groups. For an Orthodox follower it is usually a religious souvenir, whereas for others it might be an ordinary gadget, whose purpose and role could be completely unknown. An icon bought on Athos will signify for a Greek or Serb an element of cult, but for an average tourist it will be a decorative element – an interesting instance from a different cultural world. In addition, among the Athos publications, one could find both academic works, as well as allpurpose guidebooks or stories for children. Moreover, while discussing the matter, it could be interesting to learn whether such examples are a part of evangelisation prepared for its recipients, or perhaps proof for an advancing popularisation of religious phenomena. The aim of this article is to suggest some research areas – popular literature, tourist guide books – which could be used as a prerequisite to more thorough studies devoted to the presence of Holy Mount Athos in popular culture. I am pointing not only to research areas, but also indirectly to ancient and apocryphal literature, thanks to which the Athos motives and plots permeate pop culture. It is not my intention to scrutinise the above topics in the historical-literary process, but to present examples showing various models of reception. I am therefore using methods implied by the researchers describing similar phenomena in the context of Greek and Roman literature and culture.

The Dogma of Holy Mount Athos Studying the issue of the existence of Holy Mount Athos in contemporary culture, we should firstly mention that the motives connected with it refer to the past, but are these days more often used by artists than by writers. As much as both the creators of icons and painters gladly borrow from the Athos subject in their works, the use of Holy Mount Athos plots in the literature does not occur frequently. The majority of publications dealing with this topic is academic material and addressed only to a narrow group of researchers or pilgrims. The Holy Mountain is depicted there as a typical sacrum, meaning a holy zone around which beliefs, rituals or religious practices gather. Such an understanding of the

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Mountain is inspired by the specific and unique role which it has played for Orthodox Christians for many ages, as well as its meaning for contemporary believers as a centre of spirituality. In this aspect it is becoming a research object, on the example of which we can scrutinise not only its history, but also its present influence on the Orthodox and its origins, as well as the current rebirth of the religious consciousness of the Balkan countries, such as Serbia, Bulgaria, Macedonia or Greece. Many other countries belonging to the conventional eastern Christian zone accept the leading role of Athos in numerous religious areas, but its influence is most important for the Balkan countries. For many ages, the existence of Slavic monasteries on Holy Mount Athos has had a great significance for the Bulgarian and Serbian Orthodox. Among them, an exceptional place has always been occupied by Zograf – a monastery of Saint George, the Serbian Chilandar, and since the 19th century the Russian Pantalejmon. These monasteries have played a key role in maintaining and advancing the national and religious identity of the Balkan peoples during the time of the Ottoman captivity, which is also where the Slavic culture, capable of resisting the Greek conquest, radiated from3. The Holy Mountain is becoming not only the maker of new trends, but remains a guardian of the Orthodox (tradition) – “Orthos” (“right”) and “Doxa” (“thinking” or “praise”/”fame”). Literally, this means “rightfame”, and that is why it is thought to correspond to East-Byzantine Christianity. Even competing with the earlier mentioned states, especially Greece, the Russian Orthodox, despite forming on conquered lands sacred mountains of “its own”, such as New Athos (ɇɨɜɵɣ Ⱥɮɨɧ), the primary meaning is given indisputably to the Greek Republic of Monks. The number of works dealing with this place is so staggering that it would be hard to choose any of them4. In the following article I will focus only on the less studied topic of the existence of the Holy Mountain, which points to its contribution in popular culture. I will attempt to show to what degree it has permeated to the profanum sphere, suggesting a few threads which can be followed by a diligent reader. I wish to remark that I am aware of the inability of discussing all the threads of its presence in popular culture, as in my dissertation I embrace only the Slavic languages (Bulgarian, Serbian, Russian, Ukrainian, and obviously Polish) while the English language sources are scant because Athos is treated in the latter as a sort of cultural attraction rather than a lighthouse guiding in the right direction. Due to this fact, the current analysis will be constrained to the countries where these languages are commonly spoken.

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Studying the presence of Athos in the sacred sphere, the research ought to begin from the most popular carrier of tradition, namely myths and legends. It appears not only in several ancient myths, but also in later legends. Obviously, the myths are connected with its pre-Christian tradition, whereas the legends pertain mainly to the Christian tradition, and specifically to the apocryphal gospels.

Athos in the ancient literature According to Greek mythology, Athos was a giant hailing from the area of Thrace, who waged war against the god of the sea, Poseidon. During one of the battles, which were common in the years of war, the enemies started to cast huge rocks at each other. Poseidon turned out mightier, though, and crushed his opponent with a large rock, which resulted in the creation of a big mountain called Athos ever since, after the hero buried underneath. The mention of Athos can be found in Aeschylus’s Agamemnon, a work on the Trojan myth. The unfaithful wife of the title character, explaining how the news from Troy reached her in such a short time, says (Agamemnon, 281-287): Hephaestus, from Ida speeding forth his brilliant blaze. Beacon passed beacon on to us by courier-flame: Ida, to the Hermaean crag in Lemnos; to the mighty blaze upon the island succeeded, third, the summit of Athos sacred to Zeus; and, soaring high aloft so as to leap across the sea, the flame, travelling joyously onward in its strength (Translated by Herbert Weir Smyth).

The mention of Athos is not random here, and it shows its role as a signal point. Apart from making fires on the top, its peak was becoming an element facilitating navigation. Because of its altitude (2,033 meters) it was indeed a useful orientation point for the ancient sailors. Another mention also refers to a war waged by the Greeks – meaning the Persian wars (500-448 BC). At that time, the peninsula played a major role for the Persian invasions. For the first time in the year 492 BC, while Mardonius was rounding the peninsula, his fleet was wrecked and sank nearby, which Herodotus describes in The Histories (6, 44). Since this description focuses only on the fact of the wrecking of the Persian ships and drowning of many Persian soldiers, the description of another event connected with this place is surely more complete. The Persian king Xerxes, without wanting to make the same mistakes as the army of his father ten years earlier, decided to excavate a channel across the Athos

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Peninsula with the intention of avoiding sailing through the sea full of treacherous rocks at the foot of the mountain. Describing this great achievement, Herodotus recalls a few names of towns located on the peninsula in those days: Sane, Dium, Olophyxus, Acrothon, Thyssus, and Cleonae (7, 22). Herodotus’ account is an interesting testimony for the contemporary researchers, as the locations of those towns are not obvious even today. Many traces can currently be found in the monasteries due to the fact that the blocks from their ruins were used in constructing the monasteries, whereas all sorts of unearthed objects are stored in their vaults. The following situation makes it harder for the scientists to research it, as access to those tokens is difficult and the monks are not willing to share their treasures5. The only easily available place connected with antiquity is the area where Xerxes’ channel used to be, since it is located outside the administrative borders of the Holy Mountain. Although it has not survived to the present time, the place of its whereabouts is well marked today, becoming a tourist attraction of the Chalcidice Peninsula.6 Some remarks about Athos have also been preserved in a few historical works, for example in those of Pliny the Elder, who mentions the town Apollonia. Those traces do not however have any vital influence on popular culture, but are used only by the researchers of this topic, and that is why I am not going to study them here.

Athos in the apocryphal literature Another issue worth looking into is the presence of Athos in legends7. At the beginning of the 20th century, at village markets and during monastery celebrations on the lands of Bulgaria or Serbia, greatly popular among the common people were booklets describing the lives of local saints or stories connected with the Holy Mountain. Many of these texts were preserved in written form, but at the same time many of them survived thanks to their creators’ memories. The Holy Mount has been present in the life space of the Balkan people not only in the official documents or literature, but also in all kinds of folklore. For a few centuries these regions were devoid of statehood, as well as of the Orthodox hierarchy. Such a lack of spiritual leadership resulted in the followers’ losing contact with the Church. Although village congregations often existed without any priests, their followers tried hard to keep the Christian tradition in many ways, and even if that tradition was not fully in agreement with the Orthodox canon, it still agreed with the Orthodox worldview. Not without significance was the difference in the process of

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recognising the saints by the Orthodox church in relation to the Catholic church. Unlike in Catholicism, there was no beatification process carried out by the institution of the Church, with the sainthood of a given individual decided by the local community. The role of the Orthodox hierarchy was limited to merely approval, and further to introducing the cult of a saint to the Orthodox calendar. During many holidays, the believers gathered in churches and monasteries, telling each other stories memorised from books about the lives of saints and their miracles, both those of local ones as well as the ones connected with Athos. During the time of Communism, the meaning of those Biblical apocrypha decreased significantly, which was caused by the persecution of Orthodox communities by the Communist authorities. No matter how eagerly the rulers wanted to fight all aspects of religious devotion, it was easier for them to fight against the official communication channels (literature, brochures), and the attempts at rooting the religion out in the nation proved to be ineffective. It was definitely easier to defeat a written work, simply by banning its publication, rather than keeping people from telling a story. How can one punish a person for what he said if he did not say it to the Party representatives, but to the church followers? The predominant majority of them, referring to the Holy Mountain, deals with its connections to the mother of Christ – Mary, not by coincidence, is one of the names used for calling this place the Garden of Mother of God. There are a few legends, in part on the main history of Athos, whereas a few others are connected with historic episodes at some monasteries. According to the tradition, after the Ascension the Mother of God accepted Lazarus’ invitation, who was the bishop of Cyprus at that time. During the sea journey their boat was pushed towards the shore and moored at the east face of Athos, the place where the pagan temple of Apollo was supposed to be. After her stepping down on the land, all living creatures were to call the people to come and bow in front of the Mother of God, rejecting all their pagan practices. Seeing this, Mary asked God to allow her to use this place as her own. Her declaration and blessing, which was given to the residents, are reasons of pride even for the monks presently living there. During many of my visits to Athos, I encountered monks displaying their pride in the land due to the fact that it was particularly favoured by the Mother of God. It is indeed a place whose residents remember Her, praying to her and believing truly that She also remembers them and protects them entirely. The Mother of God had a meaningful influence on the Holy Mountain, appearing in its critical moments. An example is her revealing herself to

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Saint Athanasius and directing him to the place where he was to hit the ground with his stick and find the squirting stream. The scene has been depicted many times by various artists, being an inspiration for many icon painters of those times. The Mother of God is also connected with other icons devoted to her, such as the one which can be found in the central place of the altar in the main Orthodox Church in Karies, the icon Axion Estin (ਡȟȚȠȞ ਥıIJȓȞ, Ⱦɨɫɬóɣɧɨ éɫɬɶ), or Portaitissa, hanging above the entry gate to Iviron Monastery, or else the so-called Triruczenica (Threehand), the icon of the Serbian monastery Chilandar. For each of those icons there is a separate legend made, explaining the reasons for their relation with the Mother of God. The Orthodox literature gladly uses the Athos plot, which often becomes the pretext for disseminating sermons. Most of those works, however, do not reach a mass reader, being only read by a narrow group of people tied with the Orthodox Church. Works such as the book written by the only Polish man on the Holy Mountain, Hiero-monk Gabriel Kranczuk, The Monks of Athos Mountain and Orthodox Spirituality, have taken on the form of written conversations with many Athos monks, so being nothing else but collections of sermons and religious teachings. The aim of the writing of Kranczuk’s book is mentioned in the introduction: “This project is caused by a feeling of Christian love towards (my) Orthodox brothers and deep wish for the salvation of all Christian people” (translation mine) (Hieromnich 1995: 3). An exception to these preaching works is Memories from Holy Mountain Athos (Wspomnienia ze ĝwiĊtej Góry Athos) by Archimandrite Cherubin, a clergyman who spent four years of his novitiate on the Holy Mountain. Moved by the time of his stay, trying to convey his memories and observations, he committed them to paper as Nostalgic Memories from the Garden of the Great and Holy Mother of God. Consistent with his will, they were published after his death by his brothers from the Monastery of Paraklit. This position is focused mainly on the sphere of sacrum, the author describing in it a number of his remarks about the spiritual richness and the hagiographic tradition of Athos. His memories are not only a description of his spiritual thoughts, but also build an interesting description of the perception and sightseeing process of the Holy Mountain by a young monk: “My God – I said – Where am I? Is it a reality? / When we were passing near St. Dionysus monastery, I was reminded of the stories that I had heard before, and realised something” (own translation) (Archimandryta Cherubin 1999: 9).

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Athos in popular literature Despite the fact that Athos motives are not commonly used, this does not mean that the topic of the Holy Mountain is not present at all in the contemporary popular culture. Numerous authors respond in their literary works to the magic of this place, building an extraordinary mood in them works by placing them on Athos. The best example is the bestselling novel from 2005, Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova. The author recalls the motif of the Holy Mountain only partially in order to make the fantastic plot look more realistic. The action takes place in many locations: firstly in Western Europe (Amsterdam, Spain and France) and later moves to the edge of the East European borders to Istanbul, Budapest, and the Rila and Baczkovo monasteries in Bulgaria, as well as to Romanian soil. Athos is mentioned only as a place, where in the Bulgarian monastery Zographou there is kept the account of an ancient monk’s journey, which has a relevant impact on solving the mystery by the main heroes (Kostova 2006: 467). Even though the central characters do not come to the Holy Mountain in person, the remark about it makes the reader “believe” in the reality of the plot created by Kostova. The dignity and prestige of Athos are the elements which make it highly credible. This measure creates an awareness of how well the Holy Mountain is perceived by a contemporary reader as an inaccessible and mysterious place. The motif of Athos also appears in another popular contemporary Serbian story authored by Vanja Buliü under the title Jovanovo zaveštanje (John’s Legacy). The criminal intrigue which entangles Serbian and Russian diplomats, secret agents, the Mafia, and the Templars, leads the main characters to the Holy Mountain. Readers will find there many historical and religious facts and legends, as well as author’s thoughts, which make the reader ask himself: What is literary fiction and what is real? The author’s impeccable workmanship and his clever building of tension do not help the reader to answer this question, and he may have a problem with differentiating what is fiction or reality. Regarding many relations between Athos and the neighbouring Slavic countries – Bulgaria, Serbia and Macedonia – it becomes quite crucial to trace the contemporary inspirations from Athos in the literature of those countries. There are many successful reports from the Serbs’ or Bulgarians’ peregrinations to the Holy Mountain, where some of those became published. These accounts were widely spread by the Orthodox Church sources, and reading them was common for those believers who could not get to the place personally. The change in the political situation after World War II, the taking of power by Communists and later the

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compulsory mass atheisation process of the society contributed to closing down the Orthodox Church distribution channels of Athos books. Although a few reports or literary positions referring in their gists to Athos did manage to escape censorship and get printed in such well-read periodicals as “Ʉɨɦɫɨɦɨɥɫɤɚ ɂɫɤɪɚ”, due to the lack of people’s interest, they did not become very popular. The remarks about the Holy Mountain were so infrequent that in the consciousness of present-day Bulgarian people the only 20th-century work to be found is one connected with religious topics – Antichrist by Emilian Stanew, a book written in 1970, dealing with the issue of heresy within the Orthodox Bulgarian Church of the Middle Ages, which, in spite of referring in its meaning to historical and religious topics, has become part of the mainstream of Bulgarian literature. It is not a coincidence that the Communist censorship made exactly this position popular as a book showing the problems and difficulties which had been bothering the Orthodox Church at the period of the Second Bulgarian Empire. Describing the problems nagging the Orthodox Church, it was easier to undermine the moral authority of their representatives of that time. Other works on religious topics found it hard to get through the censorship, leading to a situation in which even those referring to Athos-related topics did not manage reach readers. The political transformations after 1990 did not trigger any major changes in this sphere – the focus of attention of the society religiously uneducated and adamantly uninterested in the problems of the Church, though a society thirsty for spiritual experience, has become the literature modelled on Western themes, whereas less-demanding readers can get satisfaction from English pop-culture literature. It seems that also the present Bulgarian writers, particularly prose writers, have become indifferent to the spiritual needs of their countrymen and are occupied more with Bulgarian social problems or imitating foreign literary patterns rather than their own, original heritage. Holy Mount Athos, similarly to the previous decades, has remained the object of interest only for the researchers dealing with history and Orthodox Church issues, rarely appearing outside this sphere in the works of a narrow group of artists. A certain exception to the lack of willingness for the usage of the Holy Mountain in literary works can be the legacy of Emilia Dworianowa, a graduate of a musical school and Sophia University, and a Ph.D. She publishes not only academic books but also novels and short stories. So far, the ones that have appeared are: A Dissertation on the Topic of the Essence of Aesthetics in Christianity (ȿɫɬɟɬɢɱɟɫɤɚɬɚ ɫɴɳɧɨɫɬ ɧɚ ɯɪɢɫɬɢɹɧɫɬɜɨɬɨ) (Sofia 1992), and the fiction works Ʉɴɳɚɬɚ (1993), Passion ɢɥɢ ɫɦɴɪɬɬɚ ɧɚ Ⱥɥɢɫɚ (1995), La Velata (1998), Ƚɨɫɩɨɠɚ Ƚ.

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(2001) and Ɂɟɦɧɢɬɟ ɝɪɚɞɢɧɢ ɧɚ Ȼɨɝɨɪɨɞɢɰɚ (2006). The last, whose title in the English translation means “Earthly Gardens of the Mother of God,” earned in 2007 a Christo G. Danow Ministry of Culture Award. Her works have been translated into French, German and Hungarian. Some short essays were also published in the periodical ɏɪɢɫɬɢɹɧɫɬɜɨ ɢ ɤɭɥɬɭɪɚ. She is the best example of the presence of Holy Mount Athos in the popular culture. Although Dworianowa’s works were awarded and eagerly translated into foreign languages, her workmanship – in many cases original – raises some doubts. The author’s internal unrest, raised in the peak years of atheisation, and her quest for truth and sacrum, are observed by us through the eye of narration, typical for the post-modern era and feminism. It seems that the coalescence of religious elements with post-modernism and feminism ought to be exceptionally well thought out and motivated, and if it is not it will hardly bring any results accepted by the vast scope of readers. It is worthwhile noting her short essay Ɉɬɤɚɡɚɧɚɬɚ ɢɤɨɧɚ, which just after its appearance in the periodical ɏɪɢɫɬɢɹɧɫɬɜɨ ɢ ɤɭɥɬɭɪɚ was included in the Bulgarian press web portal Slovo. The text depicts the unrest of the generations born after the Second World War and raised in the spirit of atheism, becoming familiar with religion only by observing the behaviours and “superstitions” of the previous generations, and in spite of that hungry for the existence of a spiritual element in their lives (Ⱦɜɨɪɹɧɨɜɚ:http://www.slovo.bg/showwork.php3?AuID=440&WorkID= 15770&Level=1): ȼɢɫɟɲɟ ɜ ɧɚɣ-ɬɴɦɧɢɹ ɴɝɴɥ ɧɚ ɢɡɬɨɱɧɚɬɚ ɫɬɟɧɚ, ɜ ɫɩɚɥɧɹɬɚ ɧɚ ɛɚɛɚ ɦɢ. Ɍɚɦ ɜɢɧɚɝɢ ɫɜɟɬɟɲɟ ɨɝɴɧɱɟ. ɉɨɧɹɤɨɝɚ ɫɟ ɫɩɢɪɚɯɦɟ ɩɪɟɞ ɧɟɹ, ɛɚɛɚ ɦɟ ɜɞɢɝɚɲɟ ɧɚ ɪɴɰɟ ɢ ɤɚɡɜɚɲɟ – ɜɢɠ, ɬɨɜɚ ɟ Ȼɨɝɨɪɨɞɢɰɚ ɉɪɟɛɥɚɝɨɞɚɬɧɚ, ɞɨɧɟɫɟɧɚ ɟ ɱɚɤ ɨɬ Ⱥɬɨɧ... – ɚ ɚɡ ɫɟ ɩɥɚɲɟɯ. Hanging on the darkest corner of the eastern wall in my grandma’s bedroom. There was always a fire lit there. Sometimes we stopped in front of it and grandma lifted me up in her hands and told me: Look, this is the Mother of God of Forgiveness, brought here from Athos … – and I was afraid (translation mine).

In the quoted essay appears the author’s first question connected with the mountain Athos. Unfortunately, the answer to it (by her mind’s voice once the narrator’s grandmother does not provide it any more) usually sounds naive. Dworianowa does not go outside the popular stereotypes referring to the Holy Mountain, concentrating mainly on the commonly

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known information, particularly focusing on the fact, little-understood by her, of excluding from its sphere the female element (Ibidem): ɋɜɟɬɚ ɝɨɪɚ ɟ Ɇɹɫɬɨ, ɡɚɛɪɚɧɟɧɨ ɡɚ ɠɟɧɢ. Ɉɩɚɫɧɨ, ɪɟɜɧɢɜɨ ɢ ɜɢɧɨɜɧɨ ɦɹɫɬɨ, Ƚɪɚɞɢɧɚɬɚ, ɤɴɞɟɬɨ ɜ Ɂɟɦɧɢɹ ɋɢ ɞɹɥ, Ȼɨɝɨɪɨɞɢɰɚ ɫɴɜɫɟɦ ɇɟɛɟɫɧɨ ɩɪɟɛɢɜɚɜɚ. ɋɚɦɨɬɧɚ ɞɨ ɧɟɭɡɧɚɜɚɟɦɨɫɬ. ɂ ɋɬɪɚɲɧɨ Ɍɴɠɧɚ, ɨɫɜɟɧ ɚɤɨ ɨɬɞɚɜɧɚ ɧɟ ɟ ɧɚɩɭɫɧɚɥɚ Ɇɨɧɚɲɟɫɤɚɬɚ ɪɟɩɭɛɥɢɤɚ, ɤɴɞɟɬɨ ɫɜɟɬɴɬ, ɧɟɢɦɨɜɟɪɧɨ ɨɩɪɨɫɬɟɧ, ɟ ɨɬɫɹɤɴɥ ɩɨɥɨɜɢɧɚɬɚ ɨɬ ɫɟɛɟ ɫɢ, ɚɦɩɭɬɢɪɚɥ ɫɟ ɟ ɧɹɤɚɤ ɢ ɝɨɪɞɟɥɢɜɨ ɟ ɢɡɬɪɴɝɧɚɥ ɱɚɫɬ ɨɬ Ɍɜɨɪɟɧɢɟɬɨ ɢɡ ɫɜɨɹ ɤɨɪɟɧ … Ⱦɨɪɢ ɠɟɧɫɤɢ ɠɢɜɨɬɧɢ ɧɹɦɚ. ɇɹɦɚ ɤɨɬɤɢ, ɧɢɬɨ ɤɭɱɟɬɚ, ɤɨɢɬɨ ɫɚ ɤɭɱɤɢ, ɧɢɬɨ ɤɨɡɢ. The Holy Mount is a place forbidden to two men. A dangerous, jealous and wrong location. The garden, where in Her earthly share the Mother of God Heaven resides entirely. Lonely beyond recognition. And Very Sad, unless hadn’t left the Republic of the Monks for a long time, when the world greatly simplified was cut into a half of itself, amputated itself somehow and, proud, ripped out part of Creation to its root… Even no female animals. Neither cats, nor dogs that are female, no goats (translation mine).

In her most popular book, Ɂɟɦɧɢɬɟ ɝɪɚɞɢɧɢ ɧɚ Ȼɨɝɨɪɨɞɢɰɚ, the author refers for the second time to this topic, where in the essay a sensitive little girl asks for the possibility of seeing the original icon known from the reproduction (Ⱦɜɨɪɹɧɨɜɚ, Ɂɟɦɧɢɬɟ ɝɪɚɞɢɧɢ ɧɚ Ȼɨɝɨɪɨɞɢɰɚ, http://www.slovo.bg/showwork.php3?AuID=440&WorkID=15225&Level =3): - Ʉɨɝɚ ɳɟ ɜɢɞɹ ɢɫɬɢɧɫɤɚɬɚ? - ɇɢɤɨɝɚ. Ɍɚɦ ɧɚɫ ɧɟ ɧɢ ɩɭɫɤɚɬ, ɠɟɧɢ ɫɦɟ. - When will I see the original one? - Never! We are not allowed to enter there, we are the women (translation mine).

This is another time when the author helps us to realize how difficult it is to put up with the closing of the Holy Mountain area for women, representing in this way a typically feminist approach, forgetting the fact that this situation is determined by a many-centuries-old tradition. She leaves out many ages of Athos’ spiritual legacy, as well as the relevant

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role of this place as a unique spiritual guiding light, focusing only on the well-recognized themes. Born out of the longing for the Absolute, and the greater likelihood of attaining it – apparently close, but forbidden by human beings present in the world accessible only to men – the book Ɂɟɦɧɢɬɟ ɝɪɚɞɢɧɢ ɧɚ Ȼɨɝɨɪɨɞɢɰɚ abounds rather with the texts of feminist, not religious significance (Ibidem): ɤɚɤɜɨ? Ⱥɬɨɧ? ɬɚɦ, ɤɴɞɟɬɨ ɧɟ ɩɭɫɤɚɬ ɠɟɧɢ? ɧɢɬɨ ɤɨɬɤɢ? ɧɢɬɨ ɤɭɱɟɬɚ, ɤɨɢɬɨ ɫɚ ɤɭɱɤɢ, ɧɢɬɨ ɤɨɡɢ? ɞɚ ɤɪɴɠɚ ɨɤɨɥɨ ɦɴɠɟɬɟ, ɞɟɬɨ ɫɢ ɱɟɲɚɬ ɛɪɚɞɢɬɟ, ɱɟɲɚɬ ɤɨɪɟɦɢɬɟ. what? Athos? The place where women are not allowed to enter? neither cats, nor dogs that are female, no goats? hovering around men, who scratch their chins, who scratch their bellies (translation mine).

Dworianowa seems to think like a simple Bulgarian woman – in a mystical fashion but deeply rooted in the pre-Christian beliefs, joining into one the religions of all the peoples who have ever lived in these lands. Remarkable here is the choice of name for the heroine – Mary. The heroines of Dworianowa, though, have more in common with mythological characters than with Mary. Perhaps this is the reason why her considerations about the mountain of Athos, so often persistently rational rather than objective, are full of disbelief in eternity (Ibidem): Ɋɟɩɭɛɥɢɤɚɬɚ ɧɚ ɦɨɧɚɫɢɬɟ ɫɟ ɜɪɹɡɜɚɲɟ ɨɫɬɪɨ ɜ ɦɨɪɟɬɨ, ɞɴɥɴɝ ɡɟɥɟɧ ɪɴɤɚɜ ɟɞɜɚ ɫɤɚɱɟɧ ɫ ɩɨɥɭɨɫɬɪɨɜɚ, ɪɚɡɬɨɱɢɬɟɥɧɨ ɩɪɨɜɥɚɱɟɧ, ɩɨɱɬɢ ɢɡɝɭɛɢɥ ɜɪɴɡɤɚɬɚ ɫɢ ɫɴɫ ɡɟɦɹɬɚ, ɭɫɬɪɟɦɟɧ ɤɴɦ ɫɨɛɫɬɜɟɧɢɹ ɫɢ ɜɪɴɯ, ɤɨɣɬɨ ɫɟ ɨɛɜɢɜɚɲɟ ɩɨɧɹɤɨɝɚ ɜ ɨɛɥɚɰɢ, ɩɨɧɹɤɨɝɚ ɜ ɦɚɪɚɧɹ, ɚ ɤɨɝɚɬɨ ɫɥɴɧɰɟɬɨ ɩɪɨɝɨɧɜɚɲɟ ɢ ɞɪɚɫɤɨɬɢɧɢɬɟ ɨɬ ɧɟɛɟɬɨ, ɫɟ ɜɴɡɜɢɫɹɜɚɲɟ ɢɡɨɩɧɚɬ ɧɚɝɨɪɟ, ɥɢɲɟɧ ɨɬ ɪɚɫɬɢɬɟɥɧɨɫɬ, ɛɹɥ, ɚ ɧɚ ɜɴɪɯɚ ɦɭ ɤɚɬɨ ɛɟɧɤɚ ɟɞɢɧ ɫɤɢɬ – “ɉɪɟɨɛɪɚɠɟɧɢɟ Ƚɨɫɩɨɞɧɟ”, ɤɚɡɜɚɥɚ Ɇɚɪɢɹ, ɤɨɝɚɬɨ ɝɨ ɜɢɠɞɚɥɚ, ɚ ɩɨɫɥɟ Metamorfosi Sotiros, ɢɡɪɢɱɚɥɚ, ɤɨɟɬɨ ɟ ɜɫɟ ɟɞɧɨ ɢ ɫɴɳɨ ɢ ɜɫɟ ɫɴɳɢɹɬ ɫɤɢɬ, ɧɨ ɫɚɦɨ ɡɚ ɬɨɡɢ, ɤɨɣɬɨ ɧɟ ɜɹɪɜɚ ɜ ɦɚɝɢɱɟɫɤɚɬɚ ɫɢɥɚ ɧɚ ɞɭɦɢɬɟ. The Republic of Monks cut sharply into the sea, a green long sleeve just docked with the peninsula, almost lost their connection to land, aspiring to its own peak, which sometimes wrapped itself in the clouds, sometimes haze, sun explosion and scratches on the sky, soared high up tight, denuded, white and on a peak, like a mole one skete – “Transfiguration of Our Lord”, said Mary when saw it, and then Metamorfosi Sotiros which is all the same, still the same skete, but only for those, who doesn’t believe in the magical power of words (translation mine).

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Even the most remote times of Athos, its mythological past, remain downgraded by Dworianowa to a conflict of male and female elements (Ibidem): ɉɪɢɩɨɦɧɢ ɫɢ Ʌɟɝɟɧɞɚɬɚ, ɤɨɹɬɨ ɫ ɩɨɦɨɳɬɚ ɧɚ ɦɨɪɟɬɨ ɛɟɲɟ ɫɦɟɧɢɥɚ ɟɫɬɟɫɬɜɨɬɨ ɧɚ ɬɚɡɢ ɡɟɦɹ, ɧɨ ɛɟɲɟ ɜɫɟ ɩɚɤ ɫɴɯɪɚɧɢɥɚ ɢɦɟɬɨ ɣ, ɩɪɢɞɨɛɢɬɨ ɦɧɨɝɨ ɩɪɟɞɢ ɛɥɚɝɨɩɪɢɫɬɨɣɧɚɬɚ ɜɴɥɧɚ ɞɚɩɨɥɨɠɢ ɬɚɦ Ɇɚɣɤɚɬɚ ɢ ɫɟ ɡɚɩɢɬɚ ɡɚɳɨ ɥɢ ɧɟ ɟ ɡɚɥɢɱɟɧ ɫɩɨɦɟɧɴɬ ɡɚ ɨɧɚɡɢ ɛɢɬɤɚ, ɜ ɤɨɹɬɨ ɡɟɦɹɬɚ ɩɪɢɞɨɛɢɜɚɥɚ ɮɨɪɦɢɬɟ ɫɢ ɢ ɨɫɬɚɜɚɥɚ ɞɚ ɩɨɫɬɨɹɧɫɬɜɚ ɜ ɫɴɳɟɫɬɜɭɜɚɧɟɬɨ ɫɢ ɬɚɤɚɜɚ, ɤɚɤɜɚɬɨ ɟ. Ɋɚɡɝɥɟɞɚ ɩɨɞɪɨɛɧɨ ɩɪɨɬɨɱɢɥɨɬɨ ɫɟ ɩɚɪɱɟ ɤɚɦɴɤ ɢ ɩɪɴɫɬ, ɡɚ ɞɚ ɩɨɬɴɪɫɢ ɜ ɧɟɝɨ ɨɱɟɪɬɚɧɢɹɬɚ ɧɚ ɬɢɬɚɧɢɱɧɨ ɬɹɥɨ, ɧɨ ɮɨɪɦɚɬɚ ɨɬɧɨɜɨ ɣ ɧɚɩɨɦɧɢ ɟɞɢɧɫɬɜɟɧɨ ɟɪɟɤɬɢɪɚɥ ɱɥɟɧ, ɢ ɩɨɦɢɫɥɢ, ɱɟ ɧɚɜɹɪɧɨ ɫɥɟɞ ɛɨɪɛɚɬɚ ɫ ɉɨɫɟɣɞɨɧ, ɨɬ ɬɢɬɚɧɚ Ⱥɬɨɫ ɟ ɨɫɬɚɧɚɥ ɫɚɦɨ ɨɪɝɚɧɴɬ ɦɭ, ɜɴɩɪɟɤɢ ɬɜɴɪɞɟɧɢɹɬɚ ɧɚ ɦɢɬɚ, ɱɟ ɰɟɥɢɹɬ ɟ ɩɨɝɪɟɛɚɧ ɬɚɦ, ɡɚɪɨɜɟɧ ɩɨɞ ɤɚɦɚɪɢ ɨɬ ɤɚɦɴɧɢ, ɤɨɢɬɨ ɫɚɦ ɫɟ ɨɩɢɬɜɚɥ ɞɚ ɢɡɫɢɩɟ ɜɴɪɯɭ ɝɥɚɜɚɬɚ ɧɚ ɛɨɝɚ ɢ ɤɨɢɬɨ ɞɚɥɢ ɧɟ ɢɡɬɪɴɝɜɚɥ ɧɚɩɪɚɜɨ ɨɬ ɧɟɛɟɬɨ? Remember the Legend, where with the help from the sea the nature of the land was changed, but it still preserved its name, acquired long before a decorous wave laid Mother there, and asked why it doesn’t remember the memory of that battle, in which they acquired their form staying and continuing in existence, as it is. Looking closely at a piece of stone and finger, to find on it the outline of a titanic body, on the new form, remained only an erect pecker, and will think that after the fight with Poseidon, from titan Athos just a part of his body was left, despite the claims of myth, that the whole is buried there, buried under the stones, that he was trying to put on the head of a god, and that he almost leaped out straight from the sky? (own translation).

Her concerns are to some extent relieved by a carrier, a simple and uneducated man, but deeply believing and understanding the mysticism of the Holy Mountain. By involving himself in the discussion, he tries to explain to her that (Ibidem): ɳɟ ɩɪɢɫɬɴɩɢɦ ɜ ɡɟɦɹɬɚ, ɜɹɪɧɨ ɟ ɱɟ ɬɢ ɧɢɤɨɝɚ ɧɹɦɚ ɧɚɢɫɬɢɧɚ ɞɚ ɩɪɢɫɬɴɩɢɲ, ɫɚɦɨ ɳɟ ɩɥɭɜɚɲ ɜ ɨɤɨɥɨɩɥɨɞɧɢɬɟ ɣ ɜɨɞɢ, ɤɨɢɬɨ ɹ ɯɪɚɧɹɬ, ɡɚɳɨɬɨ ɬɚɡɢ ɡɟɦɹ ɟ ɫɜɟɳɟɧɨ ɬɹɥɨ, ɚ Ɍɹɥɨɬɨ ɟ ɠɟɧɫɤɨ ɢ ɧɚ ɠɟɧɢɬɟ ɟ ɡɚɛɪɚɧɟɧɨ ɞɚ ɫɟ ɞɨɤɨɫɜɚɬ ɞɨ ɠɟɧɫɤɨɬɨ ɬɹɥɨ, ɬɨ ɧɟ ɢɦ ɩɪɢɧɚɞɥɟɠɢ. ɇɟ ɦɨɠɟɲ ɞɚ ɫɟ ɞɨɤɨɫɧɟɲ ɞɨ ɫɟɛɟ ɫɢ, ɬɜɨɢɬɟ ɩɴɬɢɳɚ ɫɚ ɨɛɯɨɞɧɢ, ɨɤɨɥɨɩɥɨɞɧɢ, ɧɨ ɢ ɧɚ ɧɚɫ ɧɢ ɟ ɡɚɛɪɚɧɟɧɨ ɩɨɪɚɞɢ ɞɪɭɝɢ ɩɪɢɱɢɧɢ ɢ ɩɨ ɞɪɭɝ ɧɚɱɢɧ, ɜɴɩɪɟɤɢ ɱɟ ɫɬɴɩɜɚɦɟ ɬɚɦ. ɇɢɟ ɫɚɦɨ ɨɯɪɚɧɹɜɚɦɟ ɡɚɛɪɚɧɟɧɨɬɨ ɦɹɫɬɨ, ɨɬ ɧɟɝɨ ɫɚɦɨɬɨ ɝɨ ɩɚɡɢɦ ɞɚ ɧɟ ɫɟ ɞɨɤɨɫɧɟ ɛɢ ɢɫɤɚɥɚ ɞɚ ɜɢɞɢɲ ɝɪɚɞɢɧɢɬɟ ɧɚ Ⱥɬɨɧ, ɧɨ ɧɟ ɦɨɠɟɲ, Ɇɚɪɢɹ, ɧɟ ɫɢ

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It is nothing but a paradox that the only contemporary Bulgarian nonacademic book inspired by the subject of the Holy Mountain was penned by a person who might have known Athos only from other peoples’ reports and descriptions. It is quite likely because of the longing for this unusual place that there prevails in the earthly gardens of the Mother of God the element of rationality and the desire to penetrate the unknown world, whereas the author through the character from her book seems to not monitor a regular human curiosity. She carelessly proliferates the myths which have been gravitating around the Holy Mountain for many ages, being for her a world arranged and meant for men, rather than the earthly gardens of the Mother of God.

Athos in tourist guide books An exceptionally interesting and unappreciated carrier of the history and culture of Athos are tourist guide books. For an average culture participant they are oftentimes the only source of knowledge. However, preparing for a trip to the Holy Mountain or around that area, we need to reach for a guide book. A source of almost all guides is a range of historical, cultural or literary works (listed in the bibliography), enriched by the elements of pop culture. It is exactly a guide book that is responsible for the changes occurring in the way cultural monuments are perceived by an ordinary tourist-recipient. Such works are often a fusion of a guide book and an academic book, usually more resembling informative booklets than practical guides. A great example could be The Holy Mountain: the Garden of the Virgin Mary (Thessaloniki: Rekos, 2004), which has been translated into many languages. The original was written in Greek and was appreciated by many translations, currently the most popular book about the Republic of

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Monks accessible not only in the near vicinity but also purchasable across all of Greece. While travelling around Greece, it can be found either in book or gift shops in Thessaloniki, at the Olympic Riviera or in Athens8. Apart from the overall information dealing with the history and spirit of Athos, we can find some brief texts referring to each of its twenty monasteries. The final pages of the publication are typically devoted to practical information (on as many as two pages), and one can also find a list of major phone numbers on the Holy Mount, and even a chart with distances between Athos monasteries measured in kilometres. Such information, highly useful for pilgrims and tourists, proves that the authors were determined to reach groups of travellers and pilgrims heading to Athos. Despite the fact that such a group is not numerous, as only ten nonOrthodox people can be admitted to the Mountain daily, it is worthwhile to prepare a brochure for people interested in this place. For many people who are not able to get there (e.g. women), a tour guide represents often the only and most important source of information. A quite different interpretation of the topic is offered by Antonis Iordanoglou in his work The Virgin’s Garden: Mount Athos. Besides an overall introduction and presentation of some key facts about Athos (architecture, rule of life, food, monasteries, and administrative system), the author does not present each individual monastery, but proposes to the reader six routes with monasteries on the way. An interesting thing to note is the final section, Travel Diary, where the reader can write down his own remarks and practical information from the trip. Such a work, leaving a few blank pages for additional notes, makes the book really worth recommending. Many other works, regarded as guide books, do not contain so much practical information, concentrating only on a historical profile, describing the peninsula and presenting some of the more significant monasteries and sketes. An example of these is Agion Oros, a work prepared by the publisher Rekos and translated into many languages, including Polish. The functions of such a travel book could be similar to a map; nevertheless, there are not many of those. The most popular and widely available is a five-language (Greek, English, German, Serbian and Russian) map, printed by M. TOUBIS, S.A. Apart from a detailed map with all major roads and trails of Athos, we can also find general information as well as short notes about all the monasteries. These maps are nothing but a shortened form of a guide book, as the potential pilgrims heading to the area of the Monks’ Republic would try to take as little luggage as possible. Such an approach makes them more willing to choose

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maps or brochures rather than guide books describing entire regions or a country. The above-depicted process can be observed among many people travelling to Rome or Athens, expecting to sightsee those places and learn the ancient culture. It is not very probable that those people will reach for Hammond’s, Carr’s or Scalard’s works, or for a National Geographic guide book. An interesting fact is that it is pointless to search through books on the reception of antiquity for different chapters describing such topics. Perhaps this is a matter which would unveil to the researchers of this subject a new and fascinating area of study.

Summary The issue of the presence of Athos in popular literature and culture is enormously wide and complex. This topic consists of various research areas as well as numerous research methodologies of this phenomenon. It is likely that borrowing some models on the reception of the Greco-Roman culture worked out by the researchers could constitute a starting point for such investigations. The examples I have managed to find will make it easier to create an opinion about the hardly known Holy Mount Athos in popular culture. Trying to understand the problem of the reception of Holy Mount Athos in ancient and contemporary culture, we have to understand that such problems are very complicated. In this article I have been trying to show such problems through a number of examples. Athos is not a place which can exist widely in the contemporary culture, even if it were only for the fact that access to it is very limited, both as a closed area for women and also due to the limitations for men, who are required to have a visa. This place, which is not easily accessible and is, in that way, spared from mass tourism, has become a synonym of mystery, for which some artists reach out in order to either improve their plot or to build the desired atmosphere. Despite many years of struggling to open the facilities of the Holy Mountain for women, so far the nearly three-hundred-year-old tradition has prevailed, and as I have realised during my many visits, due to the determination and tenacity of the Athos monks, this situation will remain unchanged for many years to come. But, of course, even if Athos is not accessible for the average tourist, many of them could read about it and dream about travelling there, although they are not allowed to enter.

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Bibliography Aeschylus. With an English translation by Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph. D. in two volumes. 2. Agamemnon. Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph. D. Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 1926. Herodotus, with an English translation by A. D. Godley. Cambridge MA.: Harvard University Press, 1920. Archimandryta Cherubin. Wspomnienia ze ĝwiĊtej Góry Athos. Translated by J. PaĔkowski. Hajnówka: Bratczyk, 1999. Ȼɨɹɞɠɢɟɜɚ, ȿɤɚɬɟɪɢɧɚ. Ȼɚɧɫɤɨ ɢ Ⱥɬɨɧ. Sofia: ARS Millenium MMM, 2002. Buliü, Vanja. Jovanovo zaveštanje. Beograd: Laguna, 2013. Ⱦɜɨɪɹɧɨɜɚ, ȿɦɢɥɢɹ. Ɂɟɦɧɢɬɟ ɝɪɚɞɢɧɢ ɧɚ Ȼɨɝɨɪɨɞɢɰɚ. Accessed 10 January, 2015. http://www.slovo.bg/showwork.php3?AuID=440&WorkID=15225&L evel=3 —. Ɉɬɤɚɡɚɧɚɬɚ ɢɤɨɧɚ. Accessed 10 January, 2015. http://www.slovo.bg/showwork.php3?AuID=440&WorkID=15770&L evel=1 (15.11.2013). Dymczyk, Rafaá. “Góra Athos i jej wpáyw na kulturĊ Sáowian”. In Klasztory i kultura krajów sáowiaĔskich, edited by W. StĊpniakMinczewa, 149-153. Kraków: Papieska Akademia Teologiczna, 2001. —. “ĝwiĊta Góra Athos”. In Byü Europejczykiem, edited by red. A. W. Mikoáajczak, 30-49. Gniezno: CEG, 2002. —. “The Holy Pilgrimages of Orthodox”. In Tourism In The Circle Of The European Culture, edited by A. W. Mikoáajczak and R. Dymczyk, 3352. Gniezno: Humanistic and Interdisciplinary Research Group AMU, 2013. Dymczyk, Rafaá and Aleksander W. Mikolajczak. “Cyrylianitas i Latinitas na ĝwiĊtej Górze Athos”. Folia philologica macedono-polonica, vol. 8 (2011): 127-136. Enev, Mikhail. Mount Athos Zograph Monastery. Sofia: Kibela Publishers, 1994. ȿɜɞɨɤɢɦɨɜ, ɉɚɜɟɥ. ɉɪɚɜɨɫɥɚɜɢɟɬɨ. Sofia: Ɉɦɨɮɨɪ, ɋ., 2006. Faridis, Konstantinos. The Holy Mountain: the Garden of the Virgin Mary. Thessaloniki: Rekos, 2004. Hardwick, Lorna and Christopher Stray (eds.), A Companion to Classical Receptions. Malden, MA; Oxford: Blackwell, 2008. Hieromnich Gabriel. Mnisi Góry Atos o duchowoĞci prawosáawnej. Hajnówka: Hajnowski Bratczyk, 1995.

