CLOTHOletnik 1, številka 2, 2019 / volume 1, issue 2, 2019 
Odgovorni urednik / Editor-in-chief: David Movrin 
Pomocniki odgovornega urednika / Associate Editors: Nena Bobovnik, Anja Božic, Domen Iljaš, Klara Keršic, Kajetan Škraban 
Uredniški odbor / Editorial Board: Alenka Cedilnik, Univerza v Ljubljani; Jan Ciglenecki, Univerza v Ljubljani; James J. Clauss, University of Washington; Pe­ter Hajdu, Shenzhen daxue; Elizabeth Hale, University of New England; Stanko Kokole, Univerza v Ljubljani; Katarzyna Marciniak, Uniwersytet Warszawski; Aleš Maver, Univerza v Mariboru; Tina Milavec, Univerza v Ljubljani; Gregor Pobežin, Univerza na Primorskem, Koper; Henry Stead, Open University, Milton Keynes; Katalin Szende, Central European University, Budapest / Wien; Petra Šoštaric, Sveucilište u Zagrebu; Yasunari Takada, Tokyo daigaku; Daniela Urbanová, Masarykova univerzita, Brno; Andrii Yasinovskyi, Ukrains'kyy Katolyts'kyy Universytet, Lviv 
Naslov / Address: Aškerceva cesta 2, si­1000 Ljubljana Založnik / Publisher:Znanstvena založba Filozofske fakultete Univerze v Ljubljani / Ljubljana University Press, Faculty of Arts; Odgovorna oseba založnika / For the publisher: Roman Kuhar, dekan / Dean ISSN: 2670­6210 (tisk / print), 2670­6229 (splet / online) 
Oblikovanje in prelom / Design and typesetting:Nika Bronic 
Jezikovni pregled / Language Advisor: Anja Božic (slovenšcina / Slovenian), Jonathan Rebetz (anglešcina / English) 
Spletna stran / Website: revije.ff.uni­lj.si E-pošta / Email: clotho@uni­lj.si Tisk / Printing: Birografika Bori d.o.o., Ljubljana Cena/ Price: 7 € Naklada / Print run: 100 izvodov / copies 

To delo je ponujeno pod licenco Creative Commons Priznanje avtorstva – deljenje pod enakimi pogoji 4.0, mednarodna licenca. / This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution­ShareAlike 4.0 International License. 
Naslovnica / Front page: Libero Andreotti,Les trois Parques, 1909. Foto esej / Photo essay: Umetnine Sapfinega slikarja, atiškega crnofiguralnega vaznega slikarja, ki je deloval med letoma 510 in 490 pr. Kr. / The art of Sappho painter, an Attic black­figure vase painter, who was active in the period be­tween 510 and 490 bc. (Wikimedia Commons.) 
CONTENTS 
ARTICLES  
05  Sonya Nevin Sappho 44: Creativity and Pedagogy with Ancient Poetry, Pottery, and Modern Animation  
17  Andreja Inkret Aias Mastigophoros: Divine Ostentation  
within a Play  
35  Tomaž Potocnik and  
Matej Hriberšek     Investigating the Semantic Development of Modal Markers: The  
Role of Context  
55  Viktoryia Bartsevich, Karolina Anna Kulpa, and Agnieszka Monika Maciejewska Death as a Beginning: Transformation of   
Hades, Persephone  
75  Blaž Zabel and  
Jan Ciglenecki The Early Explorers of the Eastern Desert and  
the History of Monasti­cism: Sir John Gardner  
Wilkinson and James  
Burton  

Terracotta kalpis depicting the poet Sappho, attributed to the Sappho Painter (hence the name), ca. 500 bc, National Museum in Warsaw, accession no. 142333. 
doi: https://doi.org/10.4312/clotho.1.2.5–15 


Sappho 44: Creativity and Pedagogy with Ancient Poetry, Pottery, and Modern Animation 
Sonya Nevin* 
Stories told from alternative perspectives; beautiful poetry ad­dressing women’s lives; a female artist making such an impact that other artists create imaginative portraits of her; a fan fiction prequel of a popular classic. This is not a combination that immediately scre­ams “classical antiquity,” yet this is what Sappho can offer us. While she is little-known beyond those who are already ancient world en­thusiasts, she is a compelling figure whose life and work can inspire real interest and engagement amongst non-specialists. This article will discuss the creation and pedagogy of a new Sappho-focused ani­mation, a freely available resource featuring ancient pottery, poetry, and music, which will facilitate teaching and learning on a variety of topics. 
The animation was created by the Panoply Vase Animation Pro­ject, a project which combines my work as an ancient historian with that of animator Steve Simons to create original animations from ancient artifacts. The animations are made from the scenes which decorate ancient pottery, with the images adapted for movement in order to draw out the content of the original scenes. We have been making these animations for ten years and they have proved popular in museums, schools, universities, and amongst those simply explo­ring antiquity for pleasure. The animations can be seen in a num­ber of museums and on the project website. There, they are housed alongside supporting materials such as information about the pots that they are made from, relevant ancient topics, activity sheets, and a blog with details of ancient pottery-related projects and research. 
* University of Roehampton, Grove House, Roehampton Lane, London, sw15 5pj, uk; sonya.nevin@roehampton.ac.uk. 
The Sappho animation belongs to a group of five and was crea­ted as part of a wider project, the erc-funded Our Mythical Child­hood … The Reception of Classical Antiquity in Children’s and Young Adults’ Culture in Response to Regional and Global Challenges.1 This is an international project analyzing the roles that classical antiquity plays in modern young people’s culture around the world. The ani­mation’s full name is Sappho 44: Hector and Andromache; A Wed­ding at Troy. It is being created from a vase in the National Museum in Warsaw (142333 mnw). The four further animations are being made from pots in the same collection. They are: Heracles and the Erymanthian Boar, made from a black-figure amphora and telling the story of that Labour; Iris – Rainbow Goddess, a 3D animation made from a red-figure hydria; Libation, featuring Zeus and Athena on a red-figure hydria; and Dionysus, a theatrical extravaganza on a red-figure krater.2 
Sappho 44 has been created from an Attic hydria of the kalpis type, a three-handled pot with rounded shoulders.3 The pot dates from the late sixth century, around 510.500 bc. It is rendered stri­kingly in the Six technique – all black except for the loop-patterned vertical section of the rim and the marks creating the single decora­tive figure, Sappho. She is positioned centrally, opposite the pouring handle. Her image is rendered via the lines that create the outlines and spots of her half-length sleeved, black, spotted dress. Her face, forearm, hands and feet are picked out in white, which forms a con­trast with the dark tone of the whole. Her back foot is raised at the heel, suggesting gentle movement and adding a degree of vitality. Her black hair is held up in a loose bun at the nape of her neck and dressed. A pendant earring hangs down from her earlobe within an escaped loop of hair that appears golden having not fired in the same 
1 This project has received funding from the European Research Council (erc) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 Research and Innovation Pro-gramme under Grant Agreement No. 681202, Our Mythical Childhood … The Reception of Classical Antiquity in Children’s and Young Adults’ Culture in Response to Regional and Global Challenges, erc Consolidator Grant (2016–21). It is led by Professor Katarzyna Marciniak of the Faculty of Artes Liberales at the University of Warsaw. 
2 These animations have been created from vases in the National Museum in Warsaw: Heracles and the Erymanthian Boar, 198042/a-b mnw; Iris, 142289 mnw; The Gods, 142460 mnw; Dionysus, 142355 mnw. We would like to acknowledge the assistance of Dr. Alfred Twardecki in accessing the vases. 
3 Sappho: National Museum in Warsaw (142333 mnw); Corpus of Attic Vase Inscriptions (cavi) Vase Number 51; Attic Vase Inscriptions (avi) 8002; www. beazley.ox.ac.uk/record/A3F0DFBF-E6C8-4255-8147-18AD8A567F5B. 
manner as the rest of her hair. A double-string necklace encircles her throat. Her head is positioned very slightly forward atop her neck, not tipped back in the manner frequently used to depict singing. Her eye is large, and her eye and mouth together suggest a slight smile. She is holding a barbiton, a kind of large deep-toned lyre. The base of it sits against her midriff, with her left hand just visible against the seven strings. Her right hand, palm down, contains a plectrum, which is attached to the lyre by a long white loop that hands down loosely. The hand with the plectrum is held out slightly as if she has just strummed the barbiton. In case there was any doubt who this figure is, her name is inscribed in between her right hand and the in­strument, although it is not the clearest caption, reading: “F S.F.,” with irregular phi and the “s” a three-stroke sigma. 
In his Greek Lyric 1: Sappho and Alcaeus, David A. Campbell provides the text for fragment 44 (from P. Oxy. 1232 fr. 1 coll. ii, iii, fr. 2 + 2076 col. ii), as follows: 
..p... [ ]a.. ..... ...e .e[ ]e.e[ … ] . .e.. .da.. tade.a … f[ . . ] . .. t.... ...e... 
deest unus versus 
t.. t. ...a. .s.a. . [ . ]de . a. ..... .f..t... ..t.. .a. s...ta..[.]. ....s. .....p.da T.ßa. .. ...a. ..a..a. t. . [p. ..]. <.>.. .ß.a. ..d..µ..a. ... .a.s.. .p. ..µ.... p..t... p...a d. [...].µata ...s.a ..µµata p..f..[a] .ata.t[µe].a, p...... ....µata, .....a t. ......µa p.t...a ....fa... .. e.p.. .t.a.... d. ......se p.t[.]. f..... f.µa d. ...e .at. pt.... e........ f...... a.t... ...ada. sat..a.[.] .p. ..t...... .... a.µ......, .p[.]ßa..e d. pa.. ..... ...a.... t. .µa pa..e...a[.] t . . [ . . ].sf...., ..... d. a. .e..µ... ...[a]t.e.[ .pp[...] d. ..d.e. .pa... .p. ..[µat­p[ ]e. ...e.. µe....[s]t. d[ d[ ]. ....... f[ … . . ] . [ p[ .].a..[ 
desunt aliquot versus 
.].e... ....[. 
]..... ...[.e­
..µata. [ ]... ..  ....[., 
a.... d. .d.[µ].... [...a...] t. ..eµ....[t. 
.a. .[.]f.[. .]..t..[.., ....].. d. ..a p..[.e... .e.d.. µ.... ...[.., ..a].e d. .. a..[e.a ... .espes.a .e.[ p..ta. d. .. ..t .d.[.. ...t..e. f.a.a. t. .[ … ].ede[ . . ] . . ea.[ . ] . [ µ...a .a. .as.a ..ßa... t. ..eµe....t.. ...a..e. d. .....sd.. .sa. p...e..ste.a[., p..te. d. ..d.e. .p..at.. .a... ...... ..... ...a....te. ...ß.... e....a., .µ... d.  ..t..a .. ..d..µ..a. .e.e.....[... 
