Another Blog Resurrection
I started this blog at least six years ago. It has been abandoned and resurrected twice now. I have reposted some items from earlier versions that I think are worth keeping. Not sure what I will do with it now.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
A brief tribute to my friend, Patri Pugliese, son of sculptor Anthony Pugliese and fencer Julia Jones-Pugliese, who died Sunday, February 11, 2007
I count Patri Jones Pugliese among my dearest friends, although since I left the Boston area in 1985 I have only had a few conversations with him by phone and mail, and one visit. Patri was an historian of science. I helped him with some Latin for his PhD dissertation, The scientific achievement of Robert Hooke: method and mechanics. He taught at Harvard for many years, and also, more recently, he worked at MIT, although he never had a position that led to tenure. He also spent several years working for an innovative company, Dragon Systems, Inc., which produced speech recognition software.
Patri was interested in historical re-creation, dance, fencing, and costume. He had an immense library of original and secondary sources in these areas. I first met him in the context of mediaeval and Renaissance music and dance while I was an undergraduate at Harvard and he was a fairly new alumnus of the College and PhD student there. At the time, I had independently participated in similar activities - I might have told you of my fencing in house intramurals, and work with the Lowell House Opera and Harvard Gilbert and Sullivan Players as wardrobe master, and Libby had let me join her Lowell House Consort and had begun teaching me 16th century style composition, and I had already begun setting dance tunes at the time. I was immediately impressed with Patri’s knowledge and with his organizational and leadership qualities. Over what was probably a relatively short time, I think we developed a mutual respect that became friendship. Although I was gone from the Boston area for graduate school in Texas from 1976 to 1978, when I returned our friendship was renewed, and grew. We spent a great deal of time working on several projects, one of which led to the publication of our book, still well-regarded, Practice for Dauncinge: Some Almans and a Pavan, England 1570-1650. Patri allowed me to join his 19th century dance group as well. Later, of course, he founded the still-active Commonwealth Vintage Dancers. We also traveled together to several historical recreation events around New England and farther afield, and we spent pleasant weekends shopping at flea markets, antique stores, and yard sales around Boston.
Patri had Crohn’s disease, and I believe many of his friends knew that. Recently he received a diagnosis from his doctor of liver cancer. He faced that news with equanimity, and a determination to live his life fully, although I know the news was devastating to his family. I had a chance to visit Patri and his wife Barbara and his two daughters, Antonia and Julia, in May, 2006, and I was kindly received and entertained despite the stress on his family. I am very grateful for the opportunity to have seen him and to have renewed so easily an old friendship. Patri even invited me to go to a dance event in Connecticut that evening, though in the end we decided against it, especially since he and his family were feeling a bit tired, not surprisingly. Patri had just started chemotherapy for his cancer at that point. He did not expect to live a year, although he had not given up hope of as much time as he could claim from his disease. I am sure there are closer friends and colleagues of recent years who will miss him terribly. I, an older, more distant friend, certainly will.
I count Patri Jones Pugliese among my dearest friends, although since I left the Boston area in 1985 I have only had a few conversations with him by phone and mail, and one visit. Patri was an historian of science. I helped him with some Latin for his PhD dissertation, The scientific achievement of Robert Hooke: method and mechanics. He taught at Harvard for many years, and also, more recently, he worked at MIT, although he never had a position that led to tenure. He also spent several years working for an innovative company, Dragon Systems, Inc., which produced speech recognition software.
Patri was interested in historical re-creation, dance, fencing, and costume. He had an immense library of original and secondary sources in these areas. I first met him in the context of mediaeval and Renaissance music and dance while I was an undergraduate at Harvard and he was a fairly new alumnus of the College and PhD student there. At the time, I had independently participated in similar activities - I might have told you of my fencing in house intramurals, and work with the Lowell House Opera and Harvard Gilbert and Sullivan Players as wardrobe master, and Libby had let me join her Lowell House Consort and had begun teaching me 16th century style composition, and I had already begun setting dance tunes at the time. I was immediately impressed with Patri’s knowledge and with his organizational and leadership qualities. Over what was probably a relatively short time, I think we developed a mutual respect that became friendship. Although I was gone from the Boston area for graduate school in Texas from 1976 to 1978, when I returned our friendship was renewed, and grew. We spent a great deal of time working on several projects, one of which led to the publication of our book, still well-regarded, Practice for Dauncinge: Some Almans and a Pavan, England 1570-1650. Patri allowed me to join his 19th century dance group as well. Later, of course, he founded the still-active Commonwealth Vintage Dancers. We also traveled together to several historical recreation events around New England and farther afield, and we spent pleasant weekends shopping at flea markets, antique stores, and yard sales around Boston.
Patri had Crohn’s disease, and I believe many of his friends knew that. Recently he received a diagnosis from his doctor of liver cancer. He faced that news with equanimity, and a determination to live his life fully, although I know the news was devastating to his family. I had a chance to visit Patri and his wife Barbara and his two daughters, Antonia and Julia, in May, 2006, and I was kindly received and entertained despite the stress on his family. I am very grateful for the opportunity to have seen him and to have renewed so easily an old friendship. Patri even invited me to go to a dance event in Connecticut that evening, though in the end we decided against it, especially since he and his family were feeling a bit tired, not surprisingly. Patri had just started chemotherapy for his cancer at that point. He did not expect to live a year, although he had not given up hope of as much time as he could claim from his disease. I am sure there are closer friends and colleagues of recent years who will miss him terribly. I, an older, more distant friend, certainly will.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Domenico da Piacenza
I am happy to report that Alessandro Pontremoli, professor at the Università degli Studi di Torino (in the Dipartimento di Discipline artistiche, musicali, e dello spettacolo no less - only an Italian University would have such a thing!) agrees with both of my suggested readings in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale f.ital. 972, the De arte saltandi of Domenico da Piacenza. One problem in the manuscript is a word which appears to be “erzadergia,” obviously nothing Italian! The generally received transcription of this has been “azidenzia,” the contrast between “natural” and “accidental” qualities of motion in Aristotelean thought being the supposed point of the passage in which it appears. My reading, however, is “eczidenzia,” or, in modern Italian orthography, “eccedenza” or “excess,” the point being the contrast between the mean and the excessive in Aristotelian thought, as applied to the motions of dancing. This reading involves a further modification in reading another word in the text, unfortunately, and this has led other scholars, notably Barbara Sparti, editor of Domenico, to reject my reading. The text says that there are in dance “bontade per natura e molte per †erzadergia† in sua operatione.” This is generally (reading “azidenzia”) rendered as “goodness by nature and many [good] things by accident (as opposed to by nature) in its performance.” I read “molte” as the modern Italian “multe,” however, and, of course, I read “eczidenzia,” so I render the phrase as “goodness by nature and penalties for excess in its performance.”