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Iordanoglou, AntǀnƝs. The Virgin’s Garden. Mount Athos. Athens: Road Editions, 2005. Kokkas, Kiros. Góra Athos: brama do nieba. Translated by W. DzieĪa. CzĊstochowa: ĝwiĊty Paweá, 2005. Kostova, Elisabeth. Historyk. Translated by M. WroczyĔski. Warszawa: ĝwiat KsiąĪki, 2006. Ʉɨɜɚɱɟɜ, Ɇ. Ȼɴɥɝɚɪɫɤɨ ɦɨɧɚɲɟɫɬɜɨ ɜ Ⱥɬɨɧ. Sofia, 1967. Loch, Sydney. Athos. The Holy Mountain. London: Lutterworth Press, 1957. ɇɢɯɨɪɢɬɢɫ, Ʉɨɧɫɬɚɧɬɢɧɨɫ. ɋɜɟɬɚ Ƚɨɪɚ – Ⱥɬɨɧ ɢ ɛɴɥɝɚɪɫɤɨɬɨ ɧɨɜɨɦɴɱɟɧɢɱɟɫɬɜɨ. Ⱥɤɚɞɟɦɢɱɧɨ ɢɡɞɚɬɟɥɫɬɜɨ “ɉɪɨɮ. Ɇɚɪɢɧ Ⱦɪɢɧɨɜ”, ɋɨɮɢɹ 2001 ɝ. ɉɚɩɚɯɪɢɫɚɧɬɭ, Ⱦɢɨɧɢɫɢʁɟ. Ⱥɬɨɧɫɤɨ ɦɨɧɚɲɬɜɨ. Beograd: Manastir Hilandar, 2003. ɉɪɚɲɤɨɜ, Ʌɸɛɟɧ, Ⱥɬɚɧɚɫ ɒɚɪɟɧɤɨɜ. ɉɚɦɟɬɧɢɰɢ ɧɚ ɤɭɥɬɭɪɚɬɚ ɧɚ ɋɜɟɬɚ Ƚɨɪɚ Ⱥɬɨɧ. Sofia, 1987. Przybyá, ElĪbieta. Prawosáawie. Kraków: Wydawnictwo Znak, 2000. Speake G., Mount Athos. Renewal in Paradise. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002. Ɂɥɚɬɚɪɫɤɢ, ȼɚɫɢɥ. ɂɫɬɨɪɢɹ ɧɚ ɛɴɥɝɚɪɫɤɚɬɚ ɞɴɪɠɚɜɚ ɩɪɟɡ ɫɪɟɞɧɢɬɟ ɜɟɤɨɜɟ. II ɮɨɬɨɬɢɩɧɨ ɢɡɞ., ɇɚɭɤɚ ɢ ɢɡɤɭɫɬɜɨ. ɋɨɮɢɹ, 1972.

Notes 1

M. Enev, Mount Athos Zograph Monastery, (Sofia: Kibela Publishers, 1994); ɉ. ȿɜɞɨɤɢɦɨɜ, ɉɪɜɨɫɥɚɜɢɟɬɨ, (Sofia 2006); K. Kokkas, Góra Athos, (Edycja Ğw. Pawáa, 2005); M. Ʉɨɜɚɱɟɜ, Ȼɴɥɝɚɪɫɤɨ ɦɨɧɚɲɟɫɬɜɨ ɜ Ⱥɬɨɧ (Sofia, 1967); Ʌ. ɉɪɚɲɤɨɜ and A. ɒɚɪɟɧɤɨɜ, ɉɚɦɟɬɧɢɰɢ ɧɚ ɤɭɥɬɭɪɚɬɚ ɧɚ ɋɜɟɬɚ Ƚɨɪɚ Ⱥɬɨɧ, (Sofia 1987); E. Przybyá-Sadowska, Prawosáawie, (Kraków: Wydawn. Znak, 2006); G. Speake, Mount Athos. Renewal in Paradise, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002); B. Ɂɥɚɬɚɪɫɤɢ, ɂɫɬɨɪɢɹ ɧɚ ɛɴɥɝɚɪɫɤɚɬɚ ɞɴɪɠɚɜɚ ɩɪɟɡ ɫɪɟɞɧɢɬɟ ɜɟɤɨɜɟ (Sofia, 1971). See also: R. Dymczyk, “ĝwiĊta Góra Athos,” in Byü Europejczykiem, edited by Aleksander W. Mikoáajczak, 30-49, (Gniezno: CEG, 2002); R. Dymczyk and A.W. Mikolajczak, “Cyrylianitas i Latinitas na ĝwiĊtej Górze Athos,” in Folia philologica macedono-polonica, vol. 8, 127-136. R. Dymczyk, “The Holy Pilgrimages of the Orthodox,” in Tourism in the Circle of the European Culture, edited by Aleksander W. Mikoáajczak and Rafaá Dymczyk, 33-52, (Gniezno; PoznaĔ: Humanistic and Interdisciplinary Research Group AMU, 2013). 2 L. Hardwick, Reception Studies, (Oxford; New York: Published for the Classical Association by Oxford University Press, 2003); L. E. Maguire, Helen of Troy:

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from Homer to Hollywood. (Chichester, U.K.; Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009); L. Hardwick and Ch. Stray (eds.), A Companion to Classical Receptions, (Malden, MA; Oxford: Blackwell, 2008); C. W. Kallendorf (ed.), A Companion to the Classical Tradition (Malden, MA: Blackwell Pub., 2007). 3 See: M. Enev. op.cit.; E. Ȼɨɹɞɠɢɟɜɚ, Ȼɚɧɫɤɨ ɢ Ⱥɬɨɧ (Sofia, 2002); M. Ʉɨɜɚɱɟɜ, Ȼɴɥɝɚɪɫɤɨ ɦɨɧɚɲɟɫɬɜɨ ɜ Ⱥɬɨɧ (Sofia, 1967); K. ɇɢɯɨɪɢɬɢɫ, ɋɜɟɬɚ Ƚɨɪɚ – Ⱥɬɨɧ ɢ ɛɴɥɝɚɪɫɤɨɬɨ ɧɨɜɨɦɴɱɟɧɢɱɟɫɬɜɨ (Sofia, 2001); Ⱦ. ɉɚɩɚɯɪɢɫɚɧɬɭ, Ⱥɬɨɧɫɤɨ ɦɨɧɚɲɬɜɨ (Beograd, 2003). 4 The bibliography for the Holy Mountain I have prepared in my Ph.D. dissertation Athos Tradition of Zograf Versus Spiritual Rebirth of Bulgaria at the Times of the European Integration (Athoska tradycja Zografu a duchowe odrodzenie Buágarii w obliczu integracji europejskiej) (PoznaĔ, 2008). 5 During my five research trips to Holy Mount Athos only once did I have the possibility of making myself familiar with the treasures kept in the vaults of the monasteries. This happened in the monastery of Great Lavra in 2006. In order to get to the treasury, a permit from the monastery’s igumen was required, as well as a permit from three other monks. It turned out later that the four keys were held secure in the hands of the igumen and four monks, and any of them had the right to refuse to open the vault without giving any reason. We were lucky indeed, as the igumen asked the brothers to open the vault to carry out a ritual consecration of water, and for that he needed the cross stored in the vault. 6 It probably becomes an attraction because entrance to the Holy Mount Athos is regulated. 7 In many works dealing with Holy Mount Athos a legend is given as a source. However, the foundation is the apocrific literature. In this article I am not advancing the issue of which of them are legends created on the basis of apocrifs, and which are apocrifs based on legends. Either of them is treated by myself as an indirect tradition. 8 A situation frequently observed by myself as the owner of a travel agency, and at the same time an organiser of and participant in hundreds of trips (incentive travel, tour travel, academic travel) around the Balkan Peninsula.

C://HERCULES IN COMPUTER GAMES/ A HEROIC EVOLUTION SYLWIA CHMIELEWSKA UNIVERSITY OF WARSAW

Abstract: The aim of this article is to present Hercules as the most popular model of an ancient hero in the history of computer games. It includes a short analysis of around twelve games and series of games developed and released since the 1980s, e.g. Hercules (1984), Disney’s Hercules Action Game (1997), Zeus: Master of Olympus (2000) and Rise of the Argonauts (2008). Also, the author wishes to present the protagonist of the God of War series (2005-2013) – Kratos – as an unexpected, revolutionary adaptation of Hercules. The article will draw upon this research in order to form some conclusions on the general role of this hero in computer games.

Introduction1 Researching the mythological themes in computer games has not been a very popular topic among classicists, nor among other scholars. However, a small number of publications in this particular field have recently emerged. Dunstan Lowe (2009a), Cristian Ghita and Georgios Andrikopoulos (2009) have touched this topic in their articles; Thea S. Thorsen (2012) edited a volume consisting of several articles focused only on the reception of antiquity in computer games. Nonetheless, given that there is so much data to work with, there is still room for more such studies: as Lowe points out, computer games are “not only the latest, but the best example of classical reception” (Lowe 2009a: 65). In this article I am going to focus only on Hercules, as he is the most widely and most commonly reinterpreted mythical hero from the GraecoRoman past. The main aim of my work is to present the variety of “Herculeses” in computer games in order to show that each one of them is differently modelled, has a different range of abilities and plays different roles in each game and, on the other hand, that they are all similar in a way. I also wish to present the reception of Hercules in games as a process of constant evolution. This hero has conquered the world of computer

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games – he has transformed himself from a little pixelated creature on the screen, first to a powerful and invincible hero, then to a curious adventurer, an envious avenger, and finally to a mighty, unstoppable antihero. I am not going to quote many sources apart from the games themselves, even though many references to myths other than that about Hercules could be made. I believe that such an extended analysis requires months of research, which would result in a much more comprehensive text. Also, I am going to rely on internet sources when referring to additional information about computer games. In this particular field it seems to be the most reliable and most available source, except for the games themselves.

The Pixel Warrior In the 80s Hercules, although often made of just a few pixels, is always depicted as a great hero. However, the 1983 adventure game2 The Return of Heracles does not include our hero himself, but has the player chose between another nineteen mythical or historical figures, such as: Asclepius, Cadmus, Autolycus, Endymion, Perseus, Polydeuces, Castor, Actaeon, Theseus, Pegasus, Palaemon, Hippolyte, Melanippe, Jason, Achilles, Ajax, Odysseus, Philopoemen and Polybius. Why is the game named after Hercules then? The selected characters are to perform the twelve tasks, six of which happen to be the traditional Herculean labours (cf. Pseudo-Apollodorus Bibliotheke 2.5.1-2.5.12).3 The other quests are connected with other mythological heroes, who are present in the game, e.g. the player has to slay the Minotaur, retrieve the Golden Fleece or rescue Helen from the city of Troy. In the game any character can complete any quest, whereas Greek mythology speaks of a certain figure (or figures) taking part in fulfilling each task.4 A year later the game entitled Hercules5 (1984) was released, in which it is the hero himself who becomes the protagonist and performs his labours. All the tasks are done randomly, but before starting any of them information about it appears on the screen. It is written in such a manner (quote taken directly from the game): The first labour was to bring back the skin of the Nemean Lion which was devastating the Valley of Nemea. This Lion was a huge creature with a hide so tough that no weapon could pierce it. Hercules strangled the lion with his bare hands and later flayed it with its own claws and donned the skin. Eurystheus was so terrified at this that he now took refuge in a brazen den below the earth whenever Hercules approached.

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The player is given tasks in a random order; only capturing Cerberus is always held as the last one. What is more important, this game has some educational value: each piece of information shown just before making an attempt to go through very difficult levels is practically printed onto the player’s memory. The myth becomes connected to emotions then – excitement, annoyance, irritation, impatience or even stress; therefore the content of the myth is memorised very quickly.6 The 1987 text game The Labours of Hercules7 does not depict the hero graphically (we see Hercules only on the starting screen), but textually. Hercules is a “text”: he is described only by what is written on the screen, and the player’s task is to give him instructions by typing certain commands, such as “go east”, “examine gate” etc. For example, one of the first pieces of information provided by the game is as follows (quote taken directly from the game): Hercules stands outside the fabled Lion Gate, the entrance to the mighty citadel of Mycenae. The gate itself is to the N [north], whilst the road continues in both directions to the E [east] and W [west]. A smaller track also leads SW [southwest].

The year 1988 brings to us a simple beat-em-up game: Hercules – Slayer of the Damned. The protagonist is a stereotypical mighty and muscular hero with a club and his only task is to slay the undead as they appear on the screen one by one. He is pictured only as a fighter – the player does not get any additional information about him. One of the reviews from Your Sinclair magazine, after telling the reader about Hercules being famous for performing his labours, says that: (...) none of this seems to have any relevance to the actual game, ‘Hercules’, as Gremlin [the developer] seems to have abandoned what could have been quite an interesting plot and presented us with something which, apart from a beefy bloke and the number twelve, has little to do with any legend I’ve heard of! (Jonathan, 1988).

The beat-em-up genre is very specific. Firstly, one cannot complete the game – there is always the chance that the next time the player will achieve a higher score. Secondly, there is no particular plot or action in such a game: the only point is to push the buttons to kill the enemies. Unlike the other games analysed, this one provides the player only with the image of Hercules; it does not put him in a world full of adventures, unexpected twists or anything like that. There are just skeletons to kill (Fig. 2-1)

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Fig. 2-1. The opening screen from the game Hercules – Slayer of the Damned (1988).

The most commonly reinterpreted motif in these games is the story of Hercules performing his dodekathlon. However, such a plot is often just a background of the game; for example in Hercules (1984) the gameplay consists of jumping from one platform to another, avoiding traps and monsters etc. A similar situation occurs in the game The Return of Heracles (1983) – the game does not even include all of the labours. What is more, it mixes and modifies mythology in order to construct a different, new scenario based on a variety of mythological stories. Video game designers and developers seem not to hesitate to mix different motifs, not only those derived from Greek and Roman myths. Games based on the myth of Hercules are not an exception. After analysing just a few games from the 1980s one can see that this medium is most commonly not accurate in depicting the mythical world, nor to be fully faithful in interpretation of the ancient sources (Lowe 2009a: 85-87).

The Heroic Leader Hercules also appears in several strategy games. In city-builders, such as Zeus: Master of Olympus (2000) and Master of Atlantis: Poseidon8 (2001) he is one of the heroes that deal with the mythological creatures attacking the player’s city. What is more interesting, to summon Hercules, first the player has to build the Hero’s Hall. This building has to have excellent access to cultural facilities, every citizen has to have wide access to the gymnasiums, the city has to win any Pan-Hellenic game, and reach

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the population of 1500. Finally, the player has to store 32 amphorae of wine. Then, and only then, the hero will come to save the city. The player cannot control him, as in other games, he just summons him and watches the scene of Hercules dealing with Cerberus or Hydra. In other strategic games, such as Age of Mythology9 (2002) and Age of Mythology: The Titans (2003) or Invictus: In the Shadow of Olympus (2003) Hercules is a mortal soldier. In Age of Mythology he is one of the Greek heroes, whom we can recruit to defend our town along with other military units. His special ability is that he deals eight times more damage to mythical units (monsters) than other, non-heroic units. But all heroes available in the game have an attack bonus versus mythical units, so Hercules is not a special, extraordinarily strong character in this game – he is weaker than Bellerophon for example. In Invictus, similarly, Hercules can be chosen as one of the leading characters in the game10. He appears on the map as a small, mortal human (with Hercules being immortal the game would lose its point) with a huge club and makes all the other units commanded by the player tougher. He also can perform a special attack – Earthquake, which can harm not only the enemies, but also friendly units. The specific genre of a strategy game usually demands Hercules to be mortal. This excludes the two city-builders that I have mentioned, as the main goal is not to fight enemies, but to establish a prosperous city. In Zeus: Master of Olympus and Master of Atlantis: Poseidon Hercules will remain immortal and unbeatable then. But whenever he will be needed in a real-time strategy that focuses on establishing a base and attacking enemies, most likely he will be that muscular, bare-breasted man whom we have already seen in the cinema11. This observation seems valid for other games analysed here as well.

From Zero to Hero Probably the most famous Herculean figure as an adventurer is Disney’s Hercules (directors: Ron Clements, John Musker, USA 1997), who appears in Disney’s Hercules Action Game12 (1997) and the Kingdom Hearts13 series (2002-2012). In the first game mentioned here, young Hercules is a famous hero, who strives to become a god. To do so, he must show the gods that he is a true hero indeed: he has to defeat numerous monsters and prove that he is not only strong, but also agile and clever. His main enemy is Hades, just as in Disney’s motion picture. In the Japanese role-playing series Kingdom Hearts, which features other characters known from Disney’s films, he is pictured exactly the same, but

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the story has been extended, so to speak. Some of the episodes, in which Hercules has his role are, for example, saving Donald, Goofy and Cloud (a character from another game series: Final Fantasy) from Cerberus, fighting in the Coloseum games and encountering Hades from time to time (Fig. 2-2).

Fig. 2-2. Hercules in Kingdom Hearts Re: Chain of Memories (2007).

In 1997 Herc’s Adventures14 was released, a very humorous game, with a caricature of Hercules as one of the protagonists (the player can choose between him, Atalanta and Jason). The hero’s quest is to defeat Hades in order to rescue Persephone, but the game is not serious at all: Herc eats gyros, throws houses and sheep, fights space aliens and at the end he visits the office of the designers of the game. The plot of the game is as follows: Hades abducts Persephone. Then there is a scene of him and Zeus playing a game similar to chess, with Hades having Persephone and an army of pawns and Zeus having only Herc, Jason and Atalanta. Hades wants the winter to last longer, so there will be no spring, and therefore no food, and as a result all of the people in Greece will die providing Hades with power over humanity. Obviously all human beings would end up being ruled by him in the underworld. In this game, Hercules is a dark-haired, handsome, typically overconfident Casanova-like man. Of course he fights with a club and is abnormally strong – he can lift houses and sheep at the beginning of the game, whereas Jason and Atalanta have to upgrade their abilities to do so. The monsters that he faces are the most common creatures derived from Greek myths, which also appear in dozens of other games: The Calydonian

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Boar, the Minotaur, Medusa, Talos, the Hydra, Python, and Cerberus. Similarily to Disney’s Hercules, he fights Hades. The game has been designed in the aesthetics of irony and humour, so Herc, as well as any other character of the game, is a caricature. This particular feature makes the game extremely playable, fun and engaging. Imagine that Hades is not a god, but an enormous alien robot manipulated by Martians! The protagonist of Heracles: Battle with the Gods (2006) is similar to Herc – he looks like a misrepresentation of a once mighty hero. He starts a journey in search of Pegasus, who has been abducted by Poseidon and simultaneously he tries to regain the favour of the gods, who exiled him from Mount Olympus. Note that in all these games Hades and Poseidon took Hera’s place as the main villains. The game is dynamic, but not very interesting – it is just another action game, but of course it features lots of traps and mythical monsters. As one of the reviews says – “Do yourself a favour and skip this game” (Mykaso 2007). However, maybe there is something interesting about it. As the same reviewer also says: Heracles, known in Roman mythology as Hercules, is usually shown as a strong man, whose power was able to antagonize with the gods, but he is magically unable to use this mythical skill during the platforms levels here available. Instead, he throws a disc at his enemies and he is able to build some arcs (which vanish too quickly to be actually useful), even though he is seen using his physical strength in quite a few in-game cut scenes. (Mykaso 2007).

From Hero to Anti-hero Rise of the Argonauts was published in 2008 by Codemasters for Microsoft Windows, Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3. It is often described as an action role-playing game, or a combat role playing game and its plot is loosely based on Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautika. One of Jason’s companions is Hercules, who is the second most important Argonaut in the game. The huge, muscular hero is a typical pop-cultural personification of strength and kindness. He lacks intelligence and gets bored quickly. He says in response to one of Pan’s stories: “I judge a speech by how quickly I find myself asleep” (quote taken directly from the game). Hercules crushes his enemies with enormous hands and often talks to other characters in the game, especially to Pan. His character may be described by the following words, said by the hero in response to the threats of his

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enemies (quote taken directly from the game): “I am Hercules, son of Zeus, and here is the tribute I offer: pain, suffering and the dark death!”15 One may say now that when it comes to video games we should definitely expect the expected: the titanic figure of Hercules couldn’t be shown in any other way in such a medium (cf. Lowe 2009a: 74). Despite many simplifications or inconsistencies with the mythological tradition, computer games seem to be a very good source of knowledge about antiquity (cf. Ghita, Andrikopoulos 2009). The God of War series16 (2005-2013) is worth mentioning here. Highly valued by players, an outstandingly successful and popular action-adventure game, it presents perhaps the widest catalogue of reinterpreted themes and characters from Greek mythology. In God of War III (2010) Hercules is an enormous, mighty, incredibly strong anti-hero. The player meets him at Mount Olympus, long after his performance of the twelve labours; surprisingly, it is Hera that claims him as her champion. Hercules is envious of his half-brother Kratos and unsatisfied with the quests that were assigned to him. He says (quote taken directly from the game): Think about it brother. While I was stuck cleaning the Augean stables, he chose you to destroy Ares. Not convinced? How about this? While you were being crowned the god of war, I was sent to find an apple. They called them labors. Hah! Perhaps he did allow me to kill the Nemean Lion, but he made your name known amongst the people. A fierce warrior, a killer made hero. A man made a God. But this time brother, this time I will destroy you. Call it my thirteenth and final labor. Soon I will become the God of War and claim the throne for myself.

Hercules is filled with rage, thinking that Kratos is more famous than him, therefore he plans to destroy him and call this act his final, thirteenth labour17. This very brutal, negative character is finally killed by Kratos. He is voiced by Kevin Sorbo, best known for the title role in the Hercules: The Legendary Journeys TV show. It is a very interesting characteristic of the reception of antiquity in computer games, but not only in computer games: the ancient sources, literature and mass-media products interpenetrate with each other. Films have a very strong influence on the aesthetics of computer games and vice versa (cf. Lowe 2009a); our generation remembers Kevin Sorbo as Hercules in the 1990s, and now we see him “being” Hercules again (Fig. 2-3)

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Fig. 2-3. Hercules and Kratos in God of War III (2012).

It has already been pointed out that Kratos, the protagonist of the God of War series (2005-2013), a son of Zeus, shares many similarities with the mythological Hercules (“it is likely that the developers of the game were directly inspired by that particular ancient hero”, cf. Furtwängler 2012: 31). Both characters killed members of their families under the influence of the gods (Hera and Ares), and were then marked by mythological miasma. The narrator in God of War says (citation taken directly from the game): As the life began to leave Kratos, his thoughts returned to that fateful night. Even in death, the memories, the visions would not fade. For how could he forget, spilling the blood of his own family? A cruel trick orchestrated by the god of war.

While Hercules had been forced to perform the twelve labours, Kratos had to serve the Olympians for ten years to gain redemption. Both urgently seek (or sought) atonement, both are extremely muscular, mighty and brutal. They also share similar deaths. Neither Hercules, nor Kratos are positive characters. Unlike other pop-cultural depictions of Hercules, Kratos does not help people, fall in love or make friends – he has only enemies. In the whole series he is depicted as an avenger, a destroyer, an egotistic if invincible warrior, who cares only for himself. The only person he had ever loved and was his daughter – Calliope. At the end of God of

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War III Kratos destroys all the gods and plunges the world into the primordial chaos. God of War lets the player control a deeply tragic, Herculean anti-hero who, after murdering his family, has to wash away the miasma to regain his peace of mind. Spartan Kratos is a grievously tormented character: a character who will never know peace, and who will ultimately destroy the corrupted and vengeful gods. He is a meta-hero, built out of Hercules and other mythical heroes (Perseus, Theseus, Achilles… – although he encounters and fights many of them). He is the bearer of Greek myths. The game presents a brutal and bloody vision of Greek mythology, drawing upon the aesthetics of gore, but it is also an excellent, spectacular interpretation of the ancient world. For the price of a Hollywood-like exaggeration and hectolitres of blood spilled in the game, the player sees an image of a psychologically complicated, dire anti-hero, a vision of a demigod, who finds his way to self-destruction, a character who – despite being extremely violent towards innocent people – makes the player feel pity and fear! Kratos, compared to the protagonists of other games, is a unique and unusual figure: mad, stripped of humanity, tragic and devastated by the gods, determined avenger. I believe that mature computer game players expect to experience just such characters in games: individuals with expressively outlined characteristics, guided by their own sense of justice and – above all – utterly negative, mad villains unsuccessfully seeking relief from pain. This revolutionary interpretation of mythological themes, which nevertheless remains faithful to the ancient world in many respects, is in the God of War series something absolutely unique compared to other games inspired by Greeco-Roman antiquity. In this virtual world of Kratos, myths cease to be merely the background of a cheap plot – they have become carriers of meanings. One glance at Persephone, who – betrayed by the gods and unhappy in marriage with Hades – seeks to plunge the world into chaos, or at Hercules, jealous of the famous Kratos and seeking revenge on him, is enough to prove that. The divine universe and the human world interpenetrate into each other in the game: nothing can happen without the interference of the gods. But not all the motifs or characters were given a significant meaning, of course. There is still the world of monsters, powerful and enormous enemies, among which i.a. Minotaurs, Cerberuses, Satyrs, Gorgons and others can be found. But it is from this very connection between a tragic, antique story and the universe of wild and terrifying creatures, also drawn from mythology, that the series gains such great popularity18

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Conclusion Hercules’ myth is well known and widely used in computer games, it is still attractive and amusing, despite the existence of thousands of books, comic books, films and TV series featuring this hero. When we look at all the games presented in this short article, we can see that the Hercules in computer games is usually connected with his labours: either brief references or the labours themselves are presented in almost every game chosen for analysis here. Hercules’ name is always a synonym for strength, as strength is the most “visible” of his characteristics – computer games operate on images and sounds, just like the cinema; therefore the hero has to be pictured as a strong-man. What is more notable, is that none of the games develop the “dark side” of Hercules with the exception of the God of War series What does the player know about Hercules after playing a computer game? In the 80s Hercules was seen only as a great hero who has to fight with monsters and has twelve tasks to complete. Then, he was pictured as a commander, a soldier that leads an army to victory and, on the other hand, as an inexperienced young adventurer or a caricatured athlete. Only the latest games have reinterpreted less known facts from the hero’s mythical life. Gradually Hercules in video games has become an extremely elaborate and interesting character. The vision of cyberHercules has therefore evolved from a simple strong-man, through the sympathetic and friendly adventurer, to the villain. I do not recall any motion picture that has shown Hercules as such a demoralised anti-hero as he is pictured in God of War III. Classical themes are widely used in a large number of games. It is interesting that one of the newest (and possibly most dominant) forms of cultural expression derives from such an old, long-standing culture as that of ancient Greece and Rome, so deeply rooted in European civilisation. It is we – the players – who indirectly decide about which theme or motif is the most attractive for us and, according to my observations, myths have never ceased and will never cease to be alive and valid (cf. Chmielewska: 2013).

Bibliography Apollonius Rhodius Argonautika Ghita, Cristian, and Georgios Andrikopoulos. “Total War and Total Realism: A Battle for Antiquity in Computer Game History.” In Classics for All: Reworking Antiquity in Mass Culture, ed. Dunstan

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Lowe and Kim Shahabudin, 109-126. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009a. Lowe, Dunstan and Kim Shahabudin (eds.). Classics for All: Reworking Antiquity in Mass Culture. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009b. Pseudo-Apollodorus Bibliotheke 2.5.1-2.5.12 Thorsen, Thea S. (ed.). Greek and Roman Games in the Computer Age. Trondheim: Akademika Publishing, 2012. Winkler, Martin. Cinema and Classical Texts: Apollo’s New Light. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009.

Books (cited) Chmielewska, Sylwia. “Grywalny antyk.” In Antyk i My, ed. Katarzyna Marciniak, 192-198. Warsaw: Wydziaá “Artes Liberales” UW, 2013. Furtwängler, Frank. “God of War and the Mythology of Games.” In Greek and Roman Games in the Computer Age, ed. Thea S. Thorsen, 27-51. Trondheim: Akademina Publishing, 2012. Jonathan. “Hercules - Slayer of the Damned.” In Your Sinclair, August 1988: 66. Lowe, Dunstan. “Playing with Antiquity: Videogame Receptions of the Classical World.” In Classics for All: Reworking Antiquity in Mass Culture, ed. Dunstan Lowe and Kim Shahabudin, 64-90. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009a. Marciniak, Katarzyna. Antyk i My. Warsaw: Wydziaá “Artes Liberales” UW, 2013. Mykaso. Heracles – Battle with the Gods. Accessed April 14, 2013. http://www.gamefaqs.com/ds/943905-heracles-battle-with-thegods/reviews/review-120612 Trybus, Jessica. “Game-Based Learning: What it is, Why it Works, and Where it’s Going,” New Media Institute. Accessed March 8, 2013. http://www.newmedia.org/game-based-learning--what-it-is-why-itworks-and-where-its-going.html

Gameography Age of Mythology, Ensemble Studios: Microsoft Game Studios/MacSoft (Macintosh, PC: 2002). Expansion: The Titans (2003). Disney’s Hercules Action Game, Eurocom: Disney Interactive Software (PS, PC, Gameboy: 1997).

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Heracles: Battle with the Gods, Midas Interactive: Midas Interactive (PS2, NDS: 2006). Herc’s Adventures, Big Ape Productions, LucasArts: LucasArts\Virgin Interactive\Bullet Proof Software (PS, Sega Saturn 1997). Hercules – Slayer of the Damned, Cygnus Software: Gremlin Graphics Software Ltd (ZX Spectrum, CPC, MSX, C64: 1988). Hercules, Steve Bak: Interdisc (C64: 1984). Invictus: In the Shadow of Olympus, Quicksilver Software: Interplay (PC: 2000). Rise of the Argonauts, Liquid Entertainment: Codemasters Software (XBox360, PS3, PC: 2008). The God of War series, SCE Santa Monica Studio\Ready at Dawn Studios LLC: Sony Computer Entertainment (PS2, PS3, PSP, Java ME: 20052013). The series includes: God of War, God of War II, God of War III, God of War: Ghost of Sparta, God of War: Chains of Olympus, God of War: Ascension, God of War: Betrayal. The Labours of Hercules, Terry Taylor, Sean Doran: Terry Taylor (ZX Spectrum: 1987). The Return of Heracles, Stuart Smith: Quality Software (Atari 8-bit, C64, Apple II: 1983). Zeus: Master of Olympus (EU)\Acropolis (US), Impressions Games: Sierra Entertainment (PC: 2000). Expansion: Master of Atlantis: Poseidon (PC: 2001).

Netography “Age of Mythology Heaven.” HeavenGames. Accessed March 9, 2013. http://aom.heavengames.com/ “Video Game Genres.” Wikipedia. Accessed March 18, 2013. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/video_game_genres “The Return of Heracles.” Atarimania. Accessed March 18, 2013. http://www.atarimania.com/game-atari-400-800-xl-xe-return-ofheracles-_s4356.html Yin-Poole, Wesley. “God of War series has sold over 21 million copies”. Accessed March 12, 2013. http://www.eurogamer.net/articles/2012-0605-god-of-war-series-has-sold-over-21-million-copies “Herc’s Adventures.” Gamefaqs. Accessed April 1, 2013. http://www.gamefaqs.com/ps/197542-hercs-adventures “Invictus: In the Shadow of Olympus.” Gamespot. Accessed March 25, 2013. http://www.gamespot.com/invictus-in-the-shadow-of-olympus

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“Hercules.” Kingdom Hearts Wiki. Accessed April 1, 2013. http://www.khwiki.com/Hercules “Disney’s Hercules.” Mobygames. Accessed March 3, 2013. http://www.mobygames.com/game/disneys-hercules“Hercules.” World of Spectrum. Accessed April 1, 2013. http://www.worldofspectrum.org/infoseekid.cgi?id=0002298 Gerrard, Mike. “The Labours of Hercules.” The Your Sinclair Rock’n’Roll Years. Accessed April 2, 2013. http://www.ysrnry.co.uk/articles/thelaboursofhecules.htm “Zeus Heaven.” HeavenGames. Accessed April 2, 2013. http://zeus.heavengames.com/ God of War Official Site. Accessed March 6, 2013. https://godofwar.playstation.com/ Our Mythical Childhood… Classics and Children’s Literature between East and West conference official site: http://www.kamar.domeczek.pl/OMC%20www/Our%20Mythical%20 Childhood.html

Filmography Disney’s Hercules (directors: Ron Clements, John Musker, USA 1997) Hercules (director: Brett Ratner, USA, 2014)

Notes 1

The following article is based on my poster presentation given at the Our Mythical Childhood… Classics and Children’s Literature between East and West conference on May 26th 2013. For further information see: http://www. kamar.domeczek.pl/OMC%20www/Our%20Mythical%20Childhood.html. 2 For the extensive list of computer game genres with descriptions of their most common features see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/video_game_genres. 3 Herculean labours included in the game: the Nemean Lion, the Hydra, the Stymphalian Birds, the Cows of Geryon, the Golden Apples and the Mares of Thrace. 4 For further information see e.g. the instruction to the game: http://www. atarimania.com/game-atari-400-800-xl-xe-return-of-heracles-_s4356.html. 5 For further information see e.g. http://www.worldofspectrum.org/infoseekid.cgi?id=0002298. 6 Ghita and Andrikopulos have already made a similar observation relating to the game Rome Total War (Ghita, Andrikopulos, 2009, p. 114). See also:

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http://www.newmedia.org/game-based-learning--what-it-is-why-it-works-andwhere-its-going.html. 7 For further information see e.g.: http://www.ysrnry.co.uk/articles/thelaboursofhecules.htm. 8 For further information see e.g.: http://zeus.heavengames.com/. 9 For further information see e.g.: http://aom.heavengames.com/. 10 The other characters included in the game are: Achilles, Arachne, Atalanta, Cadmus, Electra, Hippolyte, Icarus, Orion and Perseus. For further information see e.g.: http://www.gamespot.com/invictus-in-the-shadow-of-olympus/. 11 The relationship between films based on the myth of Hercules and video games featuring this character is not to be discussed here. However, I would like to point out that the aesthetics of depicting this hero in computer games resembles that of film: Hercules is most commonly a stereotypical strong-man with a club (Cf. e.g. Winkler 2009). 12 For further information see e.g.: http://www.mobygames.com/game/disneyshercules-. 13 For further information see e.g.: http://www.khwiki.com/Hercules. 14 For further information see e.g.: http://www.gamefaqs.com/ps/197542-hercsadventures. 15 Note that in the movie Hercules (director: Brett Ratner, USA, 2014), Hercules also shouts I am Hercules! A similar situation takes place often in video games, e.g. in Herc’s Adventures Herc often says “Don’t worry, I’m Hercules!” This name has become a synonym of strength and heroism, and hearing it is enough to immediately build a certain vision of a Hercules. 16 For further information about the series see e.g.: https://godofwar.playstation.com/. 17 Because of being dissatisfied with his achievements, this depiction of Hercules does not show off by screaming I am Hercules. 18 See e.g. http://www.eurogamer.net/articles/2012-06-05-god-of-war-series-hassold-over-21-million-copies.

POP-PHARAOHS – “REVERSED PHARAOHS”: REMARKS ON THE CARNIVALIZED MODEL OF THE RECEPTION OF EGYPT LESZEK ZINKOW JESUIT UNIVERSITY IGNATIANUM IN KRAKÓW

Abstract: This article recalls the characteristic reception paradigm of the ancient Egyptian heritage in contemporary culture, already proposed by Herodotus: ambivalence. There is no doubt that this proposal is attractive in terms of mechanisms for creating topics of popular culture, as in fact it is in a clear convergence with some of the most important instruments of the interdisciplinary study of contemporary cultural phenomena: the theory of carnivalization of Mikhail Bakhtin and the camp theory of Susan Sontag.

Starting a discussion about ancient Egypt, especially in the case of the reception of this civilization by “others” (Hartog 1988. The “other” is, after all, also our present day civilization; see also DeLapp 2005), by citing the Histories by Herodotus plainly may be trivial. This has already been done, countless times. However, I am convinced that the work of Herodotus still has an enormous inspirational potential that we shall benefit from for a long time. It is not only about detailed studies of the individual facts and narratives presented by Herodotus, but also the wider paradigm of reception proposed by the “Father of History”. This paradigm was adhered to throughout the era of Greco-Roman Antiquity, almost without exception (Froidefond 1971; Iversen 1994; Kákosy 1995; Burstein 1996). It may be called, for the purpose of simplicity, a paradigm of ambivalence. And it is, in fact, this ambivalence that has been with us until today. It has, either openly or implicitly, formed the perceptions of the various aspects of the heritage of Egyptian civilisation, and its resulting incorporation into various forms of modern culture, including contemporary popular and mass culture. This has happened regardless of the development of scholarly Egyptology and the reliable popularization of its achievements, along with the popularisation of the actual image of the material and spiritual culture of ancient Egypt

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(Harris 1987). Herodotus initiates this topos of contradictions and extremes, as well as the “rationalization” of Egypt by the horizon of one’s own mentality: “Most of their manners and customs, exactly reverse the common practice of mankind” (Hist. II.35; transl. by G. Rawlinson; see also West 1998). This contemporary observation is not present in the scholarly reflection on the work of Herodotus (more extensively, e.g. Harrison 2003). Egypt was seen as both civilized (usually after Hist. II. 4 – Egypt was given priority in the chronology of civilizations) and barbaric; impressive, and deserving of contempt. The vivacious progressivity of the Greek civilization and the (apparent) stability of the “unchanging” Egypt were measured by millennia; the democratic spirit of Hellas and the cruel, Pharaonic spirit of Egypt. The land on the Nile is sometimes presented as an extremely efficient model of administration, and simultaneously as an example of wanton despotism and tyranny (Baines 1990. Incidentally, it was Herodotus that became the source of the notion of the irrational construction of the pyramids through the use of brutal slave labour – now completely falsified, even though still widely functioning in colloquial theory). The religion of the ancient Egyptians (regardless of whether the Greeks or the Romans ever really understood the complexity of the Egyptian cosmology and – especially – eschatology) was frequently seen as the original source of the sophisticated beliefs of the Hellenes, yet often as a bizarre conglomeration of worshipping “monkeys, cats, onions and a clay bowl” (e.g. Lucianus, Jupiter Tragoedus 42). Herodotus also established a permanent scheme of “rationalization” of Egypt – and everything that was escaping the Hellenic (and later, Roman) horizon of rationality was instinctively shifted into the domain of distanced irony, exuberant imagination, or phobia. Herodotus himself, moreover, seemed to notice it (Hist. II.45). An excellent Roman example of amplification of this paradigm is the Egyptophobic Satura XV by Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis, starting with derision of Egyptian beliefs (o sanctas gentes, quibus haec nascuntur in hortis numina! [10-11]) and climaxing in what is seemingly an accusation of cannibalism against the Egyptians. Egypt has always been a graceful pretext for fantastic visual and mental narratives. The easily and universally identifiable iconography, clearly distinctive among the ancient civilizations, contained most of the attractive motivators of cultural imagination in its message and (real and alleged) heritage. What is more, placed in a reception paradigm of ambivalence, it could be incorporated into almost any cultural context, and in almost any way. Ancient Egypt is a constantly open “mystery”, for which modernity is proposing more and more “answers” (Perniola 1995).

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Is it possible to attempt to identify a research perspective allowing for the capturing of the peculiarities of the contemporary reception of the heritage of Egypt, assimilating it into the resources of form and content of popular culture? It seems that an interesting key could be the theory of carnivalization by the Russian philosopher, semiotician and literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin (1895-1975). Initially, the term was used in literary studies, but soon the metaphorical concept found a prominent place in the apparatus of the wide analysis of contemporary cultural phenomena (Pasero 1997; Fiske 2010: 66-67). The carnival vision of the world points to the “reverse logic” in contemporary culture. According to Bakhtin, carnivalization is an attempt to translate, into the language of culture, such features of the folk carnival tradition as creating “a world turned upside down”, where laws, customs and rules of traditional social relations are rejected, emphasizing the relativity of order and hierarchy, eccentricity, desecration, parody, the grotesque, the bizarre and the uncommon, unbridled creativity, mixing the high with the low, seriousness with laughter, and the “top” with the “bottom”. The Bakhtinian aspect has already appeared in the study of ancient culture (Barta et al. 2001); however, it was used mainly in the interpretation of Greek theatre. The phenomenon called Egyptomania, Egyptism, the Egyptian Revival or the Nile Style can be simplified as the inclusion and hybridisation of the most recognizable elements of Egyptian identity: symbols, ornaments, canonical iconic representations, etc., and transforming them into new applications, along with giving them completely different contexts. In contemporary popular culture, the ancient Egyptophobia and irony evolved into a somewhat perverse fascination. Motifs and symbols were appropriated and invested with new meanings (sometimes opposite to the actual ones), interpretable – which is important – according to the key of the present, not that of Egyptian antiquity. The “products” of Egyptomania, whether tangible or intellectual, are not, in fact, even imitations, but impositions of new content on quasi-Egyptian forms. The deep assimilation transformed them into such highly inherent values that a comparative compilation with the Egyptian originals often loses any rationale. One can and should interpret them, but sometimes only at the level of contemporary meanings or associations. An unusual phenomenon, therefore, includes an extensive repertoire of applications and includes all the themes of contemporary arts and crafts: architecture (public, private, sepulchral), interior decoration, ornamentation, jewellery, functional objects, painting, literature, theatre, and film (Huckvale 2012 for the bibliography; also Humbert 1989; Lant 1997; Marchand 2000; Curl 2005; Day 2006; Smith 2007; Ryan 2007).

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Egyptomania, in other words, is not the copying of Egyptian forms. It is their processing in the context of new meanings and functions, conscious or involuntary deformations, and the imposition of new, usually completely different layers of symbolism. In each case, they differ from the current archaeological knowledge. Each product of Egyptomania has at least one – so to speak – “non-Egyptian” dimension (which is consistently emphasized, for example, by Jean-Marcel Humbert, a prominent researcher of this phenomenon). Besides, modern sources of Egyptomaniac inspiration were often not even the Egyptian proto-models, but, for example, the pseudo-aegyptiaca previously mediated through the filter of Hellenic or Roman reception (Iversen 1994; Ashton 2004), or even loose “assumptions about Egypt” taken from random, deformed associations. The rapid dissemination of Egyptomania in the 19th century Europe, swiftly transferring to the American continent (let us add that its precursory manifestations could be indicated earlier; see Humbert 1989 10-26; Curl 2005: 43-202), long downplayed as a subject of autonomous research by “serious” scholarship, has an intrinsic cultural and aesthetic value founded on the model of ambivalent, carnivalistic thinking, and not on simple mimesis. Even the rapidly spreading scientific discoveries and reliable research results did not prevail against the petrified phantasms forming the earlier “knowledge” about the heritage of the civilization of the Pharaohs (Solé 1972; Fitzenreiter 2007; Jeffreys 2011). The Italian Egyptologist Sergio Donadoni even adds that Egypt has always delivered – and continues to do so in modern culture – a variety of pretexts for attenuating reflection, which generally did not have much in common (sometimes almost nothing) with a genuine desire to understand this civilisation (Donadoni 1997: VII; see also Whitehouse 1995; Assmann 2011). Sally MacDonald points to more persistent paradoxes and stereotypical oppositions in the reception of the heritage of ancient Egypt. It is seen as a reservoir of extensive knowledge and deep wisdom, at the same time emanating an inexplicable obsession with death; it is powerful and imperial, but also idyllic; it is symbolised by the all-powerful, despotic pharaohs and the exploited slaves; it is an everlasting power, and at the same time almost entirely lost in time (MacDonald 2003: 88-89). One can add many more combinations of a “reversed” reception from the field of colloquial cultural associations: for example, beautiful Egyptian women and the disgusting mummies. Further, the hieroglyphic writing system, completely deciphered by the mid-19th-century scholars, still remains a symbol of unfathomable mystery, in which the mass imagination is willing to seek highly peculiar, esoteric content – hence its exploitation by occult or secret societies (Hornung 2001).