… Cyprus … the herald came (running …, and when he had stopped spoke) these words, Idaeus (= Trojan herald, see Il. 7.248 ff., 24.325 ff.), the swift messenger and of the rest of Asia … undying fame. Hector and his companions are bringing the lively-eyed, graceful Andromache from holy Thebe and ever-flowing Placia in their ships over the salt sea; and (there are) many golden bracelets and (perfumed?) purple robes, ornate trinkets, and countless silver drinking-cups and ivory.” So he spoke; and nimbly his dear father leapt up, and the news went to his friends throughout the spacious city. At once the sons of Ilus yoked the mules to the smooth-running carriages, and the whole crowd of women and (tender?-) ankled maidens climbed on board. Apart (drove) the daughters of Priam … and unmarried men yoked horses to chariots, … and greatly … charioteers … (gap of several verses) … like gods [of Hector and Andromache] … holy … all together … set out … to Ilium, and the sweet-sounding pipe and cithara were mingled and the sound of castanets, and maidens sang clearly a holy song, and a marvelous echo reached the sky … and everywhere in the streets was … bowls and cups … myrrh and cassia and frankincense were mingled. The elder women cried out joyfully, and all the men let forth a lovely high-pitched strain calling on Paean (= Apollo), the Archer skilled in the lyre, and they sang in praise of the godlike Hector and An­dromache. 
When we approached this vase to animate, we determined to draw out its emphasis on Sappho herself and her music. As such, we planned that we would show her playing, thereby helping viewers to understand the image and to see the movement and action that is implied within it. That developed into a decision to include an aspect of her poetry, to link her work with her representation more directly. As Our Mythical Childhood has a focus on mythology (while also examining the reception of other aspects of antiquity), Sappho’s Fragment 44 seemed to be the most appropriate piece of poetry to choose as it has a mythological subject. That fragment de­scribes Hector and Andromache’s arrival in Troy at the time of their marriage. The herald Idaeus brings the news to Priam, and the city celebrates as the young couple process through the streets. It is a joyful and lively glimpse of a prosperous city at peace. This seemed a particularly constructive subject as so many people learning about antiquity study Troy and the Trojan War, which increases the edu­cational potential of the animation. From there, we went on to the idea that Sappho could be shown to “create” the figures in her poetry through her playing. Now, as she plays, a section of black slip fades out and figures begin to appear and act out the events described in the poem. This adds an engaging visual element to the animation of her playing and conveys a clearer sense of her poetry and its ability to evoke people, places, and the past.   
The figures Sappho “creates” are depicted in a geometric style. These small, simple figures based on the pottery of the eighth cen­tury have a more puppet-like quality than those from later eras, which re-enforces the sense of them being manipulated by Sappho. As they are from an earlier period, they also act as a visual indicator of an earlier age, a time that would have been “long ago” even for Sappho. That compliments the teaching potential of the material by drawing attention to the period difference between pottery styles and between different generations of poets addressing Trojan War themes. The geometric figures are not taken from any one particu­lar pot; they are drawn from a combination of pots of that era. We applied the convention of interpreting figures with triangular upper bodies and unskirted legs as men, and figures with long skirts as women. The Trojan princesses were given one sort of hairstyle that is seen on geometric women, and Andromache has another – a sig­nifier of her entrance from an outside community. The chariots and ship used imitated common motifs on geometric-ware, while the scene in Priam’s throne room reflects later black-figure conventions for depicting a high-status man amongst his subordinates – a man seated on a cross-legged stool with female figures behind him and males standing before him. Likewise, the herald carries a staff that imitates those held by messengers in black-figure ware. It helps to mark his specific position, even though it is not an image familiar from geometric-era pottery. 
Most of our animations come without text or verbal audio, as that absence of language makes the animations more internationally relevant, and it retains the focus on the artifact. We differed from that practice in this instance, and lines of the poem appear above the action, clarifying the connection between Sappho’s playing and poetry and the events unfolding onscreen. There are two versions of the animation, one with the poem translated into English, another with it in Polish. On YouTube, the English-language version can be viewed with Italian subtitles. The Greek original appears at the end of the animation. 
The animation begins with Sappho strumming the barbiton and beginning to play. A central section of black slip begins to disap­pear, and Sappho takes a few steps backwards. A little text appears to set the scene: Sappho is singing about Troy in the years before the Trojan War; the Trojans are awaiting the return of Prince Hector with Andromache. The geometric figures then begin to appear in the exposed red-clay space. Fragment 44 begins with the herald, Idaeus, observing Hector’s ship returning, so the first characters in the an­imation are Idaeus, straining to look out to sea, and an accompany­ing soldier carrying the two-spear and Dipylon shield combination frequently seen in geometric-ware. The focus of the scene moves out to reveal a chariot pulled by one of the stylized horses of the geomet­ric era. Idaeus mounts the chariot and departs. K.... ...e appears on the screen, followed by a translated extension “The herald came. Idaeus, the swift messenger.” The scene moves to Priam’s throne room. He is seated with two of his daughters standing behind him. He beckons Idaeus in. The herald enters, bowing low, and delivers his message. The scene moves again to reveal the ship that Idaeus heralds. One man handles the tiller at the rear, a soldier occupies the middle of the deck, and Hector and Andromache can be seen at the prow. Hector stands with one foot raised and one hand shading his eyes as he looks for the shore. His posture conveys a keenness to get home. He turns to Andromache and takes her hand, a small gesture that expresses affection between them and thoughtful concern for whatever she may be feeling on approaching her new home. 
A similar degree of affection is conveyed in the following sce­ne, where they stand together upon the sand touching each other at the waist. The ship is beached beside them, and sailors carry heavy boxes from ship to shore. Hector bends down to show Androma­che some of the valuables within. The lines of the poem continue to appear above their heads, still with the words of Idaeus to Priam: “They have brought many gold bracelets and purple robes, finely made ornaments, countless silver drinking cups and ivory.” The scene returns to the throne-room. The princesses respond happily to the news of their brother’s return while Priam stands up, slaps Idaeus appreciatively on the shoulder, and summons the chariots. They mount the chariots and depart, then reappear at the beach. Hector introduces his sisters to Andromache and the scene fades as they all return to the chariots. A more extended scene then plays out, depicting Hector and Andromache’s joyful procession into Troy. The floor is littered with branches, smoking bowls of incense, ampho­rae, and cups. Three musicians play the aulos, the kithara, and the castanets, in-keeping with the poem. Crowds cheer in celebration as the royals glide past on their chariots, waving. This is where the fragment is cut off. Black slip refills the gap. Sappho steps back into the center of the vase, playing the final notes. She stops in the posi­tion that she initially held, although there is still a slight movement in her earring and the plectrum loop as the vase fades out, replaced by an image of the Fragment 44 papyrus. 
The depiction of Sappho with her barbiton provides a reminder that ancient poetry was accompanied by music. In many of the Pa­noply animations, we have featured work by ancient music speci­alists such as Professor Conrad Steinmann of the music academy Schola Cantorum Basiliensis in Basel, Switzerland, and the Thiasos Theatre Company. For Sappho 44, we collaborated with Professor Armand D’Angour, whose research at the University of Oxford includes Greek music and meter and reconstituting the sounds of ancient Greek music. Professor D’Angour drew on that research to score music for the animation that is based on the rhythms and notes indicated in the fragment of Sappho’s poetry. As a result, the tune that can be heard playing throughout the animation is the same tune that the poem would have been sung to, now re-performed for the first time since antiquity. It is a little more somber than one might expect, perhaps a little strange to the modern ear, but it is accessible as music and is an effective way to bring poetry and image to life, with Sappho’s portrait, poetry, storytelling and music combined in a modern medium. 
It is intended that the Sappho 44 animation will give viewers an enjoyable experience of ancient culture. There is also a potential for it to be used educationally within schools, universities, museums, and similar settings. Being three minutes long, it does not consume a great deal of class time, yet it is an opportunity to see and hear Sappho’s poetry and Greek pottery presented in a clear and striking form. A variety of activities and discussions can be carried out to extend the learning opportunity further and develop its themes. For example, some learners may not be aware of the musical element of ancient poetry or may not have had an opportunity to hear it recon­structed. The soundtrack alone creates an opportunity to explore this and to extend students’ soundscapes through its unusual tones and rhythms. Teachers with younger learners might ask students to try and describe the music: What does it sound like? How is it similar to or different from modern music? Would the animation seem different if the music was different? This final question can be tested by inviting students to create new soundtracks (typically using percussion instruments) and to play those soundtracks over the muted animation. 
The appearance of figures from different eras of pottery alongside one another offers an opportunity for students to analyze the con­trasting styles and to consider how styles of art change over time. Younger learners will typically lack the background information with which to contextualize the geometric figures, so they are li­kely to benefit from seeing images of geometric-ware before they watch Sappho 44, and from having it explained explicitly that figures from an earlier age have been included in the animation although they are not on the same vase as Sappho. The Six technique is itself distinctive, and this is an opportunity to compare this depiction of Sappho with others, or with other depictions of musicians (ancient or modern).4 School teachers might invite their pupils to analyze an image of the vase before they watch the animation in order to de­termine what they can see and interpret, and what they think might happen if the image could move. This encourages viewers to notice details such as the plectrum, strings, hands and feet, and earrings. Once they have seen the animation, they might consider how their ideas corresponded to what happened. Those who have understood that the animation represents what happens in a fragment of ancient poetry can be challenged to create storyboards of alternative ways of representing the poem, or to storyboard a different Sappho fragment of their choosing. It can also be thought-provoking for learners to consider how they would present the vase and its animation with­in an exhibition: What themes would they draw out? What would they want viewers to get out of it? What artifacts would they present alongside? What text would they include? And so on. 
The Sappho 44 animation may also form the basis for construc­tive discussions on social and historical themes. What are the pros and cons of depicting a heterosexual wedding story by someone famous for lesbian poetry, for example? What does the inclusion of a name inscription suggest about ancient concepts of fame and reputation? What does the poem indicate about marriage in Sap­pho’s era or earlier eras? For groups exploring the Trojan War, the animation offers an accessible way of considering the creativity fo­cused on that topic in antiquity beyond the Homeric epics. Learners might be encouraged to explore questions such as: Why were people 
For Sappho, e.g.: cavi 4979; 6421; 204129 (Sappho with Alcaeus); 213777. 
still writing about Troy so long after the epics? What is the effect of addressing life at Troy before the war? Andromache is a powerful figure for approaching topics connected to military conflict and dis­placement. Fragment 44 is optimistic, celebrating the beginning of Andromache’s married life, but her father and seven brothers will die in the coming conflict, as will her new family; she herself will be enslaved and held captive in Greece. Focus on her life and its rep­resentations can be a way of addressing difficult issues having to do with loss and change, while also exploring the role of memory and art in preserving good times and moments of celebration. Materials will be released along with the animation which will support teach­ers in implementing these types of activities and discussions. 