Likewise, Pontremoli supports my reading of another problematic word, “utropelia,” again nothing obviously Italian. The context is, “Aristotle in lo 2o lauda la utropelia la quale del mezo tene la virtu.” Others, not noticing the “L” written between the “e” and the “i” above the line in the manuscript, have read “utropelia” as “Utopia” and have thus mangled the Italian to make it refer to the second book of a non-existent work by Aristotle called “Utopia” — quite an anachronism, since “utopia” was not coined until 1516 by Sir Thomas More, over half a century after the Domenico manuscript was written! But I read “utropelia” as an attempt to render, probably from a lecture (see later on this), the Greek word “eutrapelia” or “wit,” the mean between buffoonery (or professional clowning) and boorishness in the second book of Aristotle’s Nicomachaean Ethics. This requires no mangling of the Italian, which then reads clearly, “Aristotle praises “eutrapelia,” which has the virtue of the mean, in the second [book of the Nicomachaean Ethics].” Domenico uses this particular example of the mean because Aristotle was talking about pastimes when he wrote of it, and Domenico is talking about his favorite pastime, dancing. Alessandro Pontremoli has said (addressing me as “caro dott. Casazza” - always nice to be accorded the title for obvious merit, even though it was never formally granted, and better that they ask “why was it not granted?” than that they ask “why was it granted?”), “sono d’accordo con Lei sia sulla questione della 'ectidentia,' sia sulla questione della 'utropelia'.” And he sent me a file containing the galley proofs of the proceedings of a 1999 conference in Bologna which includes his wonderfully perceptive argument that the Domenico manuscript is a “reportatio” or something between a “reportatio” and a “redactio” of a university lecture in the form of a “disputatio” — in other words, a standard lecture of the mid-fifteenth century.
I am happy to report that Alessandro Pontremoli, professor at the Università degli Studi di Torino (in the Dipartimento di Discipline artistiche, musicali, e dello spettacolo no less - only an Italian University would have such a thing!) agrees with both of my suggested readings in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale f.ital. 972, the De arte saltandi of Domenico da Piacenza. One problem in the manuscript is a word which appears to be “erzadergia,” obviously nothing Italian! The generally received transcription of this has been “azidenzia,” the contrast between “natural” and “accidental” qualities of motion in Aristotelean thought being the supposed point of the passage in which it appears. My reading, however, is “eczidenzia,” or, in modern Italian orthography, “eccedenza” or “excess,” the point being the contrast between the mean and the excessive in Aristotelian thought, as applied to the motions of dancing. This reading involves a further modification in reading another word in the text, unfortunately, and this has led other scholars, notably Barbara Sparti, editor of Domenico, to reject my reading. The text says that there are in dance “bontade per natura e molte per †erzadergia† in sua operatione.” This is generally (reading “azidenzia”) rendered as “goodness by nature and many [good] things by accident (as opposed to by nature) in its performance.” I read “molte” as the modern Italian “multe,” however, and, of course, I read “eczidenzia,” so I render the phrase as “goodness by nature and penalties for excess in its performance.”
Likewise, Pontremoli supports my reading of another problematic word, “utropelia,” again nothing obviously Italian. The context is, “Aristotle in lo 2o lauda la utropelia la quale del mezo tene la virtu.” Others, not noticing the “L” written between the “e” and the “i” above the line in the manuscript, have read “utropelia” as “Utopia” and have thus mangled the Italian to make it refer to the second book of a non-existent work by Aristotle called “Utopia” — quite an anachronism, since “utopia” was not coined until 1516 by Sir Thomas More, over half a century after the Domenico manuscript was written! But I read “utropelia” as an attempt to render, probably from a lecture (see later on this), the Greek word “eutrapelia” or “wit,” the mean between buffoonery (or professional clowning) and boorishness in the second book of Aristotle’s Nicomachaean Ethics. This requires no mangling of the Italian, which then reads clearly, “Aristotle praises “eutrapelia,” which has the virtue of the mean, in the second [book of the Nicomachaean Ethics].” Domenico uses this particular example of the mean because Aristotle was talking about pastimes when he wrote of it, and Domenico is talking about his favorite pastime, dancing. Alessandro Pontremoli has said (addressing me as “caro dott. Casazza” - always nice to be accorded the title for obvious merit, even though it was never formally granted, and better that they ask “why was it not granted?” than that they ask “why was it granted?”), “sono d’accordo con Lei sia sulla questione della 'ectidentia,' sia sulla questione della 'utropelia'.” And he sent me a file containing the galley proofs of the proceedings of a 1999 conference in Bologna which includes his wonderfully perceptive argument that the Domenico manuscript is a “reportatio” or something between a “reportatio” and a “redactio” of a university lecture in the form of a “disputatio” — in other words, a standard lecture of the mid-fifteenth century.
In Dulci Jubilo, from a previous Christmas
Recently I have been thinking of the similarities between two of my favorite stories of the Middle Ages, the story of Caedmon’s Hymn and the story of Henry Suso’s “In dulci jubilo.”
Bede tells us that Caedmon lived in a monastery, essentially as a lay brother, until he was quite old, before he was inspired with his hymn, and Henry Suso lived among the Dominicans from the age of 13. Such long associations surely made certain words, certain ways of thought, second nature to them. Both received an angelic visitation in a dream, and the result of both dreams was poetry or song. This type of tale is old, with angels in these versions instead of Muses, but charming.