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One can propose one more observation: Egyptomania usually transformed Egyptian form and content towards the stylistic conventions that Susan Sontag defined as “camp” (Sontag 2009) – as a conscious (or involuntary) application of features of “bad taste”, ironic meaning, or a dimension of exaggeration and ostentation, affectation, theatricality. Egyptomaniac projections dazzled artifice and exaggeration. They intrigued not in terms of beauty, but the intended aesthetic unnaturalness and perverse style. The formula of “reversed Egypt” is consequently exploited. The shape of Egyptian pyramids has settled not only in contemporary cemeteries, but also in gardens and parks. Miniature obelisks have decorated kitschy fireplaces and trivial sphinxes have adorned the grills. Architectural elements – Egyptianizing columns, cornices and pseudo-hieroglyphs – can be found in details of pretentious furniture and clocks (Humbert 1989; Curl 2005), and cocktail cabinets mimic polychrome sarcophagi. Mummies have played the role of disgusting but also grotesque clowns in popular literature, and especially so in horror films (Day 2006: 94, 116, passim), while symbolic gestures and rituals copied from the Egyptian paintings and reliefs are described by Internet memes as giving a “high five”. We have continued to draw from the material and spiritual heritage of Egypt as from an immeasurable reservoir of quirks and oddities, spending what we have drawn, receptionwise, on functions (also, naturally, literal or symbolic meanings) completely different than the original ones. If we assume that the above considerations represent a kind of theoretical proposal, a possible interpretative key for different modes of the reception of Egyptian civilization’s heritage in contemporary, especially in mass and popular, culture lets us now try to identify some examples taken from that area. This shall be no systematic typology aiming to be a complete list of themes, variations and basic directions of reception (is this possible with the extensive, constantly surprising creative potential of modern times?), though, I hope, I will manage to capture that which is most characteristic of it and its rhetoric of ambivalence and reversal. If we endeavour to indicate the very first elemental iconic association that comes to mind when we ask a modern, average consumer of culture about ancient Egypt (excluding the “touristy” images of the Pyramids and the Sphinx), no doubt it will be a distinctive way of imagining the human figure, especially two-dimensionally, in painting and relief. It is one of a kind and uniquely distinctive for Egypt. No one, not even a person with very mediocre historical or artistic knowledge, is likely to make a mistake here. The “unnaturally” bent figures, turned sideways, though their arms

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and eyes are shown frontally, seem to be frozen in some “robot-like”, rigid motion. Most walk majestically, some perform gestures which are difficult to understand for the laymen (and therefore, in the consequences of everyday thinking, “mysterious” or “secret”). All are similar, almost identical, as if statistically normalized (Schäfer 2002, 277 ff.). A peculiar dissonance is compounded by the accompanying general impression of unprecedented perfection and excellence in proportion, a precise grasp of detail (characteristic multiple necklaces, pectorals, details of dress) completely contradictory to our idea of the potential awkwardness and weakness of the creator’s primitive workshop. This all makes us readily succumb to the popular opinion that the ancient Egyptians looked so bizarre and intriguing, and this is how they moved. Probably also just the aforementioned association with robots indicates the futuristic – and grotesque – dimension of the popular perception of Egypt. For example, C-3PO, a character from the Star Wars films, and the title protagonist of the Robocop series, “walk like an Egyptian”, just as the pompous mummies from popular horror films. These iconographic projections, additionally, have generated the peculiar ideas for dance choreography, in various ways relating directly to Egypt, from The Magic Flute to the pop-rock hit “Walk Like an Egyptian” by The Bangles, intentionally, as in some varieties of hip-hop and electro dance. I am sure that similar transformations will reappear more frequently in pop culture. Egypt is, thus, an evocation of extreme, seemingly mutually exclusive associations: the extremely distant, almost mythical antiquity and disturbing quasi-futurism. Let us recall that the elements of ancient Egyptian clothing and accessories, or even the Egyptian gods and their symbolic emblems, have often been transformed into visions of space suits or fantastic weapons of the future (e.g. Stargate, Stargate Universe, Stargate SG-1, Immortal/Ad vitam), and this once again shows that the reception of the heritage of ancient Egypt is, even today, a game of extremes, or antitheses. At the root of such attempts at the transfer of cultural elements there is often a fundamental misunderstanding. Similar phenomena have, I think, their main source in the involuntary priorities of perception or mentality through which Europeans have developed their aesthetic sensitivity, provided by the classic, universal patterns of the Greco-Roman culture, no matter how commonplace and deformed they are today. Egyptian art (or what is simplified as “the art of Egypt”) is a kind of convention with, above all, primarily symbolic imagery, and not, as seems obvious and primary for us, the materialisation of an artistic vision of an outstanding artist-individualist. Therefore (of course, from the point of view of

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Egyptology I highly simplify this [Schäfer 2002, 36 ff.]), despite the three thousand years of its duration, the Egyptian “art” is almost constant in time, not subject to “development” or clear evolutionary changes. “Art” was, for the ancient Egyptians, a highly relative concept, in any case very different from ours. It was a kind of interpretation and “animation” (also understood literally, magically), for example, of symbolically complex theological or eschatological concepts, or “information” (not to say propaganda) about important, though usually ritualised, events of the real or mythical world. Even the images of scenes from everyday life placed on the walls of tombs were not intended to be contemplated by an “audience” or “visitors”, as is now the case with archaeological discoveries – they were to be magically presented only to the deceased. The battle scenes on the walls of temples were mainly of the same character. In paintings, reliefs and statues depicting specific living (or dead) people, physical resemblance was not the most important aspect; what counted was the projection of an ideal state, showing or rather indicating individual characteristics to a more or less moderate extent. Faced with this – mostly symbolic – role of “art”, no feverish need to seek new ways of artistic expression was felt, at least in the contemporary meaning. It is as if someone today made a serious attempt to discuss the imperfections or mannerisms (or artistic ineptitude) in the mapping of the human figure display in red or green traffic lights at a pedestrian crossing, making critical attempts to compare this with the image of the Apollo Belvedere, expecting the traffic lights to display a figure of a striding fashion model, or even a naturalistically mapped statistical pedestrian. Would we not find such discourse extremely curious? That is perhaps the most important misunderstanding in the discussed reception (one can even venture to use the term “reception catastrophe”), rather than simply misunderstanding the message of the ancient Egyptian iconic expression. An intriguing paradox that is worth mentioning is that the probably best known example of Egyptian art today, with powerful pop culture potential – the icon of Queen Nefertiti’s head – was in fact a model of beauty for a very short stretch of the history of Egypt, in the so-called Amarna Period (ca. 1350 BC). This was a religious revolution, and at the same time an episode of the implementation of a new canon of representations in art, which was soon, moreover, rejected in its basic determinants. And one more note: some researchers of the phenomena of contemporary popular culture (Michel de Certeau, John Fiske) note that many of the processes taking place therein may be aptly described and characterised using military terminology (metaphors related to conflict,

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war), such as: strategy, tactics, enemy territory, acquisition/reflection/ controlled area, gaining a foothold, guerrilla warfare, etc. Contemporary popular culture evolves, contesting and at the same time adopting the areas perceived as dominant and hegemonic. This observation can also perfectly illustrate the relationship between scientific Egyptology and Egyptian culture reception in mass culture. Seemingly, the progression of reliable knowledge and its skilful popularisation should model at least a correct paradigm of the formation of images of mass imagination. Unfortunately, this is not the case of Egypt. Even contemporary hits of “Egyptomaniac” cinema are full of extravagant fantasies, distortions and deformations. The introduction of The Mummy (a 1999 adventure film) is symbolic here. Although the production is declared as of the fantasy genre, there is no reasonable justification for even the first scene, which readily brings to mind the camp aesthetics of Las Vegas: an accumulation of buildings, pylons of the temples, monumental sphinxes, countless statues – and the dominant silhouettes of the Pyramids. This picture is completed by the narrator’s comment: “… Thebes”. It seems that this should raise objections even for the average tourist on a trip to Egypt. This is what seems to me to be the synthesis of pop culture reception, clearly and perhaps deliberately contesting the facts. Academic science is perceived as a hegemon, which is programmatically questioned, seizing, more or less insidiously, its associated territories. Not accidentally, when compared to the case of scientific research on the cultural heritage of Greece and Rome, Egyptian archaeology in popular culture is suspected of hiding “secrets” and “the truth about the findings”, taking voice in authors such as Erich von Däniken, providing the medium of modern mythology of the Egyptians with relations to space aliens or their alleged mastery of electricity. Once fixed, the image of “Egypt full of secrets”, the country where everything is “different”, weird, inverse or backwards, must continue stubbornly as one can see in our time. It seems that Herodotus was more honest.

Bibliography Ashton, Sally-Ann. Roman Egyptomania. London-Cambridge: Golden House Publications, 2004. Assmann, Jan. “Ancient Egypt and the Cultural Memory of Europe”. In 100 évután. Emlékkonferencia a Keleti Népek Ókori Története Tanszékalapításának 100. évfordulóján, eds. Zoltán Niederreiter, Tamás Bács, Tamás DezsĘ, 35-46. Budapest: ELTE Eötvös K., 2011.

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Baines, John. “Restricted Knowledge, Hierarchy and Decorum: Modern Perceptions and Ancient Institutions”. Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt, Vol. 27 (1990): 1-23. Barta, Peter A., Miller, Paul A., Platter, Charles and Shepherd, David (eds.). Carnivalizing Difference: Bakhtin and the Other. London - New York: Routledge, 2001. Burstein, Stanley M. “Images of Egypt in Greek Historiography”. In Ancient Egyptian Literature. History and Forms (Probleme der Ägyptologie; zehnter Band), ed. by Antonio Loprieno, 591-604. Leiden-New York-Köln: BRILL, 1996. Curl, James Stevens. The Egyptian Revival: Ancient Egypt as the Inspiration for Design Motifs in the West. New York: Routledge, 2005. Day, Jasmine. The Mummy’s Curse: Mummymania in the EnglishSpeaking World. London-New York: Routledge, 2006. DeLapp, Kevin M. “Ancient Egypt as Europe’s ‘Intimate Stranger’” (2005). Accessed April 11, 2016. http://www.inter-disciplinary.net/wpcontent/uploads/2009/08/delapppaper.pdf . Donadoni, Sergio. “Introduction”. In The Egyptians, ed. by Idem, VIIXIII. Chicago-London: University of Chicago Press, 1997. Fiske, John. Understanding Popular Culture. London-New York: Taylor & Francis, 2010. Fitzenreiter, Martin. “Europäische Konstruktionen Altägyptens. Der Fall Ägyptologie”. In Exotisch, Weisheitlich und Uralt. Europäische Konstruktionen Altägyptens, eds. Thomas Glück, Ludwig Morenz, 323-347. Hamburg: LIT Verlag Münster, 2007. Froidefond, Christian. Le mirage égyptien dans la littérature grecque d’Homère à Aristote. Aix-en-Provence: Ophrys, 1971. Harris, John Richard (ed.). The Legacy of Egypt. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987. Harrison, Thomas. “Upside Down and Back to Front: Herodotus and the Greek Encounter with Egypt”. In Ancient Perspectives on Egypt (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), eds. Roger Matthews, Cornelia Roemer, 145-155. London: UCL Press, 2003. Hartog, François. The Mirror of Herodotus: The Representation of the Other in the Writing of History. Berkeley-Los Angeles-London: University of California Press, 1988. Hornung, Erik. The Secret Lore of Egypt. Its Impact on the West. Translated by David Lorton. London: Cornell University Press, 2001. Huckvale, David. Ancient Egypt in the Popular Imagination. Building a Fantasy in Film, Literature, Music and Art. Jefferson (NC): McFarland, 2012.

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Humbert, Jean-Marcel. l’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental, Paris: Editions ACR, 1989. Iversen, Erik. “Egypt in Classical Antiquity. A résumé”. In Hommages à Jean Leclant (Volume 3: Études isiaques. Bibliothèque d’étude, 106/3), eds. Catherine Berger, Gisèle Clerc, Nicolas Grimal, 295-305. Le Caire: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1994. Jeffreys, David. “Introduction: Two Hundred Years of Ancient Egypt: Modern History and Ancient Egyptology”. In Views of Ancient Egypt Since Napoleon Bonaparte. Imperialism, Colonialism and Modern Appropriations (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), ed. by Idem, 1-18. Walnut Creek (CA): Left Coast Press Inc., 2011. Kákosy, László. “Egypt in Ancient Greek and Roman Thought”. In Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. Volume I, eds. Jack M. Sasson, John Baines, Gary Beckman, Karen S. Rubinson, 3-14. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1995. Lant, Antonia. 1997. “The Curse of the Pharaoh, or How Cinema Contracted Egyptomania”. In Visions of the East: Orientalism in Film, eds. Matthew Bernstein, Gaylyn Studlar, 69-98. New Brunswick (NJ): Rutgers University Press, 1997. MacDonald, Sally. “Lost in Time and Space: Ancient Egypt in Museums”. In Consuming Ancient Egypt (Encounters with Ancient Egypt), eds. Sally MacDonald, Michael Rice, 87-99. London: UCL Press, 2003. Marchand, Suzanne L. “The End of Egyptomania: German Scholarship and the Banalization of Egypt, 1830-1914”. In Ägyptomanie. Europäische Ägyptenimagination von der Antike bis heute, ed. by Wilfried Seipel, 125-133. Wien: Gingko Press GmbH, 2000. Pasero, Nicolò. “Dialectic and Popular Culture: On Michail Bakhtin’s ‘Model of Culture’”. Russian Literature XLI (1997): 291-314. Perniola, Mario. Enigmas. The Egyptian Moment in Society and Art. Translated by Christopher Woodall. London-New York: Verso, 1995. Ryan, Donald P. “A Shattered Visage Lies...”: Nineteenth Century Poetry Inspired by Ancient Egypt. Bolton: Rutherford Press, 2007. Schäfer Heinrich. Principles of Egyptian Art. Edited, with an epilogue by E. Brunner-Traut, Translated and edited, with an introduction, by J. Baines, Foreword by E. H. Gombrich. Oxford: Griffith Institute, 2002. Smith, Stuart Tyson. “Unwrapping the Mummy. Hollywood Fantasies, Egyptian Realities”. In Box Office Archaeology: Refining Hollywood’s Portrayals of the Past, ed. by Julie M. Schablitsky, 16-33. Walnut Creek (CA): Left Coast Press, 2007.

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Solé, Jacques. “Un exemple d’archéologie des sciences humaines: l’étude de l’égyptomanie du XVIe au XVIIIe siècle”. Annales: Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 27e année, N. 2 (1972): 473-482. Sontag, Susan. “Notes on Camp”. In Idem, Against Interpretation and Other Essays, 275-292. London: Penguin Books Ltd, 2009. West, Stephanie. “Cultural Antitheses: Reflections of Herodotus 2.35-36”. International Journal of the Classical Tradition, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1998): 3-19. Whitehouse, Helen. “Egypt in European Thought”. In Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (Vol. I), ed. by Jack M. Sasson, 15-31. New York: Hendrickson Publishers, 1995.

EGYPTIANIZING MOTIFS IN THE PRODUCTS OF POPULAR CULTURE ADDRESSED TO YOUNGER RECIPIENTS FILIP TATERKA ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: Although the phenomenon of Egyptomania or the re-use of ancient Egyptian elements and motifs independently of their original context became, in recent years, one of the most important subjects of Egyptological research, the sphere of modern popular culture seems to be almost excluded from the scholarly attention. The aim of this paper is thus to trace the manifestations of Egyptian influence in the contemporary world based on the pop-culture products addressed to children and adolescents. The overview of the examples from different spheres of human activity leads to the conclusion that the inheritance of ancient Egypt still plays an important role in our contemporary civilization despite or perhaps thanks to the otherness of the pharaonic culture. The paper also discusses some methodological issues that arise during the research of such a subject, and concludes that until proper methodological instruments are discovered or invented by the scholars, the most suitable way of analyzing ancient influence on modern popular culture seems to be the phenomenological or descriptive approach.

Ancient Egypt, with its culture, has always been viewed as a fascinating and intriguing civilisation. Great monuments, unbelievable treasures and mysterious symbols inscribed on the temple and tomb walls stimulated the imagination of people who, until the birth of Egyptology as an academic discipline, invented more or less fantastic theories with respect to their meaning. It is thus not surprising that ancient Egyptian elements and motifs were very often infiltrating other cultures. This phenomenon is nowadays called the Egyptomania. The Egyptomania can be defined as any re-use or re-employment of elements and motifs taken from ancient Egypt independently of their original context (Humbert 1989: 10-18). As such, Egyptomania is a very broad cultural phenomenon encompassing various spheres of human activity as it manifests itself in architecture, sculpture, literature, film and sometimes even politics.

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The origins of the phenomenon of the Egyptomania date back to antiquity. The land of the pharaohs, being so different and distinguished from the classical world, became the object of interest of Greek and Roman authors (Lloyd 2010: 1065-1085). Egyptian motifs also soon penetrated classical architecture (as the Cestius’ pyramid in Rome proves; Curl 2005: 39-40) and religion (Heyob 1975; for general information on Roman Egyptomania see Ashton 2004). Moreover, Egypt was constantly viewed as the seat of hidden and secret knowledge from the past which continued in post-antiquity times while scholars and erudites tried to decipher the hieroglyphs (Findlen 2004: 1-48; Miller 2004: 133-148). This view was also very popular among the members of freemasonry, which finds its best expressions in Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s The Magic Flute with a libretto by Emanuel Schikaneder (Assmann 2005). The true turning point in the history of Egyptomania was the French expedition to Egypt under Napoleon Bonaparte in 1798-1801 (Strathern 2007). The preparation of Description de l’Égypte by the French savants participating in the military campaign resuscitated interest in ancient Egyptian culture anew. Moreover, the discovery of the famous Rosetta Stone during Napoleon’s Egyptian campaign gave way to the longexpected deciphering of the hieroglyphs by Jean-François Champollion in 1822 and, consequently, to the birth of Egyptology as a true academic discipline (for a detailed history of the deciphering of Egyptian script see Parkinson 1999, and specifically on Champollion in Hartleben 1906: 345500). Great archaeological discoveries that followed, with the unearthing of the tomb of Tutankhamun as the most spectacular of all, continued to stimulate the interest in ancient Egypt both in its academic and popular aspects (Carter 1922-1933; for the aftermath of the discovery and especially the alleged curse of Tutankhamun see Tyldesley 2012). It is thus not surprising that the phenomenon of Egyptian influence on European (or, in broader sense, Western) culture became one of the most vividly discussed topics in recent years. Unfortunately, most of the scholarly publications concentrate on past rather than contemporary ancient Egyptian influence (Morenz 1968; Carrott 1978; Humbert 1989; Humbert et al. 1994; Assmann 1998; Curl 2005; Humbert and Price 2003). Moreover, the publications are usually limited to objects from Western Europe and USA, completely ignoring the occurrence of Egyptomania in other parts of the world, eastern Europe included (to some extent, this gap is filled by publications by Polish scholars like: Kaczmarek 2002; 2008; Zinkow 2006; 2009; ĝliwa 2012a; 2012b; cf., however, the study on the reception of Egyptian motifs in Islamic culture by Cooperson 2010: 11091128).

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Despite the growth of interest on the subject of Egyptomania in recent years, it is difficult to find a specialist publication concerned with the Egyptian influence as manifested in modern popular culture (with the sole exception of Brier 2013: 193-204). This is probably caused by the methodological problems that arise when one is confronted with the phenomenon of the reception of ancient motifs in modern culture. If we have, for example, a famous painter or writer of the past who employed ancient Egyptian motifs in his or her work, we can usually tell why this or that particular motif was employed and the source of its inspiration as we generally know the state of knowledge with respect to ancient Egypt in the epoch. In the case of popular culture, however, this procedure appears to be in most instances impossible to follow, as products of popular culture are often created anonymously and, most importantly, in many cases they seem not to be inspired by any authentic Egyptian monument or source, instead referring to a general and common image of pharaonic Egypt that we all share, as will be discussed below. It seems, thus, that until proper methodological instruments that would help us to research such phenomena are invented, the only thing we can do is describe the Egyptian influence as we see it with all necessary limitations. This phenomenological or descriptive approach is certainly unsatisfactory, but for now it seems to be the only one that enables us to treat the subject of the research in an academic way while at the same time avoiding pure and unfounded speculation. What follows is therefore a short and preliminary overview of the occurrences of Egyptomania based on the products of popular culture addressed to children and adolescents. Needless to say, the author’s choice to limit his study to this kind of artefacts was not dictated by the fact that their analysis is free from the aforementioned methodological problems. Products addressed to younger recipients present, however, a particular richness and freedom in employing Egyptian elements and, most importantly, their examination can be treated as a starting point for a broader discussion on the role of popular culture in the process of the education and intellectual formation of the modern human. Of course, it would be impossible to present all the ways in which the phenomenon of Egyptian influence manifests itself in these kinds of products, so the following overview is necessarily limited to the most interesting and amusing examples from the perspective of the present author. Generally speaking, the Egyptianizing products of popular culture employ three kinds of the most representative Egyptian motifs: namely the pyramids, the mummies, and various objects constituting the treasure of Tutankhamun, the latter being generally referred to as King Tut in the popular culture (one can also think of Cleopatra, but her case is much

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more complex; although she is often indeed associated with ancient Egypt, she happens to be connected to other cultures as well, particularly to Rome). It should be stressed, however, that modern Egyptomania is not limited to these three elements, as ancient Egypt is also generally associated with such phenomena as mystery, magic and curses. As the source of knowledge was always located in the books and writings, we should direct our attention to this kind of medium in the first place. Innumerable books are addressed to kids that are inspired by ancient Egyptian culture. Among these we can enumerate educative publications that help children to understand various aspects of pharaonic culture, presenting it in a simple and accessible way, as well as novels belonging to the fantasy genre (although the target of the latter are rather teenagers and adolescents rather than younger children). The best example of the latter is Terry Pratchett’s Pyramids, being the seventh volume of the famous Discworld series (1989). The plot of the novel takes place in the fictitious state of Djelibeybi. The very name of the state means “the child of the river Djel,” which alludes to the popular denomination of Egypt as the gift of the Nile. The main hero of the novel, young Teppic, is the heir to the throne of Djelibeybi and, at the same time, an apprentice in Ankh-Morpork’s Assassins Guild. After the death of his father he comes back home as the first member of the royal family to be educated abroad. The cultural shock experienced by the young King leads to some misunderstandings and conflict with the high priest Dios, follower of traditional values of Djelibeybi. A complete analysis of the novel from an Egyptological perspective is beyond the scope of this paper, although it should be stressed that Terry Pratchett’s work reflects the ancient Egyptian reality on which it is based surprisingly well. Let us give two examples. When the high priest Dios is pondering the nature of Djelibeybian religion, he realises that various writings and traditions present totally different versions concerning the nature of the sun, all of which are true. This quite accurately reflects the character of ancient Egyptian religion with different conceptions concerning the origins and, consequently, the nature of the world. These are the Heliopolitan, Hermopolitan and Memphite theologies (Allen 1988). Although these conceptions did not co-exist in all periods of Egyptian history, it is striking that when new religious conception did appear they did not replace their antecedents, but rather complemented them by emphasizing another aspect of the divine sphere. One of the most interesting events in the story is the meeting of King Teppic with the craftsmen working on the building of a royal monument.

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The workmen are truly terrified by seeing the King in person, and their fear grows even more when the King decides to shake one of the artisans by the hand. From the subsequent talk between the King and the high priest, we find out that the worker will have his hand cut off, for it is not allowed for ordinary men to touch the King, being god on earth. If we look at ancient Egyptian sources we can find the same fear of touching the king, especially in the early period. The biographical inscription of the priest Ra-wer relates an incident that happened during the reign of King Nefer-ir-ka-Ra of the 5th dynasty. While participating in the religious feast, the King accidentally touched the leg of Ra-wer with his sceptre. The Pharaoh immediately stated, however, that Ra-wer should stay uninjured as he did not mean to hurt him who was his loyal servant. Moreover, the King ordered the whole incident to be put in writing on the walls of Ra-wer’s tomb at Giza to assure that no harm should ever come to him (Sethe 1933: 232; Strudwick 2005: 305-306, cf. however Allen 1992: 14-20 for a different interpretation). One of the most amusing books addressed to children and adolescents inspired by ancient Egypt is The Awesome Egyptians by Terry Deary and Peter Hepplewhite (1993), being the first volume of the Horrible Histories series. The aim of the authors is to interest children in the histories of various past cultures by presenting them in a simple and often funny way, in which the highly amusing illustrations by Martin Brown are definitely of much help. While speaking of Egypt-inspired funny illustrations we cannot fail to mention the famous Asterix adventures created by René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo. One of these adventures takes place in ancient Egypt ruled by Cleopatra (Goscinny and Uderzo 1965), and was later produced as an animation and, subsequently, a full cinema movie (Astérix et Cléopâtre, co-directed by the authors, France 1968, and full cinema movie Astérix et Obélix: Mission Cléopâtre, Dir. Alain Chabat, France 2002). This was not, however, the only encounter of Asterix and Obelix with ancient Egypt, for in another adventure, The Twelve Tasks of Asterix, the brave Gauls challenge an Egyptian priest with strong hypnotic powers (in this case it was an animated movie that was produced first under the co-direction of the authors, with the original title Les Douze Travaux d’Astérix, France 1976 – later, they created a comic based on the movie; Goscinny and Uderzo 1978). This last example is particularly interesting as it illustrates a broader cultural phenomenon that has already been mentioned above, namely the occurrence of ancient Egypt as the source of secret and mysterious knowledge. This motif is also often employed in modern cinema, as demonstrated by Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (Dir.

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Michael Bay, USA 2009), where the Khaf-Ra’s pyramid at Giza is chosen to be the hidden place of primeval cosmic knowledge. One can assume that it was mistook for the Great Pyramid of Khufu, but the choice might have equally well been intentional as Khaf-Ra’s pyramid is the central one of the three Giza pyramids. As for animation series inspired by ancient Egyptian culture, we should also mention the adventures of a young fisherman, Papyrus (in Papyrus, Dupuis Audiovisuel, TF1, and Medver Inc., France 1998-2002; two seasons of 26 episodes each), which, just like Asterix, are based on a French comic book by Lucien de Gieter (the series contains 32 volumes which originally appeared between 1978 and 2012). The main character finds himself chosen by the gods to liberate the good god Horus and defeat the evil god Seth. He is helped by princess Théti-Chéri, daughter of pharaoh Merenrê. Although we do know a pharaoh of this name, he is not identical with the animated character, as the historical Mer-en-Ra of the 6th dynasty ruled at the end of the Old Kingdom period (Malek 2003: 106107), while the plot suggests that the action of the series takes place after the Amarna period, which is referred to in the series as a long forgotten past. Egyptian motifs also appear in other animations for kids. It seems that whenever an ancient monster is needed the creators employ the mummies. Therefore, among the fictitious characters who met an Egyptian mummy in their adventures at least once, we can enumerate Scooby-Doo (ScoobyDoo, Where Are You!, season 1, episode 12: Scooby-Doo and A Mummy, Too; What’s New, Scooby-Doo?, by Hanna-Barbera Productions, USA, originally aired 1969, What’s New, Scooby Doo?, season 2, episode 16: Mummy Scares Best, by Warner Bros. Animation, USA, originally aired 2003; and an full animated movie Scooby-Doo! in Where’s My Mummy? by Warner Bros. Animation, Dir. Joe Sichta, USA 2005); Johnny Quest (episode 3: The Curse of Anubis, by Hanna-Barbera Productions, USA, originally aired 1964); and even Batman (Batman: The Animated Series, season 2, episode 69: Avatar, by Warner Bros. Animation, USA, originally aired 1994). A mummy named Murray also appears among the monsters in Genndy Tartakovsky’s Hotel Transylvania (USA 2012) as one of the best friends of the main character, Count Dracula the vampire. A revived mummy of an Egyptian king is also a main hero of an animation series entitled Tutenstein produced by Porchlight Entertainment for Discovery Kids (USA, 3 seasons of 13 episodes each, originally aired 2003-2008). In this case, despite the passing of 3,500 years, a young pharaoh still believes that he is actually a ruler and refuses to accept all historical changes in the

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world as presented to him by Cleo, a young girl fascinated with ancient Egyptian culture (which is most significantly reflected by her name). The use of mummies in popular animation series or full cinema movies, like The Mummy by Stephen Sommers (USA 1999; sequel The Mummy Returns, USA 2001), represents the best illustration of the cultural phenomenon mentioned above (Brier 2013: 179-192). All these productions seem to refer to a common image of the mummy as a walking dead man wrapped in bandages, although no Egyptian mummy actually looked like that. In fact, the mummified body was so tightly wrapped with bandages that even if a particular person had been miraculously brought back to life it would be impossible for him or her to stand up and walk, especially as the mummy was often buried in a stone sarcophagus (covered with very heavy stone lid) and placed in an underground tomb (on mummies in ancient Egypt see: Brier 1994; 1998; Ikram and Dodson 1998). Leaving aside the cinema and television films we can move to the sphere of music. Although we do not know anything about the sound of ancient music and it is therefore impossible to trace the reception of ancient Egyptian music in the modern world, this does not mean that the sphere of music is totally free from Egyptian influence. Video clips accompanying modern pop songs happen to be inspired by pharaonic culture. The best example of this is the video of Michael Jackson’s single “Remember the Time” (1992), whose action takes place at Akhenaten’s court. The role of the king is played by American actor Eddie Murphy. In recent times another Egypt-inspired clip appeared, which is Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse” (single released 2013, video released 2014). This time, the action seems to be at Cleopatra’s court. The presence of ancient Egyptian motifs in these clips is, however, quite difficult to explain, as in both instances the lyrics do not make the slightest allusion to the land of the pharaohs. Egyptianizing motifs also appear in various board and computer games. The former is represented by Ravensburger’s Ramses II, where the aim is to collect as many points as possible by seeking the pharaoh’s treasure hidden under small pyramids on the board. As for computer games, Egyptian motifs appear in adventure games like Cryo Interactive’s Egypt series (Tomb of the Pharaoh, France 1997, and The Heliopolis Prophecy, France 2000), as well as in strategic games like The Settlers III. In the first instance, the main character of the game is a young Egyptian who discovers a secret conspiracy whose aim is to take power in Egypt. In The Settlers III, created by Blue Byte Software (Germany 1998), the player is supposed to win the competition between the gods Jupiter, Horus

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and Chi’ih Yu, and thus avoid punishment from the Unknown God. In order to do so, the player must choose one of the civilizations (Roman, Egyptian or Chinese) and defeat the rivals. Interestingly, playing as the Egyptians, who contrary to other peoples build their monuments mostly of stone, has been esteemed by the game’s programmers as being of the highest difficulty level. One of the most interesting strategic games inspired by ancient Egypt is, however, Sierra Entertainment’s Pharaoh (USA 1999), along with its sequel Cleopatra: Queen of the Nile (USA 2000). In these games, the player is given an opportunity to participate in the creation and development of ancient Egyptian civilisation from its very beginning in the Predynastic Period to its very end in the Ptolemaic Period. Despite some historical incorrectness and inaccuracies, the player can truly discover the history and culture of the pharaohs as subsequent stages oblige him to erect great Egyptian monuments – not only those universally known ones like the Giza pyramids or the Great Sphinx, but also less known edifices like, for example, the 5th dynasty sun temples at Abu Ghurab (Malek 2003: 98-99). Moreover, a short compendium of Egyptian history was attached to the game manual, as if its purpose was to not only entertain the player but also teach him or her something about the past. Books, movies, computer and board games – this is what Egyptomania looked like one or two decades ago. Today, the situation has, however, significantly changed, as now we have the internet which, apparently, has much more in common with ancient Egypt than we usually realize, for, to cite one anonymous meme creator: “The internet is a lot like ancient Egypt. People write on walls and worship cats” (website 1; all websites were accessed between January and August 2014). It would be impossible to describe all of the innumerable memes spread throughout the web, so great is their number. In general, the Egypt-inspired memes can be divided into those that treat ancient Egypt as a background for criticizing the contemporary political, economic or social situation and those that use the Egyptian elements as sources of amusement and fun only. As the process of globalization continues and children and adolescents spent most of their time searching the web in order to find something interesting, parents who want their kids to get to know ancient Egypt can use the new possibilities that the virtual reality offers them. And so, little children who have access to the internet can play one of the free interactive online games like Pharaoh Puzzle (website 9), Mummy Blaster (website 15) or Escape from the Mummy’s Tomb (website 13). The rules of the games are usually quite simple, as they target children.

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If the parents prefer some more serious entertainment they can also show their children some of the interactive educative applications like The Mummy Maker created by BBC for Discovery Kids (website 2). The aim of the application is to introduce children to one of the aspects of Egyptian civilization by presenting them the ritual of mummification of the dead. As the player takes an active part in the process of preparing a mummy, (s)he can get familiar with the details of the ritual while the educative commentary presents him or her with the religious and ideological background of Egyptian civilization. An Egyptian influence has not failed to also penetrate social network services which have recently become unbelievably popular, especially among the young generation. If we take Facebook as an example, we discover not only fan groups dedicated to various periods and aspects of ancient Egyptian civilisation, but also, surprisingly, fan pages of some Egyptian pharaohs, including Khufu (under the Greek version of his name: Cheops) of the 4th dynasty, Hatshepsut and Thutmose III of the 18th dynasty and Ramesses II of the 19th dynasty, along with less-known Egyptian kings like Senuseret II of the 12th and Thutmose IV of the 18th dynasties. There are also other methods that parents can use if they want to encourage their children to be interested in ancient Egypt while at the same time being quite sceptical about the internet. In 1997, Kinder Surprise emitted a series of ten ancient Egyptian cats as the main attraction of the season. Among these we can see a princess, a priest, a king and a sculptor. Of course, sweets like these should be given to children only occasionally, but as the gastronomic industry also employs ancient Egyptian motifs to attract customers it is possible to familiarize our children with ancient Egypt while serving them an everyday meal. The best example of this is the so-called meat-mummies: a simple course that anybody can do. All we need is a sausage, some cheese and a pancake. Cheese and pancakes should be cut up in 1 cm straps and used to encase the sausage. After a couple of minutes of baking, two granules of black pepper are placed on the upper part of the sausage so that they imitate human eyes. After that a meat mummy is ready for eating (the final result can be found on website 17). If parents truly want to create an ancient Egyptian atmosphere they can serve the dish on a plate painted with ancient Egyptian motifs which can be found in various stores, and not necessarily in Egypt. Special occasions like birthdays can also be celebrated with an Egyptianized birthday cake in the form of a pyramid, be it a step or true pyramid. Some confectionaries offer also special sweet supplements like

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mummies, palm-trees, horse-riding nomads or even a couple of sunbathing tourists lying on their beach towels (for some examples see websites 3 and 7). For those who dislike pyramids, considering them to be too obvious an ancient Egyptian motif, there is a special offer for Egyptianizing cakes in the form of a mummy (see websites 5 and 6). These also have an additional advantage as they can serve not only for celebrating birthdays but also other occasions, like Halloween. Those who dislike mummies, viewing them as too scary, should not fall in despair as there are special birthday cakes in the form of a more-or-less accurately done sphinx (website 8). Taking a break from all these cakes, the kids can play with some Egyptianized toys, as many toy making companies often use ancient Egyptian elements in their products. In the 1990s, Lego released a series of bricks that formed an archaeological story settled in Egypt. The children could therefore erect an ancient Egyptian temple and a Great Sphinx, and use them as a setting for various games of imagination where good archaeologists struggle with evil tomb robbers seeking ancient treasures, trying to avoid the curse of the long-forgotten pharaohs. In 2011, Lego also released a special collectable figure of an Egyptian Queen wearing a white dress ornamented with Egyptian elements (including a winged sun disc) and with a black wig on her head (website 4). Apparently, she was based on the popular image of Cleopatra. The choice of a snake for her accessory might have been thought of as an allusion to Cleopatra’s tragic death, although it is noteworthy that the Egyptians regarded the cobra as a symbol of female deities. There was also a special edition of Barbie entitled “The Egyptian Queen,” in which the most famous doll in the world starred in the costume of Cleopatra. Egyptian toys often come in special limited editions for connoisseurs, as in the example of the Cleopatra teddy bear of the 2003 Hermann Coburg collection (see websites 12 and 13). The collection in question comprised 500 pieces of a mohair plush teddy bear, with excelsior filling, wearing a black Egyptian wig made of mohair with golden lurex hairs. All of these can be perfect Christmas presents to be put under the Christmas tree, which of course can also be decorated with Egyptianizing Christmas balls in the form of King Tut’s mask, Nefertiti’s bust or even an ancient Egyptian sphinx. As children love to disguise themselves and play at being somebody else, the parents can also provide them with Egyptianizing costumes. Among the Egypt-inspired costumes we can see Cleopatra (being made of an ivory, aqua and gold polyester one-piece dress with aqua cape, two wrist cuffs and an elaborate headpiece with a collar – see website 16), a Scary Mummy (a wrapped jumpsuit and full face mask – see website 14),

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a Pharaoh (polyester poplin, interlock knit with metallic knit fabric, navy blue poplin tunic with printed ankh necklace and gold-edged short sleeves, brown interlock gathered loincloth sewn to sash, gold metallic knit sash with printed Egyptian design, gold metallic collar with printed gems and fabric ties in black, gold metallic knit with fastening wrist cuffs, and nemes headdress with elastic band in black under the hood – see website 11), and much more. Apparently, ancient Egypt is quite in fashion, as proved by the constant appearance of pharaonic motifs on T-shirts and other everyday clothes. Teenagers who want to express their interest in ancient Egypt in more visible and permanent ways may also make Egyptianizing tattoos (especially with mummies). Some teenagers also paint their fingernails in that way so as to imitate a mummy’s bandages. However, none of these ways of expressing admiration towards ancient Egypt would probably be welcomed by their parents. Naturally, many parents would love to take their children to Egypt so they could behold the great monuments of the past and, consequently, discover one of the sources of our civilization. Unfortunately, the still unstable political situation in Egypt may make reasonable parents think twice before deciding to travel there with their children. In that case, they can think of an imperfect but still effective way of presenting Egyptian monuments to the kids. For example, the amusement park Gardaland in northern Italy, among other attractions, possesses a huge replica of the great temple of Abu Simbel, originally erected by Ramesses II of the 19th dynasty. The current name of the attraction is “Ramses: il risveglio” (“Ramesses: the awakening”; it was formerly known as “La Valle dei Re” [“The Valley of the Kings”]). It is an interactive dark ride with omnimover vehicles. The ride starts with an archaeological expedition, while later on the visitors are taken to the burial chamber of the pharaoh, a tomb with mummies and a town with partying explorers (see website 10). This short and preliminary overview of the manifestations of the phenomenon of Egyptomania in modern popular culture, based on the products addressed to children and adolescents, surely does not deplete the subject as every single item discussed could constitute a subject of a separate, interdisciplinary study. Its main aim was therefore to bring the attention of scholarly opinion to the much-neglected area of research by highlighting its great potential. An additional aim was to present the great and abundant variety and virtual omnipresence of ancient Egyptian motifs in modern popular culture. If we compare it with the almost total absence of ancient Mesopotamian motifs in popular culture (although the situation seems to be changing in its favour), we can conclude that the popularity of

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ancient Egypt results from the attractiveness of this civilization which, since antiquity, has been constantly viewed as different, distinguished and surrounded by the aura of secrecy, mysticism and otherness. This is why the inheritance of the long-passed civilization is apparently still alive and we can encounter it almost every day even in situations where we should not expect it. The popularity of Egyptian motifs in products addressed to kids and adolescents proves that we feel that it is important for our children to be familiar with ancient Egypt as soon as possible, as the land of the pharaohs, despite all its otherness, forms a true source of our culture and civilisation. Of course, one could and should ask about the educative valour of the Egyptianizing pop-culture products. Sometimes, there is none, or at least the producers did not intend to place any educative valour in their products, like in the examples of the Egyptianized birthday or Halloween cakes. Nevertheless, even these kinds of products can be used by a conscious and responsible parent as a means to interest his or her children with ancient Egyptian civilisation. Tracing the educative valour is easiest in the case of books, educative movies and applications, as these media are explicitly destined to educate. Should we, however, criticize the Hollywood movies, tattoos, birthday cakes, Lego bricks, and other stuff for presenting a simplified, superficial and historically inaccurate image of the past? No. First of all, it is not the task and responsibility of modern cinema or popular culture in general to present an historically accurate image of the past – it is the task of the historians and other past-examining scholars. Of course, for most people popular culture is their only source of information regarding the past, but it has always been like this and nothing has changed in this respect since antiquity. Second, even a totally historically inaccurate product of popular culture inspired by ancient Egypt or any other ancient civilization gives its recipient an opportunity to learn something about the past. The recipient always has a choice – (s)he can either stop with the information (s)he gets from the pop-culture product, or (s)he can continue to collect the information stimulated by the desire to know exactly how it was. This feeling of astonishment, wonder and curiosity of the world is always a starting point in exploring it. People who do not have it will never start searching through the past, no matter how historically accurate a popculture product they get. Nevertheless, the changing nature of the modern world, with continuously evolving medias and new means of communication that appear almost every day, forces us, as Egyptologists in particular but also

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as the researchers of the reception of ancient motifs in general, to produce new methodological instruments that would help us in dealing with the constantly developing manifestations of antiquity in contemporary popular culture.

Bibliography Ancient sources and collections of texts Sethe, Kurt. Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums I: Urkunden des Alten Reichs, 2nd ed. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrich’sche Buchhandlung, 1933. Strudwick, Nigel C. Texts from the Pyramid Age. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005.

Animations (including animation series) Astérix et Cléopâtre (dirs. Renée Goscinny, Albert Uderzo France 1968). Batman: The Animated Series (Series; production: Warner Bros. Animation. USA 1992-1994). Hotel Transylvania (Dir. Genndy Tartakovsky. USA 2012). Johnny Quest (Series; prodution: Hanna-Barbera Productions. USA 19641965). Les Douze Travaux d’Astérix (dirs. Renée Goscinny, Albert Uderzo France 1976). Papyrus (Series; production: Dupuis Audiovisuel, TF1, and Medver Inc. France 1998-2002). Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! (Series; production: Hanna-Barbera Productions. USA 1969-1978). Scooby-Doo! in Where’s My Mummy? (Dir. Joe Sichta. USA 2005). Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (Dir. Michael Bay. USA 2009). Tutenstein (Series; production: Porchlight Entertainment for Discovery Kids. USA 2003-2008). What’s New, Scooby Doo? (Series; production: Warner Bros. Animation. USA 2002-2006).

Books (including comics) Deary, Terry, and Peter Hepplewhite. The Awesome Egyptians. Cambridge: Book People Ltd., 1993. De Gieter Lucien. Papyrus, vols. 1-32, édition Depuis 1978-2012.

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Goscinny, René, and Albert Uderzo. Astérix et Cléopatre. Paris: Dargaud, 1965. —. Les 12 travaux d’Astérix. Paris: Dargaud, 1978. Pratchett, Terry. Pyramids. London: Corgi, 1989.

Computer games Cleopatra: Queen of the Nile (Sierra Entertainment. USA 2000). Egypt: Tomb of the Pharaoh (Cryo Interactive. France 1997). Egypt: The Heliopolis Prophecy (Cryo Interactive. France 2000). Pharaoh (Sierra Entertainment. USA 1999). The Settlers III (Blue Byte Software. Germany 1998).

Movies Astérix et Obélix: Mission Cléopâtre (Dir. Alain Chabat. France 2002). The Mummy (Dir. Stephen Sommers. USA 1999). The Mummy Returns (Dir. Stephen Sommers. USA 2001).

Video clips Michael Jackson’s “Remember the Time” (USA 1992). Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse” (USA 2014).