Sappho 44 is a modern artwork drawing directly on ancient pot­tery, poetry, music, and storytelling. It is a celebration of all these mediums and an example of how the ancient continues to inspire the modern. The animation itself and the supporting materials will be available online for free from 2020 on the official project website, and a short documentary exploring its themes will follow in 2021. Feedback from all ages has been very positive so far and we look forward to hearing more responses to the animation, to Sappho, and to “godlike Hector and Andromache.”5 
Sappho 44, line 34. 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
Campbell, David A., ed. and trans. Greek Lyric, Volume I: Sappho and Al­caeus. Loeb Classical Library 142. Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1982. 
———, ed. and trans. Greek Lyric Poetry: A Selection of Early Greek Lyric, Elegiac and Iambic Poetry. Bristol: Bristol Classical Press, 2002. 
D’Angour, Armand, and Tom Phillips, eds. Music, Text, and Culture in An­cient Greece. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. 
———. “Vocables and Microtones in Ancient Greek Music.” Greek and Ro­man Musical Studies 4, no. 2 (2016): 273–285. 
———. “How Did Ancient Greek Music Sound?” bbc News website (2013): available online. 
DuBois, Page. Sappho. London: I.B. Tauris, 2015. 
Johnson, Marguerite. Ancients in Action: Sappho. Bristol: Bristol Classical Press, 2007. 
Nevin, Sonya. “Vase Animations and Primary-Aged Learners.” In Teaching Classics with Technology, edited by Steven Hunt and Bartolo Natoli, 121– 
130. London: Bloomsbury Academic Publishing, 2019. 
———. “Animating Ancient Warfare: The Spectacle of War in the Panoply Vase Animations.” In War as Spectacle: Ancient and Modern Perspecti­ves on the Display of Armed Conflict, edited by Anastasia Bakogianni and Valerie Hope, 335–352. London: Bloomsbury Academic Publishing, 2015. 
———. “Animations of Ancient Vase Scenes in the Classics Classroom.” Journal of Classics Teaching 16 (2015): 32–37. 
———, and Steve Simons. “Animating Antiquity: An Interview with Classi­cal Scholar Sonya Nevin and Animator Steve K. Simons.” Thersites: Journal for Transcultural Presences and Diachronic Identities from An­tiquity to Date 3 (2016): 37–48. 
Yatromanolakis, Dimitrios. Sappho in the Making, The Early Reception. Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Centre for Hellenic Studies, 2008. 
ABSTRACT 
The Panoply Vase Animation Project has created a new animati­on from the decoration on an ancient Greek hydria. The vase de­picts the poet Sappho with a lyre. The animation enables her to move, touch the strings, and play the instrument. It also features the words from Fragment 44 of her poetry and geometric figures acting out the poem. The music accompanying the animation was scored from the original poem and therefore offers the melody that the poem would have been sung to. This article discusses the deci-sion-making process that informed the creation of the animation and suggests ways in which the animation and its vase can be used in the classroom or lecture-hall as a flexible learning resource. 
KEYWORDS:digital, pedagogy, pottery, Sappho, Troy 
SAPFO 44: KREATIVNOST IN PEDAGOGIKA TER ANTICNI VERZI, VREZI IN SODOBNA ANIMACIJA 
IZVLECEK 
V okviru projekta Panoply Vase Animation je nastala nova anima­cija, ki temelji na okrasju anticne grške posode tipa hydria. Upo­dablja Sapfo z liro. Animacija pesnici omogoca gibanje, ubiranje strun, igranje na inštrument. Ob tem se pojavijo verzi iz njene pe­smi, iz fragmenta 44, spremljajo pa jih geometricno oblikovani liki, ki ponazarjajo vsebino tega fragmenta. Glasba, ki dopolnjuje ani­macijo, je nastala ob izvirniku in predstavlja melodijo, ki bi lahko spremljala izvajanje takšnih pesmi. Clanek opisuje postopek nas­tanka ter utemelji odlocitve, do katerih je prišlo pri animaciji. Ob tem predlaga vec možnosti za vkljucevanje takšne animacije, ki je zelo prilagodljiv ucni pripomocek, pri pouku na razlicnih stopnjah izobraževanja. 
KLJUCNEBESEDE:digitalije, pedagogika, keramika, Sapfo, Troja 
Terracotta lekythos, attributed to the Sappho Painter, ca. 500 bc, Metropolitan Museum of Art, accession no. 66.11.4. 
doi: https://doi.org/10.4312/clotho.1.2.17–33 

Aias Mastigophoros:


Divine Ostentation within a Play 
Andreja Inkret* 
AIAS MASTIGOPHOROS 
In a prominent tragic scene, Odysseus watches Aias coming out of his tent in reply to Athena’s call. Aias, who cannot see Odysseus, is holding a whip covered with blood, and he greets the goddess with the self-assurance of being her protégé. Yes, he boasts in response to Athena’s questions, he has killed the Atreidai (so, let them rob him of Achilles’ weapon now); as for Odysseus, his worst enemy, he is keeping him chained in his tent and will flog him to death. Athena objects to such cruelty, but just before returning to his tent, Aias sounds determined:1 
.a..e.., ....a, t.... ... s. .f.eµa., 
.e.... d. te.se. t..de .... ..... d..... 
(112–3) 
In all other matters, Athena, I salute you; but that man shall pay this penalty and no other. 
This short scene forms part of the opening of Sophocles’ Aias, a tragedy concentrating on the suicide and the funeral of one of the bravest heroes of the Trojan War. Structurally, it seems a somewhat independent inset, embedded within two dialogues between Athe­na and Odysseus, which contextualize it. At the beginning of the tragedy, Odysseus, sneaking around Aias’ tent, hears the voice of 
* Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, Aškerceva 2, 1000 Ljubljana, Slovenia; andreja.inkret@ff.uni-lj.si. 
The text of Sophocles’ Aias follows the edition and translation by Hugh Lloyd-Jo­nes. 
Athena.2 The goddess confirms Odysseus’ assumptions that it was Aias who killed the cattle the night before and that it was she who played a part in this mad deed by preventing Aias’ initial intention to kill Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus. Aias was overcome with rage because Achilles’ weapon had been presented to Odys­seus, so she inflicted madness upon the hero. She made him confuse the animals for Greek soldiers, which led to the sheep’s massacre. Athena then proclaims her intention to show the maddened hero to Odysseus: 
de... d. .a. s.. t..de pe..fa.. ..s.., .. p.s.. ...e...s.. e.s.d.. ...... (66–7) 
And I will show this madness openly to you also, so that you may tell all the Argives what you have seen. 
Odysseus objects in fear. The goddess nevertheless summons the hero, arranges that the latter cannot see Odysseus, and starts to converse with Aias, pretending to be his ally. When Aias leaves the stage to torture what he believes is Odysseus, the goddess turns to Odysseus again: 
...., .d.sse., t.. .e.. .s... .s.; t..t.. t.. .. s.. t..d... . p.....ste... . d... .µe.... ...... t. .a...a; (118–20) 
Do you see, Odysseus, how great is the power of the gods? What man was found to be more farsighted than this one, or better at doing what the occasion required? 
Aias coming onstage with a whip amid a bloody act of revenge must have been a memorable scene: it has given the play a later subtitle, .ast...f...., as noted by an Alexandrian scholar.3 Furthermore, it is no exaggeration to say that the scene is unique in the corpus of extant ancient drama. Though there are, of course, comparable elements and dramaturgical strategies to be found in other anci­
2 Athena seems to be invisible to Odysseus and later probably also to Aias (see, however, Taplin, Greek Tragedy in Action, 185). How Athena’s epiphany was staged, though, is impossible to work out. It seems likely that she was visible to theatre spectators, most probably on the theologeion (see Jebb and Garvie, ad 15). There is, however, no scholarly consensus. 
3 See Hypothesis. 
ent plays, this scene seems unparalleled as regards its dramaturgical structure. It achieves powerful effects through a specific composition that doubles the structural elements of theatre. 
Scholars have often noted the performative dimensions of this inset.4 Although they seem to refer to the inset using “a play-within-a-play” and related expressions rather instinctively, one can begin by rationalizing specifically the structural similarities that this extra­ordinary scene shares with theatre. In order to be as exact as possi­ble, this paper shall bring into discussion some concepts and ob­servations made by theatre theoreticians, but will deliberately avoid expressions such as “play-within-a-play,” “internal actor,” “internal director,” and alike. These expressions tend to be somewhat vague if one tries to describe the scene with precision. 
WATCHING “FICTION” 
One can begin with the following observation: at the mom­ent when Athena is speaking to Aias, two separate fictitious worlds coexist onstage (that is, within a theatre performance of Sophocles’ Aias). The first, being a creation of Athena, is con­textualized as non-real – it is a distorted reality as seen by poor Aias. In it, Aias is a brave hero avenging an injury who has just taken a break from torturing Odysseus and other soldiers in his tent. Athena is his ally, talking to him in a friendly way. How­ever, the audience knows that this world is a product of Aias’ hallucinations and Athena’s pretense. It is the other world that is – all the while juxtaposed with the former – contextualized as the real, actual one. In this realm, Aias is a sufferer of madness inflicted on him by Athena. The objects subjected to the tortu­re in his tent are not actually Greek soldiers but merely sheep. 
For example, J. P. Poe, Genre and Meaning in Sophocles’ Ajax, 29–30, referring to the scene as a play-within-a-play, comments that Aias is Athena’s “play thing,” being “brought on stage by Athena specifically to perform … and … put through an act directed by her.” Patricia E. Easterling, “Gods on Stage in Greek Tragedy,” 82, writes that Athena “presents for Odysseus as a spectator a play-within-a-play.” M. Ringer, Electra and the Empty Urn, 31–32, recognises in the prologue “a performative scheme which is periodically reenacted throughout the play” and K. Valakas, “The use of the body by actors in tragedy and satyr-play,” 73, describes Athena as “a theatrical director.” Aias is “transformed by her, like an actor into a madman,” while Odysseus “watches and listens as terrified, pitying and silent as the spectators.” 
Athena only pretends to be Aias’ ally. Besides, Aias is observed by his worst enemy, Odysseus, who is not helpless in Aias’ tent but is Athena’s true protégé. 
