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The final chapter explores the reception of songs lost and then recovered in papyri finds within their own fraught material context, focusing on Archilochus’ Cologne Epode and Timotheus’ Persae. How does the experience and narrative of loss, discovery, and recovery inform our sense of the bodies in these poems, so concerned themselves with the loss of limb and grasping touch?
Juvenal was the satirist’s satirist, a writer whose output consisted only of poems in that genre. An uncompromising cataloguer of the crimes of Romans, Juvenal was also intensely masculine, his oeuvre implicitly addressed to men, with one satire (vi) devoted to the shameful derelictions of women (the source of much unimaginatively imitative misogyny during the Restoration). Juvenal’s obscenity, and the exclusion of women from classical learning, added to the sense that Juvenal was not suitable source material for aspirant women writers. This chapter, however, working from Penny Wilson’s sense of an “economy of makeshifts” in women’s engagement in classical literature, examines the cracks in that monolithic facade, starting with Juvenal’s own text, which contains an oddly sympathetic female satirist. Women did read Juvenal fairly extensively, albeit often in translation, and women writers did confront, adapt, and rework Juvenalian phrasing and attitudes in a wide range of forms – poetry, fiction, journalism, diaries. While there was no linear process of rapprochement between women writers and the foundational text of male satire, nor any single “female” mode of responding to that legacy, women writers found a surprising number of ways to absorb and transform it in their own satiric work.
Nineteenth-century German classical philology underpins many structures of the modern humanities. In this book, Constanze Güthenke shows how a language of love and a longing for closeness with a personified antiquity have lastingly shaped modern professional reading habits, notions of biography, and the self-image of scholars and teachers. She argues that a discourse of love was instrumental in expressing the challenges of specialisation and individual formation (Bildung), and in particular for the key importance of a Platonic scene of learning and instruction for imagining the modern scholar. The book is based on detailed readings of programmatic texts from, among others, Wolf, Schleiermacher, Boeckh, Thiersch, Dilthey, Wilamowitz and Nietzsche. It makes a case for revising established narratives, but also for finding new value in imagining distance and an absence of nostalgic longing for antiquity.
Military scholarship about ancient warfare continued in both applied and theoretical approaches through the Middle Ages (the works on Roman military and civic foundations by Egidio Colonna and Christine Pisan), into the Renaissance (Machiavelli and Maurice of Nassau) and early Enlightenment (Henri de Rohan and Chevalier de Folard). Europeans increasingly were more apt to elucidate ancient fighting from their own combat experience than to look back to the Greeks and Romans for contemporary guidance in killing one another. Consequently, at the dawn of ancient military historiography a paradox arose: those in the university most qualified to analyse ancient literary evidence, inscriptions and archaeological data concerning classical warfare were by their very nature as academics often most removed from pragmatic knowledge of the battlefield. Despite occasional controversies concerning the methods and topics of investigating the ancient world at war, classical scholarship continues to ground the field firmly in the philological and bibliographical traditions of the last two centuries.
The publication of the bull Regnans in excelsis in 1570 had many unexpected side effects, one of which was to inaugurate a native school or habit of scholarship. Scholars work was part of the Erasmian concept of bonae litterae, as much devoted to the spread of learning by translation, from Greek to Latin or Latin to the vernacular, such as grammars and manuals. One-and-a-half centuries later, one of the first English scholars Bishop White Kennett, observed that the reason that most of the old Historians were first printed beyond the seas was cheaper methods and quicker sale that made the Editors to gain abroad what they must have lost at home. Archbishop Parker's belief in the importance of Anglo-Saxon studies stretched from collecting the manuscripts that he left to Cambridge and Corpus Christi College to an informed interest in their printing with specially cut types. The last work of seventeenth-century British scholarship was the first of the new century.
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