Websites (all accessed between January and August 2014) Website 1: http://iwastesomuchtime.com/on/?i=73566 Website 2: http://kids.discovery.com/games/just-for-fun/mummy-maker Website 3: http://kreatywnycukier.pl/galeria/torty/piramida-egipska-napiasku/ Website 4: http://lego.wikia.com/wiki/Egyptian_Queen Website 5: http://mikaeladanvers.com/food/halloween-cake-inspirationabsolutely-awesome-cake-design/ Website 6: http://tlacakes.blogspot.com/2010/10/mummy-cake-withglasses.html Website 7: http://www.cakes-island.pl/2012/08/egipskie-piramidy.html Website 8: http://www.colettescakes.com/cakesGallery.aspx?gallery=iscake Website 9: http://www.gametop.com/download-free-games/pharaohpuzzle/

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Website 10: http://www.gardaland.it/park/Attrazioni/Adventure/ramses-ilrisveglio/ Website 11: http://www.halloweencostumes.com/child-pharaohcostume.html Website 12: http://www.hermann.de/kat2003/Hermann_Katalog_2003_ Englisch.PDF Website 13: http://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/kids/games-quizzes/egyptmummys/ Website 14: http://www.mrcostumes.com/Scary-Mummified-KidsCostume-11930.htm Website 15: http://www.physicsgames.net/game/Mummy_Blaster.html Website 16: http://www.spirithalloween.com/product/pn-cleopatra46/?w=Egypt&UTM_campaign=Search:SC:Egypt Website 17: http://zmiksowani.pl/przepis,181174,halloween-i-naszemumie.html

Scientific publications Allen, James P. Genesis in Egypt: The Philosophy of Ancient Egyptian Creation Accounts. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. —. “RƝ’wer’s Accident”. In Studies in Pharaonic Religion and Society in Honour of J. Gwyn Griffiths, ed. Alan B. Lloyd, 14-20. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 1992. Ashton, Sally-Ann. Roman Egyptomania: A Special Exhibition at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, 24 September 2004-8 May 2005. London: Golden House Publications, 2004. Assmann, Jan. Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism. Cambridge, Massachusetts, London: Harvard University Press, 1998. —. Die Zauberflöte: Oper und Mysterium. München. Wien: Carl Hanser, 2005. Brier, Bob. Egyptian Mummies: Unraveling the Secrets of an Ancient Art. New York: William Morrow, 1994. —. The Encyclopedia of Mummies. New York: Facts on File, 1998. —. Egyptomania: Our Three Thousand Year Obsession with the Land of the Pharaohs. New York: Palgrave MacMillan 2013. Carrott, Richard G. The Egyptian Revival: Its Sources, Monuments, and Meaning 1808-1858. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1978.

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Carter, Howard. The Tomb of Tut-ankh-Amen Discovered by the Late Earl of Carnarvon and Howard Carter I-III. London: Cambridge University Press, 1922-1933. Cooperson Michael. “The Reception of Pharaonic Egypt in Islamic Egypt”. In A Companion to Ancient Egypt, ed. Alan B. Lloyd, 11091128. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010. Curl James S. The Egyptian Revival. Ancient Egypt as the Inspiration for Design Motifs in the West. London, New York: Routledge, 2005. Findlen, Paula. “Introduction. The Last Man Who Knew Everything … or Did He?: Athanasius Kircher, S. J. (1602-80) and His World”. In Athanasius Kircher. The Last Man Who Knew Everything, ed. Paula Findlen, 1-48. New York, London: Routledge, 2004. Hartleben, Hermine. Champollion: Sein Leben und sein Werk. Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1906. Heyob, Sharon K. The Cult of Isis among Women in the Graeco-Roman World. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1975. Humbert, Jean.-Marcel. L’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental. Paris: ACR, 1989. Humbert, Jean-Marcel, Michael Pantazzi and Christiane Ziegler. Egyptomania: L’Égypte dans l’art occidental 1730-1930. Paris, Ottawa: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, Musée des Beaux-Arts du Canada, 1994. Humbert Jean-Marcel and Clifford Price. Imhotep Today: Egyptianizing Architecture. London: UCL Press, 2003. Ikram Salima and Aidan Dodson. The Mummy in Ancient Egypt. Equipping the Dead for Eternity. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 1998. Kaczmarek, Hieronim. Jan Jonston z Szamotuá. U początków polskich zainteresowaĔ staroĪytnym Egiptem. PoznaĔ: Wydawnictwo Reprint, 2002. —. Polacy w Egipcie do 1914. Szczecin: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu SzczeciĔskiego, 2008. Lloyd, Alan B. “The Reception of Pharaonic Egypt in Classical Antiquity”. In A Companion to Ancient Egypt, ed. Alan B. Lloyd, 1065-1085. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010. Malek, Jaromir. “The Old Kingdom (c. 2686-2160 BC)”. In The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, ed. Ian Shaw, 83-107. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Miller, Peter N. “Copts and Scholars: Athanasius Kircher in Peiresc’s Republic of Letters”. In Athanasius Kircher. The Last Man Who Knew

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Everything, ed. Paula Findlen, 133-148. New York, London: Routledge, 2004. Morenz Siegfried. Die Begegnung Europas mit Ägypten. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1968. Parkinson, Richard B. Cracking Codes. The Rosetta Stone and Decipherment. London: British Museum Press, 1999. Strathern, Paul. Napoleon in Egypt. London: Jonathan Cape, 2007. ĝliwa, Joachim. Badacze, kolekcjonerzy, podróĪnicy. Studia z dziejów zainteresowaĔ staroĪytniczych. Kraków: KsiĊgarnia Akademicka, 2012a. ĝliwa, Joachim. “Egyptian Pyramids in an East European Landscape”. In Art and Society: Ancient and Modern Contexts of Egyptian Art: Proceedings of the International Conference held at the Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest, 13-15 May 2010, ed. Katalin A. Kóthay, 35-43. Budapest: Museum of Fine Arts, 2012. Tyldesley, Joyce. Tutankhamen’s Curse: The Developing History of an Egyptian King. London: Profile Books, 2012. Zinkow, Leszek. Nad Wisáą, nad Nilem … StaroĪytny Egipt w piĞmiennictwie polskim (do 1914 roku). Kraków: Collegium Columbinum, 2006. —. Imhotep i pawie pióra. Z dziejów inspiracji egipskich w architekturze polskiej. Kraków: KsiĊgarnia Akademicka, 2009. Notes

I should like to express my deepest gratitude to Dr. Andrzej ûwiek for having read the earlier draft of this article, as well as for all his critical but insightful remarks. My thanks also go to Lena Gáowacka for having shared with me the unpublished results of her research on the presence of Egyptian mummies in popular culture. Last but not least, I am also much indebted to the Reviewers and Editors of the present volume for all their invaluable suggestions. Nevertheless, I remain solely responsible for all interpretations as well as for all possible errors.

PART III: ANTIQUITY IN THE CINEMA

IN THEATRO CINEMATOGRAPHICO LATINE LOQUENTES: LATIN IN MODERN FILM EWA SKWARA ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: The article presents the role Latin plays in contemporary film. The research centres primarily on American and Polish cinematography of the last three to four decades (starting from the 1980s); it also discusses, however, major developments in the way film has used Latin from the beginning of its existence. The article describes and interprets the amazing variety of functions ascribed to this ancient language. This analysis leads to the conclusion that Latin, used sporadically, often as an ornament, serves, helps and supports both the plot and the characters; used in excess, however, it introduces an element of obscurity and ridiculousness.

It is difficult to indicate, when exactly Latin began to have a presence in film: probably it was already in the silent film era, when cinema was regarded as an unsophisticated entertainment for the masses. Although the Latin language was not something particularly prominent on the silver screen, it has certainly been present in the minds of the viewers, for what they watched were stories about the fall of Pompeii (The Last Days of Pompeii 1908, 1913, 1926)1 or about the wars between Rome and Carthage (Cabiria 1914)2. But one still has to keep in mind that film as a medium emerged at a time when Latin was still the foundation of humanistic education in the whole of western society. In addition, a large part of the material produced in the studios of that time consisted of film adaptations of 19th- and early 20th-century novels, which were permeated with ancient culture. That is why Latin was often the immanent, sometimes even unnoticeable component of these productions. It belonged to the world and the stories which were put on screen. With time it started to disappear from the screen, and this phenomenon can be especially observed when comparing films of the 1930s with their remakes filmed in times when Latin has already disappeared from the normal school curriculum.

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For example, in the adaptation of All Quiet on the Western Front from 19303 the teacher, encouraging the students to set out to war, refers to the ancient tradition (which does not appear in the novel). There is a blackboard with the incipit of Homer’s Odyssey and a quotation from Ovid’s Remedia amoris (v. 91): “Principiis obsta sero medicina paratur”4, and although the intention of the poet was to encourage the youths to quickly deal with unwanted love, out of context this verse becomes a rallying slogan for war. At the end of the lesson the students see also the aphorism “Quidquid agis, prudenter agas et respice finem”5, and the teacher quotes Horace (Car. III 2.13): “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori”6. In the adaptation of the same novel by Remarque from 1979 the teacher no longer inspires his pupils with Latin verse and the inscription on the blackboard reads a quote in German “Es gibt eine Friedenszeit, es gibt eine Kriegszeit” – “there is a time of peace, there is a time of war”. It seems that the most vivid examples of the presence of Latin in the films from the first half of the 20th century and its disappearance in their remakes from the beginning of the new millennium are mostly found in sequences referring to school and education. A similar example is provided by Goodbye, Mr Chips from 1939 and the new version from 20027. In the older version the Latin teacher discusses with his students, how to pronounce the name Cicero and teaches them about the particular features of Latin phrases in Caesar’s De bello Gallico. In the new production the pupils do not read Caesar, but Edward Gibbon, and the title character is shown more like a kind of historian than a teacher of classical literature and Latin (Sellers 2012: 241). There is also one notable example of this phenomenon in Polish cinematography in the adaptation of the famous novel by Witold Gombrowicz’s Ferdydurke (1937). A “lesson in Latin”, which used to be the most frequently quoted, read and discussed passage of the book, was cut short in the film version (30 Door Key 1991)8, in which the audience hears only the teacher’s observations, that the main character does not know how to inflect “rosa, rosae” and conjugate “amo”. One can only guess that the reason for this omission is the changes that have taken place in the education of today’s viewer, who is not able to appreciate the grotesque humour presented in the passages describing Latin lessons in the novel. Latin, however, appears quite often in contemporary films. This dead language is certainly introduced deliberately to achieve a strictly defined, specific purpose, which in turn makes its status become unique. It rarely occurs as a primary language, in which the protagonists communicate. If, however, this does happen, and it has happened in Sebastiane (1976)9 and

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The Passion of the Christ (2004)10, the films turn out to be very experimental, not just because of the language. Latin is used much more often as an additional language, which is introduced as a kind of special feature11. It is worth noting that in cases of this kind the language of the Romans (next to ancient Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic) usually does not require subtitles, which would explain what is being said in the film. It is understandable and clear that not everyone speaks the language of Cicero and the director certainly does not assume, that the viewers know what the Latin words or phrases mean, but there is a special sense in using something that is not widely understood, for Latin in these cases, it is not used a means of communication between characters. In modern film it fulfils other extra-linguistic tasks. Here are the most common uses of Latin in the plot of modern films. It is impossible, of course, to discuss all examples, so let us focus only on the most famous and representative ones.

Latin as a determinant of time and / or place of action Latin appears on the screen in different functions, depending on the topics presented. The most obvious is its occurrence in those films where the action is set in a time when the language was still spoken, that is, in antiquity (Gladiator 2000; Quo Vadis 2001)12 or in the Middle Ages (The Name of the Rose 1986; Kingdom of Heaven 2005)13. The same rule also applies to any comedy and parody that takes place in those times (Life of Brian 1979; History of the World: Part I 1981)14. The characters in these films communicate using modern language, and Latin is invoked only to name objects, in topography or in association with proper names. In this way it provides additional credibility to the settings - the space and time. Latin is used in this capacity by all characters alike, regardless of age, sex or social position. An exception may be made in the case of “outsiders”, alien to the on-screen communities, such as foreigners or strangers from another world. An interesting example of the use of Latin to reinforce the image of the presented mediaeval world can be seen in The Name of the Rose, in which this language appears as an internal element of life in a medieval monastery. The viewers hear Latin names of buildings (“aedificium”) or greetings in Latin (“Benedicamus”), which are not being translated, because the situational context alone explains their meaning. And when Wilhelm explains to his student the mystery of the Latin inscription above the mirror, he personally translates the words into the language spoken in the film, into English. It also happens, however, that the monks themselves

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speak the language of Cicero in the film to communicate, and the words that fall are essential for the plot. In such cases subtitles are introduced at the bottom of the screen. The Latin language in The Name of the Rose is interwoven into the story in many different ways, but the function remains the same – it renders credibility to the film and the plot on a linguistic and historical level. Latin is used similarly in films where the action is not set in antiquity, but the plot is focused around research and archaeological discoveries (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade 1989; The Da Vinci Code 2006)15. Here, too, the Latin – just like a decoration – is a means to strengthen the image of the old world. However, not only geographical or proper names appear in their original Latin version but also various inscriptions, messages, notes, and puzzles, which have to be read, understood and solved by the main protagonist. This points to the principal difference between the many protagonists in the film; not everyone knows ancient languages. Only the handsome and extraordinary researcher/professor/ priest with the whip/computer/crucifix can decipher the clues, which are hidden in Latin verses. Latin is therefore reserved for researchers, specialists and insiders. This dead language immediately creates a group of main characters – the good ones and the bad ones. Ignorance of Latin does not exclude anyone from any group, but the right to use it in the film belongs definitely to the prominent protagonists. Latin in its function of giving credibility to the setting of a film always reinforces the image of an old world, not necessarily ancient, but surely one in which it was the language of a certain social group. Films set in the 16th, 17th or 18th century gain credibility when protagonists use classical terminology, allude to classical culture and quote ancient authors. Productions from the first half of the 20th century usually stick to this principle, but today’s productions seem to abide by the rule that if the film is not set in antiquity or the Middle Ages then Latin is no longer required. An excellent example of such a “disappearance of Latin” over the last few decades is the adaptation of the Trilogy by Henryk Sienkiewicz. The novels (With Fire and Sword, The Deluge, Colonel Wolodyjowski)16 set in the 17th century follow the histories of a group of main characters, who in the books very often use Latin. The filming began in 1968 with the adaptation of Colonel Wolodyjowski, then six years later (1974) The Deluge came onto the silver screen17. In both parts Latin still occasionally occurs in the dialogues. But when exactly a quarter of a century later (1999) the same director Jerzy Hoffman completed the third and the final part of the cycle, With Fire and Sword, not a single Latin term, quote or verse could be heard.

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A symptomatic example of such purification from Latin can also be seen in a popular Polish series, Czas honoru (Time of honour 2008–2013), which takes place during the German and Soviet occupation (1941–1946). Although the times displayed on screen are inextricably linked with the classical tradition in Polish culture, the show does not use a single Latin phrase or word. It can therefore be concluded that contemporary cinema resorts to Latin as an element of the setting only when the film takes place in a time of absolute dominance of this language.

Latin as a determinant of unreality Another on-screen theme that frequently uses the speech of ancient Romans, is magic, vampirism and everything paranormal (Bram Stoker’s Dracula 1992, The Ninth Gate 1999, Harry Potter and ... 2001–2011)18. The Occult gains expressiveness and meaning thanks to Latin, which is considered ancient and elitist, now available only to a few, and is therefore hermetic, even exotic, and ideally equipped to transfer secret knowledge through the ages. Its elitism becomes a special advantage. It is like the key to every initiation. Vampires, werewolves, and black magic adepts use Latin precisely because it is a sign of belonging to another world. Words and whole phrases spoken in this language have the power of spells. Not without significance is also its aura of mystery. The only ones who are now excluded from the possibility to enjoy the magical and mystical feeling introduced by the use of Latin in these productions, are those, who can actually understand the exotic sounding incantations. As in Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, when the children are introduced during potions class to a magical liquid named Felix felicis. Anybody, who has ever learned Latin, even in the smallest extent, can instantly imagine the properties of this magical potion and can only be baffled, that something can be named with both the nominative and genitive cases simultaneously. In the horror genre an interesting example of the use of Latin is Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) directed by Francis Ford Coppola. The film uses the dead language both in the service of the powers of darkness and in the forces opposing them. It is used for spells and exorcisms. It would also be difficult to ignore the fact that the ambience of this horror is set by the music of Wojciech Kilar, with a significant role for the choir singing in Latin, among others, “sanguis vita est” (The Storm).

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Latin as a determinant of profession Latin as an attribute belonging to a closed circle of specialists is also present in films which have nothing in common with classical times, culture or magic. This happens when the characters are practitioners of professions where Latin terminology is still in use. Latin can be expected everywhere, where there is a doctor, a lawyer, a priest or a teacher. Of course, the scope of use is different according to each profession. The doctor uses medical terminology (The Fugitive 1993)19, the lawyer – legal (Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason 2004)20, and the priest – the liturgical (Mission 1986; Karol: A Man Who Became Pope 2005)21. Always, however, the function of Latin in such films is on the one hand, to mark a type of “corporate” membership, on the other hand to show the prestige of a given profession. The use of Latin in film as a determinant of profession positions the protagonist on the social scale not only higher than other characters, but also higher than the audience. The viewer, even in case of a classical philologist or a person of the same profession, is not capable of handling the obscure Latin terminology with the same speed and ease with which an actor does it. Thus, the effect is striking. Usually, the mentioned phrases are not explained in any way, because their real meaning or the principles they stand for are of no importance. They are introduced into the dialogue in order to evoke a certain feeling, often a feeling of inferiority. A perfect illustration of this use is the scene of the lawyer’s ball from Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. During dinner the head of the bar in accordance with the tradition of this kind of meetings organizes a quiz, in which most of the tasks require someone to explain or provide specialized Latin terms. This scene reaches a climax when one of the tasks is to translate the Latin phrase “reddendo singula singulis”22 into ancient Greek (“Hippodamoi credemnon luestai”). The protagonist, a lawyer by profession, does so without the slightest difficulty. A special type of hero who uses a dead language is the professional Latin teacher (Dead Poets Society 1989; The Man Without a Face 1993; An Education 2009)23. Certainly his classical education distinguishes him from the remaining characters. But if in the case of doctors, lawyers and priests one can talk about a social elevation, in the case of the language professor his knowledge of ancient languages is highly stigmatizing. This is apparent in Dead Poets Society, where one sees the difference between two teachers – John Keating (Robin Williams) teaching English literature and the Latin professor Mr McAllister (Leon Pownall). The first is a charismatic captain leading his crew on an adventure that is poetry. The

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second fits in perfectly with other cinematographic teachers of dead languages, who torture their students with mindless requirements, reciting from memory declension after declension and conjugation after conjugation, criticising everyone for laziness and stupidity, while remaining completely uncritical of themselves24. Regardless of whether the Latin teacher is a man or a woman, he or she always turns out to be a half-nasty, half-comic figure, in any case not compatible with generally accepted social norms. The character is often repulsive in manner, unpleasant, sometimes even accused of heinous crimes (thankfully unfounded) of sexual transgressions (The Man Without a Face 1993; The Human Stain 2003)25. This persona compares particularly badly to other teachers appearing in film. Interestingly different to this cliché is the character of the Latin teacher in the Polish film Maáa matura 194726 2010, portrayed by a known and beloved actor, Marek Kondrat, who, despite the end of his artistic career a few years earlier, decided to appear in this one last role, to – as he said – emphasise the special role and accomplishments of the pre-war teaching staff and their achievements in education. Still the film shows all the stereotypes known from other productions. E.g., when he caught one of the students tossing a note with the sentence “Inter pedes puellarum est voluptas puerorum” (“There is a pleasure of boys between legs of girls”) to his friend, he tells him to analyse the grammatical structure of the phrase. With irony and sarcasm he speaks about the abilities and the knowledge of the oppressed boy. It is difficult to recognize in him a great and inspiring teacher. So it seems that Latin perfectly fulfils the function of the determinant of professions, additionally emphasising the value of education and of a certain position in the profession itself. Only teachers of the dead language do not gain sympathy, as if the mere act of teaching the subject made them soulless automatons.

Latin as a determinant of education and status Most interesting is the emergence of Latin in films that have nothing to do with antiquity or the Middle Ages, are not about magic, and the characters do not belong to a profession, which would require any knowledge of this language. Then the Latin words or sentences give the effect of a surprise–a surprise, however, that is not coincidental. The language of the Romans very often indicates a thorough education. The most glaring example of this is the adaptation of The Reader27 from 2008, which brings to light the disparity in education between an excellent

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student, Michael Berg, and Hanna Schmitz, his illiterate mistress. To make the gap between them even more apparent, the protagonist reads to her Homer and Horace in their original form, although he is aware that Hanna knows neither Greek nor Latin. The research done on films and TV-formats produced for a wider audience provides the most interesting examples, most surprising in the case of soap operas. Mrs. Alutka, a crazy poetess from a popular Polish sit-com says (Rodzina zastĊpcza28 E227) “television series are the lowest level of pop culture – it is the ground floor, or actually the basement”. So if in this kind of production one uses Latin, it must mean that this language and its functions continue to be understandable for the viewers. In popular Polish TV series produced after 2000 Latin appears as a determinant of an extensive education, usually received at the time of the previous political system, when classical culture was still the basis of the curriculum. The language is spoken by mature characters, mostly over forty. There is also a certain regularity – the less the language has anything to do with the profession of the protagonist, and the less it is important for the evolution of the story, the more it impresses both other characters, as well as the audience. Here are some examples: When metropolitan guests come to a small village, where the action of the soap Blondynka29 (E18) takes place, a local veterinary assistant, Kozyra (aged between 50–60) easily understands their position, given by them in an argument through the Latin quotation from St. Augustine (De Civitate Dei IV.27): “mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur”30. He translates it to Polish, and so surprises everyone, as no one suspected him of this kind of skill. He adds so as to clarify: “I passed my A-level exams… at the 4th attempt”. In one episode of Hotel 5231 (s07e83) a fiancé is being tested by the father of his girlfriend. The future father in law, a chief of a military unit, wants to make sure whether the boy, working as a tax advisor, meets his expectations. He checks the strength of his muscles, resistance and perceptiveness. The boy does not really have those qualities, so he proposes chess, but it turns out that the girl’s father was the chess grandmaster of all NATO troops. As all following competitions also do not give the young man a chance of winning, he proposes a duel on the knowledge of Latin. But after his own exclamation: “Quidquid discis, tibi discis” (“Whatever you learn, you learn it for yourself”), he hears from the soldier: “Laetificat stultum grandis promissio multum” (“A fool feels lots of joy when promised a lot”/“good words without deeds are rushes and reeds”). It is then clear that the young boy cannot compete in this area with

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a mature man, who received his education three decades earlier. Sentences are not translated in the film, even though they deliver a commentary on the whole situation. An interesting example of the use of Latin is brought by another famous series, the longest running Polish sit-com Rodzina zastĊpcza (1999–2009). Its protagonists represent the slightly older generation of mainly forty- and fifty-year-olds belonging to the middle class – there is an engineer, a television producer, an eccentric poetess, the editor of a women’s magazine, and their younger and older children studying philosophy, Polish philology, and psychology. The parents often use Latin, and even Greek phrases and sayings like: “tertium non datur” or “nomen omen”. These are never translated into Polish, and what’s more, all the characters seem to understand their meaning, except perhaps a policeman, who is portrayed as the fool of the series. Sometimes ancient phrases also become the climax of a joke, as when the father refuses to give his son permission to participate in a boating camp and does not bend under the argument that the boy already signed up. The boy starts complaining and the father ends the discussion with one short sentence and a sigh: “Ah, Panta rei as the sailors say.” (e161). In such films, not only Latin or Greek is a sign of belonging to the class of the intelligentsia, but also any association or allusion to classical culture becomes evidence of a solid education and of a high position on the social ladder. In the world created by contemporary cinematography, the knowledge about antiquity, and its languages, is evidence of a clever mind and becomes even something desirable, as shown by such series as The Big Bang Theory32. Even in Polish productions one can find examples of this phenomenon – one of the policemen in the series Kryminalni33 (s03e34) to expand his horizons rents from the Main Police Library the book on Mythology by Zygmunt Kubiak34. He studies it meticulously, and boasts about his newly gained knowledge in front of colleagues, which gives him an additional comical feature. The knowledge of Latin and classical tradition should be an additional characteristic of the main protagonist. When this knowledge is exposed too clearly in one of the lesser protagonists, it becomes a signal for the audience that this persona is incompatible with the modern world, eccentric and even quirky. Perhaps that is why the Latin teachers in films are presented as soulless and cold. When in one of the episodes of this crime series (Kryminalni s05e54) there is a witness, probably a classical philologist, viewers quickly realize that he will not be helpful in the investigation. Little is known about him, only that, when the crime was being committed in the city train, he did not notice much, because he was occupied with reading the Latin-Polish

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dictionary published in 1887 in Cracow. The screen-writers exaggerated the antisocial character of that witness and made him completely unrealistic. They also did not even bother with checking, if the mentioned dictionary existed, which of course it did not. Nevertheless, the message was clear – the witness lives in a different reality and is no help in the investigation. As can be seen, Latin is an indicator of a thorough education and it sets the protagonist apart from the uneducated hoi polloi both in a negative and in a positive sense. As an attribute or a secondary skill for people of a certain profession it helps solve mysteries, inspires people to do great things, expels demons, helps save the world of muggles or even kills Dracula the prince of Darkness. But Latin as the central element in someone’s life, as the subject of one’s profession, is tedious and torturous. Someone, who wishes to become a Latin teacher must be devoid of any imagination or soul, for who would choose teaching “consecutio temporum” or “ablativus absolutus” over being Indiana Jones? The only question left to answer is: where did Indi learn his Latin? As in all things, so in the films, the principle of “ne quid nimis”35 applies.

Bibliography Ovid. The Art of Love and Other Poems. Translated by John H. Mozley. Cambridge, Mass.; London: Harvard University Press, 2004. Sellers, Ryan G. “Latin Teachers in Film.” Classical World, vol. 105, no. 2: 237-254. Solomon, Jon. The Ancient World in the Cinema. New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 2001. Winkler, Martin M. Cinema and Classical Texts: Apollo’s New Light. Cambridge, UK; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009.

Literary inspiration Barber Lynn, An Education. Brown Dan, The Da Vinci Code (2003). Bulwer-Lytton Edward George, The Last Days of Pompeii (1834). Eco Umberto, Il nome della rosa (1980). Fielding Helen, Bridget Jones. The Edge of Reason (2004). Flaubert Gustave, Salammbô (1862). Gombrowicz Witold, Ferdydurke (1937). Hilton James, Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1934).

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Holland Isabelle, The Man Without a Face (1972). Pérez-Reverte Arturo, The Club Dumas (1993). Remarque Erich Maria, Im Westen nichts Neues (1929). Roth Philip, The Human Stain (2000). Rowling Joanne Kathleen, Harry Potter … (1997 – 2007). Salgari Emilio Cartagine in fiamme (1908). Schlink Bernhard, The Reader (1995). Sienkiewicz Henryk, Quo Vadis (1895/1896). Sienkiewicz Henryk, Trilogy – With Fire and Sword (1884). The Deluge (1886). Colonel Wolodyjowski (1888). Stoker Bram, Dracula (1897).

Filmography All Quiet on the Western Front (director: Lewis Milestone, USA 1930) All Quiet on the Western Front (director: Delbert Mann, USA 1979) The Big Bang Theory (directors: Chuck Lorre & Bill Prady, USA 2007 – 2014) Blondynka (Blonde, director: Mirosáaw Gronowski, Poland 2010 – 2013) Bram Stoker’s Dracula (director: Francis Ford Coppola, USA 1992) Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (director: Beeban Kidron, UK / USA / France / Ireland 2004) Cabiria (director: Giovanni Pastrone, Italy 1914) Colonel Wolodyjowski (director: Jerzy Hoffman, Poland 1968) Czas honoru (Time of honour, directors: Michaá KwieciĔski, Michaá Rosa, Wojciech Wójcik, Grzegorz Kuczeriszka, Waldemar Krzystek, Michaá Rogalski, Poland 2008–2013) The Da Vinci Code (director: Ron Howard, USA / UK / France / Malta 2006) Dead Poets Society (director: Peter Weir, USA 1989) The Deluge (director: Jerzy Hoffman, Poland1974) An Education (director: Lone Scherfig, UK & USA 2009) The Fugitive (director: Andrew Davis, USA1993) Gladiator (director: Ridley Scott, UK / USA 2000) Goodbye, Mr Chips (director: Sam Wood, UK 1939) Goodbye, Mr Chips (director: Herbert Ross, USA1969) Goodbye, Mr Chips (director: Gareth Davies, UK 1984) Goodbye, Mr Chips (director: Stuart Orme, UK 2002) Harry Potter and ... (director: Chris Columbus, Alfonso Cuarón, Mike Newell, David Yates, UK & USA 2001 – 2011)

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History of the World: Part I (director: Mel Brooks, USA 1981) Hotel 52 (director: Michaá KwieciĔski, Grzegorz Kuczeriszka, Polska 2010–2013) The Human Stain (director: Robert Benton, USA / Germany / France 2003) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (director: Steven Spielberg, USA 1989) Karol: A Man Who Became Pope (director: Giacomo Battiato, Poland / Italy 2005) Kingdom of Heaven (director: Ridley Scott, USA / UK / Spain / Germany / Marocco 2005) Kryminalni (Crime Unit, directors: Ryszard Zatorski, Piotr WereĞniak, Poland 2004 – 2008) Life of Brian (director: Terry Jones, UK 1979) The Man Without a Face (director: Mel Gibson, USA 1993) Maáa Matura 1947 (Small high-school certificate 1947, director: Janusz Majewski, Poland 2010) Mission (director: Roland Joffé, UK 1986) The Name of the Rose (director: Jean-Jacques Annaud, West Germany / Italy / France 1986) The Ninth Gate (director: Roman PolaĔski, Spain / France /USA 1999) The Passion of the Christ (director: Mel Gibson, USA 2004) Quo Vadis (director: Jerzy Kawalerowicz, Poland / USA 2001) The Reader (director: Stephen Daldry, USA / Germany 2008) Rodzina zastĊpcza (Foster Family, directors: Michaá KwieciĔski, Anna HaáasiĔska, Wojciech Nowak, Poland 1999 – 2009) Sebastiane (director: Derek Jarman & Paul Humfress, UK 1976) 30 Door Key (director: Jerzy Skolimowski, Poland / UK / France 1991) Ultimi giorni di Pompeii (director: Arturo Ambrosio, Italy 1908) Ultimi giorni di Pompeii (director: Eleuterio Rodolfi, Italy 1913) Ultimi giorni di Pompeii (director: Carmine Gallone & Amleto Palermi, Italy 1926) With Fire and Sword (director: Jerzy Hoffman, Poland 1999).

Notes 1

All films titled The Last Days of Pompeii are adaptations of Edward George Bulwer-Lytton’s novel of the same name (1834). The plot is focused on the cataclysmic destruction of the city of Pompeii by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in AD 79. The oldest version was produced during the early years of Italian cinema

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– Ultimi giorni di Pompeii (1908) by Arturo Ambrosio. The next ones were also Italian black and white, silent films by Eleuterio Rodolfi (1913) and by Carmine Gallone & Amleto Palermi (1926). 2 Cabiria is a 1914 Italian silent film, directed by Giovanni Pastrone and set in ancient Sicily, Carthage, and Cirta during the period of the Second Punic War (218–202 BC). It follows a melodramatic plot about an abducted girl, Cabiria. The historical background in the story is taken from Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita (I BC). The script of Cabiria was partially based on Gustave Flaubert’s 1862 novel Salammbô and Emilio Salgari’s 1908 novel Cartagine in fiamme (Carthage in Flames). 3 All Quiet on the Western Front directed by Lewis Milestone is a 1930 American film based on the Erich Maria Remarque novel of the same name. The remake from 1979, directed by Delbert Mann is a television film produced by ITC Entertainment. 4 The quotation on the blackboard consists only of one half of a sentence. The whole phrase reads: “Principiis obsta sero medicina paratur, cum mala per longas convaluere moras” – “Resist beginnings; too late is the medicine prepared, when the disease has gained strength by long delay.” (Mozley 2004: 185). 5 “Whatever you do, do cautiously, and look to the end.” The aphorism can be found in Gesta Romanorum (C. 103), it has been sometimes ascribed to Ovid. 6 Both Latin quotations were commonly encountered in textbooks used in the Gymnasium. The Odyssey was read more frequently than the Iliad in Greek courses in Gymnasia (Winkler 2009: 165). 7 The film was based on the 1934 novel Goodbye, Mr. Chipsby James Hilton. The story about the life of a schoolteacher, Mr. Chipping, was adapted four times: twice as a film (in 1939 directed by Sam Wood and in 1969 directed by Herbert Ross); and twice as a TV production (in 1984 as a television serial by the BBC and in 2002 by Stuart Orme). 8 In 1937 Witold Gombrowicz published his first novel, Ferdydurke. It presented the problems of immaturity and youth, the creation of identity in interactions with others, and an ironic, critical examination of class roles in Polish society and culture. In 1991 the novella was adapted into a film by the director Jerzy Skolimowski. The alternate English title: 30 Door Key imitates the pronunciation of the Polish title and just as in Polish does not have any logical meaning. 9 Sebastian written and directed by Derek Jarman and Paul Humfress tells the lifestory of Saint Sebastian and his martyrdom. Controversial scenes of homoeroticism were aimed at a homosexual audience. 10 The Passion of the Christ, directed by Mel Gibson, depicts the final twelve hours of Jesus’ life. The film has been highly controversial and has received mixed reviews. 11 Sometimes its purpose is etymological, sometimes it acts as a motto, sometimes it is used to humorous effect (Solomon 2001: 22). 12 Gladiator directed by Ridley Scott in 2000 portrays the fictional general Maximus Decimus Meridius, who is betrayed and enslaved. He rises through the ranks of the gladiatorial arena to avenge his fate. Quo Vadis, a novel by Henryk

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Sienkiewicz, tells of love between a young Christian woman, Ligia, and Marcus Vinicius, a Roman patrician. It takes place in the city of Rome under the rule of the Emperor Nero around AD 64. The book was adapted several times (1912, 1925, 1951, 1985). The last version was shot in 2001 by Polish director Jerzy Kawalerowicz. 13 The novel by Umberto Eco titled Il nome della rosa (1980) is a historical murder mystery set in an Italian monastery in the year 1327. Jean-Jacques Annaud adapted the book into a film in 1986. Kingdom of Heaven is a 2005 British-AmericanGerman film directed by Ridley Scott and written by William Monahan. The story, set during the Crusades of the 12th century, presents a French village blacksmith going to aid the Kingdom of Jerusalem in its defence against the Muslim sultan Saladin, who is battling to reclaim the city from the Christians. 14 Life of Brian is a 1979 British comedy starring and written by the comedy group Monty Python and directed by one of its members, Terry Jones. The film tells the story of Brian Cohen, a young Jewish man who is born on the same day as, and next door to, Jesus Christ, and is subsequently mistaken for the Messiah. History of the World, Part I is a 1981 comedy written, produced, and directed by Mel Brooks. It is a parody of the historical spectacular film genre, including the sword-andsandal epic. 15 Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade is a 1989 American fantasy-adventure film directed by Steven Spielberg. The film is set largely in 1938, but the eponymous protagonist searches for his father, who is a Holy Grail scholar. Thus, the main topic of the film concentrates on the Middle Ages. The Da Vinci Code, a 2003 mystery-detective novel written by Dan Brown and later adapted (2006) by Columbia Pictures (directed by Ron Howard), follows an investigation of a murder in Paris’s Louvre Museum and the battle between the Priory of Sion and Opus Dei over the possibility of Jesus having been married to Mary Magdalene. The plot concerns the Holy Grail legend and Mary Magdalene’s role in the history of Christianity. 16 The Trilogy occupies a special place in the national literature. And it was for his epic work that Sienkiewicz received the Nobel Prize in 1905 (and not, as is often erroneously assumed, for Quo Vadis). The novels written in the days (1884, 1886, 1888), when for more than a a hundred years, Poland did not exist on the map of Europe, were almost entirely set in the periods during which Poland was a cultural and military power – in 17th century. They presented Poland in times of danger, but only such danger, that ended in conquering the enemy and saving the country. The plot was usually fairly similar – Poland threatened by an external enemy: With Fire and Sword – Ukrainian Cossacks; in The Deluge – the Swedes, and in Colonel Wolodyjowski – the Turks. However, thanks to the extraordinary valor of the Polish nation, which one of the characters describes as the nation that “especially pleased God, and God himself adorned it”, the enemy was defeated and the country saved. The meaning of this message was quite clear – it was to bring hope, that, as in the past centuries the land managed to get out of trouble, so now also its political non-being is only a temporary misery. Historic events form a framework for an action- and character-driven plot focused on a love affair. Sienkiewicz’s

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popularity was incredible, and his novels were read as allegory also in the time of a socialism and the domination of Soviet Union. Latin appearing in all three novels was taken as a natural component of 17th-century Polish language. 17 Adaptations of Sienkiewicz´s novels struggled with political problems of some sort. First came the film Colonel Wolodyjowski (1968), in which the negative portrayal of the Tatar horde shed negative light on Russia of that time, the protection of the monastery at Jasna Góra, which was always Poland’s holiest sanctuary. The adaptation of With Fire and Sword (1999) had to wait for a more favourable political situation, but even now the film and the story of conflict between Poland and the Ukraine strains the friendship of the Eastern Block. 18 Bram Stoker’s Dracula is a 1992 American horror drama directed and produced by Francis Ford Coppola, based on the novel Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897). The film, closely based on the novel tells the story of a vampire who comes to England to seduce a woman. Latin appears in the scenes of exorcisms. The Ninth Gate is a 1999 thriller, based on Arturo Pérez-Reverte’s novel The Club Dumas (1993) and directed by Roman PolaĔski. The plot involves the search for a rare ancient book that purportedly contains the secret to summoning the Devil. Latin appears in scenes with the ancient book and summoning the Devil. Harry Potter is a series of seven fantasy novels, written by J. K. Rowling, that have been adapted into an eight-part film series by Warner Bros. The series chronicles the adventures of a wizard, Harry Potter, and his friends. Latin appears as a language of magic taught at the wizard school. 19 The Fugitive directed by Andrew Davis is a 1993 American thriller based on the 1960s television series of the same title. The main character, being wrongfully convicted for the murder of his wife, escapes from custody and is declared a fugitive. He sets out to prove his innocence and bring those who were responsible to justice. Latin appears in the scenes were medical problems are discussed. 20 Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason is a 2004 romantic comedy directed by Beeban Kidron, based on Helen Fielding’s novel of the same name. One of the main characters is a lawyer, so Latin appears in scenes presenting the specificity of his profession. 21 The Mission is a 1986 drama film written by Robert Bolt and directed by Roland Joffé. The film presents the experiences of a Jesuit missionary in 18th-century South America. Karol: A Man Who Became Pope is a 2005 TV miniseries directed by Giacomo Battiato. It presents a biography of Karol Wojtyáa, later known as Pope John Paul II, beginning in 1939 when Karol was only 19 years old and ending at the Papal conclave in October 1978 which made him Pope. In both films Latin appears in the scenes of Catholic liturgy. 22 This is a law definition, where “Reddendo singula singulis” or “Rule of the Last Antecedent” (“refers only to the last”) means that when a list of words has a modifying phrase at the end, the phrase refers only to the last, e.g., firemen, policemen, etc. 23 Dead Poets Society is a 1989 American drama film directed by Peter Weir. Set at the conservative Welton Academy in Vermont in 1959, it tells the story of an English teacher who inspires his students. Besides him there is also a Latin teacher.

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The Man Without a Face is a 1993 American drama film directed by Mel Gibson, based on Isabelle Holland’s 1972 novel of the same name. It is a story of a relationship between a teacher living as a recluse on the edge of town and his troubled pupil. The teacher whose face was disfigured in a car accident teaches his pupil Latin, but a local community suspects he is a pedophile. An Education is a 2009 British drama film directed by Lone Scherfig, based on a memoir of the same name by British journalist Lynn Barber. The film tells the story of a teenage girl in the 1960s, whose life changes with the arrival of a playboy nearly twice her age. A Latin teacher appears in scenes of school lessons. 24 A broad analysis of the characters of Latin teachers in film was written by Sellers. He stressed the fact, that lessons are always shown in a negative way and “Latin is stripped of its educational value and reduced to nothing more than a cruel instrument of torture” (Sellers: 2012: 240). 25 The Human Stain is a 2003 American drama film directed by Robert Benton, based on the 2000 novel of the same name by Philip Roth. It is the story of a classics professor with a terrible secret that is uncovered after his affair with a troubled young woman. 26 Maáa matura 1947 (“Small high-school certificate 1947”) tells the story of a 14year-old boy who at the end of World War II resumes his interrupted education to get a high-school certificate. 27 The Reader is a 2008 German-American romantic drama film directed by Stephen Daldry, based on the 1995 German novel of the same name by Bernhard Schlink. The film tells the story of a German lawyer who in 1958 as a teenager had an affair with an older woman. After some years he discovers that she is one of the defendants in a war crimes trial. She was a guard at a Nazi concentration camp. 28 Rodzina zastĊpcza (Foster Family) was a popular Polish primetime comedy series broadcasted from 1999 to 2009. The series told the story of the Kwiatkowski family, including their biological, as well as their adopted children. 29 Blondynka (Blonde) was a popular Polish series broadcasted in 2010 and 2013 about a blonde veterinarian who left Warsaw to settle in a small village. When she discovers that the village people are not better than those in the capital, she decides to transform her new neighbours. 30 The saying is ascribed to Petronius. The version known from St. Augustine tells about Pontifex Maximus Scaevola saying and acknowledging “expedire civitates religione falli”, that it was good, that cities should be deceived by religion, according to the proverb, “Si mundus vult decipi, decipiatur”, if the world will be gulled, let it be gulled. 31 Hotel 52 was a Polish series broadcast from 2010 to 2013 about staff and guests of the titled hotel. Each episode is devoted to a story of one guest. 32 The Big Bang Theory is an American sitcom from 2007. The show is centred on five characters: two physicists, a waitress/aspiring actress and two socially awkward co-workers, a mechanical engineer and an astrophysicist. The geekiness and intellect of the four men is contrasted for comic effect with the waitress’ social skills and common sense.

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33 Kryminalni (Eng. Crime Unit) was a Polish crime drama series that aired from 2004 until 2008. The series followed the life and work of police officers from an elite Criminal Terror and Homicide Division of the Warsaw Metropolitan Police. 34 Zygmunt Kubiak (1929 – 2004) was a Polish writer, essayist, translator, propagator of ancient culture, and professor at the University of Warsaw. His book Mitologia Greków i Rzymian (Mithology of Greeks and Romans) was shortlisted for the Nike Award in 1998. He translated, among other works, Virgil’s Aeneid and St. Augustine’s Confessions. 35 “Nothing in excess” (Terence An. 61). It is actually a traditional Greek saying, inscribed over the portal of Apollo’s temple at Delphi.

THE ART OF SAFE SPEECH: SCHÜNZEL’S AMPHITRUO MARY R. MCHUGH GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS COLLEGE

Abstract: Roman comedies do not usually contain political criticism, so it is perhaps surprising to find political satire in adaptations of Plautus’ Amphitruo, a tragicomoedia, which retells the story of Jupiter’s seduction of Alcmena as her husband, Amphitryon. Reinhold Schünzel’s 1935 film adaptation, Amphitryon: Aus den Wolken kommt das Glück, parodies the Nazi regime. It is possible that Nazi censors did not anticipate the use of Roman New Comedy for political subversion and thus allowed the cinematic version of Plautus’ farce. An analysis of the visual style and dialogue in specific scenes of Schünzel’s film demonstrates that Schünzel proved a worthy heir of ancient rhetorical strategies for safe criticism.

Introduction Greek New Comedy and the Roman comedies derived from it are not generally considered to be vehicles for political satire. In late 5th century Athenian Old Comedy, one expects Aristophanes’ devastating attacks on contemporary intellectuals, politicians, and institutions. But by the early 2nd century BC no definitive political references are to be found in the comedies of Plautus (cf. Harvey 1986). Rather, both Greek and Roman New Comedy eschews the political in favour of the domestic (Christenson 2000: 3, 6). So it is perhaps surprising to find political satire in a 1935 German film adaptation of Plautus’ Amphitruo, Reinhold Schünzel’s Amphitryon: Aus den Wolken kommt das Glück (Happiness from the Clouds). Plautus’ original version is a mythological burlesque that retells the story of Jupiter’s seduction of Alcmena, Hercules’ mother-to-be. In terms of genre and content, scholars consider this play to be an anomaly, a dramatic departure from the usual Plautine comedy (Stewart 2000: 293). This uniqueness, in fact, may explain Schünzel’s choice of this play to safely criticize the Nazi regime using “figured speech”, a term coined by

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Frederick Ahl to describe how ancient rhetoricians advised that one could safely “achieve reproach without committing oneself to an outright statement of reproach” (Ahl 1984: 178).