With Caedmon we are dealing with a truly oral tradition – guys drinking beer and sitting around the fire passing the harp and singing – but Caedmon has learned no songs, and slinks away before it is his turn with the harp. How miraculous it must have seemed, next day, when he knew a song þa fers ond þa word þe he næfre gehyrde. How is that possible in a society that knows only oral tradition for its poetry? I like to think it is the beer, but in fact it is likely the combination of the beer, the music, and a lifetime of living with the words and thoughts of the monastery.
For Henry Suso the story is a bit different. There is no doubt he has a way with words and is engaged in a mystical journey, having been a student of Johann Eckhart and Johann Tauler. Mystical Christian poetry was nothing new, either, so the story of his visit with the angels, who invite him to sing and dance with them does not immediately seem quite as miraculous as Caedmon singing a song þa fers ond þa word þe he næfre gehyrde. But Suso was often in trouble or under suspicion because of his mysticism, and his teacher, Johann Eckhart, had been suspected of pantheism, and had several of his propositions declared heretical by John XXII. Suso’s “In dulci jubilo” is one of the first, if not the first macaronic song which we know, and I see this mixing of Latin and German as a bit of rebellion on his part, just as the turn to the private and mystical sort of Christianity and away from the public was.
I have never seen this described before, but I have not done an extensive search of the literature either, so you must not take what I am about to say as any unique insight. I believe that, as in the case of Caedmon, Henry Suso drew his inspiration from what was around, and specifically, that “In dulci jubilo” was inspired by “Puer natus in Bethlehem,” which is a processional dating only to the end of the 13th century, and so roughly contemporary. It is known, among other sources, from an early 14th century processional from a Benedictine nunnery, and Suso spent a large part of his career as a spiritual adviser to nuns (though Dominicans – one 14th century Dominican nun, Margaret Ebner describes a vision not unlike Suso’s that ends with dancing, eating, and drinking with saints or angels), so I can imagine him having this nearly contemporary and perhaps popular processional running through his mind when, as he says in his autobiography, he had a vision of an angel:
Returning at the end of each verse of “Puer natus in Bethlehem” is the refrain “in cordis jubilo, Christum natum adoremus cum novo cantico.” It is this refrain that gives us the outline for “In dulci jubilo” and the bit of melody for “in cordis jubilo” that gives us the starting point for “In dulci jubilo.” With a small variation (the starting note is a third higher than the chant if in the same range, and an upper neighboring tone is used for ornament at the climax), this snippet of melody is repeated to give us the first two lines, “In dulci jubilo,/Nun singet und seid froh!” Now, with the basic melodic outline set, the next lines, “Unsers Herzens Wonne/Leit in praesepio,/Und leuchtet als die Sonne/Matris in gremio,” simply fill the same fifth, moving down and up, down and up, a meditative wave emanating from the source melodic fragment. The concluding, repeated, “Alpha es et O, Alpha es et O!” Takes us first back to the opening of “in cordis jubilo,” this time starting on the lowest note of the chant, and leaping to the highest, and then subsiding on the repetition “Alpha es et O!” with the same melodic resolution as the chant’s “cum novo cantico” (how appropriate!), but taken a third higher.
Of course, I could be wrong. Suso never says that this song was unknown to him before his vision, so it is possibly not the creation of his mind at all. Tropes, either explanatory introductions in chant, such as before an introit, where the speaker or situation of the introit’s words is elucidated, or interpolations, insertions of text and music, were common, after all. It is part of the mediaeval aesthetic to make chant more solemn by making it longer or more complex. It is clear to me that the processional “Puer natus” began life as a troped “Benedicamus Domino” as verses 13 and 14 reveal (bold shows the traditional verse and response of the “Benedicamus”):
In hoc natali gaudio, alleluia:
Benedicamus Domino,
alleluia, alleluia.
Laudetur sancta Trinitas, alleluia,
Deo dicamus gratias,
alleluia, alleluia.
“In ducli jubilo” then is a kind of trope of the response or refrain that recurs in the troped “benedicamus” that is “Puer natus,” the anchor points for the trope being "in cordis jubilo," i.e. "in dulci jubilo," and "novo cantico," changed by reason of the grammar to "nova cantica" in the last verse of Suso's song.
Well, perhaps that is too much analysis for such delightful stories. Here are the texts and music, if you are interested.
Puer Natus in Bethlehem
Puer natus in Bethlehem, alleluia:
Unde gaudet Jerusalem, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
2. Assumpsit carnem Filius, alleluia,
Dei Patris altissimus, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
3. Per Gabrielem nuntium, alleluia,
Virgo concepit Filium, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
4. Tamquam sponsus de thalamo, alleluia,
Processit Matris utero, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
5. Hic iacet in praesepio, alleluia:
Qui regnat sine termino, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
6. Et Angelus pastoribus, alleluia,
Revelat quod sit Dominus, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
7. Reges de Saba veniunt, alleluia,
Aurum, thus, myrrham offerunt, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
8. Intrantes domum invicem, alleluia,
Novum salutant Principem, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
9. De Matre natus Virgine, alleluia,
Qui lumen est de lumine, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
10. Sine serpentis vulnere, alleluia,
De nostro venit sanguine, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
11. In carne nobis similis, alleluia,
Peccato sed dissimilis, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
12. Ut redderet nos homines, alleluia,
Deo et sibi similes, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
13. In hoc natali gaudio, alleluia:
Benedicamus Domino, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
14. Laudetur sancta Trinitas, alleluia,
Deo dicamus gratias, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
In Dulci Jubilo
1. In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne
Leit in praesepio,
Und leuchtet als die Sonne
Matris in gremio,
Alpha es et O, Alpha es et O!
2. O Jesu parvule
Nach dir ist mir so weh!
Tröst mir mein Gemüte
O puer optime
Durch alle deine Güte
O princeps gloriae.
Trahe me post te, Trahe me post te!
3. Ubi sunt gaudia
Nirgend mehr denn da!
Da die Engel singen
Nova cantica,
Und die Schellen klingen
In regis curia.
Eia, wären wir da, Eia, wären wir da!