Even though the dialogue between Athena and Odysseus that preceded the inset (1–70) contextualized the first world as a non-actual, parallel world, that world is nevertheless concretely presented onstage. Friendly words between Aias and Athena are spoken for real, and Aias behaves like a hero. The logic of the ac­tion which happens for real but is contextualized as non-actual is close to a fundamental characteristic of theatre performance. Theatrologist Anne Ubersfeld5 points out that in a tale, written or spoken, “the story is expressly denoted as being imaginary,” whereas fiction presented in theatre is built on a paradox. Ob­jects, people, and actions onstage “indisputably exist,” but this “concrete reality” is “at the same time denied, marked with a minus sign.” This paradox is, of course, taken for granted by theatre participants – by performers and spectators. In this in­set, the underlying logic appears to be similar: Aias and Athena “indisputably” converse as allies, but this “concrete reality” is only a construct: it is “marked with a minus sign.” Furthermore, the “minus sign” is acknowledged by Athena as well as Odysseus. 
One may now take a closer look at the position of Odysseus. This is how his participation, as arranged by Athena, is descri­bed: 
.T... 
de... d. .a. s.. t..de pe..fa.. ..s.., 
.. p.s.. ...e...s.. e.s.d.. ...... 
.a.s.. d. µ.µ.e µ.d. s.µf.... d.... 
t.. ..d..· ... ... .µµ.t.. .p.st..f... 
a.... .pe.... s.. p..s.... e.s.de... 
(…) 
.... ..d. ... se µ. pa...t. .d. p..a.. 
...SS..S 
p.., e.pe. .f.a.µ... .e t... a.t... ...; 
.T... 
... s..t.s. ß..fa.a .a. ded....ta. (…) 
s..a ... .st.. .a. µ... .. ...e.. ..... 
(66–70; 83–5; 87) 
Anne Ubersfeld, Reading Theatre, 24. 
ATHENA And I will show this madness openly to you also, so that you may tell all the Argives what you have seen. Stay to meet the man with confidence, do not expect disaster; I shall divert the rays of his eyes so that he cannot see you. (…) But now he will not even see you near him. ODYSSEUS How so, if he is seeing with the same eyes? ATHENA I shall place his eyes in the darkness, even though they see. (…) Then stand in silence and remain as you are. 
It follows that Odysseus is a self-conscious spectator of the inset, as well as a privileged recipient of the action. Firstly, Odysseus watches self-consciously, knowing all the necessary codes. He knows that Aias is mad and that Athena is only pretending; he is aware that this is only a show. Furthermore, the conversation is first and foremost created for him (and through him for all the Argives),6 and special arrangements are made which provide him the safety of a spectator. This implies one of the fundamental characteristics of theatre per­formance, namely that there exist double recipients for everything spoken onstage. As T. Kowzan describes this “vraie spécificité de l’art théâtral”: 
The moment at least two characters are implied, we are dealing with the phenomenon of double reception, internal and external, typical of every dramatic action, with words and even without words. Every sign, every message is, in the context of theatrical fiction, supposed to be intended primarily for a stage partner or partners, co-chara­cters in the play being performed … Nevertheless, from the point of view of the theatre as a public and social activity, from the point of view of the communication process, it is the spectator who is the real receiver of everything performed …7 
Similarly, all the words spoken by Athena and Aias are intended to be heard not only by the collocutor – that is, either Athena or Aias 
– but, from Athena’s point of view, primarily by Odysseus. In other words, and to borrow the insights of stage performances and the the­atre frame by E. Goffman,8 Aias and Athena are “fellow performers 
6 Cf. 67, quoted above. 7 T. Kowzan, Sémiologie du théâtre, 59. 8 E. Goffman, Frame Analysis, 127. 
who respond to each other in the direct way as inhabitants of the same realm,” whereas Odysseus watches from another “realm,” responding “indirectly, glancingly, following alongside.” 
THE OSTENTATION ACT 
A useful theoretical concept to capture the performative essence of the scene might be so-called “ostentation,” a phenomenon analyzed by Umberto Eco in one of the first articles on theatre semiotics published in English. Eco talks about “the specific object and the starting level of a semiotics of theatre,” namely “the basic mystery of (theatrical) performance.”9 He analyses an intriguing example (first given by Charles Peirce): the Salvation Army expo­ses a drunkard in public space to promote the advantages of a moderate life. The drunkard displayed to the audience, Eco writes, has ceased to be only a body and has become “a semiotic device,” a sign, “a physical presence referring back to something absent.” The drunkard is subjected to a communication process in which different interpretations of the meaning of him as a sign (that is, different answers to the question “What is our drunken man re­ferring back to?”) can be created. In this case, Eco continues,10 the interpretation is marked by a given context that surrounds the drunkard: the principles of the Salvation Army thus denote the understanding of a drunkard as “an ideological statement.”11 
What is the relation between the displayed drunkard and a thea­tre performance? As already noted, Eco is after the essence of a the­atre experience, trying to avoid “one of its main temptations,” that is, “to start straight away from the most complex phenomena, instead of rediscovering the most basic features” of a phenomenon under scrutiny. 12 He finds “the most basic instance of performance” in the phenomenon of ostentation, namely in “one of the various ways of signifying, consisting in de-realizing a given object in order to make it stand for an entire class.”13 From the very moment when a human 
9 Umberto Eco, “Semiotics of Theatrical Performance,” 108–110. 10 Ibid., 117. 11 As Eco, ibid., explains: “What would have happened if the drunk had been 
exposed under the standard of a revolutionary movement? Would he still have 
signified ‘vice’ or rather ‘the responsibilities of the system,’ ‘the results of a bad 
administration,’ ‘the whole starving world’?” 12 Ibid., 109. 13 Ibid., 110. 
body becomes “framed within a sort of performative situation that establishes that it has to be taken as a sign,” Eco concludes, “the cur­tain is raised.”14 
A conscious and emphasized act of displaying a body that becomes “a semiotic device” and overgrows into a general message seems to lie at the core of Aias Mastigophoros. The act of ostentation appears to be close to Athena’s displaying of Aias’ condition. The goddess articulates her aim as follows: 
de... d. .a. s.. t..de pe..fa.. ..s.., .. p.s.. ...e...s.. e.s.d.. ...... (66–67) 
And I will show this madness openly to you also, so that you may tell all the Argives what you have seen. 
All three verbs included in the two lines seem to be relevant: Athena displays – ostends (de.....a.) Aias to Odysseus, who by watching (e.s....) would gain the experience significant enough to be con­veyed (...e..) to all the Argives. 
When one thinks about the interpretation, the message of Aias on display, it is the reaction of Odysseus as an internal recipient that seems to be the most important. In this context, it is worth noting that Odysseus, being a secret observer and a privileged recipient of the ostentation, acts as an intermediate between theatre spectators and the action onstage. It could be even argued that in the focus of spectators’ attention is not only an internal show but also Odys­seus’ reaction and interpretation of what he sees.15 Indeed, Odysseus’ comprehension of Aias Mastigophoros turns out to be quite a specific 
14 Ibid., 117. 
15 Several scholars single out the presence of internal spectators as a crucial element of the play-within-a-play and related devices. It is on an internal spectator, as Victor Bourgy, “About the Inset Spectacle in Shakespeare,” 6, persuasively argues, “that the inset spectacle operates immediately and it is its effect on him that matters.” The effect on internal audiences is normally more powerful when internal spectators are also internal recipients. No example is better and more complex than the Murder of Gonzago within Shakespeare’s Hamlet, a Claudius-trap; the recipient status of Claudius and Gertrude is emphasized by the play being especially tailored for them and their reaction being vigilantly observed. Cf. Bourgy, ibid.: “All the court of Elsinore have gathered to watch the inset performance, just as all the paying audi­ence have come to watch Hamlet, but the real game is played between a few great ones among the stage spectators, in their effort to catch on one another’s faces signs of their secret thought or designs. Claudius, seconded by Polonius, watches Hamlet on the sly as much as the latter, with the help of Horatio, watches him.” 
experience. When the spectacle is over, his impressions are different from those anticipated. When Athena first summoned Aias out of his tent, Odysseus objected to her intentions (74ff.). The reasons for his objection, explicitly mentioned, are fear and the fact that Aias is hostile to him. Athena followed the thread, suggesting that Odysseus could mock his enemy, who was so unheroically overwhelmed by rage, gloating over his insanity. However, when the spectacle is over, both Athena and Odysseus discuss the subject in different terms. For Odysseus, Aias is no longer only his enemy, but primarily a mise­rable human being:
                                     … .p...t... d. ... d.st.... .µpa., .a.pe. ..ta d.sµe.., .....e.. .t. s...at..e..ta. .a.., ..d.. t. t..t.. µ..... . t..µ.. s..p... 
(121–4) 
… I pity him in his misery, though he is my enemy, because he is bound fast by a cruel affliction, not thinking of his fate, but my own. 
The experience has made Odysseus think about his destiny. Aias has become a specimen, provoking in Odysseus not only a feeling of pity but also a cognition about humankind in general (125–6). Athena only confirms this, making clear to Odysseus that to experience Aias Mastigophoros was to learn a moral les­son: 
t..a.ta t..... e.s.... .p....p.. µ.d.. p.t. e.p.. a.t.. .. .e... .p.., µ.d. ..... ... µ.d..., e. t.... p.... . .e... ß...e.. . µa.... p...t.. ß..e.. .. .µ..a ....e. te .....e. p.... .pa.ta t.....pe.a· t... d. s.f...a. .e.. f....s. .a. st....s. t... .a..... 
(127–34) 
Look, then, at such things, and never yourself utter an arrogant word against the gods, nor assume conceit because you outweigh another in strength or in the profusion of great wealth. Know that a single day brings down or raises again all mortal things, and the gods love those who think sensibly and detest offenders! 
To borrow Eco’s words once more, Aias, being “framed within a sort of performative situation,” is turned into “a semiotic device.” With it, Athena shows to Odysseus (and through him to other Greeks) the ephemerality of humans, warning him against arrogance towards the gods and emphasizing the importance of s.f..s.... 
DIVINE POWER 
One can, therefore, argue that an act of ostentation, an essential performative situation, is included within a theatre performance of Sophocles’ Aias. Since theatre performance is the most complex performative situation and a fundamental paradigm of performance as a concept itself, there is no doubt that Athena’s display of Aias is far more sophisticated and complex than the drunkard displayed by the Salvation Army as described by Umberto Eco. The subject on display, and consequently the context which surrounds it in this scene, is more ambiguous, the relations between participants more telling, meaningful, binding, even fatal. After all, everything that oc­curs in theatre has a special meaning. Everything is highly relevant and portentous since the audience watching a theatre action – by contrast to events in everyday life – does not need, as Langer emp­hasizes, “to find what is significant; the selection has been made – whatever is there is significant, and it is not too much to be surveyed in toto.”16 Some elements that contribute to the complexity of the os­tentation act within Aias have been already singled out above: the act consists not only of Aias being displayed but of a parallel, non-actual world which Athena helps to sustain by pretending to be Aias’ ally. Besides, Odysseus is a privileged recipient and an attentive spectator of Aias Mastigophoros.  