Plautus’ Original First, as the god Mercury informs the audience in a lengthy prologue in Plautus’ Amphitruo, the performance is not a straightforward comedy, but a tragicomoedia. This newly invented genre and term are unique to this play – not just in Plautus’ oeuvre, but in all of classical literature (Stewart 1958: 348). The incorporation of tragic elements into a comedic setting opens up rhetorical possibilities in terms of arguments by analogy. Is the representation of Jupiter just a mythological farce, or is he an allegory for the womanizing tyrant who abuses his power? Second, the central theme of the play is adultery, and, according to Erich Segal, it is the only adultery ever successfully consummated on the Roman stage in all of Roman comedy (Segal 2001: 205). While Plautine husbands may dream of adultery, they never successfully carry it off. And yet, despite the scandal, no one surpasses Alcmena in her exemplarity as a respectable Roman matrona. Scholars have remarked that Alcmena is a heroine of tragic stature, that she is a paragon of virtue much like Penelope, and that she brings a high seriousness to the comedic text (cf. Phillips 1985: 121, for a summary of such comments). The great irony of the play is that Jupiter can only seduce this loyal and faithful wife by appearing to her disguised as her own husband, Amphitryon. Jupiter recognizes that Alcmena is a univira, a one-man woman, and it is this singular virtue that he perversely turns to his own advantage. So, in fact, the real story of Plautus’ drama appears to be one about the amorality of the powerful and their brutal exploitation of the innocent. Finally, the Amphitruo is Plautus’ most popular play. It appears to have never fallen out of popularity and has been re-adapted in every age (cf. Duckworth 1952: 397-433; Shero 1956; Romano 1974; Segal 2001: 206). With each adaptation it has acquired shades of meaning that were not present in the original. Just to name a few examples of the intertwining links of this play’s adaptations in various times, places, and languages, Rotrou’s Les Sosies (1638), a French verse translation of the Latin Amphitruo, no doubt influenced Molière’s Amphitryon (1668), which in turn influenced Dryden’s English (1690) and Heinrich von Kleist’s German (1809) versions by the same title. Giraudoux’s title for his version, Amphitryon 38 (1929), playfully underestimates the number of interpretations of this play that preceded his own. Perhaps, then, it is not

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too surprising that Reinhold Schünzel chose this play as a vehicle for social and political satire of Nazi-era Germany in the form of a musical comedy.

Reinhold Schünzel and Nazi-era Cinema Reinhold Schünzel was a popular and successful actor and director at Universum Film AG, better known as Ufa, the principal film studio in Germany. However, because his mother was Jewish, in 1933 the Nazi regime racially classified Schünzel as half-Jewish (Schöning 2009: 73). In the same year, in a single day, Ufa terminated the contracts of twentyseven of its Jewish staff members, thereby divesting itself of many of its best directors, actors, producers, composers, authors, and technical specialists (Kreimeier 1999: 209-11). Further personnel changes were imminent. Schünzel’s racial classification meant that, despite his proven talent and excellent reputation, he needed a permit to continue his work in the film industry. This permit had to be renewed by the propaganda minister, Josef Goebbels, each time Schünzel began work on any new film (Schöning 2009: 73). The process of gaining approval for a film production itself was also rather cumbersome. The script had to be submitted to the censors before it could be approved by Ufa for production, and even after script approval the production could still be shut down. Despite, and perhaps because of, the many hoops through which writers, producers, and directors now had to jump, there were many loopholes in the system through which a clever artist might find a way to express satirical criticism. According to Klaus Kreimeier, who wrote the definitive history of the German film company Ufa: The far-flung net of political and ideological control in the Nazi state fostered the belief that film production was subject to a censorship system of implacable machine-like consistency. But the truth is that power on the defensive and without self-confidence developed an unwieldy system of discordant bureaucracies. From the point of view of the filmmakers, not everything was possible, but much was; and while what was possible was often risky, what was “impossible” was sometimes overlooked, silently tolerated, or even praised. (Kreimeier 1999: 231-32).

Cinematic art was required to conform to the political aesthetics of National Socialism and deemed appropriately “Aryanized” (Tegel 2008: 38-44).

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Schünzel’s Amphitryon and “figured speech” Schünzel, perhaps the only Jewish director still working in Germany in 1934, wrote his own screenplay for the musical comedy Amphitryon: Happiness from the Clouds, based on the French playwright Molière’s adaptation of Plautus’ play, and Heinrich von Kleist’s German adaptation of Molière’s play. Like other top Ufa productions of the 1930s, Amphitryon was made simultaneously in French, and the French version premiered in Paris two months after the German version (Schöning 2009: 153-54). In the two different versions, Schünzel simultaneously pays tribute to Molière and the play that underscores the spirit of his own screenplay, and pays lip service to Kleist. (Although Kleist’s work scarcely differs from Molière’s, except that it was in German, the film scholar Karsten Witte has suggested that Kleist reintroduces the mingling of tragic and comedic present in Plautus’s version, but removed in Molière’s intermediate version. Witte sees tragic elements trivialized for comedic effect in Schünzel’s film [Witte 1995: 92].) Kleist was one of the literary lights whose output fed the German nationalistic sentiment of the late 19th century, and the Nazi party capitalized on such nationalist fervour in Hitler’s rise to power. Molière had transformed Plautus’ predictably slapstick comedy, rife with coarse pregnant lady jokes, ribald innuendo, and physical altercations into a sophisticated, courtly drama. In Molière’s sensitive treatment, Alcmena is not pregnant, and Sosia, Amphitryon’s slave, becomes the beleaguered courtier of the royal court. Sosia’s lines take on a certain poignancy in light of Schünzel’s privileged but tenuous situation at Ufa: The lot of underlings is far / More cruel when those we serve are great. / We lesser creatures are designed, they hold, / To serve their whims until we drop. / By day or night, in wind, hail, heat or cold, / They’ve but to speak and we must hop. / With them, long years of servitude / Will never stand us in good stead. / Their least caprice or change of mood / Brings down their wrath upon our head. / Yet foolishly we cling and cleave / To the empty honor of being at their side, / And strive to feel what other men believe, / That we are privileged and full of pride. / In vain our reason bids us quit our place; / In vain, resentment counsels us the same; / But when we stand before their face, / They cow us and deflect our aim. / And their least nod, or smile, or show of grace / Renders us dutiful and tame (Act 1, scene 1, Molière, Amphitryon [Wilbur 2010: 12]).

Indeed, Molière’s 1668 production of the play was surrounded by scandal when some claimed that Molière was criticizing the affairs of Louis XIV (Molière 1950: x-xiv). Others (perhaps thereby demonstrating

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the safety of Molière’s criticism by its very ambiguity) deny that his Amphitryon was about the amours of Louis XIV and Mme. de Montespan (Forehand 1974: 206). The monarch attended a production of the play in the Tuileries, and Molière suffered no ill consequences (Molière 1950: viii). It is just possible that neither Louis XIV and his court nor, later, the Nazi censors anticipated the use of Roman New Comedy as a vehicle for political subversion, and thus allowed the Plautine comedy, considered innocuous, to be performed and enjoyed by the public. The adaptation of an ancient drama for the cinema screen, the classicizing architectural set models, and the plot itself (cleaned up so that Jupiter never sleeps with the virtuous Alcmena, by a series of evasions somewhat reminiscent of those in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata) were deemed appropriate for Aryan art (Hobsch 2010: 134). Indeed, there are documentary photos of Goebbels and Hitler at Ufa studios in January of 1935, looking approvingly at the plaster of Paris set model for Schünzel’s Amphitryon. To the casual observer, the film might appear to be a typical Nazi era film. And in fact, the American Jewish Congress and the NonSectarian Anti-Nazi League picketed the French version of Amphitryon at its 1937 premiere in New York City for having been financed by the Nazi government (Schöning 2009: 66; Hake 2001: 141). There are, however, some traces in classical rhetorical treatises that point to just this kind of covert and therefore safe criticism being conveyed through drama, usually tragedy. According to the AD 1st century Roman rhetorician Quintilian, there are three situations which produce figured speech: (1) if it is not at all safe to speak forthrightly, i.e. survival is at issue; (2) if it is not in good taste to speak openly, e.g. owing to considerations of politeness and decency; and (3) when it is adopted only for pleasurable effect, and delights the audience by its novelty and variations more than direct expression would, i.e. it demonstrates the cleverness of the speaker (Quint., Inst. Or. 9.2.66). Of the three situations necessitating figured speech, both the safety of the speaker and witty repartee were apropos of Schünzel’s working conditions and his authorial intent. Schünzel’s chosen vehicle for political and social satire, however, was musical comedy rather than tragedy. By adapting Plautus’ fabula palliata (Roman comedy “in Greek dress”) to the medium of cinema, the filmmaker, preserving his neutrality, could make the excuse that “film reality took shape in dimensions of time and space beyond the Third Reich” (Toeplitz 1987: 1209). According to Kreimeier: Some stubborn types consciously exploited their neutrality to test the options open to them and to stick a few needles into the despised regime if

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The Art of Safe Speech: Schünzel’s Amphitruo they could. Reinhold Schünzel was good at this, and he let his delight in subversion shine through in the quid pro quo of the sexes in Viktor und Viktoria, in the radically feminist film, The Girl Irene (which Goebbels called a really terrible, forced, and disgusting thing), and, most of all, in Amphitryon (Kreimeier 1999: 284).

Among other ancient rhetoricians, Quintilian describes strategies that allow open statements against tyrants, provided such statements could also be understood another way: You can speak well and make open statement against the tyrants we were discussing, provided the statement can be understood in another way. It is only danger you are trying to avoid, not giving offense. If you can slip by through ambiguity of expression, there’s no one who won’t enjoy your verbal burglary (Quint., Inst. Or. 9.2.67: transl., Ahl 1984: 193).

It was not the giving of offence as such but rather the danger of being detected that was to be avoided. If one could successfully conceal criticism of the powerful with ambiguity of expression, such a feat would bring all the more pleasure to the audience, who would delight at such cleverness. If Schünzel succeeded in his use of safe criticism in his earlier films, including his Amphitryon, he went too far in his 1937 escapist operetta Land der Liebe (Land of Love). His biting satire in this film cost him Goebbel’s favour and hastened his departure from Germany to the United States (Kreimeier 1999: 284-85).

Schünzel’s Amphitryon and Riefenstahl’s Triumph des Willens In a diary entry dated Sept. 27, 1935, Thomas Mann records that he saw Reinhold Schünzel’s Amphitryon and Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will) as a double feature in a theatre in Zurich, Switzerland (Hobsch 2010: 134). It is not unreasonable to imagine the two directors side by side in a double billing. However, Schünzel’s film clearly parodies Riefenstahl’s well-known documentary of the 1934 Nuremberg party rally. Triumph of the Will has become so iconic for its stock images of the Third Reich prior to the outbreak of war that clips from the film have been used as a sort of visual shorthand of Nazi Germany: Such clips have become very familiar: a godlike Hitler descending from the clouds; adoring crowds of women, some in folk costume; children shyly gazing up at the Führer; Hitler’s motorcade moving slowly through the Nuremberg streets lined with admirers; wave upon wave of uniformed

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men goose-stepping to martial music; torchlit parades; low-angle shots of Hitler addressing his followers from the podium against the backdrop of a large swastika flag or the Prussian eagle (Tegel 2008: 75).

Schünzel’s cinematic parody, following very close on the tails of Riefenstahl’s production, contains nearly all of these elements, thus reinforcing the stereotype. However, his film contains a cast of differently named characters, dressed in a variety of elegant Greek costumes, and it is set in ancient Thebes and on Mt. Olympus rather than 1934 Nuremberg, Germany. Thus, Schünzel’s film simultaneously employs the idiom of Nazi-style cinema, adopting its visual language while undermining the intense fervour of such propagandistic messages by consciously following the Plautine convention, i.e. distancing himself from the satire by setting the locale in a different time and place and clothing his 20th century characters in ancient Greek dress (the literal translation of fabula palliata). The very title of Schünzel’s film, Amphitryon: Happiness Comes From the Clouds, is a parody of the opening scene of Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will, which rhapsodizes Hitler’s arrival by plane in Nuremberg as practically the apotheosis of a semi-divine figure. In Schünzel’s version, though, the effect of a god’s descent to earth is highly comedic. Mercury wears roller skates to flit about Olympus, and his and Zeus’ descent via umbrella through the clouds, ending with a bird’s eye panorama of the city, shares common features with Riefenstahl’s visual perspective. However, Schünzel’s choice of music and his lyrics make clear that any similarities are sarcastic. The music itself evokes a carnival atmosphere, if not a circus, and Jupiter sings of his eagerness for another adventure and an affair with a “sweet little woman.” It is quite clear that farce is intended. Already familiar, too, from a level of repetition approaching saturation in Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will are backdrops of classicizing architecture in which military parades take place, met by cheering crowds. All too familiar, as well, are those scenes in which Hitler or another of his henchmen delivers a speech to masses of troops or the population at large. These elements are parodied in Schünzel’s film as well. The exuberantly cheering crowds of onlookers, particularly women, welcoming the victorious Theban troops returning home by sea can barely be held back by the police ordered to keep the crowd at bay. We hear from various sources that Hitler’s own personal bodyguard – 200 men in all – were lent to Schünzel to play the Theban soldiers in his film. In Schünzel’s film, the return of the soldiers is welcome indeed, as, in the opening scenes of the film, there had been a near riot when a public assembly of Theban women had asked the corpulent and imperturbable

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war minister about the welfare of their men. His replies are entirely unsatisfactory to them, and it is only the appearance of the heroic and virtuous figure of Alcmena that preserves the civic peace. The end of her speech is most compelling, and it disperses the crowd. In its apparent sincerity and poignancy in this context, it is perhaps a satire of the attitude expected of the “patriotic” German warrior’s wife. This, perhaps, is the only tragic element preserved in Schünzel’s version of Plautus’ self-described tragicomoedia (cf. Witte 1995: 91-93). Alcmena counsels her fellow countrywomen: Be brave in hard times. Our men are fighting a bloody battle. And he who dies out there in battle, he dies for the fatherland as a hero. Be brave, stop complaining, we must be worthy of our husbands. They fight for us, for wife and child. Don’t forget, we are Theban women.

According to a recent film historian, the censors removed several of Alcmena’s lines at the very last moment (Schöning 2009: 74). In a scene from the film, an overly fat man in elaborate costume (clearly a parody of Hermann Göring), “the minister of war”, delivers a tribute to the Theban heroes. Immediately after his speech Alcmena says, “in front of so many people you easily say things that afterwards you no longer believe yourself” (Schöning 2009: 74). And with this line she effectively undermines everything heroic and patriotic she had said to the assembly of Theban women earlier. Goebbels allowed such a parody of Göring and his wife in this film perhaps because Göring was his rival. When Juno (played by the inimitable Adele Sandrock) tells Mercury that he may address her as “Highest Lady”, the German audience caught the allusion to Hermann Göring’s wife. The Luftwaffe commander had married his second wife, the screen star Emma Sonnemann, several months previously. Emmy Göring, as she came to be called, served as Hitler’s hostess at many state functions, which led to her claim to be the “First Lady of the Third Reich”. Also sharing this title, along with her role at many social functions, was Goebbels’ own wife Magda (Sigmund 2000: 87). Needless to say, this created much animosity between herself and Hitler’s mistress, Eva Braun, whom Magda Goebbels snubbed and openly despised. (Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress, because of the clandestine nature of their relationship, was “not called on for official receptions”, and was not allowed out of her room when high-ranking visitors came to visit Hitler at Berghof [Sigmund 2000: 172].) Goebbels himself may have been one of the targets of Schünzel’s satire. The sexual adventures of the propaganda minister, despite his

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marriage to Magda, were common knowledge, earning him the nickname “the goat of Babelsberg”, making Goebbels “an almost tragicomic figure” (Kreimeier 1999: 245). It is possible (and even more remarkable and hilarious for its success) that Schünzel intended to satirize his immediate supervisor, Goebbels, and the minister’s scandalous womanizing. The director’s comedic and thoroughly irreverent treatment of Jupiter in the film is thus all the more amusing. And Magda, too, may have been recognizable as the jealous and domineering wife, Juno. In a scene near the end of the film, Juno descends to earth to look for her wayward husband. She arrives at Alcmena’s house, introduces herself, and announces her purpose. Alcmena denies that she has seen Jupiter and speaks glowingly of her own dear husband, Amphitryon. Juno quickly realizes that Alcmena is sweet and innocent, and the two women soon bond over matters of fashion. “Too bad we didn’t get to know each other earlier,” Juno tells Alcmena. She is also concerned about women’s helplessness when faced with Jupiter’s shape-shifting abilities: “Tell me, are you sure he hasn’t been with you? Has some kind of animal been bothering you lately?” As the two women chat, the real Amphitryon returns home, and Jupiter is discovered, recovering from a cold, in Amphitryon’s bed. Jupiter reveals his duplicity, the mortal and immortal couples are reconciled (nothing untoward took place, after all), and the gods ascend to heaven on their divine umbrella. End of film.

Aftermath What was the reception to the film? There had been some quarrels over its content from the start, and there had been reservations about the level of satire (“persiflage”) in the script. Censorship continued throughout the film’s production, with some cuts even occurring immediately before the film’s release. Nevertheless, the film was a popular success, and Ufa continued to show it and present it as one of their model films through 1944. An entry in Goebbel’s diaries indicates that he found the film silly or kitschy and that he was disappointed in his hopes that it could be an entry in the major international film festival, the Biennale (Hermann 2005: 13 Juli 1935). The popular success of the film did not assure Schünzel’s position. Goebbels, the propaganda minister, decreed in December of 1935 that Schünzel could be active in one more German film. In 1937 Schünzel’s film Land der Liebe (Land of Love), a biting satire of Nazism in the innocuous guise of a fluffy operetta, made any future work in Germany

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impossible for him. Goebbels turned completely against Schünzel. Goebbels’ anger and thoughts of his impending wrath appear over several days in his diary entries (Fröhlich 2000: 29. April 1937; 30. April 1937; and 4. Mai 1937). Schünzel left the country even before Land der Liebe opened, after heavy censoring, and Goebbels directed the press to be silent about his emigration. Schünzel went to Hollywood, where he directed a few minor films and, like other expatriate German actors, sometimes had to play Nazis. Notably, in Hitchcock’s Notorious (1946), Schünzel plays the scientist Dr. Anderson, head of a group of surviving Nazis in Argentina, still conspiring against the Allies. Schünzel returned to Germany in 1949 to continue his work in Munich, where he passed away in 1954. In its original form in the 2nd century BC, Plautus’ Amphitruo was innocent of political satire. However, its unique tragicomedic genre and mythological setting, distancing its content from contemporary viewers, made the play and its adaptations particularly suited for circumstances in which figured speech was not only necessary but also entertaining. Schünzel’s adaptation of this play as cinematic musical comedy in Nazi Germany, though censored, yet succeeds in its criticism of the powerful. However, such artful subtlety may be lost on a casual observer.

Bibliography Sources Molière, P. Amphitryon, comédie. Introd, et notes par Pierre Mélèse. Genève u.a.: Droz u.a., 1950. —. Amphitryon. Translated by R. Wilbur. New York: Theatre Communications Group, 2010. Plautus. Amphitruo. Christenson, David (ed.). Cambridge, UK; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000.

Secondary literature Ahl, F. “The Art of Safe Criticism in Greece and Rome”. The American Journal of Philology 105 (2) (1984): 174-208. Duckworth, George. The Nature of Roman Comedy: A Study in Popular Entertainment. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952. Forehand, W. “Irony in Plautus’ Amphitruo”. The American Journal of Philology 92 (4) (1971): 633-651.

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Forehand, W. “Adaptation and Comic Intent: Plautus’ Amphitruo and Molière’s Amphitryon”. Comparative Literature Studies 11 (3) (1974): 204-17. Fröhlich, Elke (ed.). Die Tagebücher von Joseph Goebbels, Teil I: Aufzeichnungen 1923-1941, Band 4: März-November 1937. München, 2000. Hake, Sabine. Popular Cinema of the Third Reich. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2001. Harvey, P. “Historical Topicality in Plautus”. Classical World 79 (5) (1986): 297-304. Hermann, Angela, Hartmut Mehringer, Anne Munding and Jana Richter (eds.). Die Tagebücher von Joseph Goebbels. Teil I: Aufzeichnungen 1923-1941, Band 3/I: April 1934 – Februar 1936. München, 2005. Hobsch, Manfred. “Amphitryon – Aus den Wolken kommt das Glück”. In Film im “Dritten Reich”: Alle Deutschen spielfilme von 1933 bis 1945, Bd. 1: 131-35. Berlin Schwarzkopf & Schwarzkopf, 2010. Kleist, Hainrich von. Amphitryon; a Comedy. Translated by M. Sonnenfeld. New York, F. Ungar Pub. Co., 1962. Kreimeier, Klaus. The Ufa Story: a History of Germany’s Greatest Film Company, 1918-1945. Berkeley, Calif. [etc.]: University of California press, 1999. Leadbeater, L. “Amphitryon, Casina, and the Disappearance of Jupiter”. Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History (1986): 135-50. Lungstrum, J. “A Transcendental Infidelity: Kleist, Lacan, and Amphitryon”. Modern Language Studies 22 (4) (1992): 67-75. Phillips, J. “Alcumena in the Amphitruo of Plautus: a Pregnant Lady Joke”. Classical Journal 80 (1985): 121-126. Romano, A. “The Amphitryon Theme Again.” Latomus 33 (1974): 874890. Schöning, Jörg. “Zur Biografie”. In Schöning, Jörg and Erika Wottrich (eds.). Reinhold Schünzel: Schauspieler und Regisseur (revisited), 6578. München: Edition Text + Kritik, 2009. Schöning, Jörg and Erika Wottrich (eds.). Reinhold Schünzel: Schauspieler und Regisseur (revisited). München: Edition Text + Kritik, 2009. Segal, Erich. Roman Laughter: the Comedy of Plautus. New York; Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1987. —. The Death of Comedy. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001.

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Shero, L. “Alcmena and Amphitryon in Ancient and Modern Drama”. Transactions of the American Philological Association 87 (1956): 192238. Sigmund, Anna. Women of the Third Reich. Richmond Hill, Ont.: NDE Pub., 2000. Slater, N. “Amphitruo, Bacchae, and Metatheatre.” Lexis 6 (1990): 101-25. Stewart, Z. “The Amphitruo of Plautus and Euripides’ Bacchae”. Transaction of the American Philological Association 89 (1958): 348373. Stewart, Z. “Plautus’ Amphitruo: Three Problems”. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 100 (2000): 293-299. Tegel, Susan. Nazis and the Cinema. London: Hambledon Continuum, 2008. Toeplitz, Jerzy. Geschichte des Films. 1, 1895-1933. München: Rogner & Bernhard bei Zweitausendeins, 1987. Witte, Karsten. Lachende Erben, toller Tag: Filmkomödie im Dritten Reich. Berlin: Vorwerk 8, 1995.

Filmography Amphitryon: Aus den Wolken kommt das Glück (Writer and Director Reinhold Schünzel. Germany 1935).

A THRILL FOR LATINISTS: LATIN LANGUAGE IN CONTEMPORARY HORROR FILMS RADOSàAW PIĉTKA ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: The status of the Latin language in the modern world, a language that is neither alive nor entirely dead, could itself make it the perfect protagonist of horror stories. It seems that the authors of horror films, however, are driven by different motivations when they refer to Latin in their works. The decisive factor in this case is the fact that Latin is still perceived as the language of the sacred (and therefore, particularly important in this context, the language used also for exorcisms). With a few examples of recently made horror films (The Kingdom, Fright Night, The Cabin in the Woods) I will try to show what functions the Latin language performs in the films belonging to this genre.

Latin and horror films – such a combination seems a little odd at first glance. It may seem odd for this reason alone: the aesthetics of horror is widely thought of as modern, its beginnings situated in the second half of eighteenth century, and its heyday in the nineteenth (in the time from Frankenstein to Dracula, so to speak), when the characteristic set of topoi, motives and characters for such texts was being created, and simultaneously the “Latinity” of European culture was significantly receding. In fact, a great deal of research has shown that the aesthetics of horror is rooted not only in Greek tragedy, but also in the Roman poetry of Ovid or Lucan (e.g., Bohrer 1994: 32-62; on “horror” in Ovid and Lucan see Bohrer 1994: 61; the author refers here to Fuhrmann 1968: 23-66), but this is definitely not enough to explain the phenomenon of the occurrence of Latin in horror films today. This is all the more so as Latin nowadays seems to be in even worse condition than it was two hundred years ago. Sparse as they are, Latin interpolations are still present in films of this kind, and have been for some time, at least from Dracula (Dirs. Tod Browning and Karl Freund. USA 1931). I would, however, like to refer to more recent examples and discuss certain tendencies characteristic of films

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made in roughly the two past decades. The question then arises: how does Latin function in such films and what is its purpose?1 If we reformulate the question and ask “what is so scary in Latin?”2, the answer can of course be the nightmare of the formal education process: one can readily find memoirs in which Latin classes at school are described in terms of “torture”, “cruelty” or “sleepless nights”. The most spectacular incarnation of those fears is the figure of a sadist teacher nicknamed “Caligula” from a Swedish drama film written by Ingmar Bergman, tellingly entitled Hets (Torment; Dir. Alf Sjöberg. Sweden 1944)3. Being confronted with such situations is an experience familiar to fewer and fewer young people, so it cannot possibly be evoked in films that are meant to appeal to a popular audience, but interestingly enough, the school setting keeps resurfacing now and then in horror films, in connection with Latin, as we will see below. A peculiar career of Latin as the language of horror in films gained momentum in the 1970s when a Latin text, enriched with solemn choral singing, appeared in horror classic The Omen (Dir. Richard Donner. USA 1976). The soundtrack of this film was appreciated by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences; the composer, Jerry Goldsmith, was awarded an Oscar; and the most characteristic fragment of the soundtrack was the introductory song Ave satani, with its lyrics: “Sanguis bibimus, corpus edimus, tolle corpus satani, ave”. This piece can be regarded as exemplary: such a formula – i.e. ominous choral singing, often with Latin text – has frequently been a genre trademark of horror films. A similar song adorns the soundtrack for Dracula (Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. USA 1992), composed by Wojciech Kilar, and one of the keywords of The Omen songs, sanguis, is also present there (the choir sings a vampiric song “Sanguis vita est”4). Another example is the TV mini-series The Kingdom (Dir. Lars von Trier. Denmark 1994) (whose generic assignment is vague, since it might be described as a horror comedy in medical drama and soap opera convention), where a similar choral singing is to be heard, though it is arranged in a more modern, electronic way, and in the lyrics English and Danish words are mixed with somewhat absurd Latin phrases (e.g., the well-known formula morituri te salutant or a phrase starting with ave, another keyword of The Omen: ave ferrum spes unica). This apparently constitutes a parodical reference to the above-mentioned legendary horror film. Latin appears in The Kingdom several more times, primarily in the titles of two episodes, Pandaemonium and Mors in Tabula5; the latter episode also contains an intriguing dialogue between the head of the hospital and his colleague about the use of Latin in medicine. The boss is

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concerned about the mental condition of one of the women employed in the hospital, as she put a list of strange diseases into a patient’s file: glup, plips and numb. “What are these supposed to mean?” the head of the hospital demands. The colleague recommends looking at the column under the heading “Additional remarks”, and there is an entry: “the patient might know Latin”. The boss is still puzzled, yet the explanation is simple: the patient who understands Latin could look into the file and understand its content, which would be highly undesirable, so it was necessary to use a secret code. A friend explains: “it might look like the most stupid errors, but it is a code. A secret code used in order to make it more difficult for the patient to get informed about the state of his health, which obviously would be detrimental to the therapy”. It should be mentioned here that the medical conditions encrypted in such an inventive way, were: hysteria, hypochondria and hatred towards doctors. The “merit” of Latin here is that it constitutes a specific code that can be only understood by the circle of insiders. In The Kingdom, all the members of the medical community keep practising irrational rituals that are barely disguised by apparent learning, and a language whose essence is incomprehensibility and equivalent a gibberish code reflects this reality in a perfect way, von Trier seems to suggest. This scene obviously reinforces the comedy aspect in the series, but it can also be understood as an ironic comment on the popular practice of inserting deformed, unintelligible Latin phrases into horror films. When considering the Latin of horror films from the linguistic point of view it appears that in The Omen song it is extremely simplified and ungrammatical, perhaps alluding to spoilt medieval Latin. And this is the deformed Latin that frequently functions as the screen language used by demons, and of course the language of demonology – as it is also the language of exorcism. A significant symmetry is present here: if Latin is the language of the Roman Catholic Church then it must necessarily mean that the greatest antagonist of the Church uses it too. In order to create a full-blooded conflict, a common medium is necessary, a linguistically shared ground that would make the exchange of views possible. Hence the endless references to Latin in the contexts of demons and demonology. Since The Exorcist (Dir. William Friedkin. USA 1973), the figures of a priest (or a secular demonologist; by the way, exorcists are almost always Roman Catholics) and his adversary, a demon, have become firmly established in contemporary horror films. Both adversaries speak Latin. At this point it is necessary to make an important clarification. I have mentioned a common ground for dispute, but the dialogue only takes place, so to say, “between the films”, not within a single film; the communication is one sided – as far as I know there has never been a

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conversation entirely in Latin: when the demon uses Latin, the priest answers in the main language of the film. An example may be found in The Conjuring (Dir. James Wan. USA 2013) when a couple of defeaters of demons describe their past victories, mentioning a case of possession, one of the symptoms of which was that the sufferer started to speak perfect Latin, but when there actually is an exorcism taking place in the film the possessed person answers solely in English to the Latin phrases uttered by the exorcist. Also, it can be easily inferred from the answers what the Latin-speaking exorcist means at that moment. A similar situation occurs in the (rather tawdry) film Little Witches (Dir. Jane Simpson. USA 1996): the heroine, possessed by the devil, speaks Latin to the priest (the clergyman is not that young, by the way, so he should have no problems communicating in Latin), but he invariably responds in English. In each of these cases the strategy is elaborated to use Latin while respecting the rights of an audience nowadays usually unable to understand it. The dialogue is worked out in order for this shortcoming to not be a serious obstacle to communication. One could suggest that the best solution would be to use subtitles, but in such a case all difficulties would disappear, and Latin would have become too comprehensible. The reason for not translating it is not, as could be suspected, that the authors expect the audience to understand the content of Latin utterances, but rather that the content is essentially of (almost) no importance, as it is not the content but the form that matters. However, Latin’s capability of evoking associations with the language of sacrum, and at the same time with the speech of demons or of occultism, is important. Such treatment of Latin has a particularly strong tradition in European culture; an interesting point is that both those roles used to intertwine, as the obscure vocabulary of ecclesiastical rituals was imagined to be a set of magical incantations6. There is one proof for such an interference that is especially noteworthy: the famous hocus pocus, a magic incantation probably dating back to the seventeenth century, is nothing but deformed (for magical purposes, for reasons of ignorance or because of malice) Latin liturgical formula hoc est corpus –“this is the body” (Harrison 1930: 221-2; Versnel 2002: 139). The “occult” characteristics of Latin are important for one more, aesthetic, reason. The occult, after all, means “hidden”, and Edmund Burke, in his work A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757), recognized as one of the fundamental texts for the aesthetics of horror, pointed out that an indispensable element to evoke terror is obscurity: what appears in full light, what is clear and understandable, Burke says, will never seem terrifying. Latin, then, brings the appropriate dose of obscurity into horror stories. Yet, it is also

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important to communicate with the audience, hence the double check: hiding the meaning of the Latin and at the same time taking care to enable the viewer to infer what is going on from the context or from the utterances of the other characters. An interesting example of exorcism in film, based on the above principles, can be found in Coppola’s aforementioned Dracula, an adaptation of a famous horror story by Bram Stoker. Professor Van Helsing, an expert in vampires, exorcizes Count Dracula’s soul in closed boxes, using a book whose text is, for a moment, visible on the screen. It is the Roman Ritual (Rituale Romanum), containing Catholic exorcism formulae (which was in force, almost unchanged, from the seventeenth century to 1999). It is worth noting that the literary predecessor of the film, the novel Dracula, does not contain any similar scene (Latin in the book is present only in the context of logic terminology7). This may be due to greater attention to cultural reality: professor Van Helsing in the book is a Dutchman, so probably a Protestant, who would not have used a Catholic book; yet, it was clearly important for the filmmakers to continue the tradition of exorcism in film. However, Anthony Hopkins, who played Van Helsing, pronounces the recommended words in a very careless manner, which is another proof that the filmmakers’ intention was to just give a feel of “Latinity” associated with the Roman ritual. The exorcism scene from Dracula brings us to parallel scenes in several other films. Although in Coppola’s film Count Dracula could only speak Romanian and English, there are no reasons to prevent a film vampire from speaking Latin. This is the language Colin Farrell was supposed to speak when he played a vampire in Fright Night (Dir. Craig Gillespie. USA 2011), a remake of the horror film from 1985. In the seduction scene, the vampire was to say to his victim: “Solum necesse est sapias. Percipies. Par ac somnia sit” (“You just need a taste. You’ll see. It can be like a dream”). The scene was, however, modified in the final version of the film: the vampire articulated all the above in English, which symbolically illustrates the phenomenon of the disappearance of Latin from modern culture and the process of it being superseded with vernacular languages, especially English. Still, the situation of working on the film production and teaching an actor Latin pronunciation, so unusual to a Latin philologist, was documented in an amusing article by Monica Cyrino (2012: 354-64). Another example: if there exists a book for driving away the demons, like the one we have seen in Coppola’s film, according to the law of symmetry there also must be a book for the reverse – to invoke them. Such a book can be seen in The Ninth Gate (Dir. Roman Polanski. USA 1999).

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The work’s title is De Umbrarum Regni Novem Portis, and it was invented (so it constitutes the so-called pseudo-biblion) by Arturo Pérez-Reverte for his own book The Club Dumas, published a year after Coppola’s Dracula had been released, and later adapted by Polanski as The Ninth Gate. The fake Latin book is visible on the screen several times, but the text is hard to reconstruct – it consists of numerous abbreviations, and its deformed occultist sentences do not combine into any meaningful whole, sometimes even resembling a placeholder text similar to Lorem ipsum. Latin is also used as a language of demonic incantations in films about witches, like the already mentioned Little Witches or American Horror Story: Coven (Dirs. Brad Falchuk, Ryan Murphy. USA 2013-2014; Coven is the title of the series’ third season, whose first episodes were aired in autumn 2013)8. In Little Witches the Latin is shown in two varieties: the classical one, taught at school by a nun, involves reading Virgil in a brightly lit classroom, while the demonic version is used for secret rituals in a dark vault. American Horror Story is partially set in a school too – the action takes place, this time, not in a Catholic school for ordinary girls, but in a clandestine school for witches. Latin in both cases is not so much a source of anxiety connected with absorbing it (though it is possible that the “Latin scenes” at school were designed to evoke such associations), but rather a tool for occult operations; the films are a kind of publicity for Latin as a means to attain supernatural goals. Moreover, an aspect of emancipation is obviously present here – it is the women who can speak Latin, as if compensating for the lack of opportunity to learn this language in earlier times9. The plots of both are set in the present, but American Horror Story, referring to history even in the title, introduces an additional topic of interrelation between the old times and the present. The season Coven explores one more cultural contrast – namely, the rivalry between black and white witches. The former use voodoo magic, the latter use, of course, Latin (beside the runes, one more European code, originating this time in the north). The border between the two traditions within the reality of the film is then drawn by language treated as a factor of cultural selfidentification (Latin, after all, has long performed this function, as Waquet [2001: 207-56] points out in her book about the Latin linguistic empire). The viewer can see what this Latin looked like by reading the potion recipe and the incantation text used for resurrections (“resurrectione”) (see Fig. 3-1 below). To avoid any doubts, one of the characters informs the other expressis verbis that the document is written in Latin.

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Fig. 3-1. A frame from American Horror Story, season 3, episode 2: Boy Parts (Dir. Michael Rymer. USA 2013).

If we juxtapose American Horror Story with another recently made picture, The Cabin in the Woods (Dir. Drew Goddard. USA 2011), which may be interpreted as a cinematic essay on horror cinema, we will be able to realise what other function can be ascribed to Latin language in the world of contemporary horror films. For it is also the language of cultural identification “on the outside” – to the audiences who know horror films not only from Western cultural circles. Horror as a film genre in fact became a specific battlefield: on the one hand, it is characterized by multiculturalism and, consequently, multilingualism; horror films speak to a mass audience with several languages, which is somewhat unique in the world of commercial cinema and commercial television networks dominated by English language productions. The languages of horror are, in addition to English, Far Eastern (Japanese, Chinese or Thai), but also Spanish (at one time Italian as well), or sometimes Swedish – when we are talking about brutal whodunits instead of horror films in a strict sense. In the film The Cabin in the Woods we are thus confronted with the most famous “centres” of horror production in the world. But, on the other hand, like many other film genres, horror is increasingly subject to processes of globalisation and unification10; in this situation, Latin can be used as a determinant of cultural identity, and constitutes a demarcation factor, distinguishing Western film productions from those of the Far East. And this separation and determination of the borders from time immemorial have been attributed to Latin in the culture of modern Europe. Needless to say, the authors of The Cabin in the Woods are referring to Latin in the exemplary form, taking all too lightly the rules of grammar;

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the sentences are, as is usual in the films of that kind, significantly simplified: Dolor supervivo caro. Dolor sublimis caro. Dolor ignio animus.

Moreover, the scene in which the above words can be heard from the screen is to be seen as a kind of commentary on the past educational restrictions concerning the teaching of Latin, because the quoted phrases are taken from the diary of a girl living at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (grammatical errors in this way gain a natural justification, and can be considered as an effect of the under education). They are also read out in the film by a female character, and are additionally explained by a black American, remembering the rudiments of school Latin. And it should be noted that the explanation is certainly necessary here: in this case, the sentences are malformed to such an extent that they can effectively hide (to allude to Burke’s concept) their exact meaning even from the classicists. The simplest explanation of such practices can obviously be sheer ignorance, and total disregard for the formal requirements posed by the use of a dead language. And there is indeed some evidence that the community of filmmakers reveals serious limitations in this area. To give an example associated with the film Fright Night: during a discussion around the use of the Latin language held while working on that film, the production assistant did not understand a question posed by the professional consultant which focused on what version of Latin is to be used by the vampire in the film: classical or ecclesiastical (a minor question was: “is this a very old vampire, or maybe a little younger?”). Apparently, it was beyond his comprehension. An example from outside the domain of horror films: the makers of the series Rome, as Kristina Milnor has recently pointed out (2008: 42-8), were looking for some information on the language of the ancient Gauls, referred to by them – nobody knows why – as “Ubuan”11; they even wanted the consultant to recommend them some “good” English–Ubuan dictionary – as if one existed at all! It is worth recalling at this point a pessimistic (or perhaps just hostile to Latin) conclusion delivered by Françoise Waquet in her book Latin or the Empire of a Sign: Latin is not needed by anyone: “Latin no longer says anything, or hides anything” (2001: 256). We may look, however, at this issue in a slightly different way. Consider that, on the contrary, Latin has more and more to hide; indeed, its very ability to hide seems to be its most evident cultural task currently. Those who talk about the death of Latin

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forget that the language may also be used to hide something, not just to communicate. When we speak of Latin as a dead language, we mean, in fact, the death of the only one of its functions (commonly regarded as, admittedly, the basic one), because we evaluate language vitality on the basis of whether anyone is able to speak it. Today’s attitude to Latin as a secret language is not new, it has a long and interesting tradition (e.g., in the context of magic), and emphasizes the purpose of using the language in a specific way, for instance, as a kind of encryption12. We are dealing with the situation that has emerged from the fusion of two phenomena: on the one hand, this is due to the fact of Latin’s death, associated with the progressive incomprehensibility and enigmatic nature of the tongue, and on the other with a well-established tradition of the use of Latin (and other antique languages) as a secret code (Goodrich 2003: 193-215). The features which, as indicated by Waquet, can be viewed as the final nails in the coffin for Latin – that is, first of all, the incommunicability, and secondly the hiding of something that no longer needs to be hidden – make the contemporary survival of Latin possible, but this “occult” function has been transferred into the realm of popular culture (which Waquet is almost entirely unconcerned with, apparently accepting tacitly the belief in the “elitism” of Latin). Popular cinema constantly explores new phenomena, looking for new impetus; strange as it seems, this is sometimes located in archaic languages, whose incomprehensibility creates some exotic charm increasing their strength in this context. When we talk about the “magic of cinema”, we usually think about the magical language of images, but part of this magical atmosphere sometimes comes from the world of the “occult” speech of the ancient Romans and medieval monks, which subsequently became the language of the cinematic demons. And in the genre of horror film, this feature is also associated with the effect of concealing, which is an important component of the aesthetics of horror. Paradoxically, therefore, but in accordance with the conventions of the plots analysed here, at the same time as the lid of the coffin is about to be closed over the Latin language, it has gained a “second life” as a language of mystery and horror. This kind of Latin, however, is unique and, you might say, simultaneously old and new, living its own non-classical life, linked partly – due to exorcism scenes – with the sphere of the sacred, but still existing in a deformed, twisted shape, capable of inducing another, unexpected side effect of terror – namely, making the more sensitive classicists’ hair stand on end.

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Bibliography Bohrer, Karl H. “Erscheinungsschrecken und Erwartungsangst. Die griechische Tragödie als moderne Epiphanie”. In Bohrer, Karl H. Das absolute Präsens: die Semantik ästhetischer Zeit, 32-62. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1994. Briggs, Ward. “Latin in the Movies and Rome”. In Cyrino, Monica (ed.). Rome, Season One: History Makes Television, 193-206. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008. Chaniotis, Angelos, Annika Kuhn and Christina T. Kuhn. “Introduction”. In Chaniotis, A., A. Kuhn, and Ch. Kuhn (eds.). Applied Classics: Comparisons, Constructs, Controversies, 1-14. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2009. Cyrino, Monica. “I was Colin Farrell’s Latin Teacher”. Classical Journal 107 (2012): 354-64. Farrell, Joseph. Latin Language and Latin Culture: from Ancient to Modern Times. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Felton, Debbie. Haunted Greece and Rome: Ghost Stories from Classical Antiquity. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000. Fuhrmann, Manfred. “Die Funktion grausiger und ekelhafter Motive in der lateinischen Dichtung”. In Jauss, Hans R. (ed.). Die nicht mehr schönen Künste. Grenzphänomene des Ästhetischen, 23-66. München: Walter Fink, 1968. Gilbert, Sandra M. and Susan Gubar. “Sexual Linguistics: Gender, Language, Sexuality”. New Literary History 16 (1985): 515-43. Goodrich, Peter. “Distrust Quotations in Latin”. Critical Inquiry 29 (2003): 193-215. Harrison, Thomas P. “Some Folk Words”. American Speech 5 (1930): 219-23. Klein, Christina. “The American Horror Film? Globalization and Transnational U.S.-Asian Genres”. In Hantke, Steffen (ed.). American Horror Film. The Genre at the Turn of the Millennium, 3-13. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2010. Milnor, Kristina. “What I Learned as an Historical Consultant for Rome”. In Cyrino, Monica (ed.). Rome, Season One: History Makes Television, 42-48. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008. Pomeroy, Arthur J. “Then it was Destroyed by the Volcano”: The Ancient World in Film and on Television. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2008. Sellers, Ryan G. “Latin Teachers in Film”. Classical World 105 (2012): 237-54.

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Stroh, Wilfried. Latein ist tot, es lebe Latein! Kleine Geschichte einer großen Sprache. Berlin: List, 2007. Versnel, Henk S. “The Poetics of the Magical Charm. An Essay in the Power of Words”. In Mirecki, Paul and Marvin Meyer (eds.), Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World, 105-58. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Waquet, Françoise. Latin or the Empire of a Sign: From the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Centuries. Translated by J. Howe. London-New York: Verso, 2001.