Recently I have been thinking of the similarities between two of my favorite stories of the Middle Ages, the story of Caedmon’s Hymn and the story of Henry Suso’s “In dulci jubilo.”
Bede tells us that Caedmon lived in a monastery, essentially as a lay brother, until he was quite old, before he was inspired with his hymn, and Henry Suso lived among the Dominicans from the age of 13. Such long associations surely made certain words, certain ways of thought, second nature to them. Both received an angelic visitation in a dream, and the result of both dreams was poetry or song. This type of tale is old, with angels in these versions instead of Muses, but charming.
With Caedmon we are dealing with a truly oral tradition – guys drinking beer and sitting around the fire passing the harp and singing – but Caedmon has learned no songs, and slinks away before it is his turn with the harp. How miraculous it must have seemed, next day, when he knew a song þa fers ond þa word þe he næfre gehyrde. How is that possible in a society that knows only oral tradition for its poetry? I like to think it is the beer, but in fact it is likely the combination of the beer, the music, and a lifetime of living with the words and thoughts of the monastery.
For Henry Suso the story is a bit different. There is no doubt he has a way with words and is engaged in a mystical journey, having been a student of Johann Eckhart and Johann Tauler. Mystical Christian poetry was nothing new, either, so the story of his visit with the angels, who invite him to sing and dance with them does not immediately seem quite as miraculous as Caedmon singing a song þa fers ond þa word þe he næfre gehyrde. But Suso was often in trouble or under suspicion because of his mysticism, and his teacher, Johann Eckhart, had been suspected of pantheism, and had several of his propositions declared heretical by John XXII. Suso’s “In dulci jubilo” is one of the first, if not the first macaronic song which we know, and I see this mixing of Latin and German as a bit of rebellion on his part, just as the turn to the private and mystical sort of Christianity and away from the public was.
I have never seen this described before, but I have not done an extensive search of the literature either, so you must not take what I am about to say as any unique insight. I believe that, as in the case of Caedmon, Henry Suso drew his inspiration from what was around, and specifically, that “In dulci jubilo” was inspired by “Puer natus in Bethlehem,” which is a processional dating only to the end of the 13th century, and so roughly contemporary. It is known, among other sources, from an early 14th century processional from a Benedictine nunnery, and Suso spent a large part of his career as a spiritual adviser to nuns (though Dominicans – one 14th century Dominican nun, Margaret Ebner describes a vision not unlike Suso’s that ends with dancing, eating, and drinking with saints or angels), so I can imagine him having this nearly contemporary and perhaps popular processional running through his mind when, as he says in his autobiography, he had a vision of an angel:
Now this same angel came up to the Servant [Suso] brightly, and said that God had sent him down to him, to bring him heavenly joys amid his sufferings; adding that he must cast off all his sorrows from his mind and bear them company, and that he must also dance with them in heavenly fashion. Then they drew the Servant by the hand into the dance, and the youth began a joyous song about the infant Jesus, which runs thus: In dulci jubilo …
Returning at the end of each verse of “Puer natus in Bethlehem” is the refrain “in cordis jubilo, Christum natum adoremus cum novo cantico.” It is this refrain that gives us the outline for “In dulci jubilo” and the bit of melody for “in cordis jubilo” that gives us the starting point for “In dulci jubilo.” With a small variation (the starting note is a third higher than the chant if in the same range, and an upper neighboring tone is used for ornament at the climax), this snippet of melody is repeated to give us the first two lines, “In dulci jubilo,/Nun singet und seid froh!” Now, with the basic melodic outline set, the next lines, “Unsers Herzens Wonne/Leit in praesepio,/Und leuchtet als die Sonne/Matris in gremio,” simply fill the same fifth, moving down and up, down and up, a meditative wave emanating from the source melodic fragment. The concluding, repeated, “Alpha es et O, Alpha es et O!” Takes us first back to the opening of “in cordis jubilo,” this time starting on the lowest note of the chant, and leaping to the highest, and then subsiding on the repetition “Alpha es et O!” with the same melodic resolution as the chant’s “cum novo cantico” (how appropriate!), but taken a third higher.
Of course, I could be wrong. Suso never says that this song was unknown to him before his vision, so it is possibly not the creation of his mind at all. Tropes, either explanatory introductions in chant, such as before an introit, where the speaker or situation of the introit’s words is elucidated, or interpolations, insertions of text and music, were common, after all. It is part of the mediaeval aesthetic to make chant more solemn by making it longer or more complex. It is clear to me that the processional “Puer natus” began life as a troped “Benedicamus Domino” as verses 13 and 14 reveal (bold shows the traditional verse and response of the “Benedicamus”):
In hoc natali gaudio, alleluia:
Benedicamus Domino,
alleluia, alleluia.
Laudetur sancta Trinitas, alleluia,
Deo dicamus gratias,
alleluia, alleluia.
“In ducli jubilo” then is a kind of trope of the response or refrain that recurs in the troped “benedicamus” that is “Puer natus,” the anchor points for the trope being "in cordis jubilo," i.e. "in dulci jubilo," and "novo cantico," changed by reason of the grammar to "nova cantica" in the last verse of Suso's song.
Well, perhaps that is too much analysis for such delightful stories. Here are the texts and music, if you are interested.
Puer Natus in Bethlehem
Puer natus in Bethlehem, alleluia:
Unde gaudet Jerusalem, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
2. Assumpsit carnem Filius, alleluia,
Dei Patris altissimus, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
3. Per Gabrielem nuntium, alleluia,
Virgo concepit Filium, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
4. Tamquam sponsus de thalamo, alleluia,
Processit Matris utero, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
5. Hic iacet in praesepio, alleluia:
Qui regnat sine termino, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
6. Et Angelus pastoribus, alleluia,
Revelat quod sit Dominus, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
7. Reges de Saba veniunt, alleluia,
Aurum, thus, myrrham offerunt, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
8. Intrantes domum invicem, alleluia,
Novum salutant Principem, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
9. De Matre natus Virgine, alleluia,
Qui lumen est de lumine, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
10. Sine serpentis vulnere, alleluia,
De nostro venit sanguine, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
11. In carne nobis similis, alleluia,
Peccato sed dissimilis, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
12. Ut redderet nos homines, alleluia,
Deo et sibi similes, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
13. In hoc natali gaudio, alleluia:
Benedicamus Domino, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
14. Laudetur sancta Trinitas, alleluia,
Deo dicamus gratias, alleluia, alleluia.