However, one of the most significant characteristics, which ma­kes the scene particularly convoluted, is the fact that this is a divine ostentation act. It is no exaggeration to say that Athena is a sine qua non of Aias Mastigophoros. By inflicting madness on Aias’ mind, she creates a parallel world. By pretending that Aias’ world perception is accurate, she makes the parallel world concrete. By summoning Aias out of his tent and arranging that Odysseus can watch him safely, she creates a sophisticated performative situation. By explaining to Odysseus how Aias is to be understood, she gives a deeper meaning to the show as a whole. Aias Mastigophoros, with all its characte­ristics that seem related to theatre, is, therefore, Athena’s creation. 
16 Langer, Feeling and Form, 310. 
As regards Greek dramaturgy of the fifth century bc, Athena’s omnipotence seems to be nothing extraordinary. Gods, in one way or another, always crucially mark tragic stories presented on the Athenian stage. They are the origins, forces which frame crucial events, strengths which turn the action in unexpected di­rections, entities to which characters address their complaints or requests, they are called as witnesses to injuries … There is no doubt that Athena’s ability to put Aias on display is grounded in this divine omnipotence, always present in the tragic theatre. 
One of the challenges for a playwright dealing with mythi­cal subjects, among others,17 was undoubtedly to find a speci­fic way to translate divine figures and their characteristics into stage language. This implies the very building and exploration of the language of theatre. Tragedy, “crumbs from Homer’s ta­ble,” as Aeschylus allegedly described his works, has to look for its way to show the presence of mythical gods. Sophocles seems to have created some of the most compelling representations of gods onstage. The haunting importance of Apollo’s oracles in Oedipus Tyrannus, for example, could prompt one to conclude that Sophocles elaborates with unsurpassed mastery the method through which divine presence and influence are only suggested and not concretely represented.18 The thunder in Oedipus at Co­lonus (1456ff.), a magnificent sign of divine presence, seems an equally powerful device that conjures up the meeting of Oedipus with the gods. Athena’s appearance in Aias can be understood similarly, as a result of Sophocles’ search for a specific dramatur­gical manner to show divine presence onstage. However, what is the significance of Athena’s act of ostentation within Aias? How does it affect the audiences in the theatre? 
Whereas the ultimate will and intention of the goddess (and the same applies to other Sophoclean gods) remain elusive and remote,19 the main reason for her exhibition of Aias seems clear. Her primary purpose is implied in the question she addresses to Odysseus immediately after the terrifying spectacle is over: 
17 See Burian’s inspiring discussion “Myth into muthos.” 18 Cf. Easterling, “Gods on Stage in Greek Tragedy,” 78: “One could … argue that 
the most imaginative, compelling and effective way to create a sense of divine 
presence and power was… by suggestion rather than visible representation, 
just as violence narrated is often more powerful than violence shown to the 
audience.” 19 See Parker, “Through a Glass Darkly: Sophocles and the Divine.” 
...., .d.sse., t.. .e.. .s... .s.; (118) 
Do you see, Odysseus, how great is the power of the gods? 
“Aias on display,” therefore, signifies the greatness of “. .e.. .s....” Furthermore, the latter – so it seems – is not only exhi­bited by the manifestation of Aias’ madness. Athena emphasizes the shameful condition of a hero (which later becomes the cause of his suicide) by making a spectacle of him in front of his worst enemy. This seems to be an even heightened demonstration of di­vine power. Besides, the power of Athena is also foregrounded by the fact that Aias becomes a specimen signifying a general message for the particular recipient. It is in this segment that Sophocles’ dramatic mastery is most evident. Such manifestation of divine authority seems to be indigenous to the theatre. Mirroring theatre characteristics, it is effective and powerful particularly in theatre. 
If one tries to grasp the function of the inset in the tragedy as a whole, it seems crucial to note that, in essence, Athena’s os­tentation of Aias is not required as regards the plot. All the facts are already known from the opening conversation between Athena and Odysseus. Odysseus’ impressions are also not crucial for the immediate development of the story; instead, they are essential in different ways and in a longer run. Aias Mastigophoros seems to mark both momentous events in the tragedy of Aias: the hero’s suicide and his funeral which ends the play. It is because of this scene that later events seem credible. 
In retrospect, Aias’ ostentation functions as a powerful and pithy visual demonstration of the reasons for his subsequent sui­cide. That Aias’ misfortune is shown by way of a horrifying specta­cle, which is, in addition, watched by the hero’s worst enemy (cf. 1383), has a more profound effect on the spectator than mere listen­ing about Aias’ condition would. Because Aias’ victorious feelings are witnessed by Odysseus, who knows that the latter are unjus­tified and will not last long, Aias’ condition is not only terrifying and pitiful but also profoundly humiliating. This seems to fore­ground Aias’ later feelings of shame and disgrace, making them more credible. 
First and foremost, however, the sophisticated ostentation act justifies Odysseus’ behavior when he reappears at the end of the play (1316ff.). By contrast to Menelaus and Agamemnon, the other two imaginary victims of the hero’s rage objecting to the funeral of the warrior that wanted to harm them, Odysseus sees things in a different light. He surprises Agamemnon by challenging his ver­dict and insisting that Aias should be buried as befits a hero. The reasons for his behavior are to be traced to the beginning of the play when he received Athena’s lesson. Again, it seems crucial that Odysseus’ learning of the divine lesson did not consist of learning facts (he knows everything before Aias comes onstage), but of ex­perience, of “seeing a madman in full view,” as Jebb’s translation reads.20 In short, it was the experience of a spectator that has made him a better human. 
FLEETING SHADOWS 
The fact that Athena, by way of a performative situation, makes Odysseus a better human, might remind one of Aristophanes’ Frogs. Aristophanic Euripides, discussing the qualities of a good playwright with Aeschylus, expresses a similar idea:21 
..S....S 
.p.....a. µ.., t.... ...e.a ... .a.µ..e.. ..d.a p...t..; 
........S 
de...t.t.. .a. ....es.a., .t. ße.t.... te p....µe. 
t... .....p... .. ta.. p..es... 
(1008–10) 
AESCHYLUS For what qualities should a poet be admired? EURIPIDES Skill and good counsel, and because we make people better members of their communities. 
This parallel seems to underpin an assumption made by P.E. Easterling, namely that Odysseus’ experience of Aias Mastigopho­ros “can be seen as a guide to the audience as spectators … of tra­gedy in general,” whereas the internal scene “illustrates the func­tion of theatre to create models for us to try out.”22 That observed, there is no need to insist on describing either Athena or the inset as a whole in explicitly metatheatrical terms, for instance, inter­preting Athena as “an internal playwright/director” and the like. Whereas it is in any case difficult to capture the audiences’ experi­
20 The Ajax, translated by Richard Jebb, 81. 21 Edition and translation by Jeffrey Henderson. 22 Patricia E. Easterling, “Gods on Stage in Greek Tragedy,” 82. 
ence in all its complexity, it does not seem likely that Athena’s Aias Mastigophoros was meant to become a mirror of theatre during the performance of Aias.23 Rather than making audiences rationalize by drawing their attention to the theatre as an artistic medium, the principal and more immediate purpose of the inset appears to be to affect spectators somehow irrationally. This happens by way of a frightful spectacle well-grounded in tragedy as a whole, on the basis of which, as noted in the preceding section, later events in the play seem more credible. 
It has, however, been argued throughout this paper that Athena’s ostentation of Aias is structurally created in the image of theatre. Thus it cannot be denied, either, that a particular kind of implicit theatrical self-awareness permeates the scene. This is perhaps most evident in Odysseus’ experience as a spectator. To illustrate it once more, one has to return to the dialogue between Athena and Odys­seus after they witness the terrifying spectacle: 
.T... ...., .d.sse., t.. .e.. .s... .s.; t..t.. t.. .. s.. t..d... . p.....ste... . d... .µe.... ...... t. .a...a; ...SS..S ... µ.. ..d... ..d.· .p...t... d. ... d.st.... .µpa., .a.pe. ..ta d.sµe.., .....e.. .t. s...at..e..ta. .a.., ..d.. t. t..t.. µ..... . t..µ.. s..p... ... ... .µ.. ..d.. ..ta. .... p... e.d... .s..pe. ..µe. . ...f.. s..... 
(118–126) 
23 The question of “metatheatre” requires a paper on its own. In this context, let me only emphasize that I agree to a large extent with T. Rosenmeyer, “‘Metatheater’: An Essay on Overload,” who argued that classical studies, especially on the west side of the Atlantic, are especially prone to exagge­ration as regards the use of the term metatheatre, as well as the concept itself and its implications. One could argue that one of the questionable ideas which have been taken for granted is the assumption that the effect of dramatic devices sharing structural resemblances with theatre perfor­mance (such as the ostentation act in Aias) usually, perhaps always, draws spectators’ attention to the play as a play and consequently makes the audi­ence contemplate theatre and play. This seems to be to a large extent an oversimplification: effects brought about by such devices must have been (and remain) complex and varied. 
athena Do you see, Odysseus, how great is the power of the gods? What man was found to be more farsighted than this one, or better at doing what the occasion required? odysseus I know of none, and I pity him in his misery, though he is my enemy, because he is bound fast by a cruel affliction, not thinking of his fate, but my own; because I see that all of us who live are nothing but ghosts, or a fleeting shadow. 
It seems striking that the concluding thoughts expressed by Athe­na and Aias after they witness Aias Mastigophoros appear to be extraordinarily close to what B. Senegacnik persuasively singles out as the most probable “common landmark” of all extant plays by Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, namely the “cognition that man’s position in the cosmos is uncertain and his own iden­tity unstable.” The latter is usually shown as a consequence of the actions of heroes brought in conflict with divine order. This conflict “always signifies radical relativization of their power and freedom.”24 Furthermore, if “this tragic message,” as Senegacnik continues, “is most distinct in plays that show great heroes falling off the top of glory into nothingness,”25 one may add that Aias Mastigophoros can be seen as a compact specimen of such a fall. It shows a man, once a hero, one of the greatest heroes ever, utterly humiliated, disgraced, at the very bottom. 
Perhaps the implicit theatrical self-awareness of this scene is to be attributed to the playwright’s inherent reflection on his artistic medium, its power, and responsibility. This short but memorable scene, as this paper tries to show, exhibits characteristics intrinsic to theatre art. Perhaps it is through it that we may glimpse So­phocles’ perception of tragedy. 
24 Brane Senegacnik, “Klasicna atiška tragedija,” 76. 25 Ibid. 
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1977). Valakas, Kostas. “The use of the body by actors in tragedy and satyr-play.” 