Filmography American Horror Story: Coven (Dirs. Brad Falchuk, Ryan Murphy. USA 2013-2014) The Cabin in the Woods (Dir. Drew Goddard. USA 2011) The Conjuring (Dir. James Wan. USA 2013) Dracula (Dirs. Tod Browning, Karl Freund. USA 1931) Dracula (Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. USA 1992) Dracula (Dir. Cole Haddon. USA 2013-2014) The Exorcist (Dir. William Friedkin. USA 1973) Fright Night (Dir. Craig Gillespie. USA 2011) Hets (Dir. Alf Sjöberg. Sweden 1944) The Kingdom (Dir. Lars von Trier. Denmark 1994) Lågor i dunklet (Dir. Hasse Ekman. Sweden 1942) Little Witches (Dir. Jane Simpson. USA 1996) The Omen (Dir. Richard Donner. USA 1976)

Notes 1

It should be mentioned that the issue of Latin in films has not yet been fully surveyed; Ward Briggs pointed it out, in the context of the television series Rome, in Briggs (2008: 193-206). See also Pomeroy (2008: 22-28, subsection entitled “Don’t talk Latin in front of the books”). 2 One can imagine that the status of Latin today, as a language which is not alive nor fully dead (see Farrell 2004: 4-13 and 105-12, and the chapter tellingly titled “Is there life after death?”, and Stroh 2007: passim, especially the chapter “Mors immortalis”), by itself would make it one of the main heroes of horror stories. But this metaphoric discourse of living at the border of death, which makes Latin a zombie-language (besides, the term “the living dead” is also used in nineteenthcentury horror stories to describe vampires; this is so in Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula), is a rather academic discussion, whose influence on colloquial understanding of this language is slight, so it is probably of little use in films

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designed to impress a mass audience. By the way, the idea of the genuine living dead (not just an “ordinary” ghost) in the European culture probably belongs to the Roman poet Lucan, as witnessed by the scene with the necromancer Erictho in the sixth book of his Pharsalia, a poem about the civil war in the Roman Empire. For some other, albeit disputable, instances of the living dead (also called “revenants”) in ancient literature see Felton (2000: 25-29). 3 Sellers (2012: 248-9). The idea of the psychopathic Latin teacher in Torment is based on the character from a less-known Swedish film, Lågor i dunklet (Dir. Hasse Ekman. Sweden 1942). 4 The English version of that phrase – “the blood is the life” – appears in Stoker’s novel; it was subsequently used in the latest production based on the Dracula theme, namely, in the first episode of the series Dracula (Dir. Cole Haddon. USA 2013-2014); the title of the episode is “The Blood is the Life”. 5 It literally means “death on a board” or “plank”, but the Latin word here was most likely associated with the English word “table”, so the title should probably be translated as “death on the (operating) table”. 6 Waquet (2001: 107). For “incomprehensibility” as an essential feature of magic spells see Versnel (2002: 107-9). See also Pomeroy (2008: 25-6). 7 In the above-mentioned novel by Bram Stoker, Dracula, Latin has a similar scientific setting. 8 I would like to thank Ms Ewelina Krawczyk for drawing my attention to this TV series. 9 Gilbert and Gubar (1985: 528-33). The authors describe a model of education, prevailing at least until the second half of the nineteenth century, in which learning Latin was reserved only to elite youth of the male sex. 10 About the peculiarity of horror films against the background of the abovementioned tendencies see Klein (2010: 3-14). 11 Probably after the Germanic (not Gallic!) tribe of Ubii, mentioned by Caesar in his Notebooks about the Gallic War, but never described as having their own language, least of all in a written version, known to us. 12 It is worth noting that for candidates applying for admission to the British intelligence services, knowledge of Greek and Latin is an important asset (Chaniotis, Kuhn and Kuhn 2009: 1).

THE WISE ROAD-BUILDERS AND THE EMPIRE OF EVIL: THE IMAGE OF ANCIENT ROME IN SCIENCE FICTION TV SHOWS1 ALEKSANDRA KLĉCZAR JAGIELLONIAN UNIVERSITY

Abstract: The present paper concentrates on the image of ancient Rome and the Romans in selected episodes of three important science fiction TV series: Star Trek, Doctor Who and Stargate. The main aim of the paper is to show, by the comparative analysis of both the aforementioned texts of popular culture and others, used as background and comparison points, that, firstly, the image of ancient Rome in science fiction TV series is self-referential and directly based rather on the readings of other texts of (popular) culture than on historical or literary sources; and that, secondly, the modern takes on the image of Rome and the Romans are often more conscious and self-aware in the use of traditional motifs, ideas and concepts associated with the popular image.

From the Trek to the Gate: Methodology, Premise and the Choice of Case Studies Angela McRobbie’s statement about popular culture – “Instead of referring to the real world, much media output devotes itself to referring to other images, other narratives; self-referentiality is all-embracing” (McRobbie 1994: 16) – has become such a staple in popular culture studies that it is even quoted on the English Wikipedia page on the topic. This statement can be a useful starting point for an analysis of the image of Ancient Romans in several popular science fiction TV series, spanning the period from 1963 to 2010. Specifically – and despite the Star Wars allusion used in the title – this essay will present an analysis of the stereotypical image of Rome and the Romans in a number of 1960s’ TV science fiction series and its development in more modern (2000s) takes on the same topic in the same medium.

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McRobbie’s quote is immediately followed with the opinion that this self-referentiality is “rarely taken account of” (1994: 16). The present paper is an attempt to take such issues into account, concentrating on continuity as well as change in the representations of ancient Rome in one specific medium and one specific thematic range of popular culture. Its intention is to firstly look into the visions of antiquity presented in popular fiction, literature and the first movies from the end of the 19th/beginning of the 20th centuries to demonstrate the affinities of such a vision of ancient Rome with that of the 1960s’ popular TV shows. Then, I would like to analyse in this context some specific case studies: the 1963 Doctor Who episode “The Romans” and the 1967 Star Trek instalment “Bread and Circuses,” as well as the modern takes on the Romans in the new Doctor Who series (two stories: “The Fires of Pompeii”, and the two-episode “The Pandorica Opens” – “The Big Bang”, from, respectively, 2008 and 2010). The final part will be a presentation of a different, if similarly grounded in popular cultural tradition, set of associations connected with the Romans and Rome, as found in another cult TV science fiction show, Stargate (1997-2007). The choice of the fantastic for this presentation is not accidental. The search for the image of Rome in historical or quasi-historical series (like HBO’s Rome or Starz’s Spartacus), or TV adaptations of literary works thematically associated with antiquity (BBC’s I, Claudius, to give just one example), would certainly yield more material as far as the sheer number of episodes and motifs is concerned. Nevertheless, it seems interesting to choose science fiction shows for a very specific reason, and that reason is the intended audience (Berger 1977): usually young, consisting of teenage boys and young men, but also a significant number of girls and women; these shows are considered entertaining and at the same time have, or at least intend to have, certain educational purposes. Such an audience often engages deeply in the show (Tryon 2008) and also makes for an interesting test group: looking at the image of Rome designed for them in the shows of which they are the audience, one can see this imagined Rome as reflected in a very specific mirror, and such an image tells us something about the motifs, images, values and stereotypes associated with it on the very common, popular cultural level, and, indeed, on the state of knowledge concerning Rome and the Romans in the society. From among the plethora of science fiction TV shows I have chosen three which are of special importance and which seem, by virtue of that fact, representative of the problem analysed. Both Star Trek and Doctor Who are pivotal for the development of the genre of TV science fiction series. Hugely successful (despite initial problems), they have been

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repeatedly shown many times after their original 1960s’ broadcasts; at the same time, they have been renewed and continued in later decades; new series (Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager, Star Trek: Enterprise, and the new Doctor Who) were developed, proving successful and, in the case of Doctor Who, more popular than ever. Both developed into large and diverse franchises, including books, games, toys, merchandise of various kinds and, last but not least, cinematic films (two in the case of the Doctor Who franchise, twelve in the Star Trek series, some of them commercially very successful). Finally, both had, and have to this day, large and devoted fan bases; their influence, however, is not restricted to the circles of fans or even to those interested in speculative fiction: quoted, parodied and alluded to, both Star Trek and Doctor Who have become important and recognisable parts of popular culture, broadly understood. The choice of Stargate as the third topic of analysis is based on partially similar premises. Unlike Doctor Who and Star Trek, Stargate is a more recently originated series. Its first episode was broadcast in 1997, initiating the series called Stargate SG-1: two other series plus a shortlived animated one followed. The initial idea, however, was taken from a 1994 Ronald Emmerich and Dean Devlin film called, simply, Stargate, which introduced the concept of the eponymous device: an invention of an alien race, a kind of wormhole which allows for instant travel through space to other planets. With its ten full seasons, Stargate was, at one time, the longest ever running (without interruption) science fiction TV series and, like its predecessors, it has developed into a franchise including, apart from the original film and the TV series, TV movies, games and books. While Stargate has never become a phenomenon on quite the same scale as the two series previously mentioned, it is nevertheless among the most important and influential science fiction TV productions of recent decades, due to both its popularity and the numerous awards and nominations it has received. I have, however, one more reason to include Stargate in the analysis. The series (and, in fact, the entire franchise) has a very interesting concept of the origins of humanity and its relations to other races in the universe. The idea is, at the same time, firmly rooted in the tradition of science fiction (the concept that humanity was created/given a civilisation-building impulse by an alien race can be found in a number of important works of science fiction; one has only to recall Arthur C. Clarke and Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey) and rather originally developed, giving a prominent place to a very intriguing reinterpretation of Roman culture. Thus, Stargate, due both to its popularity and its narrative and conceptual ideas, seems well worth analysing here.

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The Eternal City of Wisdom and Vice: Nineteenth Century Popular Culture and the Image of Rome The necessary background for any further analysis must be an examination of the place of Rome and its images in the culture at the turn of the 20th century. The topic is vast and often tackled by scholars; here, where it serves as a background for the main analysis, just a few crucial (and rather obvious) points should be reiterated. An obvious fact must initially be stated: the importance and popularity of ancient topics in the art and literature of the period were linked with the fact that the classical tradition was very much stressed in education. The worlds of Greece and even more so of Rome were familiar and well known. At the same time, the visual arts as well as literature of the period – mainstream works with a great impact on popular imagination – were fond of presenting Rome as a both decadent and opulent culture, refined and at the same time spiritually empty, full of elegant beauty but also of excess and cruelty. The paintings of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema (Ash 1989; Prettejohn 1977; 2002), Henryk Siemiradzki (Stolot 2001) and other late Academic painters (Denis and Trodd 2000), as well as popular novels by sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton (The Last Days of Pompeii, 1834), Henryk Sienkiewicz (Quo Vadis, 1895), Lew Wallace (Ben Hur, 1880) and others described the Roman world in great detail; they were usually wellresearched, for the popular works that they were; at the same time, however, their images of Rome were firmly set and organised along certain common guidelines. The presence of elements such as a cruel and false power-hungry ruler, bloody gladiatorial games, an oppressed minority, ostensibly weak, but morally superior and ultimately (possibly in the future) triumphant, the use of vaticinium ex eventu as a specially beloved technique (the public is obviously well aware that the glory of Rome is doomed to fade and the oppressed Christians must ultimately prevail), and the over-refinement and sensual decadence of the world of the Romans, often overshadowed by the feeling of impending doom, seems a common denominator in the image of Rome in the culture at the turn of the century. To quote from David Wray: “A strain of Romanticism of course read pre-Christian Roman culture as languishing in the exhaustion of its own forms and so groping toward an unknown new (Christian) order” (2001: 28). Such an image was later further popularised by numerous early film adaptations of the aforementioned literary works – adaptations, one may add, often inspired, in their artistic form, by late academic paintings2.

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Slaves and Gladiators: the 1960s’ Episodes of Doctor Who and Star Trek It seems that in popular TV shows of the 1960s, especially the science fiction ones, the vision of ancient Rome is more often than not inspired rather by the classical works of (popular) culture than by any research of history. Let us firstly examine two case studies from the 1960s, one American, one British: “The Romans”, a 1965 story3 of Doctor Who, and “Bread and Circuses”, the second instalment in the 1968 second season of Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek. In both works, through means typical for science fiction (time travel, space travel to a parallel world, alternative history), the modern main characters of the show come to meet the ancient Romans (or a human civilisation nearly identical to them). The Doctor Who episode uses the series’ crucial device, the living time machine called the TARDIS, to bring the characters into the world of the ancient Romans. In the Star Trek episode, we see another of the typical motifs of science fiction TV. Deep in space the characters find (and discuss in some detail) a perfect example of what they call “parallel evolution”: a planet which has developed completely independently from the Earth, and yet shares a significant amount of Earth history. Such a plot device seems to be a variation of the theme of parallel world/alternative history (Duncan 2003), very popular in science fiction TV from the beginning of its origins (examples of such a motif in its more conventional form can also be found in Star Trek). A motif of alternative history is indeed present here: the characters soon discover that in this version of history the Roman empire has never fallen, and by the end of the episode they will become aware that Christianity has also begun in this world around 1,900 years later than in ours. These episodes, as it happens, were written not by writers hired to prepare a single episode (as was often the case in both series), but by authors significant for the development of the series as a whole. “Bread and Circuses” was written by Gene Roddenberry, the creator of the series, who maintained creative control over the entire Star Trek franchise of the period. In the case of the Doctor Who episode, its author was Dennis Spooner. Spooner, one of the principal writers of Series I of Doctor Who, was responsible for introducing historical topics into the series and for creating the dominant mode of dealing with historical themes in the early stories (Robb 2013: 53-55). In both cases, the image of Rome is very close to that known from the novels of Sienkiewicz or Wallace, utilizing a number of conventional motifs and narrative devices.

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The main storyline of “The Romans” deals with the Doctor and his companions visiting ancient Rome in 64 CE. The plot is divided into a number of subplots. In one of them, having landed in an unspecified place in Italy, the Doctor and a companion, Vicky, go to the city of Rome, the Doctor disguised as a lyre player named Pettulian, whom they had earlier found murdered by the roadside. Other subplots include the stories of two remaining companions, Barbara and Ian. Barbara is sold into slavery to become the handmaiden of Poppaea and, for a moment, a new love interest of the Emperor, while Ian is first a galley slave in the Mediterranean, and then, after a shipwreck, a trainee gladiator. Predictably, all the characters meet in Rome, ruled by cruel, capricious and half-mad Nero. The Doctor accidentally suggests to Nero that to fulfil his vision of the new Rome he should burn the old one and, at the end of the sequence of rather conventional adventures (a banquet with an attempt at poisoning one of the main characters, feeding another to the lions, a gladiatorial game including a fight of friend against friend, a conspiracy and assassination plot aimed at the evil emperor), all the characters escape from the city together just in time to see it burn. The story in “Bread and Circuses” follows the crew of the starship Enterprise finding the remnants of the Beagle ship in space, which was lost together with all the men and the captain, R. M. Merrick. Interestingly, among the debris and fragments no human remains can be found. The nearest planet turns out to be the previously mentioned alternative version of Earth, where, in its own version of the 20th century, the Roman empire still exists. The characters suspect that the shipwrecked crew may have found shelter on the planet, so they decide (in a typical Star Trek opening plot device) to send a mission to the surface. The mission (again, very typically for the series) includes three leading characters of the series, Kirk, Spock and McCoy. They first encounter the group of peaceful escaped slaves, calling themselves (as the characters assume) the “Children of the Sun,” and then, together with their new companions, they are arrested by a brutal commander of a military unit who has them brought to the capital to become gladiators. The members of the Enterprise crew are then taken to meet the First Citizen, Mericus; unsurprisingly, he turns out to be the lost captain Merrick, who, upon his landing on the planet, organized (in cooperation with an ambitious local aristocrat, Claudius Marcus) a coup d’état and managed to insinuate himself into a position of power within the empire4. Kirk and his companions oppose the idea of joining forces with Merrick; predictably, they are sent to fight each other in the arena, given, as successful gladiators, beautiful slave girls as companions and, in Kirk’s case,

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ultimately threatened with execution. The rescue comes from the ship (through the use of Star Trek’s probably most prominent technological invention, the teletransportation machine) and the decision of Merrick, who cannot bear the fate of his former comrades; for this act of conscience he is immediately killed by Claudius Marcus. On board, the crew discovers that the peaceful group of ex-slaves that helped them is, in fact, this world’s version of the early Christians. Both episodes are good examples of the use of conventional tropes and motifs associated, in popular culture, with ancient Rome. Both feature a cruel, tyrannical ruler (emperor Nero, himself a symbol of an evil Roman ruler, in Doctor Who; in Star Trek Mericus, the First Citizen of the Empire). In both, the slave trade seems to be the main branch of the local economy. The slavers are brutal and – despite both shows being addressed to a young audience – there are more than hints of the sexual exploitation of slave women present (e.g., the girl given to Kirk as a gift, Nero’s interest in Barbara). The paraphernalia of Roman experience: togas, sandals, swords, musical instruments (more Greek than Roman, one may add) and the use of Greek, Latin and pseudo-Latin or Latinised names (Flavius, Claudius Marcus, Septimus, Drusilla, and Mericus in Star Trek; Maximus Pettulian, Tavus, Delos, Didius in Doctor Who), together with the presence, in the latter, of historical personages used as characters (Nero, Poppaea, Tigellinus, Locusta), allow the viewers to understand the vision of the past as both distant and historical, and at the same time familiar. Other means to achieve such an end are the use of allusions to gods and practices from Roman mythology and religion, as well as the architecture styled after the Roman or presented as a modern development of the Roman style (Star Trek). The creators of “Bread and Circuses” attempted to create a modern version of Rome: thus, we see cars and devices named after Roman gods, and televised executions and gladiator games presented on TV (with more than a hint of satire), looking not unlike 1960s’ TV shows. A case of special interest is the presence, in the Star Trek narrative, of the positive local characters. The protagonists, members of the crew of the starship Enterprise, are supported in their struggle against Mericus and the corrupt political system of the empire by the local group of peaceful dissidents – the escaped slaves and former gladiators, who chose to live in peace, love humanity, and oppose the violence and cruelty of the official system, even at the price of their own lives. They call themselves Children of the Sun (which causes one of the crew members to make some highly inaccurate remarks on the nature of solar cults and the lack of their presence in Rome). The crew of the Enterprise is mistaken, however:

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since the Romans here speak, instead of Latin, a locally developed version of English identical to the modern American usage (this fact is not implied by the use of language, but actually stated in the dialogue), the captain and his people have misinterpreted the name of the group, which they only ever heard spoken. It turns out to be not the “Children of the Sun”, but, in fact, the “Children of the Son” – that is of Jesus, the son of God. This would not be surprising by and in itself if not for the way the original series of Star Trek usually sees all kinds of religion. It is virtually absent from the world of the 23rd century as depicted in Star Trek, and when it does appear it is uniformly understood as a relic of the old, bad times, a superstition often used by alien impostors to manipulate humans. The conclusion of Porter and McLaren is worth quoting here: In Star Trek, organized religion tends to be portrayed as the product of the pre-rational age, antithetical to science and reason, and God is depicted as a category mistake – an advanced life-form mistaken for a god (Porter and McLaren 1999: 14)

Examples of such an understanding of religion are ubiquitous in the original series of Star Trek: it is enough to recall the pathetic, threatening and ultimately powerless character of the god Apollo in the 1967 episode “Who Mourns for Adonais?” (written by Gilbert Ralston and regular author Gene L. Coon). Incidentally, it is worth mentioning here that Star Trek’s Apollo is, in fact, not a god at all, but a member of a once-powerful alien race which visited Earth in the times of the ancient civilization and thrived on the worship and sacrifices of the humans. Such an interpretation of the origins of religion (it starts as a deception on the part of a definitely not divine, treacherous, parasitic alien race) fits well within the general image of religious cult and thought in the world of Star Trek, and has become, ever since, a staple in science fiction TV and a motif that will feature prominently in Stargate. On the one hand, religion is dangerous and deceptive; on the other, it belongs to the past: the past of the Earth and its allied planets, but also the present day of the more primitive, less developed societies. From the life of the main characters it is, in general, absent; there are hardly any mentions of Judaism, Islam, Hinduism or other systems of beliefs in the original series of Star Trek, and the presence of Christianity is limited to the purely decorative elements such as short marriage/funeral formulas ultimately derived from the Bible or liturgy, but treated here simply as parts of Earth’s general cultural heritage, or the concepts such as devil or angel, deprived of any theological meaning. In his comments on Roddenberry’s stance on religion, published in the online debate with the public, one of Star Trek’s

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producers, Ronald D. Moore, makes no distinction between religions when he says: Gene [Roddenberry] felt very strongly that all of our contemporary Earth religions would be gone by the 23rd century, and while few of us around here actually share that opinion, we feel that we should leave this part of the Trek universe alone. (…) It was a core tenet of Gene’s Trek (Moore 1997).

Religion was not supposed to be important any more for the original Star Trek characters and for the world they live in. As the authors of Religions of Star Trek aptly put it, “in the original series religion appears almost exclusively as an aspect of ‘The Other’ – and usually the primitive Other at that” (Kraemer 2003: 2-3). It seems obvious, then, that the image of the Children of the Son in “Bread and Circuses” goes against the general Star Trek tendency. One is tempted to ask: where, then, does the whole “Children of the Son” motif, with its indisputable statement on the divinity of Christ and very special cultural significance of Christianity, come from and why was it included at all in the narrative, as it is of no significance for the resolution of the main plot? I would argue that the source of such a motif – the presence of a group of peace-loving, determined pacifists, supporting each other and loving all humanity, seemingly weak but superior in their morality and destined, in due course, to ultimately triumph over a decadent, evil empire of their oppressors – is in the previously mentioned examples of cinematic, artistic and literary works of the late 19th and early 20th century art, literature and, ultimately, cinema. The fact that such works created a canon of presenting Rome in popular culture also accounts, in my opinion, for the presence of the early Christians motif in the Star Trek episode analysed above. “Bread and Circuses” features a number of conventional motifs that can be associated with the stereotypical, popular image of Rome known from the works mentioned above: the ideas of an evil emperor, of gladiators and gladiator games, of slavery as ubiquitous and both socially and culturally important, of militarism and of decadence are among such motifs. The story of the group of stereotypical early Christians or their equivalents is another such motif that the audience would expect in a Roman (or quasiRoman) world. The Children of the Son’s main aim is not furthering the plot of the episode: it is to add one more element to create the familiar, necessary background of the image of Rome and the Romans that the viewer expects. Of course, the analysis does not suggest that in writing “Bread and Circuses” Gene Roddenberry was directly inspired by any

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earlier text of culture and consciously aware of that fact; quite the opposite, I believe that the resulting image of the Rome-like society is grounded in the unconsciously accepted, stereotypical and formulaic image of Rome as created and perpetuated by popular culture. What seems important, however, is the fact that, in the case of the Children of the Son, the cultural conventions of presenting the Romans and their world turned out to be more important than the general rules and conceptions of Star Trek and its regular stance on religion. The fact that the prospective viewer would expect a narrative of that particular kind prevailed over the traditional Star Trek principles: the conventions of the popular culture won. The Rome as we see it in both series is, rather obviously, a Rome wellknown to the viewers; a Rome they have encountered many times in the books, movies, TV and images, a Rome that they expect. It has all the trappings of the popular culture image of the Empire; instantly recognisable, it helps the viewer to immerse themselves in the story and, paradoxically, to accept its “historicity”: not the historicity understood as a faithful recreation of the events, persons and milieu described, but rather as a set of expected stereotypes, conventions and devices that locate certain happenings firmly within popular culture’s vision of a given event, milieu or person, thus identifying them in the viewer’s eyes.

“They’re Not Real”: Rome and the Romans in the New Series of Doctor Who It would be a truism to state that TV shows, and science fiction TV shows, evolved. The change can easily be noticed in the later incarnations of the same shows, which were all either directly continued in the 1990s/2000s, or have produced spin-off series set in the same universe. The image of Rome in those new versions, while ostensibly similar, seems nevertheless more ironic (although, to be fair, there are strong elements of satire in both “The Romans” and “Bread and Circuses” worth separate analysis, and will be briefly mentioned in the latter part of the paper), and such a fact is reflected, interestingly enough, in the choice of the sources for the presentation of the Roman society. Let us briefly examine here two such continuations, both from the new series of Doctor Who. The first of them, “The Fires of Pompeii” (broadcast in 2008 and written by James Moran), is unsurprisingly set in the eponymous city a day before the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 CE. “The Fires of Pompeii” has, as a story, a changing tone and mood. On the one hand it follows a narrative line typical for the series: the Doctor

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encounters an alien race bound to harm or destroy humans and is willing to counteract their plans with some help from his companion. In this case, the aliens in question are Pyroviles, creatures who dwell inside the volcano and pretend to be the gods of the underworld. Their aim is to create an empire for themselves on Earth to replace their own lost world, and they are tricking the citizens of Pompeii (or rather the Pompeian political and religious elite, represented by the chief magistrate, Lucius Petrus and the Vestal-like High Priestess of the prophetic Sybilline Sisterhood) into helping them. If they are not stopped, history will change, since the Roman empire will be replaced by the Pompeian one, and this, within the in-universe rules of the series, cannot happen. If the Doctor stops them, however, he will be directly responsible for the subsequent eruption of Mt. Vesuvius and the death of the nearly 20,000 people in the city and the neighbouring towns. This serious motif is counterbalanced by a more comic one: the sitcom-like story of the family of Lucius Caecilius Iucundus and their encounter with the Doctor. The family of Caecilius will be among the very few survivors of the ultimate catastrophe. A first look upon the image of Pompeian society and citizens (filmed in sets carefully designed for HBO’s series Rome and reused by the crew of Doctor Who) reveals many of the features traditionally associated with Rome. The names, the clothes, the interiors, allusions to deities, oracular cults and facts such as food (weirdly exotic: there is a mention of roast dormice) constitute a familiar sphere of references. Another familiar idea is the general form of the story, when a historical event is described as happening due to the actions of the main fictional characters of the story – a concept popular in historical fiction and first introduced to Doctor Who in 1963 by Dennis Spooner, the author of “The Romans”. The autoreferentiality of the episode is obvious. Despite its gruesome finale, the main part of the episode is saturated with slapstick comedy, where the Roman costume reveals rather than hides the motifs typical for sitcoms depicting modern life: a husband and a wife quarrelling about modern art (he likes it, she thinks it clashes with the furniture), a rebellious teenage son who drinks and parties too much, and the husband trying to impress his boss. The historical inaccuracies and modern outlook of the world, barely hidden by classical paraphernalia, are absolutely deliberate here: such a use of ancient costume to depict modern life is not unique, suffice it to mention a number of British comedies from the 1960s and 1970s, with Carry On Cleo and Up Pompeii as chief representatives of the genre (Cull 2001: 162-190). These films form a significant and important part of the tradition of British slapstick comedy: they use the Roman costume to present, in a satirical, stylised and highly irreverent form, a

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number of current problems and issues. Nicholas J. Cull is absolutely right when he states that “this subgenre tells us little about Rome, but much about Britain in the 1960s, its cultural needs and obsessions” (Cull 2001: 162). He points at the political meaning of the genre (comic and transgressive representations of the Roman empire as the reaction to the loss of the British one and to the prevalence of the newly growing American), the importance of camp comedy and its subversive qualities in the British theatrical and cinematic tradition, as well as the meaning and character of the (slightly, and often not so slightly) obscene humour of these films in the context of censorship and the typical associations of the Roman topics (school, university, high and serious literature). What is crucial from the point of view of the present analysis, however, is, firstly, the immense popularity of the genre in 1960s’ and 1970s’ Britain, and, secondly, its deliberately irreverent stance towards both the Roman culture and the established rules of the genre of the historical film. The camp comedies not only present the Romans in a satirical light, changing the subject traditionally associated with European high culture, educational values and the long tradition of serious readings into a topic for comedy. They are also consciously and deliberately anachronistic, thus violating the traditional rules of writing and directing films about history (and one must remember that this is the golden age of Hollywood’s “swords and sandals” epics). The camp comedies are about modern life and modern Britain. Roman costume in Carry on Cleo and other similar movies is quite consciously just that: a costume, under which the current society and current life are clearly visible. Camp comedies were, as stated before, hugely influential in the development of British comedy and satire, and their influence can also be detected in science fiction programmes such as Doctor Who, because from the beginning the comic elements are present in their design and concept. Certain elements of such an approach can already be found in “The Romans”, where a number of comic motifs are undoubtedly present. In “The Fires of Pompeii”, they are best visible when we are dealing with the family of Caecilius. He has some trouble with his boss, his wife hates the modern art of which he is fond, his son drinks too much and instead of studying, hangs out with his pals late into the evenings, as we would expect any rebellious teenager on TV to do, and his daughter is not very happy about the choice of career her parents have planned for her. The Caecilius family is not the Roman one: it is the modern family that we are familiar with via numerous sitcoms about family life, much in the spirit of the British comedy of the previous era.

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But the sources of “The Fires of Pompeii” go further than that, or at least further into the memory and experience of a significant part of the viewers, but to notice that, one must be familiar with a schoolbook. The family of Caecilius, the main Pompeian characters of the episode (loosely based on historical Lucius Caecilius Iucundus, a banker and owner of one of the houses in Pompeii), his wife Metella and son Quintus originally appeared in Part I of the Cambridge Latin Course, one of the most popular coursebooks for teaching Latin. Written by a team of scholars and specialists, the schoolbook has been in constant use since 1970. The character in the film is borrowed from a schoolbook. Thus, another group of associations is introduced: the story set in the Roman world becomes associated with education and school, and quite rightly so: after all, apart from popular culture, school is still one of the main sources of the society’s knowledge of antiquity. This episode, by telling us the story of Pompeii, sends us – metaphorically and on the narrative level – back to school. The viewer is thus subtly reminded of the series’ and its audience’s main sources of knowledge of the ancient times: we know Pompeii from its representations in popular culture and we know if from school. Yet another and even more sophisticated technique is used in the narrative of another Doctor Who story, “The Pandorica Opens,” and its second part “The Big Bang”, originally broadcast in 2010. Both were written by the series’ current executive producer, Steven Moffat, and are in themselves based on the ancient myth of Pandora’s Box. The structure of both episodes is complicated and multi-layered. Out of a number of motifs, the one that is of main importance here is the presence of the Roman legions. The main character, once again the Doctor (in his eleventh incarnation), and two of his regular companions face the threat of a number of dangerous alien races (known from previous appearances in the series) coming to Earth. The characters find themselves in Roman Britain; a legion of Romans is stationed nearby and its help is obtained by another recurring character of the series, the time traveller River Song, who poses as Cleopatra (despite the fact that the year is said to be 102 CE) to convince the soldiers that “Caesar” (that is, the Doctor) needs their help. The image of the Romans in this story can hardly be more stereotypical. They are warriors – actually, they are warriors on a par with the most dangerous races of alien conquerors known to the universe (in the first of the two episodes, the Doctor calls the Roman legions “the greatest military machine in the history of the universe”). Even though the action takes place in Roman Britain, Cleopatra (or rather the character impersonating her) makes an appearance; the clothes, the helmets, the

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swords – everything is as we could expect it to be in a typical, predictable representation of the Romans. The image of the legions is presented in the first part of the episode, and then the writer starts to carefully dismantle it. First, the Roman commander comments on the appearance of “Cleopatra”, stating that she “is in Egypt. And dead”. The first illusion – the fact that certain elements, such as the presence of Cleopatra and Caesar, are expected in the Roman story, an illusion shared by the audience (outside the universe of the series) and the characters (in-universe) – is shattered. The final revelation, however, which reveals the true intent of the writer, can be found in a casual remark made by one of the main characters, Amy, who states that as a teenager she was fascinated with the standard, popular version of Rome and the Romans (“the sexy Italians”, as she described them when at school). During the search of her house a book is found – a children’s book, simple and stereotypical, about the Romans. And this very book turns out to be the reason why the Romans in this episode look as they do. The Romans are not real, not even within the universe of the series: in the narrative plane they are an artificial construct, a disguise for yet another cunning and dangerous alien race that has taken their image from Amy’s memories. The character of River Song, who finds the book, tells the Doctor: They’re not real. They can’t be. They’re all right here, in the story book. Those actual Romans. The ones I sent you, the ones you’re with right now. They’re all in a book in Amy’s house. A children’s picture book.

All the stereotypes used in presenting them, all the typical motifs, are not the result of blind adherence to convention or of a lack of imagination and/or research: they have been carefully thought over and have every right to be such. The narrative trick explains, after all, their origins: these Romans are the Romans taken not from history, but from children’s books, the imitations of the purposefully stereotypical, predictable image, the shadows of a (pop-cultural) shadow. The vision of the Romans presented by Steven Moffat in this episode is the quintessence of the popular culture’s vision of Rome – but it was consciously and carefully applied to the effect of surprising the viewer. Paradoxically, the idea seems similar to that popular in the horror genre: the viewer sees something ostensibly familiar, but, on closer inspection, unnerving and unsettling differences between what is seen and what is expected are revealed; something is wrong with the world. Here, Moffat’s adherence to the very conventional image of the Romans prepares the viewer for the final twists and the revelation concerning their identity and role in the entire narrative.

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The creators of the stories analysed above are using – more or less consciously, more or less originally – a certain set of beliefs, stereotypes and motifs linked to the popular image of ancient Rome. These stereotypes – Romans as mighty and often cruel warriors, the presence of an emperor/leader, Roman names, clothes and paraphernalia, catchphrases in Latin etc. – are utilised for different aims and reasons, and with a varying degree of consciousness, but essentially they seem to represent the same set of motifs and beliefs, the origins of which can be traced back to the art and literature of the second half of the 19th century. Still, this is not the only set of associations of ancient Rome that popular culture could make use of.

Wise Ancient Road-Builders: The Image of the Romans in Stargate SG-1 The long sequence of episodes of Stargate SG-1 (at least 21) and other Stargate series deals with a race called the Ancients. Their appearance is first mentioned in “The Fifth Race”, a season two episode written by Robert C. Cooper and crucial for the development of the series’ mythology. The knowledge gained by the characters throughout the story allows them to find out, deduce or guess a number of facts concerning the Ancients. To describe their role in the history of the Stargate universe, a short introduction is needed. Within the universe depicted in the franchise, humanity owns both its existence and development to a number of ancient alien civilisations. Some of them, like the Asgard, are benevolent and friendly; some, like the Goau’ld, parasitic and malicious. Their basic patterns of action, however, are rather similar: a given alien civilisation will pick a group of people, either interacting with them on Earth or taking them away from their world. The aliens invariably assume the names of the culture’s gods and accept worship from their human protégées/subjects. A variation of a classical science fiction motif used in Stargate is subtler than the one applied in, for example, Star Trek’s “Who Mourns For Adonais”, discussed above: humanity does not deceive itself willingly by hailing more technically advanced aliens as gods and worshipping them; rather, it is lied to, purposefully and consciously, by those aliens, who impersonate the gods already venerated in a given society. This may (and often does) create a number of problems, both on the side of the morality of the supposed gods and on the side of humans, once they have discovered the truth. Some of the “gods” have taken a special interest in certain human tribes and cultures, influencing their development: a number of such

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stories are presented within the course of the series (the Asgard’s relationship with the Viking culture is one of the prominent and recurring examples). When in “The Fifth Race” the characters discover the existence and importance of the Ancients, there is no doubt as to which civilisation was under their special care and who may be treated as their descendants. The Ancients are best known as master engineers and builders, the creators of the stargate system – an elaborate set of devices acting as roads and bridges. These gates lead from world to world and were designed to promote cultural exchange, commerce and contact. The Ancients, the oldest and most powerful civilisation in the world, were in their time the guardians of peace and prosperity in the galaxy and beyond: their influence spanned almost the entire universe. For every culture that came later, the Ancients were an epitome and symbol of civilisation, the first, the greatest and the one to be imitated. This idealistic image of the Ancients is later slightly modified; the characters find out about the internal strife in their society and realise that such a powerful civilisation must have had the potential to be manipulative, deceptive, and imperialistic. All these motifs and aspects clearly connect the Ancients to the Romans. This time, however, the reference frame is not the popular semi-negative image found in the culture from the mid-19th century onwards; it is rather an image perpetuated by school and basic classical education, which sees in the Romans an epitome of Western civilisation and its achievements, if a flawed one. The fact that the Ancients chose Rome as the culture they would take special care of is clearly supported and highlighted by the fact that when the language of the Ancients is deciphered by the human characters, it turns out to be deceptively similar to medieval Latin. Similar, and yet not identical: the creators of the series have, rather brilliantly, decided that after so many years the language must have developed and changed, so it cannot be identical to the Latin that we know from European history. The similarities between the Ancients and the Romans, stressed by the use of a number of features that are traditionally linked with Rome’s more positive image in Western (popular) culture, help to create a double image of their civilisation: on one hand, the viewer sees a mysterious, all-powerful culture from the distant past and a galaxy far, far away; on the other, s/he gets a frame of reference allowing the identification of this alien culture with something familiar, thus allowing it to be better understood and empathised with.

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Conclusions The examples analysed here do not, of course, exhaust the possible representations of Rome and the Romans in TV science fiction of the last 50 years. A lot is still to be done here: it would be especially interesting to analyse the ubiquitous motif of empire and imperial power in the context of the Roman Empire’s cultural image. Yet, even these selected examples show, quite convincingly, that for the genre, due to its specific character and intended audience, the main source of knowledge, as far as ancient Rome is concerned, are other works of popular culture rather than historical books and ancient sources. The motifs, ideas and concepts of Rome, taken from the repository of popular culture rather than any other source, are applied by the authors with varying degree of artistry and consciousness: still, more often than not, the authors of these works are definitely conscious of what they are doing, when quoting and alluding to other cultural depictions of the Romans, as well as why they are doing it.

Bibliography Sources Bulwer-Lytton, Edward. The Last Days of Pompeii (first edition). 1834. Sienkiewicz, Henryk. Quo Vadis (first edition). 1895. Wallace, Lew. Ben Hur (first edition). 1880.

Secondary literature Ash, Russell. Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. London: Pavilion, 1989. Berger, Albert I. “Science-Fiction Fans in Socio-Economic Perspective: Factors in the Social Consciousness of a Genre”. Science Fiction Studies, 4/III (1977): 232-246. Cull, N. J. “‘Infamy! Infamy! They’ve All Got It For Me!’ Carry on Cleo and the British Camp Comedies of Ancient Rome”. In Joshel, Sandra R., Margaret Malamud and Donald T. McGuire, Jr. (eds.). Imperial Projections: Ancient Rome in Modern Popular Culture, 162-190. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001. Denis, Rafael C. and Colin Trodd (eds.). Art and the Academy in the Nineteenth Century. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 2000.

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Duncan, Andy. “Alternate History”. In James, Edward and Farah Mendlesohn (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Science Fiction, 209-218. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Dvorkin, David and Daniel Dvorkin. The Captain’s Honor. New York: Pocket Books, 1989. James, Edward and Farah Mendlesohn (eds.). The Cambridge Companion to Science Fiction. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Joshel, Sandra R., Margaret Malamud and Donald T. McGuire, Jr. (eds.). Imperial Projections: Ancient Rome in Modern Popular Culture. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001. Kraemer, Ross S., William Cassidy and Susan L. Schwartz. Religions of Star Trek. Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 2003. McRobbie, Angela. Postmodernism and Popular Culture. London; New York: Routledge, 1994. Moore, R. L. “AOL Chat”. Star Trek wiki. 1997. http://memoryalpha.org/wiki/Human_religion. Accessed May 23, 2014. Porter, Jennifer E. and Darcee L. McLaren. Star Trek and Sacred Ground: Explorations of Star Trek, Religion, and American Culture. Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1999. Prettejohn, Elisabeth. Sir Lawrence-Alma Tadema. New York: Rizzoli, 1997. —. “Lawrence Alma-Tadema and the Modern City of Ancient Rome”. The Art Bulletin 84 (1) (2002): 115-129. Robb, Brian J. Timeless Adventures: How Doctor Who Conquered TV. Stolot, Franciszek. Henryk Siemiradzki. Wrocáaw: Wydawnictwo DolnoĞląskie, 2001. Tellotte, J. P. (ed.). The Essential Science Fiction Television Reader. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2008. Tryon, C. “TV Time Lords: Fan Cultures, Narrative Complexity and the Future of Science Fiction Television”. In Tellotte, J. P. (ed.). The Essential Science Fiction Television Reader, 301-315. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2008. Wray, David. Catullus and the Poetics of Roman Manhood. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001.

Filmography Doctor Who, serial “The Romans”; episodes “The Slave Traders”, “All Roads Lead to Rome”, “Conspiracy”, “Inferno” (Dir. Christopher Barry. United Kingdom, 1965).

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Doctor Who, episode “The Fires of Pompeii” (Dir. Colin Teague. United Kingdom, 2008). Doctor Who, two-part episode “The Pandorica Opens” / “The Big Bang” (Dir. Toby Haynes. United Kingdom, 2010). Stargate SG:1, episode “The Fifth Race” (Dir. David Warry-Smith. Canada-USA, 1999). Star Trek, episode “Bread and Circuses” (Dir. Ralph Senesky. USA, 1968).

Notes 1 I would like to express my gratitude to Katarzyna Czajka, Maria Gierszewska, Magdalena Stonawska, Dr. ElĪbieta Loska and Dr. Konrad Dominas, as well as to my 2012-2013 students at the Institute of Classical Philology, Jagiellonian University, Kraków, for all the discussions and debates on the subject of this paper. 2 Sienkiewicz’s Quo Vadis had four film adaptations between 1901 and 1951; Bulwer-Lytton’s The Last Days of Pompeii was also adapted for the screen six times between 1908 and 1959; Wallace’s Ben Hur was filmed in 1907 and 1925; its 1959 adaptation was an acclaimed hit with both the audience and the critics, winning 11 Oscars (a record that has not been surpassed until the present day). Additionally, the 1959 adaptation was followed by a number of TV series based on the same novel. 3 The format of the original Doctor Who series differed from the more popular episode standard common in today’s TV. The first series were organised into serials of 30-minute long episodes (their number not permanently fixed), constituting one continuous narrative. Thus, “The Romans”, discussed here, consisted of four short episodes, entitled “The Slave Traders”, “All Roads Lead to Rome”, “Conspiracy”, and “Inferno”. 4 The empire remains unnamed in the episode; it is later called Magna Roma in a Star Trek franchise novel (Dvorkin and Dvorkin 1989).

THE OEDIPUS MYTH IN SELECTED FILMS: ANTIQUITY AND PSYCHOANALYSIS MATEUSZ STRÓĩYēSKI ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: The paper concerns the reception of the Oedipus myth in selected contemporary American films. The purpose of the paper is to show that the reception of the myth was mediated not only through psychoanalytic interpretation of Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus, but mainly through the particular reception of psychoanalytic ideas in popular Western culture. The aspect of the psychoanalytic interpretation of the Oedipus myth that is particularly evident in the motion pictures is the quest of the son for the father who is the role model and ideal for the boy.

Introduction This paper will describe several elements of the Oedipus myth, which appear in three contemporary films from the last decade – Minority Report by Steven Spielberg [Minority Report (director: Steven Spielberg, USA 2002)], The Matrix trilogy by the Wachowski brothers [The Matrix, The Matrix Reloaded, The Matrix Revolutions (director, A. Wachowski & L. Wachowski, USA 1999 – 2003)] and the television series Dexter, produced by Showtime [Dexter (various directors, USA 2006 – 2013)]. The purpose will be to show, through analysis of the reception of the myth in those films, that this reception was not direct (that is, through ancient tragedies), but indirect – that is, through psychoanalysis, in which the interpretation of the Oedipus myth has taken place in a significant way for several decades. If we distinguish between myth as a religious-cultural phenomenon and its literary elaboration, the reception mentioned above is preceded by several transformations. Freud in his influential interpretation of the Oedipus myth was reading not so much the whole myth of Cadmus’ descendants as Sophocles’ Oedipus the King which made a powerful impression on him during a theatre show (see on this Edmunds 1985: 96). The cinema, as I will try to show, does not directly reference Freud’s work or that of his disciples, but popular culture instead, in which

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psychoanalysis gained a certain popularity especially in the forties and the fifties in the United States (the wave of Jewish analysts, immigrants from Europe, as well as the establishment of psychoanalysis in the American system of psychiatric care) (See Zaretsky 2005: 276-306). In this period there was a popularisation as well as vulgarisation of certain Freudian ideas, often completely against the real meaning of psychoanalytic theory, but instead in accord with the prevailing cultural trends. From that source only have psychoanalytic ideas connected with the Oedipus myth finally reached cinematography, which means that we have to deal with multilevel transformations: the original myth – Sophocles – Freud and psychoanalysis – popular culture – cinematography (For a more simplistic perspective on the use of the Oedipus myth in the contemporary cinema see: Shaham 2009)1. The Freudian interpretation of Oedipus the King was a significant factor in his formulation of the concept of the Oedipus complex as a core complex of psychoneuroses and then as a core complex of culture as such, as well as of individual psychological development (See Freud 1900: 260267; 1913: 100-161 and 1923: 28-39). Here I would like to draw attention to those aspects of Freud’s interpretation, which, as it seems to me, have had a particular impact on popular culture. On the one hand, in the sixties, the Oedipus myth was used in a somewhat surprising way, that is, connected with the Western “cultural revolution” symbolized by the year 1968. Jim Morrison, in one of The Doors songs [The End (album The Doors, Elektra 1967)], sang that a certain “killer… took a face from the ancient gallery” and then he walked into the room of his parents to scream out (I am referring here to the vocal aspects of Morrison’s actual performance): “Father? Yes, son? I want to kill you. Mother? I want to…”. During live performance Morrison used to actually finish the sentence, which caused ecstatic reactions in his adolescent audience. For Morrison as well as for his fans, verbalisation of the Oedipal wish clearly represented emancipation, and euphoric rejection of the paternal authority embodied in tradition, laws, institutions and academic education, hated so much by the New Left. However, other intellectual choryphaei of cultural revolution, such as Herbert Marcuse in America or Félix Guattari and Gilles Deleuze in France, treated the Oedipus complex not so much as a battle cry of adolescent rebellion, but as the instrument of oppression of psychiatrists, the state, and generally the whole hated “system” (See Marcuse 1966; Deleuze, Guattari 1983). Considering Oedipus as a symbol of paternal authority may seem to a non-specialist at first glance somewhat bizarre, since Oedipus commits a crime that undermines the law of the father.