In cordis jubilo,
Christum natum adoremus
Cum novo cantico.
In Dulci Jubilo
1. In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne
Leit in praesepio,
Und leuchtet als die Sonne
Matris in gremio,
Alpha es et O, Alpha es et O!
2. O Jesu parvule
Nach dir ist mir so weh!
Tröst mir mein Gemüte
O puer optime
Durch alle deine Güte
O princeps gloriae.
Trahe me post te, Trahe me post te!
3. Ubi sunt gaudia
Nirgend mehr denn da!
Da die Engel singen
Nova cantica,
Und die Schellen klingen
In regis curia.
Eia, wären wir da, Eia, wären wir da!
To tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of the world
Edith Hamilton appears to have used the phrase first in an address at the fiftieth anniversary meeting of the Classical Association of the Atlantic States on April 26, 1957 (published as "The Classics" in The Classical World, 51, no. 2, (November 1957), pp. 29-32). She again used the quotation in "The lessons of the past" in The Saturday Evening Post, September 27, 1958, an article later published as a chapter in her book The Ever-Present Past (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1964), page 34. The quotation has sometimes been attributed by those quoting Edith Hamilton to the fifth century BC Athenian tragedian Aeschylus.
The quotation was used by Robert F. Kennedy in an April 4, 1968 speech in Indianapolis in which he informed his listeners of the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. Earlier in the same speech Robert Kennedy had quoted Aeschylus:
This, perhaps, led to confusion about the attribution of the later quotation.
Edith Hamilton did not give a full attribution for the quotation, merely saying in her book, "An old Greek inscription states that the aim of mankind should be 'to tame ...'." In the address to the Classical Association of the Atlantic States she introduced the quotation, "There was said to have been an old inscription at Delphi which stated as men's aim 'to tame ...'."
The source of Ms. Hamilton's phrase appears to be, first, a decree of 125 BC from Delphi (Fouilles de Delphes III, 2, 69) in which Athens is praised because "εγ μεν του θηριωδους βιου μετηγαγεν τους ανθρωπους εις ημεροτητα" and, second, a phrase from Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Thucydide, which describes the Athenians as "οι τον κοινον βιον εξημερωσαντες." I believe the source of Ms. Hamilton's juxtaposition ("to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of the world" appears to be Ms. Hamilton's creation) was Gilbert Murray's The Rise of the Greek Epic. On page 2 of the 1934 fourth edition he cites the Dionysius of Halicarnassus quotation as follows:
I think the resemblance of Murray's reference to "an old Delphian decree" (i.e. the decree of 125 BC, Fouilles de Delphes III, 2, 69, which Murray reproduces in note 1 on page 2 of his book) to Ms. Hamilton's reference to "an old inscription at Delphi" and the match of Murray's translation of the Dionysius of Halicarnassus phrase, "they 'made gentle the life of the world'," with Ms. Hamilton's phrase, "and make gentle the life of the world," combined with Ms. Hamilton's near admission that she has not seen the actual inscription (since she says in the 1957 address, as reproduced in The Classical World, 51 no. 2, p. 31 "there was said to have been an old inscription at Delphi ...") makes it appear likely that Ms. Hamilton got her "inscription" from Gilbert Murray's book.
See Judith P. Hallett, "Edith Hamilton (1867-1963)", The Classical World, 90.2-3, (1996-1997), pp. 119-120 note 25 and pp. 146-147, note 89.
See also my article "'Taming the savageness of man:' Robert Kennedy, Edith Hamilton, and their sources", The Classical World, 96.2 (2003) p. 197 ff.
Edith Hamilton appears to have used the phrase first in an address at the fiftieth anniversary meeting of the Classical Association of the Atlantic States on April 26, 1957 (published as "The Classics" in The Classical World, 51, no. 2, (November 1957), pp. 29-32). She again used the quotation in "The lessons of the past" in The Saturday Evening Post, September 27, 1958, an article later published as a chapter in her book The Ever-Present Past (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1964), page 34. The quotation has sometimes been attributed by those quoting Edith Hamilton to the fifth century BC Athenian tragedian Aeschylus.
The quotation was used by Robert F. Kennedy in an April 4, 1968 speech in Indianapolis in which he informed his listeners of the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. Earlier in the same speech Robert Kennedy had quoted Aeschylus:
In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.
This, perhaps, led to confusion about the attribution of the later quotation.
Edith Hamilton did not give a full attribution for the quotation, merely saying in her book, "An old Greek inscription states that the aim of mankind should be 'to tame ...'." In the address to the Classical Association of the Atlantic States she introduced the quotation, "There was said to have been an old inscription at Delphi which stated as men's aim 'to tame ...'."
The source of Ms. Hamilton's phrase appears to be, first, a decree of 125 BC from Delphi (Fouilles de Delphes III, 2, 69) in which Athens is praised because "εγ μεν του θηριωδους βιου μετηγαγεν τους ανθρωπους εις ημεροτητα" and, second, a phrase from Dionysius of Halicarnassus, De Thucydide, which describes the Athenians as "οι τον κοινον βιον εξημερωσαντες." I believe the source of Ms. Hamilton's juxtaposition ("to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of the world" appears to be Ms. Hamilton's creation) was Gilbert Murray's The Rise of the Greek Epic. On page 2 of the 1934 fourth edition he cites the Dionysius of Halicarnassus quotation as follows:
Denys of Halicarnassus sums up the praises of the Athenians by saying, in the very language of an old Delphian decree, that they 'made gentle the life of the world'.