In Greek and Roman Actors: Aspects of an Ancient Profession, ed. by 
Patricia Elizabeth Easterling and Edith Hall, 69–92. Cambridge: Cam­
bridge University Press, 2002. 
ABSTRACT 
The paper analyses a short scene that forms part of the opening of Sophocles’ Aias (66–133): Aias, suffering from the madness that was inflicted upon him by Athena, is displayed by the goddess to Odysseus. In the corpus of extant ancient drama, this inset appears to be unique. Its expressive power is derived from the scene’s spe­cific structure that doubles the integral elements of theatre. The paper suggests the reasons why the scene has often been labelled “a play-within-a-play,” describing and illustrating the elements that can be paralleled with the structural components of theatre. Taking as basis concepts and ideas proposed by modern theatre theoreticians (Anne Ubersfeld, Tadeusz Kowzan, Umberto Eco), the paper argues that the essence of the performative dimension of the scene is to be found in the phenomenon of the “ostentation act” first described by Umberto Eco. Tracing the meaning of the inset within the tragedy as a whole, the paper emphasizes the fact that the “ostentation” in Aias is a divine creation, and examines how Odysseus, a privileged recipient of the spectacle, reacts to the display of Aias’ shameful condition. 
KEYWORDS:Greek drama, Sophocles’ Aias, theatre theory, play­-within-a-play, theatricality, “ostentation act” 
AIAS MASTIGOPHOROS: BOŽANSKO RAZKAZOVANJE V IGRI 
IZVLECEK 
Clanek analizira krajši prizor v zacetnem delu Sofoklejevega Ajan­ta (66–133): Ajanta, zmrcvarjenjega od norosti, ki mu jo je sama povzrocila, Atena pokaže Odiseju. V celotnem korpusu ohranjene anticne dramatike se zdi tak scenografski prijem edinstven. Nje­gova izrazna moc izhaja iz specificne strukture tega prizora, kjer se podvajajo kljucni elementi gledališca kot takega. Clanek navaja razloge, zakaj je bil ta prizor veckrat oznacen kot »igra v igri«, ki opisuje in prikazuje elemente, vzporedne strukturnim kompo­nentam gledališca. Temeljne koncepte in ideje najde pri modernih teoretikih gledališca (Anne Ubersfeld, Tadeusz Kowzan, Umber­to Eco) in predlaga, da je bistvo performativne razsežnosti tega prizora v pojavu »razkazovanja« ki ga je prvi opisal Umberto Eco. Ko raziskuje pomen tega dramskega vložka za celotno tragedijo, clanek pokaže, da gre pravzaprav za stvaritev bogov, in ugotavlja, kako se Odisej, privilegirani gledalec te drame, odzove na prikaz Ajantovega sramotnega stanja. 
KLJUCNEBESEDE:grška dramatika, Sofoklejev Ajant, teorija gledališca, »igra v igri«, teatralika, razkazovanje 
Terracotta lekythos, attributed to the Sappho Painter, ca. 500 bc, Metropolitan Museum of Art, accession no. 41.162.29. 
doi: https://doi.org/10.4312/clotho.1.2.35–53 



Investigating the Semantic Development of Modal Markers: The Role of Context 
Tomaž Potocnik and Matej Hriberšek* 
INTRODUCTION 
The variety of approaches in investigating the phenomena common­ly subsumed under the term modality can at least partly be explained by the fact that modality, when compared to other grammatical ca­tegories, is quite tricky to pinpoint in any given sentence. One can illustrate this with an example: 
1) Erasmus, Convivium Religiosum 1067–9: In utroque cornu prominet pensile cubiculum […] unde spectare licet pomarium et aviculas nostras. ‘In each of the two corners, there is a closed balco­ny […] where one may rest, and whence one can see the fruit garden and our little birds.’ 
When asked what the tense of the main verb prominet is, one re­sponds without hesitation that it is in the present tense. This can immediately be proved morphologically with the expected ending for the 3rd person singular of the 2nd conjugation, ­et. In terms of as­pect, the subject, pensile cubiculum, is clearly expressed in the nomi­native, so this and the absence of any passive endings both show that one is dealing with an active sentence. 
Let us proceed to the domain of modality. In 1), one can identify one modal marker, licet. What kind of modality does it express and how does one know this? These questions prove slightly more embarrass­ing, for, except for the choice of the verb, there is nothing tangible 
* University College London, Gower Street, London, wc1e 6bt, tomaz.potoc­nik.19@ucl.ac.uk; Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, Aškerceva 2, 1000, Ljubljana; matej.hribersek@ff.uni-lj.si. 
to work with – there is nothing a priori modal about licet. Digging into the relatively young field of modality, one learns that licet can express two kinds of modality, deontic and epistemic. The deontic one requires a person or an entity permitting or enabling the state of affairs. In our case, a connection with such a participant cannot be established, one must, therefore, conclude that the modal marker li­cet expresses epistemic modality – more precisely, that of possibility. Indeed, it does, as demonstrated by the translation, which employs the more obvious epistemic modal can. 
A second example, from the same period, shows another use of licet: 
2) Erasmus of Rotterdam, Apotheosis Capnionis 46–7: Pompilius. Quid, si divinem? ‘What if I try to guess?’ Brassicanus. Licet. ‘Sure.’ 
The form licet in 2) has the value of a simple confirmation. Such use of licet is widely attested in the archaic period. Intuition tells us that the use is semantically related to the one in 1); pragmatically speak­ing, modality seems to have disappeared from licet in the exchange in 2). The two examples show that modality is not discernible from the form of the modal marker and, as 2) shows, even the presence of a known modal marker does not guarantee modality. 
Modality, while somewhat marked in the verbal complex, is not expressed morphologically in the same way as other categories, such as tense and aspect. For a historical linguist, this has practi­cal consequences. While one can establish a detailed history of the semantic and morphological development of such forms as suffixes, propositions, or adverbs, with all the intermediate stages – insofar as sufficient textual evidence exists – in the case of modal forms the matter is more complicated. From the synchronic perspective, as well as the diachronic one, one quickly observes that for expressing various modal meanings and nuances, few forms are available alto­gether. Moreover, beside the modal meanings, most of them, especi­ally verbs, have a primary, concrete, pre-modal meaning. Compare the following: 
3) Cicero, Fam. 3.5: Perpaucos dies, dum pecunia accipitur quae mihi ex publica permutatione debetur, commorabor. ‘I shall stay there for a very few days to get in some money due to me on an exchequer bill of exchange.’1 
Translation by Evelyn S. Shuckburgh, modified. 
4) Cicero, Fam. 2.3: Ad quae si es, ut debes, paratus […]. ‘If you are prepared for that, as you must be […].’ 
Since the morphological analysis is of little help in investigating the synchronic variation and diachronic development of a morpho­logically stable form, one needs to devise a tool, a proxy, to first efficiently describe the modal markers for Latin, and secondly, to reconstruct their development over centuries for which the textual resources are available. This article aims to demonstrate that, for Latin, a close investigation of immediate context may at least partly fulfill that role. 
Chapter 2 presents a summary of leading theoretical positions in the domain of modality and defines the term paths of modality. Chapter 3 presents a model for studying the role of context in se­mantic change. Chapter 4 applies it to one Latin modal construc­tion and examines one possible so-called switch context. Chapter 5 presents the implications and potential of this method for future research. 
RESEARCH IN MODALITY AND LATIN MODALITY 
Previous research 
Despite some earlier efforts, such as Lyons’s,2 research on moda­lity took off in the 1980s with Palmer3 in functional and typolog­ical linguistics and Kratzer4 in formal semantics. The reasons for this relatively late surge in interest are probably due to the unclear character of modality. Compared to other categories, such as tense and aspect, modality is much harder to delineate, and it is there­fore frequently unclear what the object of investigation should be. Rather than as a category, it is perhaps more useful to imagine it as a conceptual domain.5 
Among the studies on Latin modality, it is necessary to men­tion Bolkestein,6 who, in her thorough study, considers semantic and syntactic factors to explain differences in meaning in Latin expressions of necessity. 
2 Lyons, Semantics. 3 Palmer, Mood and Modality. 4 Kratzer, “What ‘Must’ and ‘Can’ Must and Can Mean.” 5 Narrog, Modality, Subjectivity, and Semantic Change, 1. 6 Bolkestein, Problems in the Description of Modal Verbs. 
In their critical study, Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca7 have pro­posed some diachronic paths of development of modal meanings, propelled by specific common mechanisms of change. More im­portantly, they adopted a viewpoint that served as a model for se­veral researchers in recent decades and which is adopted for this article, namely that “generalizations are more effectively formula­ted as generalizations about paths of development than as genera­lizations about synchronic states.”8 
Van der Auwera and Plungian9 have outlined a semantic map,a geometric representation of cross-linguistically relevant synchro­nic and diachronic relations between various modal meanings and uses. Relying on some aspects of their work, Magni10 has, in the domain of Latin, focused on grammatical markers characterized by the richness of meaning and usage. In her works on modality, she further develops the claim by Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca11 that meanings and functions ascribed to modality and mood are better described in terms of diachronic sequences than synchronic realities. Her approach, essential for this article, is based on the hypothesis that 1) semantic development is predictable, and 2) mul­tiple uses of forms are not randomly distributed but are associated and located along predictable pathways.12 
Concerning modality, several researchers underline the impor­tance of subjectivity. Traugott and Dasher13 were the first to treat the domain of subjectivity diachronically. More recently, Narrog14 provides a valuable synthesis of competing theories on modality and subjectivity and he proposes his model to study empirical data in the domain of modality and subjectivity. Fruyt, in her studies of grammaticalization in Latin,15 shows the importance of gramma­ticalization in the studies of modality. 
There is, furthermore, an ongoing project at the University of Lausanne to provide a comprehensive diachronic study of Latin modality under the leadership of Francesca Dell’Oro. This article is partially inspired by said project. 
7 Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca, The Evolution of Grammar. 8 Ibid., 4. 9 Van der Auwera and Plungian, “Modality’s Semantic Map,” 79–124. 10 Magni, “Mood and Modality.” 11 See note 10. 12 Ibid., 265–66. 13 Traugott and Dasher, Regularity in Semantic Change. 14 Narrog, Modality, Subjectivity, and Semantic Change. 15 E.g., Fruyt, “Grammaticalization in Latin,” 661–864. 
What is modality? 