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However, the hostile reaction of the New Left towards the idea of the Oedipus complex as created by patriarchal capitalism in order to enslave the enslaved and oppress the oppressed, is actually quite reasonable within its internal logic, since in the psychoanalysis of this period the Oedipus myth was used not as an example of revolutionary attack on authority, but rather as a symbol of accepting authority through the solution of the Oedipus complex and identification with the father. According to Freud, normal development has nothing to do with a direct expression of Oedipal wishes (as in Morrison’s song), but in fact consists in their refusal and overcoming, which leads to the transformation of relationships with the mother and the father into intrapsychic structure, particularly the superego. Because the psychological health of a man has been described by psychoanalysis as an identification with the father, giving up the mother and accepting the system of a given culture, the leftist, feminist and gay activists naturally believed that a war with Western culture is a war with Oedipus. The ancient killer of the father, sleeping with his mother, became – against Morrison – the icon of patriarchal oppression. When the revolutionary sentiments of 1968 began to fade away, the contesting, counterculture youth grew up and became, in turn, the very establishment which up to this moment it had fought against. As the leftist activists moved from Paris barricades and California campuses to parliaments, corporations and the media, psychoanalysis has been gradually forgiven for its patriarchal vices. What contributed to this reconciliation was partly the fact that psychoanalysts have also gradually moved away from the Freudian heritage of the Oedipus myth towards other fields of interest (such as early relationship with the mother, identity issues, narcissism etc.). What was left of the Freudian description of the Oedipus complex was a general belief that the father-son relationship is important, the father being an ideal and model of manhood, whereas the powerful ambivalence and conflictual nature of this relationship has lost much of its gravity. In the sixties the father was an object of violent symbolic attacks, the symbolic overthrow of his authority was demanded, and the goal was, for the most part, successfully achieved. The slogan of the 1968 revolution in France deserves to be mentioned: “It is forbidden to forbid” (“Il est interdit d’interdire”) – and the Oedipal father is above all the father who forbids, the embodiment of the law. Soon it became clear, also from empirical research, that healthy development of fatherless boys is often jeopardized, so the cry for the lost father was soon to be heard.

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This wave of longing for the absent father in Western culture led to acceptance of this particular aspect of the Oedipus complex, which is an identification with the father as a precondition to formation of stable male identity and self-esteem. The issue became fashionable, mostly because in the sixties and the seventies the question of identity had begun to play so important a role in Western culture in general, not only in psychology or sociology. At the same time, other aspects of the Oedipus myth and complex, such as incest, father-son hostility, and the power of paternal authority and law have receded into the background and lost their significance. I will show below in what way those cultural processes are reflected in selected American film which use certain elements of the Oedipus myth.

Minority Report The film which is a relatively loose adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story bearing the same title is set in the future and depicts an attempt to create a crime prevention system (called PreCrime) which uses three “precogs” (people with precognitive abilities) who see murders before they happen. Digital transmission of the precogs’ visions enables the police to find a potential murderer and prevent him from committing a crime. The main character is a policeman, John Anderton, who is forced to investigate his own case, because the precogs see him killing a man completely unknown to him, called Leo Crow. John Anderton is known to have lost a few-year-old son while he was spending time with him in a public swimming pool. He lost sight of him for a little while and he was never able to find him again, leading to suspicions that he had been kidnapped. The loss of the son contributed to the break-up of Anderton’s marriage, and he himself became a drug addict. The PreCrime project was created by Lamar Burgess and Iris Hineman. Burgess functions in the film for a variety of reasons as a symbolic father of Anderton – it is he who offered him a job in PreCrime and soon Anderton became one of his best investigators. An important motif in the film is what could be called “investigating one’s own case”. The same motif is a pivot of Sophocles’ Oedipus the King, even though it does not come from the Oedipus myth as such (it does not appear in other literary elaborations of the myth). It seems that Sophocles gave him so much significance in his play particularly because he wanted to emphasize the motif of searching for the truth as well as that of the glory and misery of the human reason. Those were ideas intimately linked with the culture in which Sophocles lived, that of the Athenian

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enlightenment of the 5th century before Christ. In Minority Report we have quite a similar motif. John Anderton is not a king or even a high official, but the similarity between him and the Sophoclean hero consists in the fact that both are determined to protect the polis against crime. Also, both possess significant abilities to solve riddles and a resolve to find the truth. The difference lies also in the fact that while Oedipus strives to explain a crime of the past, Anderton tries to do the same with a future crime. In both of those stories there is a motif of an oracle which pushes the character to act. The oracle of Apollo in Delphi, which in the myth is consulted by both Laius and Oedipus, in the movie is represented by the precogs, whom the writers named after famous authors of crime novels: Agatha (Christie), Arthur (Conan Doyle) and Dashiell (Hammett). The place in which the precogs live is called by the policemen the “temple” and the policemen themselves say that they feel more like the “clergy” than ordinary “cops”. Agatha’s role as the most talented precog is emphasized as well as her influence on the plot, which seems to allude to the famous ancient prophetesses, such as the Delphic Pythia and the Cumaean Sibyl. The precogs live in a trance-like, dreaming state, swimming in a pool filled with some liquid, wired to the computer system which enables data transfer as well as access to what the precogs see in their visions. What is central to the movie is a paradox, characteristic for legends that express the inevitability of destiny: the prophecy pushes the character to act in order to prevent its fulfilment, whereas precisely this action ultimately brings the fulfilment of the prophecy. When Oedipus learns that his destiny is to kill his father and marry his mother, he decides to leave Corinth, which is intended to prevent the crimes, but, because of the character’s lack of knowledge, this decision leads to the fulfilment of the prophecy – Oedipus comes to Thebes. In a similar way, John Anderton, who wants not to kill Leo Crow, a man he does not know at all, tries to learn who this Leo Crow is, which leads him to the knowledge that he is an alleged kidnapper of his lost son. Then he is overcome by an urge to kill. One of the characters, Iris Hineman, sums up this paradox, saying to John: “Can you avoid a man you’ve never met?” The same question could be asked of Oedipus. In the movie there is also a motif of blindness and self-blinding, which was introduced to the Oedipus myth by Aeschylus in his partly preserved tragic trilogy about the three generations of Cadmus’ descendants (cf. Sept. 728-82; the blindness motif is absent, for example, in Homer’s Odyssey: 11.271-280). In one of the first scenes of the film John Anderton, looking for drugs by night in a dangerous part of the city, meets a blind

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dealer. This character can be, in a way, read as an echo of Tiresias, because the blind man says to the policeman that “in the land of the blind the one eyed man is king”. The meaning of this “prophecy” becomes clear only later, when lack of knowledge becomes the source of Anderton’s problems, just like Oedipus’ in the myth. In the dialogue of Tiresias with Oedipus in Sophocles’ tragedy (O.T. 300-462) the motif of blindness and seeing is most evident – Tiresias, though blind, sees what Oedipus cannot see, while Oedipus, who mocks the old man and his blindness, does not know who he is or who his parents are. His spiritual blindness is much more destructive than the physical defect of Tiresias. The second scene connected to blindness is the one in which John allows the removal of his eyeballs in order to implant other ones. It was done due to the fact that in the world of the film everyone is identified by omnipresent computer systems by eye scans, and John is attempting to hide his identity from the police that are after him. Therefore, he finds a suspicious surgeon who can conduct the illegal procedure of eye replacement. It is an equivalent of getting false documents in crime films, but here it acquires an additional, symbolic character due to a play between Anderton’s knowledge and the lack thereof. The difference consists in the fact that Oedipus blinds himself at the point where he realizes the extent of his lack of self-knowledge and, at the same time, punishes himself for his crimes, as if performing an act of auto-castration. In the film, however, the self-blinding is only temporary and it is a way to solve the riddle, as if the character’s new eyes were to enable him to finally see the truth. Anderton becomes at the same time a blind seer, changes his identity (Oedipus again), but it does not represent a symbolic punishment. Another motif resembling Oedipus the King is Anderton’s resolve to know the truth at any cost. After eye replacement John breaks into the “temple” of the precogs and kidnaps Agatha, since he learns from Iris Hineman, a co-creator of PreCrime, that it is the “female” that is the most talented of the three and, hence, is able to carry in her mind the minority report, an alternative vision of Anderton’s future. Agatha later tells him, however, that he does not have one, but the policeman still takes her to the building which was identified by him, on the basis of her vision, as a place where he will commit a crime on a man he does not know. In the climactic (for this thread of the plot, at least) scene Anderton discovers in a hotel room pictures of Leo Crow with his own son (which later turn out to be a photomontage) and decides to kill the alleged paedophile murderer, who happens to come back to his room at this very time. Agatha begs John to go away, trying to convince him that he still has

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a free choice. Anderton answers that he will not give up now, since he has to know “what happened to his life”. It resembles a significant scene from Oedipus the King, in which Jocasta, sensing what the truth is, begs Oedipus in vain to stop the investigation (O.T. 1057-1072). The film emphasizes the conflict between destiny (determinism) and free will, which hunts modernity (for example, being one of the famous, Kantian antinomies of pure reason) (Cf. Kant 2007: 405-411) and which appears to be based on the interpretation of the Oedipus myth. However, as Eric R. Dodds pointed out (see Dodds 1966), Sophocles did not see any contradiction between free will and destiny, at least not in the way that modern man sees it. Anyhow, it is not, according to Dodds, an important theme of the tragedy. Now we are arriving at the point which seems to be closely connected with the popular reception of psychoanalysis in the American culture. Even though Freud emphasizes the hostility between the father and the son, his conception of identification with the father as a foundation on which the boy’s manhood as well as self-esteem and ability to succeed in private and professional life can grow- found a resonance on the level of popular culture in the form of an idea of the ideal father-son relationship. All the motifs of the search for the father by the son, quite frequent in the films of the last few decades, emphasize the longing of the boy or the young man for the father as a model and ideal, and thus they are an expression of a certain understanding of the psychoanalytic concept of identification. John Anderton lost a son, Sean, while the boy was under his care. The film pictures the main character as a mythical Laius – a father with infanticidal wishes, although, obviously, John did not want to hurt his son consciously, as Laius did. Nevertheless, Anderton’s rival in the movie, Daniel Witwer, twice suggested that it is John who is guilty of his son’s kidnapping. Another father figure in the film, also close to Laius, is Lamar Burgess. It is he who plots to provoke Anderton to kill Leo Crow, since he is afraid that the policeman (his symbolic son) will discover by accident a crime committed by Lamar years ago. As Lowell Edmunds or Richard Caldwell remind us, one of the main threads of the Oedipus myth is not so much the hostility of the son towards his father as the hostility of the father towards his son (Edmunds 1985; Caldwell 1990). The third symbolic representative of Laius in the movie is the fake paedophile Leo Crow, who finally turns out to be a prisoner to whom Lamar Burgess offered that his family will be well taken care of, if he agrees to play his role in the plot against Anderton. Even though Crow never kidnapped Sean, behind this figure lurks the real kidnapper, whose identity remains hidden. This

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perverse aspect of Laius, reflected in the anonymous paedophile kidnapper, is connected to the event preceding the birth of Oedipus, namely, the kidnapping and homosexual rape of Chrysippus, son of Pelops, which was the immediate cause of the curse which was cast on Laius. The motif of incest appears only through allusions. At the beginning of the film John watches a 3D video of himself and Sean, in which he asks the son to kiss him goodnight. Sean answers: “Not on the lips. Only Mommy kisses me on the lips.” Another scene is the one in which Iris Hineman describes herself as the “mother” of PreCrime, Lamar Burgess being its “father”. In this context Hineman and Burgess form a symbolic parental couple of John Anderton. The mutual hostility of John and Lamar is supplemented by a short, but interesting, meeting of John with Hineman. She represents a dangerous aspect of the sexually demanding mother, which, according to Richard Caldwell, in the Oedipus myth is represented by the Sphinx. In Hineman’s garden Anderton is bitten by poisonous, carnivorous plants and the Sphinx is a chthonic monster, connected to Mother Earth, but also to the Underworld. Euripides calls the Sphinx a “wise maiden”2 (Phoeniss. 48) as well as “born of earth and underworld Viper (Echidna)” (1019-20)3, thus emphasising both aspects of the Sphinx: chthonic and underworldly. Euripides also stresses her taste for young boys (806-811, 1018-1042). This fascinating and threatening image of a powerful, wise mother who is surrounded by nature is clearly expressed in the meeting with Hineman and her plants which attacked Anderton The plants look and act like poisonous snakes. The allusion to incest can be found in a relatively nonsensical scene where Hineman kisses John, who is much younger than she, passionately on the lips. “Only Mommy kisses me on the lips”. The end of the movie is an interesting solution of the Oedipal situation, harmonising with a popular fantasy of regaining a good, loving father. The writers emphasize that John psychologically functions as an adopted son of Lamar and that in their relationship there is a strong ambivalence, love and hatred at the same time. In one of the final scenes John gives Lamar a choice – either to kill him, John, and thus prove that the precogs cannot be wrong, or not to kill him, and thus bring about the end of PreCrime by proving the fallibility of the precogs. Lamar, however, chooses a third way: he commits suicide and dies in John’s arms, saying: “Forgive me, my boy”. Here Laius punishes himself and Oedipus lives happily ever after. At the very end we see John and his wife back together; she is pregnant. It is a reversal of the myth, where Laius tries to kill his son (twice) and then is murdered by him in turn. In the film the symbolic father sacrifices his

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life in order to repent for his sins and make his son happy. In a sense, the father allows the son to kill him and take his place, instead of threatening the son with punishment. The film leaves us with an optimistic picture of a happy son (Anderton) who internalizes the father. Lamar physically disappears, replaced by John, who becomes the father of another child.

The Matrix The main character of the Wachowski brothers’ trilogy is called Anderson; he is also a computer hacker, alias “Neo”. Anderton – Anderson: a strange coincidence between the two movies. Whether it is accidental or not, both those names seem to mean something like “son of man” (especially in The Matrix) (Flannery-Daily, Wagner 2004: 99). On a symbolic plane it suggests that the character is Everyman, but it also emphasizes the Oedipal thread, that is, the father-son relationship, with conflict, ambivalence and search for identification. In the myth the name “Oedipus” is also a symbolic nickname rather than a regular name coming from father to son. Oidipus can be understood as “swollen foot”, but one can hear also the Greek oida, “I know”, which suggests a connection of the name with destiny, with the search for the solution of the riddle and with disastrous knowledge (On the meaning of Oedipus’ name see Pucci 1992: 67-71 and Edmunds 1985: 93-4). The main character of The Matrix does not investigate his own case, as John Anderton does, but he is tormented from the beginning by a question about the nature of reality; the question which was driving Descartes mad at the beginning of modernity: is the world real? This search for the truth about the world and the self, here pictured as solving a riddle, connects the character with Oedipus. Ultimately, in the film self-knowledge is identified with the knowledge of the nature of all things. The motif of the search for the solution of a riddle is connected to two other significant elements of the Oedipus myth – destiny and the oracle. Destiny plays a pivotal role in The Matrix – it is an almost obsessively repeated question, whether the characters make free decisions or their actions are completely determined by fate. Similarity to Oedipus can be seen also in the very role of the protector and saviour of the polis, which is played by Neo, as well as in the fact that salvation depends on solving a riddle. Neo has to ask for the help of a mysterious Oracle. The temple which she lives in is a kitchen, resembling the mythological “fifties” from Hollywood movies, while the Oracle herself is a old black woman, very nice and warm, busy with baking cookies. At the same time, she shows to Neo what is written above the entrance to the kitchen: Temet nosce (cf.

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Winkler 2009: 82). It is a clear reference to Apollo’s temple in Delphi. The Oracle resembles also Tiresias from Sophocles’ tragedy, because although her dialogue with Neo, enigmatic as it is, is to lead him closer to the truth, ultimately it hides more than it reveals. There is also some influence of the popular image of a psychoanalyst who does not simply tell the patient the truth, but instead wants him to discover it on his own. In The Matrix it is not Neo who looks for his symbolic father; Neo is rather being looked for. A mysterious Morpheus offers Neo the knowledge of the truth about reality and sees in him the One, the saviour of the humanity enslaved by the machines. Morpheus is at one point addressed by one of his soldiers: “Morpheus, you’re more than a leader to us. You’re our father.” For Neo he is certainly both guide and mentor. He represents, however, not an infanticidal, hostile Laius, but a good father who helps his son to evade an incestuous relationship with the mother. This aspect is not present in the Freudian concept of the Oedipus complex, but in later developments of psychoanalytic understanding of Oedipus and the role of the father in the boy’s development, it is emphasized that the father plays a highly positive and necessary role by helping the child in emotional separation from his mother (See Etchegoyen 2002: 19-41). The concept of liberation in The Matrix can be interpreted also in this way. Slavoj Žižek in his interpretation of the movie understands the meaning of The Matrix in a completely different, in fact, contradictory way. He writes: “What, then, is the Matrix? Simply the Lacanian “big Other”, the virtual symbolic order, the network that structures reality for us. This dimension of the “big Other” is that of the constitutive alienation of the subject in the symbolic order: the big Other pulls the strings, the subject doesn’t speak, he “is spoken” by the symbolic structure” (Žižek 2003: 244). For the Slovenian philosopher the matrix is the father, but such an interpretation requires a total disregard for such aspects of the film as the fact that people imprisoned in the matrix live in coffins filled with something that looks like an amniotic fluid, where they lead an existence of perpetual embryos whose physical needs are immediately satisfied. Not to mention the obvious (?) connotations of the Latin term “matrix”. Žižek assumes, just as Lacan and the 1968 revolutionaries, that the oppressive system which they wanted to overthrow was the symbolic paternal authority. It is, of course, true in the “anti-Oedipal” sense of the counter-culture that I pointed out at the beginning. But after the overthrow of the father, the system is all but overthrown. For leftist activists it means that we need more progress, more revolution, more opposition against patriarchal stereotypes. For conservative social critiques, such as a psychoanalyst Janine Chasseguet-Smirgel, it means that after the father’s

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authority was rejected in the West, now it is the primitive mother that unconsciously fuels utopian social engineering and “systems” which infantilize humanity (e.g. symbolic use of the mother in national socialism, but later also in green ideology and, we might add, in New Age and radical welfare state projects as well) (Cf. e.g. Chasseguet-Smirgel 1984). The “matrix” in the film enslaves not so much by imposing the paternal law through a combination of love and threat, but by gratifying every need, which keeps humanity in a infantile state. For a psychoanalyst it is quite obvious that this is a psychological prerogative of the mother, who can imprison the child not by force, but by “love”, infantilising it through excessive need gratification and other measures of narcissistic control. In such a case the father is not yet a dreadful authority, establishing the law and the incest taboo, but a representative of psychological growth, slow maturation and the reality principle. Hostility between the son and his father is deeply hidden in the film, because it is the hostility of the mother that is emphasized; the father, in this context, is benevolent and helpful. The Oracle’s prophecy that Neo will have to choose between his own life and Morpheus’ life, is, nonetheless, a distorted expression of the typical Oedipal patricidal wish. Neo, choosing himself, commits a symbolic patricide, letting Morpheus die, and deciding to save his father’s life, has to sacrifice his own, in a way, commit suicide. As in Minority Report, someone has to die – either the son, or the father. Ultimately, even though Neo sacrifices his life, he succeeds in coming back from the dead. Unlike in Minority Report, this deus ex machina style solution, psychologically, is not very convincing. However, it also pictures the force of the longing for the good father and identification with him.

Dexter In the Dexter show we encounter not a science-fiction world, as in the two movies discussed above, but a contemporary Miami. The main character is Dexter Morgan, a forensic blood spatter analyst, who is, at the same time, a serial killer. However, he is a killer who has a “code”, which allows him to choose for his victims only murderers, which makes him believe that he is a man who helps an impotent and corrupt legal system eliminate evil. It is a motif of the saviour of the polis, which we already have seen, but here it is presented à rebours, in a perverse form of an emotionally disturbed murderer. The symbolic father, represented by law and justice, from the very beginning appears as impotent, incapable of

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doing its job, and this pushes the son to act, to replace the father in order to punish those who deserve it. The impotence of the father is also manifest in the weakness of Dexter’s superego, which is not truly internalized, but remains heteronomous, dependent on an external code, imposed on Dexter by his adoptive father, a policeman. There is little of what psychoanalysis calls abstraction and depersonification within the superego, which transforms a fear of parental punishment into automatic emotional reactions to anticipated transgressions. For Dexter his morality is represented by a concrete, vivid person – the adoptive father – even though this person is no longer alive. This is showed in the show by the fact that Dexter talks to his father in his imagination – which looks as if he were actually talking to him in person. The same technique was applied earlier in a very good television show, Six Feet Under, where one of the main roles was also played by Michael C. Hall, who impersonated Dexter. In Dexter we also see a motif of investigating one’s own case: in the second season of the show, the Miami police and Dexter with them, search for a serial killer, who is no other than Dexter himself. Nobody knows about it, however, apart from Dexter, who tries to jeopardize the whole investigation by blaming his colleague – this is a reversal of the Sophoclean Oedipus situation. On another level, there is a more symbolic “investigation” which refers again to a popular, psychoanalytic reading of the myth, because Dexter is trying to get to know better his late adoptive father, Harry Morgan, and his own past as well. During this private investigation – which is a symbolic “know thyself” – Dexter learns that he was found by Harry Morgan as a three-year-old child, after having witnessed the brutal murder of his mother. The policeman took the boy, covered with his mother’s blood, out of the crime scene and adopted him. First, Harry Morgan is pictured as a good father who saves Dexter and is juxtaposed to anonymous thugs who killed the boy’s mother; he also raises Dexter, loving him as his own. Dexter, however, since his childhood has enjoyed killing animals, so Harry fears that the boy is going to become a murderer and will be punished by death. This makes the policeman teach Dexter how to kill people in such a way that he could not be caught by the police and gives him the “code” which will enable him to survive, to escape capital punishment. This makes the father figure in the show not only impotent in terms of enforcing the law, but also inclined to transgressing the law with a barely suppressed sadism. Harry wants to fulfil, through Dexter, his frustrated dream of eliminating all crime, and this pushes him to this perverse project.

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During several seasons of the show Dexter struggles with various images of his father – first, a saviour, noble policeman, then, a fraud and a liar, responsible for all the crimes that have been committed by his son. Even the patricide motif appears, distorted though it is as in The Matrix, when Harry accidentally witnesses the killing of Dexter’s first victim and, not being able to deal with the horror of the awareness that he made a murderer of his own son, he commits suicide. Thus the son becomes the cause of his father’s death. It is interesting that in all three movies patricide is expressed by means of suicide. Dexter learns also that his adoptive father had an affair with his mother, which makes them an actual parental couple. Incestuous motifs are present in the show through somewhat simplistic and literal Freudianism: all Dexter’s women (but one – and the difference can be easily explained) are living copies of his mother – a slim, long-haired blond. Besides, there is a displacement of the Oedipal incest onto the stepsister of Dexter, Debra Morgan, with whom he is in an intense emotional relationship and who finally falls in love with him (which Dexter, by the way, does not reciprocate). The three-generation picture of the Oedipus myth is completed by Dexter’s little son, Harrison. The name sounds as “Harry’s son”, which suggests a perverse blurring of generational boundaries – the boy is a son and a brother of his father, just as Oedipus’ sons are his brothers and sons at the same time. Harrison suffers a similar trauma to that of his father, because he also sees the murder of his mother by a serial killer. Dexter worries about it repeatedly, fearing that his son may become a killer too. Quite a few times Harrison’s life is in danger, always because of Dexter’s recklessness, which makes Dexter function symbolically a bit like Laius in the myth. In the course of the show Dexter rebels against Harry’s code and tries – against his father’s warnings – to marry and have children, which may read as an Oedipal competition, an attempt to be at least as good as his father. Ultimately, he fails and proves to be incapable of living a happy family life. He leaves his son with the last of his blond women, because he comes to the conclusion that the boy will be better off without him. Consciously, he wants to save his son, but actually he abandons Harrison, robbing him of his father, as Laius robbed Oedipus. Dexter chooses the grotesque life of a lonely, anonymous lumberjack, working in an isolated location. He believes that he is a plague for society, that he can never change and that he eventually destroys everything that he touches. Here, Dexter’s father does not withdraw, allowing his son to succeed, but it is the son who clearly fails and turns towards himself the whole

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power of aggression, choosing symbolic self-castration and real self-exile, as Oedipus in Sophocles’ tragedy. The king of Thebes, however, remains a “sacral king” (See Edmunds 1985: 98-9), a source of curses as well as blessings, leaning on the shoulder of Antigone, whereas Dexter chooses melancholia, as if his choice was limited to a depressive dilemma – “to kill someone” or “to kill oneself”. Harry Morgan, the father who accompanied Dexter throughout his life, disappears, saying that Dexter does not need him any more. But the father seems rather to be excluded and, consequently, the son directs his whole hostility towards his self. Dexter attempts also to deal with the trauma of witnessing his mother’s death. The symbolic search for the father can be, therefore, understood as an attempt to get out of this horrible situation and to escape melancholia with the help of the father. Initially, when Harry Morgan adopts Dexter and tries to raise him, it seems that the solution is effective: the father enters the world of primitive fantasies, showing his son the way towards reality and culture. Ultimately, Dexter shows that the effort to arrive at a coherent identity and finding a place within the symbolic structure of the human world fails. This failure is reflected in the disappearance of Dexter’s adoptive father. The son remains alone with emptiness, with the pointlessness of the depressive state. In the last scene of the film Dexter is silently gazing at the audience, as if he has lost the ability to speak (which Julia Kristeva emphasizes, on a metaphorical level, as a fundamental feature of melancholia) (Kristeva 1989). Dexter’s mother, brutally murdered in his presence, comes back as an Erinys, making his life a torture, while an absent father makes it impossible to overcome this situation by speaking about it and so giving meaning to it.

Conclusions I have shown that in the three works there are some structural elements similar to those we find in the Oedipus myth as well as that the myth’s reception is mediated by the popular reception of psychoanalysis, especially by the motif of the search for the father and achieving happiness by getting close to him and reconciling with him. In Minority Report this thread is depicted in the most subtle way, whereas in The Matrix it is exaggerated – the father figure seems eventually without much authority. In those two films, however, there is a fantasy, characteristic for contemporary Western culture, that the absent, lost father will come back and become for young men a foundation of the meaning of life and selfesteem. On the other hand, in Dexter this fantasy is pictured as a façade behind which there is a naked, primitive destructiveness. The

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overthrowing of the patriarch, so much hated by the revolutionaries, does not end – contrary to their wishes and hopes – in establishing a paradise of love and bliss, but instead in sinking into the abyss of the archaic, terrible mother. Even popular culture, expressing itself in films, seems to represent symbolically the great dilemma of contemporary Western civilization: how to save the presence and authority of the symbolic father, which gives any civilization its coherence, while we are fighting the windmills of “patriarchal oppression”? Thus the Oedipus myth turns out to be still relevant – in many of its forms.

Bibliography Sources Aeschylus, Septem contra Thebas. Euripides, Phoenissae. Homerus, Odysseia. Sophocles, Oedipus Tyrannus.

Secondary literature Caldwell, Richard. The Psychoanalytic Interpretation of Greek Myth [in:] Approaches to Greek Myth, ed. L. Edmunds, 342-92. Baltimore – London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990. Chasseguet-Smirgel, Janine. Creativity and Perversion, New York: W.W. Norton, 1984. Deleuze, Gilles, Guattari, Félix. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983. Dodds, Eric R. “On Misunderstanding the ‘Oedipus Rex’.” Greece & Rome 13, 1 (1966): 37-49. Edmunds, Lowell. “Freud and the Father: Oedipus Complex and Oedipus Myth.” Psychoanalysis and Contemporary Thought, 8 (1985): 87-103. Etchegoyen, Alice. “Psychoanalytic Ideas About Fathers.” In The Importance of Fathers: A Psychoanalytic Re-evaluation, ed. J. Trowell, A. Etchegoyen, 18-40. Hove – New York: Brunner-Routledge – Taylor & Francis, 2002. Flannery-Daily, Frances, Wagner, Rachel L. “Stopping Bullets: Constructions of Bliss and Problems of Violence. The Various Religious Themes Do Not Overcome a Reliance Upon Violent Means.” In Jacking Into the Matrix Franchise: Cultural Reception and

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Interpretation, ed. M. Kapell, W.G. Doty, 97-114. New York – London: Continuum, 2004. Freud, Sigmund. The Interpretation of Dreams. In The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud (SE), Volume IV. Translated by J. Strachey, London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1905 [1953]. Freud, Sigmund. “Totem and Taboo.” In SE, Volume XIII, 1-164. London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1913 [1955]. Freud, Sigmund. “The Ego and the Id.” In SE, Volume XIX, 3-68. London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1923 [1961]. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Translated by M. Weigelt. London: Penguin, 2007. Kristeva, Julia. Black Sun: Depression and Melancholia, New York: Columbia University Press, 1989. Marcuse, Herbert. Eros and Civilization, Boston: Beacon Press, 1966. Pucci, Pietro. Oedipus and the Fabrication of the Father: Oedipus Tyrannus in Modern Criticism and Philosophy, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992. Shaham, Inbar. “Ancient myths in contemporary cinema: Oedipus Rex and Perceval the knight of the holy grail in Pulp Fiction and The Sixth Sense.” Mythlore 28, ½ (2009). Winkler, Martin M. Cinema and Classical Texts: Apollo’s New Light, Cambridge – New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Zaretsky, Eli. Secrets of the Soul: A Social and Cultural History of Psychoanalysis, New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005. Žižek, Slavoj. “The Matrix: Or, The Two Sides of Perversion.” In The Matrix and Philosophy: Welcome to the Desert of the Real, ed. W. Irwin, 240-66. Chicago: Open Court, 2003.

Filmography Damned (director: L. Visconti, Italy – Germany 1969). Dexter (various directors, USA 2006 – 2013). Edipo Re (director: P.P. Pasolini, Italy 1967). Matrix, Matrix Reloaded, Matrix Revolutions (director: A. Wachowski & L. Wachowski, USA 1999 – 2003) Minority Report (director: Steven Spielberg, USA 2002).

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Notes 1

It is worth mentioning that the Oedipus myth and Oedipal themes appear in many classical cinematographic works [e.g. Edipo Re (director: P.P. Pasolini, Italy 1967)], The Damned (director: L. Visconti, Italy – Germany 1969)]. It is all the more interesting to attempt to look at the use of those themes in pop-culture films. 2 ıȠijોȢ... ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȣ 3 Ȗ઼Ȣ ȜȩȤİȣȝĮ/ ȞİȡIJȑȡȠȣ IJૃ ਫȤȓįȞĮȢ viper/Echidna

ANCIENT ROME, ANYTHING GOES: CREATING IMAGES OF ANTIQUITY IN THE BBC SERIES DOCTOR WHO MARIA GIERSZEWSKA ADAM MICKIEWICZ UNIVERSITY

Abstract: The purpose of this paper is to analyse functioning stereotypical ideas about antiquity in the hit BBC production Doctor Who. The series depicts the adventures of a humanoid alien of the race of Time Lords called The Doctor, who travels in time and space. Besides the stories of saving single persons and whole civilisations, the series explores clichéd opinions and visions about concrete elements of the past and the future. Among the episodes, those with historical plot connections with antiquity are quite common. This shows both a vivid interest in this subject to a modern recipient and the stability of some images. Some personages and key-events are fixed and easily predictable. Following this, conventional ideas about ancient cultures and ways of visualising them will be discussed. The summary will make it possible to draw some conclusions about the reception of ancient elements in popular culture.

Modern popular culture – an unusual and mind-boggling phenomenon – draws its inspiration chiefly from an unchanging set of tropes and schemas, copied and arranged in diverse ways. As a variety and reiteration of mass culture, popular culture thrives when it is widely accessible and somewhat simplified for the benefit of the masses. However, it is impossible to say that all the pieces which are similar to each other are in the same way shallow and easily digestible. Yet, some works of popular culture manage to distinguish themselves by transcending the trite and clichéd ones, enticing many a recipient to pursue more highbrow interests. Among such works one may enumerate a cult television favourite from the BBC – the Doctor Who series. In November 2013 there was a big anniversary, as the series had been on the air for 50 years – although for several years only in reruns – earning its place in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest-running science-fiction series1. Doctor Who had been originally created with younger viewers in mind, with its accessible, engaging premise specifically

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tailored for educating children about history. Created by Sydney Newman, Cecil E. Webber, and Donald Wilson, it first aired in 1963, and ran until its suspension in 1989. The 26 seasons that aired before 1989 are known as the original series; unfortunately, many of their tapes have been irretrievably lost, despite the BBC’s attempts to recreate or replace lost footage. Saying nothing of an unsuccessful attempt to revive regular production in 1996 with a backdoor pilot, that is a standalone film, the reception of which was very disappointing, Doctor Who was re-launched in 2005. It was returned to production by Russell T. Davis, who was the executive producer and chief writer until 2010. Since then, the main creator has been Steven Moffat, both loved and hated by the fans for his offbeat ideas about the plot. Until now, seven seasons have been aired, with several specials. This paper will focus on the seasons aired after the series’ re-launch. The series recounts the adventures of a humanoid alien of the Time Lord race, known simply as the Doctor. The crucial premise of the Whoniverse is the fact that Time Lords can regenerate – in other words, if a Time Lord sustains damage beyond which mortality is inevitable, he is reborn in a new body, with a new personality and character, but an old inner self and memories. When the actor playing the First Doctor quit, the regeneration plot twist allowed the BBC to change actors, with the willing suspension of disbelief on the part of viewers making such a change possible. Since 2005, the Doctor’s role has been played by Christopher Eccleston (the Ninth Doctor), David Tennant (the Tenth Doctor) and Matt Smith (the Eleventh Doctor), with Peter Capaldi slated to appear as the Twelfth Doctor. The Doctor travels in time and space in his spaceship-cum-timemachine vehicle, called the TARDIS, which is noticeably bigger on the inside than on the outside. During his journeys, the Doctor is often accompanied by other beings, his companions of choice being human women. A majority of them were simply secondary characters, but there were also a select few, such as Rose Tyler, Martha Jones or Clara Oswald, who ended up as main characters. In the episodes I focus on in this paper, the Doctor’s main companions are Donna Noble, Amy and Rory Pond, and River Song, the Doctor’s nemesis and simultaneously his lover. The time-and-space travelling companions are often inadvertently embroiled in daring adventures and dangerous pursuits from which they have to be rescued by the Doctor – or, alternatively, the Doctor has to rescue an entire civilisation the travellers have tampered with. Obviously, the series has a main parent story as well, comprising overriding actions and events which bond all the episodes together.

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The Doctor often travels into the past, as the writers send him to destinations that would be important for younger viewers who study history – that is to such locations in time which are widely recognizable as essential in the history of humankind. The chronological spectrum is extremely broad; starting with mythological references, emerging in the First Doctor’s era and taking into account all ages from antiquity to modern times. Obviously, the series simply could not ignore the great events of classical antiquity. Popular culture has frequently followed the unbelievable phenomenon of the popularity of antiquity in modern culture. It appears in many books, cinematic films, and other TV shows (e.g. I, Claudius from 1976, or the widely known Rome produced by HBO). The reception of antiquity in popular culture has been discussed in scholarship far too widely to detail it here. Even narrowing this phenomenon to TV series, such achievements are impressive. But concerning the Doctor Who series, one can quickly find this particular topic has not yet encountered an in-depth analysis. As a glorious exception, there should be emphasized here a paper by Fiona Hobden, entitled “History meets Fiction in Doctor Who, ‘The Fires of Pompeii’: a BBC reception of Ancient Rome on screen and online”. It questions one of the antiquity-focused episodes from the perspective of film studies, but also takes into account possible sources of inspiration to the writers. Monica Cyrino in Big Screen Rome asked, “what else had 2000 years of publicity?” (2005: 1). This question underlines the power of antiquity as an imagined reality, so attractive to the contemporary audience, which could not be disregarded by the writers. Thus, episodes taking place in antiquity were aired in the older seasons. Nonetheless, in this paper I intend to concentrate on the later series (the so-called “New Who”), in which allusions to Greco-Roman antiquity are prevalent as well. What is important is that the series creators have often set their episodes in antiquity, but not always the Greco-Roman antiquity we are best acquainted with. In the fourth of the new seasons, in an episode called “Silence in the Library”, it is mentioned that the Doctor witnessed the fall of Byzantium; however, in the fifth season it is clarified that the Byzantium that had been referred to was a spaceship that crashed on Alfava Metraxis. This twist is supposed to be comic, and as such it may definitely amuse anyone familiar with the history of the Eastern Empire. Other episodes refer to Ancient Egypt; for instance, the Doctor mentions several times the intense relationship he enjoyed with Cleopatra. Concerned at the indignation of his companion, Amy, we learn that the Doctor used to call the Egyptian queen simply “Cleo”, which may indicate the very close nature of this acquaintance. In an unusual episode called

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“Dinosaurs on a Spaceship”, the Doctor saves Egypt from swarms of locusts from outer space; the grateful Egyptian queen Nefertiti follows him through space and time, eventually settling down with a twentieth-century adventurer, John Riddell. Interestingly enough, ancient sources mentioning Nefertiti do not tell us for sure what became of her after 1330 BC; thus, the Whoniverse story attains a degree of verisimilitude. It is not involved in very specific scientific discussion – in which Egyptologists debate different possibilities, such as Nefertiti’s death, her exile or becoming pharaoh herself – but concerns something one may call “popular science”, with its precision high enough to fulfil the educational purpose, but not too complicated. Doctor Who refers to such knowledge that is common or may be easily acquired by everyone, but which can still be found as proper. This approach is similar in every episode concerning any historical event or person. In addition, in the episode described, Amy, when meeting Nefertiti, says she learned about her at school. Such a comment is very close to a meta-reflection made by the creators themselves, and as such strongly underlines the educational purpose of the series. However, my main focus will be on the episodes set in or discussing Greco-Roman antiquity, with four selected for analysis. The first episode, “The Fires of Pompeii”, has the Tenth Doctor and Donna visit a Vesuvian town on the eve of the eruption. The second one, “The Pandorica Opens”, is set in Roman-conquered Britain, where the Eleventh Doctor and the Ponds oppose the invading military alliance of hostile aliens. Subsequently, the third episode, “The Wedding of River Song”, is a continuation of the Eleventh Doctor’s adventures; as such, it ironically challenges many preconceptions which average viewers may have about classical antiquity. To discuss this phenomenon properly, one should distinguish three classes of stereotypical preconceptions about classical antiquity, as present in the chosen episodes of Doctor Who – namely, linguistic, visual and situational preconceptions. Linguistic preconceptions are most often reflected by the rampant use of word games, puns referring to GrecoRoman mythology or history, and sometimes even allusions to classical works themselves, although there are also cases when the writers refer to classical languages, such as Latin. Visual preconceptions are reflected by the visual imagery used by the set designers: costumes, scenography, and props; the series creators intend to simply evoke the most salient visual cues of classical antiquity, not to portray the period accurately. Situational preconceptions are the widest but, on the other hand, the least strictly defined group; generally speaking, the series’ writers rely on their

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audience’s knowledge of ancient history and culture, including factoids and mythological tales. Linguistic stereotypes in Doctor Who primarily refer to Latin and English preconceptions about Latin; as such, they chiefly appear in the episode devoted to Pompeii. The TARDIS automatically translates all languages in the universe and telepathically conveys its knowledge into the minds of the travellers and those with whom the travellers interact. This ability is automatic and apparently cannot be disabled. Donna cannot believe that her plain English is heard as Latin in Pompeii and their Latin is interpreted by her as English. When she attempts to speak Latin, the inhabitants of Pompeii seem to recognize it as English and inform her that their Celtic is a bit rusty: “Me no speak Celtic. No can do missy”2. Moreover, phrases uttered by the Doctor in Latin elicit passing comments such as, “He’s a Celt” or “Celtic prayers won’t help you”3. The idea of some kind of error in the translating system while using the “result” language as the “source” has a very strong comic power and is exploited during whole episode. However, the other explanation is that it is only a problem of a different accent – Latin spoken with a British accent may be barely possible to understand (which seems quite accurate nowadays). Another problem which can be observed in this comical conception is the idea of identifying the English language with a Celtic one. Even if we can acknowledge that the inhabitants of Pompeii are able to recognize the dialect from lands so far away – which could be explained by the status of the intellectual and cultural centre – it is still hard to compare modern English and its antique ancestor. It cannot be treated another way than as a simplification, acceptable in a popular-culture work, especially one addressed to children. It is important to mention what kinds of Latin phrases the time travellers use. The Doctor uses such phrases as “status quo”, “caveat emptor” and “morituri te salutant”; Donna quotes Caesar with “veni, vidi, vici”, adding that her father used to say that after a football game. Understandably, the creators of Doctor Who employed the most common and well-known phrases, which would be recognized by an average viewer; these phrases are not in any way intended to be an example of how Latin was really spoken (which is impossible), but are rather a reflection of a popular idea of Latin that has been inculcated into the viewers’ minds. In the same vein, the visual imagery in Doctor Who is not meant to depict how classical antiquity really looked, but rather to evoke a certain set of preconceptions so that the viewers might more easily identify the novel environment. In the first scene of the previously mentioned episode, we discover that, due to a TARDIS malfunction, the travellers have

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arrived in Pompeii instead of Rome; however, the former town is still very Roman in its appearance. The writers reinforce this impression by having delighted Donna exclaim: “It’s so Roman!” We do not see any buildings stereotypically associated with Rome which the heroes hoped to admire (the Colosseum, Pantheon or Circus Maximus), and instead of seven Roman hills we get a single, smoking one (that difference turns out be the key one, making Donna notice that she is not in Rome); these simple visual cues indicate how deeply the juxtaposition between the two towns has been simplified for the sake of clarity. Still, the set represents a clichéd Roman alleyway, with a throng of toga-clad citizens plus a few centurions, with stands of amphorae sellers and graffitied walls. According to Fiona Hobden (2009: 150): This is the Rome of modern scholarship: a multi-cultural cosmopolitan capital, where shops and traders lined the streets, a place of dirt and grime. It is also the Rome of the post-peplum cinematic tradition: the gritty city that replaced marble colonnades in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (1965), and the bustling, colorful cityscape of Gladiator (2000).