I think the resemblance of Murray's reference to "an old Delphian decree" (i.e. the decree of 125 BC, Fouilles de Delphes III, 2, 69, which Murray reproduces in note 1 on page 2 of his book) to Ms. Hamilton's reference to "an old inscription at Delphi" and the match of Murray's translation of the Dionysius of Halicarnassus phrase, "they 'made gentle the life of the world'," with Ms. Hamilton's phrase, "and make gentle the life of the world," combined with Ms. Hamilton's near admission that she has not seen the actual inscription (since she says in the 1957 address, as reproduced in The Classical World, 51 no. 2, p. 31 "there was said to have been an old inscription at Delphi ...") makes it appear likely that Ms. Hamilton got her "inscription" from Gilbert Murray's book.
See Judith P. Hallett, "Edith Hamilton (1867-1963)", The Classical World, 90.2-3, (1996-1997), pp. 119-120 note 25 and pp. 146-147, note 89.
See also my article "'Taming the savageness of man:' Robert Kennedy, Edith Hamilton, and their sources", The Classical World, 96.2 (2003) p. 197 ff.
In giving advice seek to help, not to please, your friend.
This sentence, with slight variations, is usually attributed to the 5th century BC Athenian lawgiver, Solon. It has its roots in collections of sayings attributed to Solon in antiquity. There is some variation in the Greek words attributed to Solon in these collections. Some sources follow:
Anonymous, Septem sapientium dicta, ed. Wölfflin, Sitz.-Ber. Bayer. Akad., 1886, p. 287 sqq.
απασι συμβουλευε μη τα προσφιλη, αλλα τα πρεποντα
Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum, I, 60
συμβουλευε μη τα ηδιστα , αλλα τα αριστα
Demetrius of Phaleron, Septem sapientium dicta, fragment 114 Wehlri, ap. Stob. I (π. αρετης) 172 β', III p. 114 Hense
συμβουλευε μη τα ηδιστα , αλλα τα βελτιστα
The translation of these last versions, "Don't give the most pleasing advice, but the best," is a bit simpler than the version I was originally asked about, "In giving advice seek to help, not to please, your friend."
This sentence, with slight variations, is usually attributed to the 5th century BC Athenian lawgiver, Solon. It has its roots in collections of sayings attributed to Solon in antiquity. There is some variation in the Greek words attributed to Solon in these collections. Some sources follow:
Anonymous, Septem sapientium dicta, ed. Wölfflin, Sitz.-Ber. Bayer. Akad., 1886, p. 287 sqq.
απασι συμβουλευε μη τα προσφιλη, αλλα τα πρεποντα
Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philosophorum, I, 60
συμβουλευε μη τα ηδιστα , αλλα τα αριστα
Demetrius of Phaleron, Septem sapientium dicta, fragment 114 Wehlri, ap. Stob. I (π. αρετης) 172 β', III p. 114 Hense
συμβουλευε μη τα ηδιστα , αλλα τα βελτιστα
The translation of these last versions, "Don't give the most pleasing advice, but the best," is a bit simpler than the version I was originally asked about, "In giving advice seek to help, not to please, your friend."
We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.
This quotation is included in The Speaker's Electronic Reference Collection, AApex Software, 1994. No work of Plato can be identified as the actual source. Even allowing for freedom in translation, the sentiment does not sound like something from Plato. "The real tragedy of life" is far too modern a phrase. The reference to light and darkness recalls the image of the cave Plato used in the Republic (book 7), and the contrast between the fear of a child and courage in a man is one familiar from, for example, the discussion of the fear of death in the Phaedo (77e). A similarly phrased sentiment, "Who is more foolish: the child afraid of the dark, or the man afraid of the light," is attributed by many web sources of quotations to Maurice Freehill. Again, no source is identified, but the attribution to a modern author appears more likely.
This quotation is included in The Speaker's Electronic Reference Collection, AApex Software, 1994. No work of Plato can be identified as the actual source. Even allowing for freedom in translation, the sentiment does not sound like something from Plato. "The real tragedy of life" is far too modern a phrase. The reference to light and darkness recalls the image of the cave Plato used in the Republic (book 7), and the contrast between the fear of a child and courage in a man is one familiar from, for example, the discussion of the fear of death in the Phaedo (77e). A similarly phrased sentiment, "Who is more foolish: the child afraid of the dark, or the man afraid of the light," is attributed by many web sources of quotations to Maurice Freehill. Again, no source is identified, but the attribution to a modern author appears more likely.
Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war
This is a modern sentiment attributed to Caesar, or sometimes to Shakespeare (from his play Julius Caesar, of course). There are several clues that this is a fake beyond the fact that you will never find it in any of the writings of Julius Caesar, nor in any saying attributed to him in antiquity, nor in Shakespeare's play. See Charles A. Harris, Idioms and phrases of Caesar, Boston, 1906; E. G. Sihler, A complete lexicon of the Latinity of Caesar's Gallic war, Chicago, 1968; Hugo Merguet, Lexicon zu den Schriften Caesars und seiner Fortsetzer, Hildesheim, 1966; Marvin Spevack, Harvard Concordance to Shakespeare, Cambridge, MA, 1973. First, the Roman army didn't use drums and they had no military associations for Romans. Second, "a double edged sword" is not an idiom found in Latin. All Roman military swords were double edged and used primarily as stabbing weapons. Third, the quotation is not in iambic pentameter, as it would be if it were from Shakespeare's play. It is merely unremarkable prose with a lot of modern cliches (drums of war, double edged sword, patriotic fervor, narrows the mind, fever pitch, blood boils, mind is closed, blinded by patriotism). Finally, there is no evidence this quotation existed before December, 2001.
Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor, for patriotism is indeed a double-edged sword. It both emboldens the blood, just as it narrows the mind. And when the drums of war have reached a fever pitch and the blood boils with hate and the mind is closed, the leader will have no need in seizing the rights of the citizenry. Rather, the citizenry, infused with fear and blinded by patriotism, will offer up all their rights unto the leader and gladly so. How do I know? For this is what I have done. And I am Caesar.