Modality is not as easily defined as tense and aspect. The term mo­dality describes a broad conceptual domain whose implications and functions have been investigated in both logic and linguistics. From a linguistic point of view, modality affects all areas of gram­mar and interacts with other categories, such as negation, tense, and aspect. While, as shown in the introduction, it cannot be in­vestigated on the level of morphology, it is usually16 marked – to­gether with tense and aspect – somewhere in the verbal complex;17 in fact, it is closely related to these two categories in that all three are concerned with the event or situation that is reported by the utterance: tense is concerned with the time of the event; aspect is concerned with the internal temporal constituency of the event; and “modality is concerned with the status of the proposition, that describes the event.”18 
According to one definition, espoused by some researchers – for example, Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca19 based on Palmer20 and Lyons21 – modal markers are the grammaticalization of a speaker’s attitudes and opinions. It has, however, recently been shown, that the notions of modality reach far beyond this definition. Indeed, it may be impossible to come up with a succinct characterization of the notion of modality.22 Instead, it has been suggested that moda­lity is best viewed as a set of diachronically related functions and that the real understanding of modality would only emerge from the study of these diachronic relations.23 
Understood in Palmer’s terms, the influences of modality do not relate only or even primarily to the verb, but to the whole sen­tence. Consequently, it is challenging to decide what to include in investigations of modality. Various notions have been proposed for the study and delimitation of the domain of modality: attitudes 
16 But not always – think of adverbs such as eng. probably, lat. libenter, etc. This 
article, however, and the methodology it proposes, is mostly focused on the 
modality in the verbal complex. 17 Magni, “Mood and modality,” 193. 18 Palmer, Mood and Modality, 1. 19 Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca, The Evolution of Grammar, 176. 20 Palmer, Mood and Modality, 16. 21 Lyons, Semantics, 452. 22 Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca, Evolution of Grammar, 176. 23 See Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca, The Evolution of Grammar, 176–242, Magni, 
“Mood and Modality,” 193–275. 
and opinions of the speaker, subjectivity, factuality, speech acts, as well as “a group of concepts that include possibility, necessity, permission, obligation, ability, and volition.”24 
While little agreement exists regarding the definition of moda­lity, a widely held view among linguists is that the notion of subjecti­vity is of central importance.25 From this, it follows that a parti­cipant’s subjective attitude can be applied either to the event itself or the proposition describing it. This leads to the critical division between event modality and propositional modality.26 Compare the following examples: 
5) Dokoncati moraš domaco nalogo. ‘To-finish must-2nd pers.sg. homework-acc.’ 
6) Zdaj mora biti že doma. ‘Now must-3rd pers.sing. to-be already home.’ 
The same verb, morati ‘to have to’ is employed in two different ways, representing a fundamental distinction in the domain of modality: deontic and epistemic. 
The usage in 5), known as deontic modality, may be defined in terms of “permission” and “obligation”;27 however, this character­ization might be too narrow and not appropriate for all cases. In more general terms, it might be defined as “an indication of the de­gree of desirability for the state of affairs, expressed in the utterance, typically, but not necessarily, on behalf of the speaker.” As the word “degree” indicates, the desirability should be seen as situated on the scale, ranging from absolute necessity through intermediate stages to lesser desirability and undesirability.28 
The example 6), on the other hand, is a case of epistemic modali­ty, where the speaker expresses the estimation as to what degree the state of affairs expressed in the utterance holds for the world. One is again dealing with a scale from absolute certainty that the state of affairs is factual through intermediate stages to the negative side, i.e., that the state of affairs is certainly not factual or is untrue.29 
24 Magni, “Mood and Modality,” 1–2. 25 See Magni, “Mood and Modality,” 194, Narrog, Modality, Subjectivity, and 
Semantic Change. 26 Palmer, Mood and Modality, 7–8. 27 Cf. e.g., Palmer Mood and Modality, 96–7. 28 Nuyts, “The Modal Confusion,” 9. 29 Ibid., 10. 
Pathways of Modality 
The idea of pathways of modality emerges from the view mentioned above that modality is best studied as a series of diachronically related functions, first discussed by Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca.30 According to this view, every modal form can be viewed as situated in a chain, “one giving rise to another.”31 This approach is based on the hypothesis that semantic development is predictable, that multiple uses of a single form are “not randomly distributed but are associated and located along certain pathways that reflect the evolution of grammatical meanings.”32 Although unidirectionality in semantic development and the related studies of grammaticali­zation are to some extent controversial,33 it is widely held in studies of modality that deontic meanings are more basic than epistemic ones, the latter as a general rule appearing later than the former.34 This hypothesis is crucial for the present article. 
Let us consider the verb possum ‘I can.’ At the very beginning, it conveyed the simple idea of physical strength and capability, as illustrated by example 7): 
7) Plautus, Truc. 812–13: Plus potest qui plus ualet. Vir erat, plus ualebat: uicit, quod petebat abstulit. ‘He can do the most, who is the strongest. He was a man, he was the strongest: he prevailed, what he wanted, he took with him.’ 
Now compare the following example with 7): 
8) Plautus, Bacch. 580: Comesse panem tris pedes latum potes. ‘You can eat up a loaf three feet wide.’ 
Clearly, there is a difference between 7) and 8): possum in 8) re­presents not the physical might, but the ability to do something. Possum has undergone a semantic shift from the specific meaning 
30 Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca, The Evolution of Grammar, 176–242. 31 Ibid., 17. 32 Magni, “Mood and Modality,” 212. 33 See e.g., Haspelmath, “Why is Grammaticalization Irreversible?” Ziegeler, 
“Redefining Unidirectionality,” etc. 34 See Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca, The Evolution of Grammar; Magni, “Modality’s 
Semantic Maps,” etc. 
towards a more general one. In other words, it has moved along the predictable pathway mentioned above. Consider now the following pair of examples: 
9) Plaut., Amph. 1.1: Animum aduorte. Nunc licet mi libere quiduis loqui. ‘Pay attention: now, I am permitted to say anything freely.’ 
10) Plaut. Amph. 1.3: Licet, prius tua opinione hic adero: bonum an­imum habe. ‘Yes, I will be here earlier than you think. Cheer up.’ 
In the first case licet ‘it is permitted’ carries the meaning of per­mission; in the second, it means no more than ‘ok then.’ Example 
10) is so far along the pathway of modality, that it has lost almost all original lexical meaning and has instead adopted a pragmatic function of confirmation. 
In short, research in the development of modality has esta­blished lines of development of modal expressions, the so-cal­led pathways of modality. All the modal expressions, such as licet ‘it is permitted,’ oportet ‘it is necessary,’ debeo ‘I have to,’ and possum ‘I can’ move along these lines, as their meaning shi­fts from a more specific to a more general one. They start from the so-called pre-modal stages, as in 7), and sometimes finish as grammaticalized expressions that have lost all traces of their original meaning, as in 10). It is now known that modal expres­sions across languages follow similar paths and follow the same kinds of rules. 
THE ROLE OF CONTEXT 
In the literature on language change, one can frequently observe descriptions of an original state A, of a target state B, and specula­tion about what has happened in between. The intermediate stages – or, to be more precise, the continuum between the two described states – frequently remain underrated.35 Granted, for many lan­guages, primarily, if one studies their earlier stages, the data for this intervening period may only be missing. It is, therefore, all the more critical for the historically well-attested languages, Latin as a prime example, to fill that void. This article tries to identify one aspect of what happens on the way from A to B. 
35 Heine, “On the Role of Context in Grammaticalization,” 83. 
As demonstrated by the examples 1) and 2) above, for a success­ful study of semantic development of modal verbs, it is necessary to find a way that will make the change in the meaning of a formally unchanging word observable in the written texts that have come down to us. Heine36 observes that there are cross-linguistically predictable contexts that encourage the semantic change to take place. He proposes three critical types of contexts that need to be distinguished. These are: 
Bridging contexts. – These contexts are what in the literature since Grice37 has been described as “inferences” or “implicatures.” They trigger a mechanism that adds to the existing meaning another meaning, which offers a more plausible interpretation of the utte­rance concerned. While the target meaning is the most likely inter­pretation, the interpretation in terms of original meaning cannot be ruled out. A linguistic unit can be associated with one or more bridging contexts. Bridging contexts can give rise to conventional meanings, but not necessarily. 
Switch contexts. – For a switch towards a new meaning, a bridging context is not enough. What is needed is a so-called switch context. Such contexts are incompatible with some salient property of the source meaning; an interpretation in terms of the source meaning is therefore ruled out. The target meaning is now the only possi­ble interpretation. Meanings appearing in switch contexts have to be supported by a specific context (which is not the case for conventionalizations, see below). 
Conventionalizations. – Most context-induced meanings remain precisely that. They have usually been described as inferences, contextual meanings, or pragmatic meanings. However, some of them may develop some frequency of use: they no longer need to be supported by a specific context. They become the “usual,” “inhe­rent,” “normal” meanings.38 A conventionalized meaning has the following properties: 
– it can be used in a new context, other than the bridging and switch contexts; 
36 Ibid., 83–101. 37 Grice, Logic and Conversation. 38 Cf. Hopper and Traugott, Grammaticalization, 73–4. 
–
 while in the switch context the target meaning is incompa­tible with the source meaning, conventionalized meanings can contradict it; 

– 
this means that the source and the target meaning can co-oc­cur side by side. 


The above contexts, therefore, suggest a four-stage scenario: At stage I, there is a standard, source meaning. At stage II, specific contexts can give rise to another meaning, which is more likely than the source meaning. At stage III, a type of context which is incompatible with the source semantics appears. At the final stage, stage IV, the new meaning, triggered by the switch contexts, has developed a sufficient frequency to stand alone and to become the new usual meaning. The new meaning can co-exist with the sou­rce meaning. As the authors hope to demonstrate in the following chapter, Heine’s four-stage model can be fruitfully applied to the investigations of Latin modality.39 
CASE STUDY: LICET 
The impersonal form licet and its identified meanings and functions 
Latin has a limited number of modal expressions. These are the verbs oportet ‘it is necessary,’ debeo ‘I have to,’ licet ‘it is allowed, it is possi­ble,’ necesse est ‘it is necessary,’ possum ‘I can’; some adverbs, such as libenter ‘gladly,’ quidem ‘certainly’; adjectives in ­bilis ‘­ble’; and even more limited nouns, such as necessitas ‘necessity.’ As mentio­ned above, the verbs often have a modal as well as a non-modal (or pre-modal) function, such as debeo in example 3). The exemplifica­tion below focuses on licet, which has developed from the premodal form liceo ‘I make available.’ 
The Oxford Latin Dictionary distinguishes three functions of li­cet, which can be summarized as follows: 
–
 “It is permitted”; “one may”; 

–
 (as the reply to a request or command); “Yes, certainly, I will”; 

–
 (with the subjunctive, developing into conjunction); “although.” 


39 The descriptions of the three types of contexts as well as of the four-stage scena­
rio are summarized according to Heine, “On the Role of Context in Gramma­
ticalization,” 84–6. 
Wiesthaler’s Latin­Slovenian Dictionary lists these meanings: 
–
 “It is permitted,” “one may,” “it is freely available to,” “one can”; 

–
 “although,” “if only,” “suppose that.” 