A seasoned viewer of the series will undoubtedly notice the similarity between the Roman sets used by Doctor Who and ones used in the production of Rome, the British-American series co-produced by the BBC and HBO. Such associations are more than close: both the Doctor Who episode and Rome series were filmed in the same studio. Concerning visual stereotypes in “The Wedding of River Song”, where the idea of the Roman Empire is mixed with the modern United Kingdom’s situation, the common use of the SPQR initials is enough to give a proper Roman appearance to Buckingham Palace – the building in its current appearance is partially covered with scarlet flags with gold initials. The set designers are not obviously trying to repeat the real, historical arrangement, but only give an adequate suggestion to viewers. In the interiors, moreover, one can easily observe the simplicity of creating the Roman “ambience”, the making and handling of stereotypes. The previously-mentioned SPQR, some bright columns, a bit of gold and a few persons wearing togas – that is enough to make viewers believe the situation is Roman. There are also other details which indicate that the writers meant to portray Ancient Rome with a degree of verisimilitude. The Doctor introduces himself to newly-met Pompeiians as Spartacus, most probably picking the first Roman name he thought of. What narratively binds the episode together is the focus on the lararium, a small shrine devoted to the

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guardian spirits of that particular household. At the beginning and at the end of the episode, a young man worships the Lares by sprinkling the shrine with water. However, the shrine itself undergoes a significant transformation. In the first part it looks like a typical Roman shrine, with figurines of the Lares and a representation of a temple; at the end, the figurines have been replaced by depictions of the Doctor and Donna, with the temple changed into the TARDIS. We may now go on to the third type of preconceptions about classical antiquity alluded to in Doctor Who; that is, the situational schemas with which the last examples are partially connected. These schemas are combinations of diverse personal, geographical, historical and cultural associations viewers may have with that time period; the use of them allows the writers to easily evoke the “feel” of the ancient world. The careful use of such schemas proves that the writers consciously invoke the classical associations, constantly striving to design an antiquity that would seem probable to the viewers and not the antiquity which would be authentic. In many episodes we hear casual remarks about ancient events: in the episode “Fear Her”, which takes place during the London Olympics in 2012, the Doctor off-handedly mentions that he took part in the first ever Olympics. In “The Voyage of the Damned” a Biblical allusion is settled – the Doctor explains the idea of the Christmas holiday. His enigmatic answer indicates that he was present at the very first Christmas and as such could have been mentioned in the Bible as that person who got the last room, meaning Jesus was born in a manger. As the Gospel says, it happened “because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7). A careful viewer may also discern that the series tries to convey that the rise of the Roman Empire is one of the most important events in history; as it is mentioned in the episode “The End of the World”, in the future, a New Roman Empire will rise in the 120th century and the Ninth Doctor will offer to take Rose there. Nonetheless, the most crucial factor is the writers’ awareness of the fact that they do not recreate antiquity per se, but rather a vision of antiquity tailored to the expectations of a modern viewer; such expectations have in turn been shaped by documentaries, magazines and earlier fictional works. Such awareness enables the writers to participate in what may be termed the pop-culture reception. In “The Wedding of River Song” episode the premise is as follows: time freezes on 22nd April 2011, at 17:02 p.m. and the entire run of history becomes condensed into one short minute. Importantly, it is not literally the entire history, but only selected key elements. Zeppelins and pterodactyls soar in the skies; mammoths and centurions on horses roam the earth. Radio and television

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broadcasts are commonplace and Dickens is currently writing A Christmas Carol. As an amusing detail, it may be observed that the main newspaper is called Londinium Cotide, which strongly underlines the cultural and everlasting role of the Latin language. Unsurprisingly, such a historical mélange is governed by the Holy Roman Emperor, who rides his personal mammoth to the Buckingham Senate. The Emperor, Winston Churchill himself, also known as Caesar, brags about his exploits in Gaul and his close relationship with Cleopatra. Thus, various features that are associated with a Roman emperor in the eyes of the general audience are mixed together into this peculiar yet immediately recognisable whole. The most interesting scenario of the selective recreation of antiquity is the Chinese-box narrative employed in the episode “The Pandorica Opens”. When the time travellers attempt to prevent the explosion of the entire universe, they are accidentally jettisoned into ancient Britain. This is comically shown by the scene of the Doctor checking his time-and-space watch, which encounters certain problems. He says: “Earth. Britain. One oh two AM. No, PM. No, AD”, which exploits the word game based on common Latin initials. The heroes face a Roman legion (whose camp again exploits popular visual imagery), where the Doctor is mistaken for Caesar, and River Song – unsurprisingly – for Cleopatra. Fortunately, playing with history does not go so far as to make obvious mistakes, and viewers would soon learn – from an angry commander, not happy with the unannounced guests – that Cleopatra died many years ago in Egypt. The heroes, while being in ancient Britain, have only one quest: to destroy a secret hidden within a vessel called the Pandorica. It was supposedly built to contain the most feared thing in all the universe, and as such is treated as a legend – its reality is strongly questioned, but it finally turns out to exist. The name itself connotes the myth of Pandora’s Box, which supposedly held all the evil of the world. It turns out that the Pandorica is more than a mythical allusion: ancient Britain and the myth of Pandora’s Box appear to be topics Amy found the most interesting while in school. Moreover, the artificial centurion Rory comes from his original party costume. River soon discovers that they are imprisoned in a virtual reality which has been shaped from Amy’s childhood memories; their cage has been fashioned by an alliance of hostile aliens, bent on trapping the Doctor. What we have in this episode is an example of meta-reception: the series writers make their heroes recreate an inhabitable vision of classical antiquity based on the most rudimentary associations drawn from children’s books and school lessons. A similar approach is adopted in “The Fires of Pompeii” episode, where the writers set out to create the inhabitants of the town the Doctor

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could interact with. Caecilius, his wife Metella and son Quintus (the writers also added a daughter, Evelina) are well known to the British, as they are characters from the Cambridge Latin Course textbook, from which British pupils have learned for at least forty years (I owe this observation to Fiona Hobden [2009: 153]). These characters appear in Unit 1, Stage 1, and teach students the rudiments of Latin up to Stage 12, when the course is interrupted by the Vesuvian explosion. The writers eventually admitted that they deliberately used these well-known characters. We might add that Cambridge’s Caecilius is based upon an authentic inhabitant of Pompeii, Lucius Caecilius Iucundus, whose villa was situated by the Via Sabina in Pompeii. Hobden fittingly calls this family “an odd hybrid of historicism and invention” (2009: 153), which is simultaneously a very apt summary of the approach the series’ writers have adopted. “Ancient Rome, anything goes” – this comment made by the Doctor in the Pompeii episode sounds rather like an intertextual remark from the creators, concerning the mechanism of filming antiquity, where anything can be done as long as it is Roman enough in the perception of the viewers. Intentionally and verbatim, it was meant to convince Donna that ancient times are not so different from modern ones, as is generally supposed. This is a very common approach in the Doctor Who series. It may help the viewers to engage emotionally – as this is far easier with things one is familiar with – and what is more, to acquire more knowledge thanks to that. But figuratively, it points perfectly to the approach elaborated by all cinematographic creators of imagined antiquity. In this short and very selective survey, I have presented some of the allusions to classical antiquity as found in the Doctor Who series and the ways they are introduced. Generally speaking, references to classical antiquity in Doctor Who consist of a small set of key characters, events, places and phrases which are well-known enough to evoke ancient associations in the average viewer. Such allusions are not made with the aim of recreating historical reality as it really was; they serve to create an artificial vision of antiquity, which – based on history – is nonetheless a new mental construct, the imaginary at the crossroads of reception and meta-reception. It is not meant to be historically accurate; it aims to entertain, but it preserves enough of the real classical antiquity to call it a laudable effort at educating. To sum up, another quote from Hobden (2009) will be adequate: Contrary to popular conceptions and student expectations, ancient Rome was not a real place we could visit, if only we had a time-machine (or TARDIS). Rather it is the malleable, increasingly nuanced, and ever-

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Bibliography Cyrino, Monica S. Big Screen Rome. Malden, MA: Blackwell Pub., 2005. Hobden, Fiona. “History meets Fiction in Doctor Who The Fires of Pompeii: a BBC reception of Ancient Rome on screen and online”. Greece & Rome 56 (2) (2009): 147-163. “Dr Who ‘longest-running sci-fi’.” BBC News, September 28, 2006. Accessed April 12, 2014. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/5390372.stm. http://www.chakoteya.net/doctorwho/nuepisodes.htm. Accessed January 3, 2014.

Filmography Doctor Who (UK, BBC, 2005-): —. “Silence in the Library”, 8x04, written by Steven Moffat, directed by Euros Lyn. 2008. —. “Dinosaurs on a Spaceship”, 2x07, written by Chris Chinball, directed by Saul Metzstein. 2012. —. “The Fires of Pompeii”, 2x04, written by James Moran, directed by Colin Teague. 2008. —. “The Pandorica Opens”, 12x05, written by Steven Moffat, directed by Toby Haynes. 2010. —. “The Wedding of River Song”, 13x06, written by Steven Moffat, directed by Jeremy Webb. 2011.

Notes 1

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/5390372.stm “Dr Who ‘longest-running sci-fi’”. BBC News. 28 September 2006. Accessed 12 April 2014. 2 All quotations from online scripts via: http://www.chakoteya.net/doctorwho/nuepisodes.htm. Accessed 3 January 2014. 3 Clearly, the modern English language is an Anglo-Frisian one, originating from the Germanic family, while in the Celtic family one can distinguish the extinct British language (also known as Brittonic). Claiming Donna’s English as “Celtic” is a huge simplification, based on common and imprecise knowledge, but acceptable in a TV show.

CONTRIBUTORS

Sylwia Chmielewska – graduate in Cultural Studies – Mediterranean Civilization at the Faculty of “Artes Liberales,” University of Warsaw. Her interests include the reception of Graeco-Roman Antiquity in popular culture – mainly computer games and commercial cinematography. She took part in the project Our Mythical Childhood... Classics and Children’s Literature Between East & West. At present, she is a PhD student at the Faculty of “Artes Liberales” and she is working on her dissertation entitled Los, fatum, przeznaczenie: miejsce mitu grecko-rzymskiego w grach komputerowych, [Chance, Fate, Destiny: the role of Graeco-Roman Myth in Computer Games] which aims at capturing the newest tendencies in the reception of Graeco-Roman myths in this one of the youngest spheres of culture. Konrad Dominas is PhD at the Faculty of Polish and Classical Philology at Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ, Poland. Author and co-author of the work on the reception of myth and ancient literature in new media and contemporary culture. As a classical philologist and IT specialist, his research concerns methodological issues – the reception mechanism of Greco-Roman literature and culture. The organizer of the international conference “Antiquity in popular literature and culture”, he is most recently working on a book titled Internet jako nowa przestrzeĔ recepcji literatury antycznej [Internet as a new space of reception of ancient literature]. Rafal Dymczyk is PhD at Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ, Poland. His research focused on religious problems and literature-based vision of the Holy Mount Athos, and problem of orthodox missionary on the Far East and their role in the intercultural dialogue. Author of many articles and academic editings conected with Mount Athos and Orthodox Religion. Visiting Professor at the universities in Armenia, Ukraine, Bulgaria, China and the Phillippines. Director of the Center for Phillipine Studies at AMU.

316

Contributors

Agnieszka Fulinska studied Modern Literatures, Classical Art and Archaeology and Modern Art at the Jagiellonian University, Krakow, where she also obtained the doctoral degree. Her research interests focus on classical reception studies and the imagery of power from antiquity to the modern times. Author of two books, NaĞladowanie i twórczoĞü (2000) and Nowy Aleksander. Ikonografia i legenda Mitrydatesa VI Eupatora (2016); her current projects are devoted to the commemoration of war heroes of the Napoleonic age, and to the legend of the “Aiglon”, Napoleon’s son. Anna Gemra, philologist, literary historian, PhD, habil. The author of books: Kwiaty záa na miejskim bruku. O powieĞci zeszytowej XIX i XX wieku (1998; The Flovers of Evil on the City Streets. Serialized novel in 19. and 20. century), Od gotycyzmu do horroru. Wilkoáak, wampir i Monstrum Frankensteina w wybranych utworach (2008; From Gothicism to Horror. A Werewolf, a Vampire and Frankenstein’s Monster in Selected Works), encyclopedia articles in Sáownik literatury popularnej (1997; 2th ed. 2006; An Encyclopedia of Popular Literature, ed. T. ĩabski) and more than 110 academic works. Editor-in-chief of research book series POPkulura – POPliteratura and books devoted to crime fiction and popular literature. Maria Gierszewska is PhD student affiliated to Faculty of Polish and Classical Philology at Adam Mickiewicz University of Poznan. She holds a MA degree in Law and a BA and MA degrees in Mediterranean Studies. In her current research she focuses on mechanisms of reception of classical world in modern literature. Her PhD dissertation will be devoted to aspects of reception in works of Roman Brandsaetter, Polish poet, writer and playwright. She is also interested in wider issues of functioning of motifs and stereotypes in popular culture, especially in fantasy literature, films and TV series. Her broader research concerns retellings of fairy tales and other schemas from children’s literature. Zofia Kaczmarek is an archaeologist, has a Ph.D in Ancient History, and works at the Institute of European Culture of Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznan, Poland. She is interested in archaeological textiles and works on cultural relations between Roman Empire and Barbaricum, but also on the question how the ancient tradition is reflected in the modern European culture. In her research she tries to combine different methodologies derived from ancient history and archaeology. In 2011 she received the

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Danish Government Scholarship and worked at the Centre for Textile Research at the University of Copenhagen. Aleksandra KlĊczar is an Assistant Professor at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków, Poland; she teaches ancient Greek, Latin, Greek and Roman culture and classicial reception at the Institute of Classical Philology. She has published a number of books and papers on Hellenistic and Imperial Greek literature, on the tradition of Alexander the Great and on classical tradition in popular culture. Mary R. McHugh completed classics degrees at Mt. Holyoke College, Tufts University, and the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She is presently an Associate Professor of Classics and the Chair of the Classics department at Gustavus Adolphus College. She is the author of “The Wolf of Gubbio in Context: From Assisi to Pampulha, Brazil,” in The World of St. Francis of Assisi: Essays in Honor of William R. Cook, eds. B. Franco and B. Mulvaney (Leiden: Brill, 2015) pp. 152-75, and a number of articles on the Roman historian Tacitus, Julio-Claudian women, street food in the ancient Roman world, and the reception of classical antiquity in art and cinema. Monika Miazek-MĊczyĔska (born 1977) holds a PhD in classical philology and is a researcher and lecturer in Latin at the Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ (Poland). Since 1998 she has studied texts in Latin on the Jesuit mission in China, starting with Michael Boym's scientific work Flora Sinensis. In 2001 she received an one-year scholarschip from Monumenta Serica Institut (Germany). She is involved in research project „Acta Pekinensia” (Macau Ricci Institute). She is also interested in the Latin poetry of the Classical and Medieval period. Her most recent book is Indipetae Polonae – koáatanie do drzwi misji chiĔskiej (PoznaĔ 2015). Aleksander Wojciech Mikoáajczak is Professor at the Faculty of Polish and Classical Philology at Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ, Poland. The field of his research includes ancient literature and culture. He is the author of a monograph devoted to reception of ancient literature in Polish culture – àacina w kulturze polskiej [Latin in Polish Culture], Polish translations of selected Ovid’s works. He is also a Visiting Lecturer at the Zhaoqing University in China and Uman State Pedagogical University in Uman, Ukraine. He is the Head of the new concept of Interdisciplinary Studies at Adam Mickiewicz University (MISHiS) and Interdisciplinary Research Group.

318

Contributors

Marek Oziewicz is the Marguerite Henry Professor of Children’s and Young Adult Literature at The University of Minnesota. His research foci include speculative fiction and literature-based cognitive modeling for moral education, global citizenship, environmental awareness, and justice literacy. His One Earth, One People (McFarland 2008) won the 2010 Mythopoeic Scholarship Award in Myth and Fantasy Studies. His most recent book, Justice in Young Adult Speculative Fiction (Routledge 2015), offers a cognitive history of justice and examines how stories script young people’s understanding of key justice issues in the modern world. Radosáaw PiĊtka – PhD, classical and Polish philologist, assistant professor at the Faculty of Classics of the Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ, Poland. His research focuses mainly on the Menippean satire, astronomical and mythological subject matter in Roman literature, as well as on the reception of the classical antiquity in modern culture. He is the author of the two monographs: Kaliope i Urania: rzymskie poematy astronomiczne (PoznaĔ 2005) [Calliope and Urania: Roman Astronomical Poems] and Roma aeterna. Rzymska mitologia urbanistyczna (PoznaĔ 2015) [Roma aeterna: The Urbanistic Mythology of Rome]. Ewa Skwara (born 1962) is Assistant Professor of Latin (Institute of Classical Philology) at the Adam-Mickiewicz University, PoznaĔ, Poland. The field of her research includes Roman Comedy and Roman Theatre. She is the author of a monograph devoted to Roman Comedy (2001), Polish translations of selected Plautus’ comedies with introduction and notes (2002, 2003, 2004) and all plays by Terence (2005, 2006). For her work as a translator she was awarded the prize for the best translation of poetry (2004) by the Journal “Literatura na ĝwiecie”. She published the first unabridged Polish translation of “Ars amatoria” by Ovid (2008). She has also written extensively on translation theory as well reception of antiquity in literature, opera and film. Mateusz StróĪyĔski, PhD, classicist, philosopher and psychologist, Assistant Professor in the Department of Classical Philology at Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ. He is interested in spiritual exercises and contemplation in Late Antiquity and Middle Ages as well as in psychoanalysis and its connections with literature and culture. He published two books: Mystical Experience and Philosophical Discourse in Plotinus (PoznaĔ 2008) and Philosophy as Therapy in the works of Marcus Aurelius, Plotinus, and Augustine (PoznaĔ 2014, in Polish) and over 30 articles. He is also a co-author of an interdisciplinary on-line

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research tool concerning the corpus of Augustine’s Letters: www.scrinium .umk.pl. Filip Taterka is a PhD candidate at Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ, Poland, and Université Paris-Sorbonne, France. His research interests are centred around ancient Egyptian religion and ideology of kingship as well as Egyptian language and literature. He is also a member of the Polish archaeological missions in Deir el-Bahari, where he works on the importance of the ancient Egyptian Punt expeditions. He is the author of The Role of the Pharaoh as the Feeder of His People, in: M. Kajzer et alii. (eds.), The Land of Fertility I: South-east Mediterranean since the Bronze Age to the Muslim Conquest, Cambridge 2016, pp. 33-50, as well as numerous articles in Polish, English and French. He is currently preparing a monograph on ancient Egyptian tales dating to the Middle Kingdom Period. Bogdan Trocha is a specialist in literature and philosophy. He graduated from the Papal Academy of Theology in Cracow and the Pedagogical University in Zielona Góra. He received a PhD in Philosophy in 1999 and the post-doctorate degree in Literature in 2010. He is based at the Department of Polish Studies at the University of Zielona Góra, and lectures in philosophy and popular literature. He is also a Visiting Lecturer at the University of Szczecin, the Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ. He is the Head of the Centre for Mythopoetics and Philosophy of Literature at the University of Zielona Góra, and the author of Degradacja mitu w literaturze fantasy. Martin M. Winkler is University Professor and Professor of Classics at George Mason University in Virginia, U.S.A. He is the author of over ninety articles, book chapters, reviews, etc. and has written or edited several books on Roman and Latin literature and on classical antiquity in the cinema. His most recent book is Arminius the Liberator: Myth and Ideology. Karol ZieliĔski is the PhD at the Institute of Classical, Mediterranean and Oriental Studies at the University of Wrocáaw, Poland. A Hellenist. His research focuses on the Greek archaic epic and lyric poetry as the heritage of the oral tradition. He is the author of books: Sun in despair. Sappho’s love lyrics in the aspect of orality, Wrocáaw 2006 [in Polish], and The Iliad and Its Epic Tradition. On the Greek Oral Tradition, Wrocáaw 2014 [in Polish].

320

Contributors

Leszek Zinkow is PhD at the Institute of Philosophy at Jesuit University Ignatianum in Krakow, Poland. He is interested in the reception of ancient Egypt in European literature and culture as well as in ancient history and culture, mass culture, cultural tourism, editing. His most recent book is Sfinks. Symbol i transformacje (2016).

INDEX

Addington Henry, 144 Aesop, 72, 132, 150 Agrippina the Younger, 139 Ahl F., 244, 248, 252 Akhenaten, 211 Alex Joe, 28, 34 Alexander the Great, 16, 28, 130, 140 Alma-Tadema Lawrence, 270, 283, 284 Ambrosio Arturo, 236, 237 Amenábar Alejandro, 110, 115 Andrikopoulos Georgios, 177, 184, 187 Annaud Jean-Jacques, 236, 238 Antinous, 137 Appius Claudius, 57 Apted Michael, 110, 115 Archilochus, 59 Archimedes, 56 Aristides, 80 Aristophanes, 41, 243, 247 Aronofsky Darren, 110, 114 Ash Russell, 270, 283 Ashton Sally-Ann, 146, 149, 196, 200, 206, 219 Assmann Jan, 196, 200, 206, 219 Athenaeus, 41, 52 Attebery Brian, 3, 8, 17, 18 Augustine, 152, 232, 240, 241 Augustus, 39, 40, 128 Augustus Caesar, 39 Bács Tamás, 200 Bahrani Zainab, 105, 112 Baigent Michael, 102, 104, 115, 116 Baines John, 194, 201, 202 Bakhtin Mikhail, 193, 195, 201 Barber Lynn, 234, 240 Bardon Françoise, 127, 146

Barta Peter I., 195, 201 Barth J.S., 130, 131 Battiato Giacomo, 236, 239 Bay Michael, 210, 217 Beard Mary, 104, 114 Beckman Gary, 202 Bell Athea, 105, 106 Benoit Jérémie, 128, 137, 141, 146, 152 Benton Robert, 236, 240 Berger Albert I., 283 Berger Catherine, 202, 268 Bernstein Matthew, 202 Bleschamp Alexandrine de, 128 Blum André S., 146, 152, 153, 154 Bogunia-Borowska Maágorzata, 118, 124 Bohrer Carl Heinz, 255, 264 Bonaparte Napoleon, 127, 128, 129, 131, 132, 134, 136, 137, 138, 141, 148, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154, 202, 206 Borghese Pauline, 128, 151 Borkowski J., 120, 123, 124 Boyer Robert H., 107, 111 Boyne John, 130, 131 Breasted James H., 104, 112 Briggs Ward, 264, 265 Broadley Alexander, 131, 146 Brooks Mel, 236, 238 Brown Daniel "Dan", 35, 102, 103, 104, 108, 109, 115, 146, 209, 234, 238 Browning Tod, 255, 265, 266 Brunner-Traut Emma, 202 Brutus Lucius, 95 Brutus Lucius Iunius, 108, 112, 113, 129, 138 BrzeziĔska Anna, 99, 104, 108, 114

322 Büchmann Georg, 56 Buliü Vanja, 164, 173 Bulwer-Lytton Edward, 234, 236, 270, 283, 285 Burke Edmund, 127, 146, 258, 262 Burstein Stanley M., 193, 201 Burton Matther, 104 Caesar Caius Iulius, 39, 40, 52, 53, 61, 63, 95, 97, 98, 106, 112, 114, 127, 129, 131, 151, 226, 266, 279, 280, 309, 312 Caldwell Richard, 293, 294, 301 Cambacérès Jean-Jacques-Régis de, 137, 138, 152 Campbell Joseph, 5, 18, 72, 74 Canova Antonio, 135, 151 Carpenter Humphrey, 17 Carracci Annibale, 139 Carter Howard, 102, 206, 220 Cary Ernest, 45, 46, 48, 87 Cassidy William, 284 Catullus, 60, 284 Cestius Caius, 206 Chabat Alain, 209 Champfleury, 147, 149 Champollion Jean-François, 206, 220 Chaniotis Angelos, 264, 266 Chasseguet-Smirgel Janine, 296, 297, 301 Cherubin Archimandryta, 163, 173 Chinball Chris, 314 Christie Agatha, 291 Chuquet Arthur, 141, 147, 154 Cicero Marcus Tullius, 58, 59, 60, 85, 87, 96, 226, 227, 228 Clarke Arthur C., 269 Clarkson Tim, 104, 111 Cleopatra, 22, 26, 35, 95, 112, 144, 207, 209, 211, 212, 214, 218, 279, 280, 307, 312 Clerc Catherine, 147 Clerc Gisèle, 140, 149, 151, 202 Collins Suzanne, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87 Combe William, 141, 153

Index Conan Doyle Arthur, 94, 95, 106, 291 Coon Gene L., 274 Coppola Francis Ford, 229, 235, 239, 256, 259, 260, 265 Cromwell Oliver, 130, 148 Cruikshank George, 129, 133, 134, 135, 136, 147, 150, 151 Cull Nicholas, 277, 278, 283 Cummins William, 104, 111 Curl James Stevens, 195, 196, 197, 201, 206, 220 Curtin Jeremiah, 107 Cyrino Monica, 259, 264, 307, 314 Czeremski Maciej, 47, 49 Daldry Stephen, 236, 240 Danielewicz Jerzy, 59 Däniken Erich von, 103, 104, 200 Dardanus Claudius Posthumus, 137, 138, 152 Davies Norman, 104, 111, 235 Davis Andrew, 235, 239, 306 Day Jasmine, 104, 116, 195, 197, 201 Deary Terry, 209, 217 Defoe Daniel, 140 DeLapp Kevin M., 193, 201 Deleuze Gilles, 288, 301 Denis Rafael C., 270, 283 Denning Troy, 24, 25, 31, 34 Devlin Dean, 269 DezsĘ Tamás, 200 Dick Philip K., 290 Dio Cassius Cocceianus, 87 Diogenes of Sinope, 143 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 32, 40, 45, 48 Dodds Eric, 61, 62, 293, 301 Dominas Konrad, 40, 47, 49, 285 Donadoni Sergio, 196 Donner Richard, 256, 265 Dornhelm Robert, 110, 115 Douglas Floyd C, 27 Duckworth George, 244, 252 Duncan Andy, 271, 284

Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture Dunkle Roger, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87 Dvorkin Daniel, 284 Dvorkin David, 284, 285 Dworianowa Emilia, 165, 166, 168, 169 Eco Umberto, 234, 238 Edmunds Lowell, 287, 293, 295, 300, 301 Eggs Ekkehard, 145, 147 Eliot Thomas Stearns, 3, 4, 5, 13, 17 Elyot Amanda, 28, 29, 35 Emmerich Ronald, 269 Erskine Andrew, 108, 110 Etchegoyen Alice, 296, 301 Euphorion of Chalcis, 41 Euripides, 53, 254, 294, 301 Eustatios, 41 Farrell Colin, 259, 264, 265 Farrell Joseph, 264 Fawkes Guy, 130 Fazio Mara, 147, 153 Ferloni Valerio, 147 Fielding Helen, 234, 239 Fischer Hubertus, 145, 147 Fiske John, 195, 199, 201 Fitzenreiter Martin, 196, 201 Fitzgerald Robert, 108 Flaig Egon, 78, 79, 85, 87 Flaubert Gustave, 234, 237 Forehand W., 247, 252, 253 Fox Charles James, 131, 133, 147, 149, 150 Freud Sigmund, 5, 6, 18, 27, 287, 288, 289, 293, 301, 302 Friedländer Ludwig, 56, 63 Fröhlich Elke, 252, 253 Froidefond Christian, 193, 201 Fuhrmann Manfred, 255, 264 FuliĔska Agnieszka, 127, 129, 147 Fuoua Antoine, 18 Furtwängler Frank, 185, 188 Gaiman Neil, 12, 13, 17, 99, 105 Gallone Carmine, 236, 237 Garenfeld Barbro, 124, 125 Gautier Jean Baptiste, 35, 144

323

Gautier Theophile, 22, 35 Gemmell David, 23, 28, 29, 35, 37, 38, 41, 42, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 105, 112 George III, king of Britain, 130, 133 Geyer D., 120, 124 Ghita Cristian, 177, 184, 187, 190 Gibbon Edward, 226 Gibson Mel, 110, 115, 236, 237, 240 Gieter de Lucien, 210, 217 Gilbert Sandra M., 264, 266, 274 Gillray James, 129, 133, 134, 135, 136, 144, 148, 149, 150, 151 Glassner Jean-Jacques, 105, 112 Glück Thomas, 141, 201, 243, 253 Goldsmith Jerry, 153, 256 Gombrich Ernst H., 202 Gombrowicz Witold, 73, 226, 234, 237 Goodrich Peter, 263, 264 Goscinny Renée, 95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 105, 209, 217, 218 Grafton Anthony, 37 Grand-Carteret John, 130, 131, 147, 149, 150 Grant Michael, 37 Graves Robert, 27, 28, 35, 37, 49 Grimal Nicolas, 202 Grimal Pierre, 37, 49 Guattari Félix, 288, 301 Gubar Susan, 264, 266 Guisolan Michel, 147 Hadrian, 137 Haggard Henry Rider, 22, 35 Hake Sabine, 247, 253 Hall Michael C., 44, 180, 298 Hamilton Emma, 144 Hamilton William, 144 Hammett Dashiell, 291 Hammond Martin, 106, 172 Hannibal, 127, 129 Hantke Steffen, 264 Hardwick Lorna, 39, 49, 157, 173, 174, 175 Harris John R., 194, 201

324 Harrison Thomas, 9, 194, 201, 258, 264, 299 Hartog François, 193, 201 Harvey P., 253 Harvey William, 107, 243 Hatshepsut, 213 Haynes Toby, 285, 314 Heather Peter, 79 Hellanicus of Lesbos, 38, 46 Hennin Michel, 137, 140, 146 Hepplewhite Peter, 209, 217 Hermann Angela, 214, 219, 250, 251, 253 Herodotus, 134, 160, 161, 173, 193, 194, 200, 201, 203 Heron Michael, 104 Hesiod, 47, 60 Hobden Fiona, 307, 310, 313, 314 Hobsch Manfred, 247, 248, 253 Hockridge Derek, 105, 106 Hoffman Jerzy, 228, 235, 236 Holland Isabelle, 235 Holland Rose J., 146, 240 Homer, 24, 27, 28, 29, 31, 35, 38, 40, 41, 42, 44, 48, 56, 58, 59, 62, 106, 115, 175, 226, 232, 291 Honko Lauri, 3, 17 Hopkins Anthony, 105, 259, 283, 284, 301, 302 Horace, 58, 64, 135, 226, 232 Hornung Erik, 196, 201 Howard Robert E., 94, 95, 98, 102, 106, 112, 220, 238 Howard Ron, 235 Huckvale David, 195, 201 Humbert Jean-Marcel, 195, 196, 197, 202, 205, 206, 220 Humfress Paul, 236, 237 Hyginus, 40 Inglot Jacek, 32, 35 Inker Peter A., 106, 114 Irwin William, 302 Iuvenalis, 194 Iversen Erik, 193, 196, 202 Jackson Michael, 10, 11, 62, 87, 211, 218, 264

Index Jacobson Rick, 110, 115 James Edward, 4, 18, 75, 105, 109, 129, 133, 147, 148, 201, 219, 220, 234, 237, 258, 265, 276, 284 Jarman Derek, 236, 237 Jauss Hans R., 264 Jeffreys David, 196, 202 Jesus Christ, 23, 27, 35, 237, 238, 274, 311 Jesus of Nazareth, 23 Joffé Roland, 236, 239 Jonathan, 179, 188, 221 Jones William H.S., 41, 48, 102, 108, 228, 230, 234, 235, 236, 238, 239, 306 Joshel Sandra R., 283, 284 Kaczmarek Zofia, 77 Kaenel Philippe, 143, 147 Kaibel Georg, 52 Kákosy László, 193, 202 Kamienik Roman, 79, 85, 87 Kant Immanuel, 293, 302 Kasdepke Grzegorz, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 73, 74 Kasparek Christopher, 35, 107 Kawalerowicz Jerzy, 110, 115, 236, 238 Keating John, 230 Khaf-Ra, 210 Khufu, 210, 213 Kidron Beeban, 235, 239 Kilar Wojciech, 229, 256 Kinkel Tanja, 28, 45, 47 Kipling Rudyard, 23 Kirk Geoffrey S., 66, 74, 124, 272, 273 Klein Christina, 264 Klein Richard, 80, 87, 266 Kleist Hainrich von, 244, 246, 253 Kleist Lacan, 253 KlĊczar Aleksandra, 267 Klimowska Monika, 107 Knight S., 132 Kochanowicz Rafaá, 102 Kondrat Marek, 231

Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture Kostova Elisabeth, 164, 174 Kowalski Krzysztof, 108 Kozina Irma, 123, 124 Kraemer Ross S., 275, 284 Krajewski Marek, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64 Kranczuk Gabriel, 163 Krawczuk Aleksander, 38 Kreimeier Klaus, 245, 247, 248, 251, 253 Kristeva Julia, 300, 302 Krumeich Gerd, 147 Kubiak Zygmunt, 38, 233, 241 Kubrick Stanley, 124, 269 Kuhn Annika, 264, 266 Kuhn Christina, 264 Kumar Mohan “Docmo”, 109 Kurtenbach Ch., 119, 123, 124 Kuttner Henry, 23, 35 Lacan Jacques, 296 Lachmann Karl, 56, 63 Lane Edward W., 107, 146 Lanning Michael, 106, 114 Lant Antonia, 195, 202 Lazarus, 162 Le Brun Charles, 130 Leadbeater L., 253 Leclant Jean, 202 Legrand Pierre N., 145 LeGuin Ursula K, 30 Lehmann Hartmut, 147 Leigh Richard, 102, 104, 115, 116 Lenardon Robert J., 37 Lincoln Henry, 102, 104 Livermore Harold, 147, 152 Livy, 32, 40, 41, 46, 87, 237 Loprieno Antonio, 201 Louis XIV, 127, 146, 246 Lowe Dunstan, 153, 177, 180, 184, 188 Lubomirska ElĪbieta, 66, 75 Lucan, 255, 266 Lucht S., 119, 123, 125 Lucianus, 194 Luckhurst Roger, 106, 116 Lucretius, 58, 59, 60, 63

325

Lungstrum J., 253 Lussato Bruno, 118, 119, 121, 123, 125 Lutatius, 45 Lyn Euros, 314 àanowski Jerzy, 56 àuczak Beata, 91 Maass Paul, 56 MacDonald Sally, 196, 202 Magdalene Mary, saint, 102, 238 Malamud Margaret, 283, 284 Mann Delbert, 235, 237, 248 Marchand Suzanne L., 195, 202 Marciniak Katarzyna, 65, 66, 67, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 188 Marcus Aurelius, 62 Marcuse Herbert, 288, 302 Mardonius, 160 Marie-Louise, 128, 132 Markowska Wanda, 38, 66, 75 Marshall Neil, 110, 115 Martialis, 41 Mass Paul, 63 Mathis Hans P., 138, 141, 143, 145, 146, 147, 149, 153, 154 Matthews Roger, 201 Maurer Salome, 147 McDougall Sophie, 29, 32, 35 McGuire Donald T., 283, 284 McHugh Mary R., 243 McLaren Darcee L., 274, 284 McRobble Angela, 267, 268 Mehringer Hartmut, 253 Méhul Étienne, 135 Menecrates of Xanthus, 45 Mer-en-Ra, 210 Metzstein Saul, 314 Meyer Marvin, 265 Michaáowski Kazimierz, 102, 115 Mickiewicz Adam, 61, 64, 106, 114, 117 Mieroop van de M., 105, 112 Milestone Lewis, 235, 237 Millar Eileen, 147, 148 Miller Judith, 117, 125

326 Miller Paul Allen, 125, 201, 206, 220 Millin Aubin L., 146, 153 Milnor Kristina, 262, 264 Mirecki Paul, 265 Mitchell Leslie, 131, 147 Moffat Steven, 279, 280, 306, 314 Molière P., 244, 246, 247, 252, 253 Montgomery Lucy M., 91, 109, 111, 114 Moorcock Michael, 23, 24, 35 Moore Ronald L., 275, 284 Moran James, 276, 314 Morenz Ludwig, 201, 206, 221 Morford Mark P.O., 37 Morrison Jim, 288, 289 Most Glenn W., 37 Mozart Wolfgang Amadeus, 206 Mozley John H., 234, 237 Müller T., 46, 47 Munding Anne, 253 Murphy Eddie, 109, 211, 260, 265 Murray Augustus T., 40, 48, 210 Musierowicz Maágorzata, 98, 106, 108 Mykaso, 183, 188 MyĞliwiec Herbert, 56 Napiórkowski Marcin, 47, 49 Nefer-ir-ka-Ra, 209 Nefertiti, 199, 214, 308 Nelson Horatio, 134, 144, 145 Nero, 62, 107, 112, 139, 238, 272, 273 Newman Sydney, 306 Newton Richard, 130 Niederreiter Zoltán, 200 Niziurski Edmund, 106, 116 Nohrnberg James C, 4, 17 Nosow Konstantin, 80, 83, 88 Olczak ElĪbieta, 66, 75 Oldi Henry Lion, 29, 31, 35 Orme Stuart, 235, 237 Ovid, 47, 65, 226, 234, 237, 255 Oziewicz Marek, 3 Palermi Amleto, 236, 237 Parandowski Jan, 37, 65, 66, 75

Index Parish Jewell, 106, 114 Pasero Nicolo, 195, 202 Pastrone Giovanni, 235, 237 Patten Robert L., 133, 147 Pausanias, 32, 40, 41, 48, 53 Peltzer Marina, 147, 148 Pelzer Erich, 142, 147 Pérez-Reverte Arturo, 235, 239, 260 Perniola Mario, 194 Perry Katy, 211, 218 Peter (apostle), 43, 87, 146, 147, 201, 209, 217, 220, 235, 239, 264, 306 Petersen Wolfgang, 44, 49, 110, 115 Petiteau Natalie, 147, 155 Phaedrus, 150 Philips Marie, 35 Phillips J., 25, 244, 253 Pietrzykowski Jan, 38 Pindemonte Giovanni, 148 Pitt William, 149 Platter Charles, 201 Plautus, 243, 244, 246, 247, 250, 252, 253, 254 Plezia Marian, 125 Pliny the Younger, 57 Plutarch, 32, 46, 47, 52, 53, 87, 131 PolaĔski Roman, 236, 239, 259, 260 Polybius, 32, 178 Pomeroy Arthur J., 264, 265, 266 Porter Jennifer, 274, 284 Pownall Leon, 230 Pratchett Terry, 99, 100, 107, 114, 208, 218 Prettejohn Elisabeth, 270, 284 Prud’hon Pierre-Paul, 139 Prus Bolesáaw, 26, 35, 107, 112 Pseudo-Apollodorus, 178, 188 Racine Jean, 139 Radin Prall D., 106, 114 Ralston Gilbert, 274 Ramesses II, 213, 215 Ramsey J.T., 48 Ratner Brett, 190, 191 Ra-wer, 209 Rees Ennis, 106

Antiquity in Popular Literature and Culture Remarque Erich M., 226, 235, 237 Renault Mary, 29, 35, 45, 47 Rice Michael, 202 Richter Jana, 253 Riordan Rick, 10, 12, 17 Robb Brian J., 271, 284 Robespierre Maximilien, 139, 149 Roddenberry Gene, 271, 274, 275 Rodolfi Eleuterio, 236, 237 Roemer Cornelia, 201 Rolfe John C., 40, 46, 48 Romano A., 244, 253 Roscher Wilhelm, 37, 40, 49 Rose Herbert J., 37, 49 Ross Herbert, 78, 88, 235, 237, 284 Roth Philip, 235, 240 Rowlandson Thomas, 129, 134 Rowling Joanne K., 235, 239 Rubinson Karen S., 202 Ryan Donald P., 195, 202, 234, 260, 264, 265 Sage Adam, 109 Salgari Emilio, 235, 237 Sallust, 46, 48 Sanchéz Alfredo, 109 Sanders Norman, 107 Sapkowski Andrzej, 99, 107, 109, 114 Sappho, 60 Sasson Jack M., 202, 203 Schablitsky Julie M., 202 Schäfer Heinrich, 198, 199, 202 Scheffler Ernst, 141, 146 Scherfig Lone, 235, 240 Schikaneder Emanuel, 206 Schliemann Heinrich, 102 Schlink Bernard, 235, 240 Schöning Jörg, 245, 246, 247, 250, 253 Schulian Robert, 110 Schünzel Reinhold, 243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253, 254 Scott Ridley, 18, 110, 115, 235, 236, 237, 238 Segal Erich, 18, 244, 253

327

Seipel Wilfried, 202 Semmel Stuart, 130, 131, 147, 149, 151, 154, 155 Seneca Lucius Annaeus, 58, 59 Senuseret II, 213 Servius, 41 Settis Salvatore, 37 Shahabudin Kim, 188 Shakespeare William, 107, 113 Shelley Mary, 136 Shepherd David, 201 Shero L., 244, 254 Sichta Joe, 210 Sienkiewicz Henryk, 107, 112, 228, 235, 238, 239, 270, 271, 283, 285 Sigmund Anna, 27, 250, 254, 302 Silverberg Robert, 24, 32, 35 Simmons Dan, 24, 25, 29, 31, 35 Skolimowski Jerzy, 236, 237 Slater N., 254 Sáapek Dariusz, 78 Sáowacki Juliusz, 98, 107 Smith Stuart, 189, 195, 202, 285, 306 Snyder Zack, 110, 115 Soja Stanisáaw, 123, 125 Solé Jacques, 196, 203 Sommers Stephen, 211, 218 Sontag Susan, 193, 197, 203 Sophocles, 41, 65, 287, 288, 290, 292, 293, 296, 300, 301 Sorbo Kevin, 184 Southey Robert, 131 Sparke Penny, 117, 118, 125 Spartacus, 95, 110, 115, 123, 268, 310 Spielberg Steven, 236, 238, 287, 302 Spinoza, 57 Spooner Dennis, 271, 277 Sprague de Camp Leo, 23, 24, 25, 36 Stanew Emilian, 165 Starr Chester, 107, 110 Stephens Frederick G., 146

328 Stewart Z., 243, 244, 254 Stiefvater Megan, 14, 15, 17 Stok Danusia, 63, 107 Stoker Bram, 229, 235, 239, 259, 266 Stolot Franciszek, 270, 284 Stone Oliver, 110, 115, 206, 221 Stover Matthew, 100, 107 Strabo, 41 Stray Christopher, 39, 49, 157, 173, 175 Studlar Gaylyn, 202 Studniarek Michaá, 98, 107 Sudjic Deyan, 117, 118, 124, 125 Suetonius, 39, 48, 52 Tacitus, 32, 85, 87 Talma Joseph F., 138, 147, 148, 153 Tapert Robert G., 110 Tarquinius Superbus, 129 Tartakovsky Genndy, 210, 217 Taterka Filip, 205 Teague Colin, 285, 314 Tegel Susan, 245, 249, 254 Themistocles, 133 Theognis, 60 Thorsen Thea S., 177, 188 Thutmose III, 213 Thutmose IV, 213 Tissot Pierre-François, 148, 152 Toeplitz Jerzy, 247, 254 Tolkien Christopher, 17 Tolkien John Ronald Reuel, 8, 10, 17, 109, 111 Trier Lars von, 256, 257, 265 Trodd Colin, 283 Trowell Judith, 301 Tryon Chuck, 268, 284 Tulard Jean, 148, 151, 152 Turtledove Harry, 26, 33, 36 Tutankhamun, 102, 206, 207 Tyldesley Joyce, 92, 107, 206, 221 Tymn Marshall, 107, 111 Uderzo Albert, 95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 105, 106, 209, 217, 218

Index Unverfehrt Gerd, 146 Urzykowski Tomasz, 109, 111 Vallese Ray and Valerie, 25, 36 Varro, 40 Vercingetorix, 95, 97 Versnel Henk, 258, 265, 266 Vinck Carl D., 130, 135, 137, 138, 139, 140, 146, 154 Virgil, 30, 38, 40, 42, 44, 59, 108, 115, 135, 152, 241, 260 Voltaire, 138 Wachowski Andy, 287, 295, 302 Wachowski Larry, 302 Wallace Lew, 27, 36, 270, 271, 283, 285 Wallis Ernest A.T., 103, 116 Walton Kendall, 108, 111 Waquet Françoise, 260, 262, 263, 265, 266 Webb Jeremy, 314 Webber Cecil E., 306 Werber Bernard, 36 Whitehouse Helen, 196, 203 Williams Charles, 145, 150, 230 Williams Christian, 110 Wilson Donald, 306 Winkler Martin, 188, 191, 234, 237, 296, 302 Witte Karsten, 246, 250, 254 Wolfe Gen, 28, 31, 36 Wood Sam, 235, 237 Wottrich Erika, 253 Wray David, 270, 284 Wyatt W.F., 48 Xerxes, 160, 161 Zahorski Kenneth J., 107, 111 Zaretsky Eli, 288, 302 Zawadzka Celeste, 123, 125 Zawadzki Zbigniew, 123, 125 Zelazny Roger, 24, 36 Žižek Slavoj, 296, 302 ĩabski Tadeusz, 21, 36 ĩóákiewski Stefan, 117, 125