This is a modern sentiment attributed to Caesar, or sometimes to Shakespeare (from his play Julius Caesar, of course). There are several clues that this is a fake beyond the fact that you will never find it in any of the writings of Julius Caesar, nor in any saying attributed to him in antiquity, nor in Shakespeare's play. See Charles A. Harris, Idioms and phrases of Caesar, Boston, 1906; E. G. Sihler, A complete lexicon of the Latinity of Caesar's Gallic war, Chicago, 1968; Hugo Merguet, Lexicon zu den Schriften Caesars und seiner Fortsetzer, Hildesheim, 1966; Marvin Spevack, Harvard Concordance to Shakespeare, Cambridge, MA, 1973. First, the Roman army didn't use drums and they had no military associations for Romans. Second, "a double edged sword" is not an idiom found in Latin. All Roman military swords were double edged and used primarily as stabbing weapons. Third, the quotation is not in iambic pentameter, as it would be if it were from Shakespeare's play. It is merely unremarkable prose with a lot of modern cliches (drums of war, double edged sword, patriotic fervor, narrows the mind, fever pitch, blood boils, mind is closed, blinded by patriotism). Finally, there is no evidence this quotation existed before December, 2001.
We Trained Hard
This is a modern sentiment usually atrributed to Petronius. One hint that it is not a real quotation is the variety apparent in the attributions. This merely reflects the lack of any real Latin source (and the complete ignorance of many who use the quotation). Some examples of attributions I have found just on the web include:
Gaius Petronius, arbiter, A.D.66 (just before he retired from arbitering)
210 BC by Petronius the Arbiter, who was a famous satirist during the reign of Nero (the emperor famous for being born more than a century before his own father!)
Galus Petronius, AD 57 (who came from Gallia, perhaps?)
Petronius (256 B.C.) (Wow! He was MUCH older than Nero!)
Petronius the Elder, 1st Century A.D. (though we have no idea who the Petronius Younger was)
Gaius Petronius, 65 AD
Petronius Arbiter, about AD 30
Petronius Arbiter, ?? AD
Petronius Arbiter, 210 BC
Petronius, 100 BC (I just love the guessing about the dates!)
Petronius Arbiter - Greek Navy - 210 BC (He emmigrated to Greece and joined the Navy when Nero was contemplating who is father would be in a couple of hundred years time)
Gaius Petronius, a Roman centurion in 200BC (Oops! Sorry, he didn't emmigrate, and he joined the Army instead, though how he went from favorite of Nero to a mere centurion is a long story!)
Petronius Arbiter, 201 B.C. (Well, 210, 201, 120, 102, some such combination BC will work!)
Gaius Petronius, Centurian, Rome, 1st Century. (Was he really in the army? Or is a centuriAn something else?)
Calus Petronius Arbiter (1st Century, BC) (Oh, I see, not from Gallia, but a pretty boy -- Kalos!)
Gains Petronius Arbiter in the 1st Century A.D. (He was an early capitalist no doubt!)
There is also some variation in the quotation itself, but all versions are sufficiently alike that they reveal that the variation is not a result of differing English translations of a Latin original, but merely the result of widespread sharing of the same faked "translation" in the course of which variations entered the tradition, as usually happens with such fictions. The published source (although it reproduces only a part of the usual quotation) appears to be Robert Townsend's Up the Organization (New York: Knopf, 1970), page 162:
Townsend cites "Petronius Arbiter (circa A.D. 60)." Another quotation from Townsend (page 7), "And God created the Organization and gave it dominion over man.... Genesis 1, 30A, Subparagraph VIII" should alert readers to his tendency to use fictitous quotations as part of his rhetorical style. An interesting suggestion as to the sources of this quotation appears in a note by J. P. Sullivan in the May 1981 Petronian Society Newsletter (12(1), p.1):
We trained hard . . . but it seemed that every time we were beginning to form up into teams we would be reorganized. I was to learn later in life that we tend to meet any new situation by reorganizing; and a wonderful method it can be for creating the illusion of progress while producing confusion, inefficiency, and demoralization.
This is a modern sentiment usually atrributed to Petronius. One hint that it is not a real quotation is the variety apparent in the attributions. This merely reflects the lack of any real Latin source (and the complete ignorance of many who use the quotation). Some examples of attributions I have found just on the web include:
Gaius Petronius, arbiter, A.D.66 (just before he retired from arbitering)
210 BC by Petronius the Arbiter, who was a famous satirist during the reign of Nero (the emperor famous for being born more than a century before his own father!)
Galus Petronius, AD 57 (who came from Gallia, perhaps?)
Petronius (256 B.C.) (Wow! He was MUCH older than Nero!)
Petronius the Elder, 1st Century A.D. (though we have no idea who the Petronius Younger was)
Gaius Petronius, 65 AD
Petronius Arbiter, about AD 30
Petronius Arbiter, ?? AD
Petronius Arbiter, 210 BC
Petronius, 100 BC (I just love the guessing about the dates!)
Petronius Arbiter - Greek Navy - 210 BC (He emmigrated to Greece and joined the Navy when Nero was contemplating who is father would be in a couple of hundred years time)
Gaius Petronius, a Roman centurion in 200BC (Oops! Sorry, he didn't emmigrate, and he joined the Army instead, though how he went from favorite of Nero to a mere centurion is a long story!)
Petronius Arbiter, 201 B.C. (Well, 210, 201, 120, 102, some such combination BC will work!)
Gaius Petronius, Centurian, Rome, 1st Century. (Was he really in the army? Or is a centuriAn something else?)
Calus Petronius Arbiter (1st Century, BC) (Oh, I see, not from Gallia, but a pretty boy -- Kalos!)
Gains Petronius Arbiter in the 1st Century A.D. (He was an early capitalist no doubt!)
There is also some variation in the quotation itself, but all versions are sufficiently alike that they reveal that the variation is not a result of differing English translations of a Latin original, but merely the result of widespread sharing of the same faked "translation" in the course of which variations entered the tradition, as usually happens with such fictions. The published source (although it reproduces only a part of the usual quotation) appears to be Robert Townsend's Up the Organization (New York: Knopf, 1970), page 162:
I was to learn later in life that we tend to meet any new situation by reorganizing; and a wonderful method it can be for creating the illusion of progress while producing confusion, inefficiency, and demoralization.
Townsend cites "Petronius Arbiter (circa A.D. 60)." Another quotation from Townsend (page 7), "And God created the Organization and gave it dominion over man.... Genesis 1, 30A, Subparagraph VIII" should alert readers to his tendency to use fictitous quotations as part of his rhetorical style. An interesting suggestion as to the sources of this quotation appears in a note by J. P. Sullivan in the May 1981 Petronian Society Newsletter (12(1), p.1):
...let me give my tentative account, which I hope other readers can correct, of its provenance. Some disgruntled soldier of a literary bent, whether commissioned or noncommissioned I do not know, pinned this "quotation" to a bulletin board in one of the camps of the armies occupying Germany sometime after 1945 (the style suggests a British occupying force). Since the sentiment is impeccable, whether applied to military, governmental, or academic administration, it has enjoyed a cachet borrowed from Petronius ever since.
Non Sibi Sed Patriae
Non silber sed patria is often misquoted by the lunatic right-wing white-supremicist and Nazi fringe, including the KKK, various gangs of armed thugs (so-called "militias") and those whose romanticizing of treason has clouded their judgement so badly that they behave as though the Confederate States of America still survive. The bad Latin of the quotation is the result of the ignorant trying to read the motto from a badly reproduced seal. The correct words are non sibi sed patriae. There were once several web sites of the lunatic fringe referred to above on which the misquoted phrase and a badly reproduced seal were displayed. These web sites are all now unavailable. Unfortunately, there are reasons even the sane and respectable might quote this phrase in its correct form. The source of the words is the epitaph of Pliny the Younger's guardian, Rufus Verginius, quoted in letter number 10 in the sixth book of Pliny's letters (emphasis added to help you find the words):
The words non sibi sed patriae appear, sometimes slightly modified, in a number of respectable contexts: According to the U.S. Navy's Naval Historical Center's Traditions and Customs site, "There is no official motto for the U.S. Navy. 'Non sibi sed patriae' (Not self but country) is often cited as the Navy's motto, however." The phrase appears over the entranceway of the Naval Academy chapel at Annapolis, Maryland. A slightly different form, non sibi sed aliis, was once the motto on an early seal of colonial Georgia and is currently used as a motto by the Georgia Historical Society.
Non silber sed patria is often misquoted by the lunatic right-wing white-supremicist and Nazi fringe, including the KKK, various gangs of armed thugs (so-called "militias") and those whose romanticizing of treason has clouded their judgement so badly that they behave as though the Confederate States of America still survive. The bad Latin of the quotation is the result of the ignorant trying to read the motto from a badly reproduced seal. The correct words are non sibi sed patriae. There were once several web sites of the lunatic fringe referred to above on which the misquoted phrase and a badly reproduced seal were displayed. These web sites are all now unavailable. Unfortunately, there are reasons even the sane and respectable might quote this phrase in its correct form. The source of the words is the epitaph of Pliny the Younger's guardian, Rufus Verginius, quoted in letter number 10 in the sixth book of Pliny's letters (emphasis added to help you find the words):
C. PLINIUS ALBINO SUO S Cum venissem in socrus meae villam Alsiensem, quae aliquamdiu Rufi Vergini fuit, ipse mihi locus optimi illius et maximi viri desiderium non sine dolore renovavit. Hunc enim colere secessum atque etiam senectutis suae nidulum vocare consueverat. Quocumque me contulissem, illum animus illum oculi requirebant. Libuit etiam monimentum eius videre, et vidisse paenituit. Est enim adhuc imperfectum, nec difficultas operis in causa, modici ac potius exigui, sed inertia eius cui cura mandata est. Subit indignatio cum miseratione, post decimum mortis annum reliquias neglectumque cinerem sine titulo sine nomine iacere, cuius memoria orbem terrarum gloria pervagetur. At ille mandaverat caveratque, ut divinum illud et immortale factum versibus inscriberetur: Hic situs est Rufus, pulso qui Vindice quondam imperium asseruit non sibi sed patriae. Tam rara in amicitiis fides, tam parata oblivio mortuorum, ut ipsi nobis debeamus etiam conditoria exstruere omniaque heredum officia praesumere. Nam cui non est verendum, quod videmus accidisse Verginio? cuius iniuriam ut indigniorem, sic etiam notiorem ipsius claritas facit. Vale.
The words non sibi sed patriae appear, sometimes slightly modified, in a number of respectable contexts: According to the U.S. Navy's Naval Historical Center's Traditions and Customs site, "There is no official motto for the U.S. Navy. 'Non sibi sed patriae' (Not self but country) is often cited as the Navy's motto, however." The phrase appears over the entranceway of the Naval Academy chapel at Annapolis, Maryland. A slightly different form, non sibi sed aliis, was once the motto on an early seal of colonial Georgia and is currently used as a motto by the Georgia Historical Society.
Quod Numquam Dixerunt - Fake Classical Quotations
So, you think that clever little quotation that magically speaks directly to the point you want to make comes from an old Greek or Roman, from some old classical text, or from an ancient inscription. It's as if those ancients knew exactly what we twenty-first century folks would be thinking about! Well, check it carefully, first. Many sources, both printed and electronic, give for quotations only an attribution to a particular author. Seldom do they give an actual source (the title of the work and a chapter or line number, or the name of the translator, the publication information about his/her translation, and a chapter or page number) because often there is no real source - the attribution is false! In following entries you will find a summary of the results of research I have done to answer various questions over the years about the source of certain quotations or supposed quotations from Latin or Greek sources.
So, you think that clever little quotation that magically speaks directly to the point you want to make comes from an old Greek or Roman, from some old classical text, or from an ancient inscription. It's as if those ancients knew exactly what we twenty-first century folks would be thinking about! Well, check it carefully, first. Many sources, both printed and electronic, give for quotations only an attribution to a particular author. Seldom do they give an actual source (the title of the work and a chapter or line number, or the name of the translator, the publication information about his/her translation, and a chapter or page number) because often there is no real source - the attribution is false! In following entries you will find a summary of the results of research I have done to answer various questions over the years about the source of certain quotations or supposed quotations from Latin or Greek sources.
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