For the present purposes, this article suggests distinguishing between two semantic meanings of licet: one of permission – de­ontic use – and one of possibility – epistemic use. There is a third use, which, while semantically related to the first two, has adopted another pragmatic function, that of confirmation. The distinctions between the semantic and the pragmatic level is essential, for it illustrates the fact that semantic labels assigned to licet – or, ar­guably, to any word – are to some extent arbitrary, as the analysis below shows. It may be said that semantic meaning is a more con­servative side of the word’s profile, whereas pragmatic functions show the actual usage and, as the analysis below hopes to show, reflect the ongoing semantic change. 
Licet occurs in two syntactic patterns. The first is a one-place pattern, where the only slot is filled by a clause, which can be finite (a subjunctive clause, sometimes, but rarely, introduced by ut) or non-finite (accusativus cum infinitivo). The second is a pattern with two slots, which are filled by a nominal constituent in the dative case and an infinitival clause.40 Sometimes a third slot is present to express the permitting agent or circumstance, with the structure per + permitting agent (see example 15) below) or by the ablative case. The focus of this article is on this slot, to see whether some – in Heine’s words – switch contexts can be identified in connection to it. 
Permitting participant or circumstance 
This chapter aims to observe the variation in permitting partici­pants of the licet verbal structure in selected examples from Plau­tus. It aspires to see whether a switch context that would propel the development of modal meanings forward can be identified. Magni observes that an epistemic reading is favored with less typical par­ticipants (non-agentive, non-human, non-individuate, inanima­te). In other words, “if there is no actor whose relationship to the 
40 Magni, “Mood and Modality,” 209. 
accomplishment of the state of affairs can be estimated by the spe­aker, we are out of event modality, and a shift toward propositional modality takes place.”41 
As this chapter attempts to show, one is dealing with a con­tinuum going from more to less specific meanings: the element on the left tends to have a more event-oriented meaning, while the one on the right a more propositional one. In order to form a better picture of the intermediate stages, it might be useful to illustrate the event modality > propositional modality spectrum with two extreme examples. 
11) Plautus, Cas. 2.8: Licetne amplecti te? ‘May I hug you?’ 
Example 11) is a clear case of deontic possibility. With the verb li­cet, the speaker in inquiring whether the state of affairs in which he wants to engage is permitted by the addressee. The scope of the utterance is an event, i.e., whether or not it will be fulfilled. The situation is not controlled by the speaker. 
12) Plautus, Aul. 2.8: Deinde egomet mecum cogitare intervias occepi: festo die si quid prodegeris, profesto egere liceat, nisi pe­perceris. ‘Then I began to think with myself upon the road, if you are guilty of any extravagance on a festive day, you may be wanting on a common day, unless you are saving.’42 
Example 12) is a case of epistemic possibility, where the speaker is making observations about the situation. The scope of the ut­terance is the proposition. Additionally, the state of affairs is in complete control of the speaker and it takes a specialist to see any trace of permission in the licet of 12). 
Let us briefly examine the difference between 11) and 12). While it may not be evident at first sight, it becomes more ap­parent if one takes a closer look at the permitting agent. What is standing between the completion of the action and the speaker’s desire in 11), is a person. Example 12), on the other hand, has no permitting agent to speak of. What enables the state of affairs concerned – “to be wanting on a normal day” – is “extravagance on festive days.” This is an extreme case of Magni’s less-prototy­
41 Magni, “Mood and Modality,” 220. 42 Translation by Henry Thomas Riley. 
pical participant:43 it is non-agentive, non-human, non-individ­uate, and inanimate – the opposite of the agent in 11). The state of affairs is in complete control of the speaker. 
If one takes into account the findings regarding the permi­tting agent in examples 11) and 12) and accepts to call the latter epistemic and the former deontic, this squares off a space on the continuum of semantic change in which one can now examine some other examples and place them on the axis in relation to 11) and 12), and to each other. 
13) Plautus, Cist. 2.1: Postremo, quando aequa lege pauperi cum divite non licet, perdam operam potius quam carebo filia. ‘Af­ter all, since with strict justice, a poor person is not allowed to contend with a rich one, I will lose my labor rather than lose my daughter.’44 
In 13), it is slightly more challenging to assign the sentence a de­ontic or an epistemic reading. The desired state of affairs, i.e., “for a poor person to contend with a rich one,” is not allowed by laws and customs. The permitting agent is non-standard in that it is inanimate and that it is not a person. Nevertheless, laws and customs intuitively signify a reliable source of authority – usually stronger than any single person’s (with obvious exceptions) – a fact which would favor a deontic reading. On the other hand, the speaker is expressing his judgment about the degree of the factu­ality of the proposition, a clear sign of an epistemic use. Concern­ing 13), a note is in order regarding the notion of animacy, men­tioned in Magni45 as an indicator of a probable epistemic reading: while certainly less animate when compared to one’s master, they do not necessarily seem to presuppose a more epistemic reading. 
The following example introduces yet another ambiguous permitting agent. It is implicit but can be reasonably supposed. 
14) Plautus, Men. 2.3: Prandium, ut iussisti, hic curatumst. ubi lubet, ire licet accubitum. ‘The breakfast, as you ordered, is pre­pared here; when you please, you may go and take your place.’46 
43 Magni, “Mood and Modality,” 219–20. 44 Translation by Henry Thomas Riley, modified. 45 Magni, “Mood and Modality,” 220. 46 Translation by Henry Thomas Riley. 
The speaker, a slave, is informing her master that he may take his place. The state of affairs is to go lie down (note that, in ancient Greece, this was the customary position to take one’s meal). What is permitting it? Surely a slave would not presume to allow her master anything in the narrow, authoritative, sense? The deontic sense is, therefore, out of the question. The permitting agent here is simply the fact that the breakfast is on the table – it is, as in 12), a circumstance, which invites an epistemic reading of licet. It follows that a standard agent, even a person, may not be a clear indicator of the deontic or epistemic usage of a modal marker. 
What can one say about the examples 11)–14) so far in terms of their progression along the diachronic pathway of modality? If 
11) expresses a deontic meaning and 12) an epistemic one, located some way further along the axis of modal development, one may reasonably imagine 13) on the right of 11), but still somewhere in the vicinity, for laws and customs are there to allow certain events or states of affairs to take place, or preventing them from happen­ing. 14), on the other hand, is closer to the meaning expressed in 12), as licet in both cases indicates favorable circumstances for the state of affairs to take place, and not an authority. 
As mentioned above, according to the commonly accepted hypothesis, epistemic meanings appear later on the diachronic axis than non-epistemic ones. If non-typical permitting participants, such as in 14), favor the epistemic interpretation of modal verbs, they might well constitute what Heine (2002) calls switch contexts. Let us try to confirm this hypothesis with another example from Plautus. 
15) Plautus, Mer. 5.4: Evtychus. Redde illi. ‘Let him have [sc. her].’ Demipho. Sibi habeat, iam ut volt per me sibi habeat licet. ‘Let him have [her] for himself, as he wishes, as far as I am concerned.’ 
The permitting agent is explicit. The state of affairs is for the third person, illi, to have the person in question. What stands between the now and the fulfillment of the desired state of affairs desired by Eutychus, is Demipho. One is still in the sphere of the deontic licet. 
The best kind of proof that one has indeed identified a switch context for licet, would be a conventionalized epistemic meaning, which has, with the help of sufficient frequency of use, become an independent meaning. Such a meaning, one should remember, can freely appear alongside the meaning which precedes it on the diachronic axis. If the hypothesis holds, the appearance of both de­ontic and epistemic licet in the same period, indeed, in many cases, in the same comedy, would, to some extent, be proof in itself – it remains to be confirmed by a quantitative study. For now, however, let us confirm this with the third use of licet, which also frequently appears on the same pages as the other two. 
16) Plautus, Cur. 1.1: Phaedromus. Tace, occultemus lumen et vocem. ‘Silence, let us hide the light and our voices.’ Palinurus. Licet. ‘Alright.’ 
From example 16) it is easy to see that this usage is semantically related to the previous two. Its pragmatic function, however, is dif­ferent. If in the case of deontic meaning the purpose of an utterance is to inform or inquire whether some authority allows the state of affairs to take place and in the case of epistemic meaning to ob­serve whether some state of affairs can take place, the purpose of this usage is to confirm – anything, as the following examples show: 
17) Plautus, Amph. 1.3: Iuppiter. […] Numquid vis? ‘[…] Do you want anything?’ Alcmena. Etiam: ut actutum advenias. ‘Yes, that you return immediately.’ Iuppier. Licet […]. ‘Will do […].’ 
18) Plautus, Bac. 1.1: Bacchis. Quid si hoc potis est ut tu taceas, ego loquar? ‘Suppose it would be better that I speak and you stay silent?’ Soror. Lepide, licet. ‘Sure, with pleasure.’ 
19) Plautus, Capt. 5.1: Philocrates. Edepol, Hegio, facis benigne. sed quaeso, hominem ut iubeas arcessi. ‘My my, Hegio, you act kindly. But please, order that the man be summoned here.’ Hegio. Licet. […] ‘Certainly. […]’ 
Examples 16)–19) show that a third function exists independently alongside the other two. If epistemic meaning requires a specific context – that of a non-typical permitting participant – to be pre­sent, the confirmatory licet does not seem to need it. In all four cases, it is used as a reply to orders or suggestions of various in­tensity. The frequency of such usage in Plautus (17 out of the first 
100) suggests that, according to Heine’s model, one might be wit­nessing a fully conventionalized or conventionalizing meaning. On the continuum, demarcated by the examples 11) and 12), these four examples would be situated on the right side of 12): not only is the permitting participant not expressed, but they also seem to have shed all modal meaning as well. 
As the examples above show, observing the permitting partici­pant can reveal important details about the stage of development of a modal marker. The examples above, selected from a hundred attestations of licet in Plautus, show that in the case of a standard permitting agent, the deontic usage is probable, although by no means a rule, as example 14) shows. Conversely, a non-standard permitting participant may favor the epistemic interpretation, but not necessarily, as in example 13). It certainly seems plausible that the ambiguities identified above may be seen as switch contexts, which, in the right circumstances – such as sufficient frequency of usage – may create new modal meanings. It would, therefore, be worth conducting a quantitative analysis with a sufficient sample to confirm this. 
IMPLICATIONS OF THE STUDY OF THE DIACHRONIC DEVELOPMENT OF MODAL FORMS AND WHAT TO DO NEXT 
The introduction has highlighted a common problem in historical semantics: how to trace the semantic development of an unchan­ging form through history. Chapter 2 has presented existing re­search on modality and the most commonly accepted theoretical framework. Chapter 3 has adopted Heine’s model47 for studying the role of context in diachronic development to bridge the gap highlighted in chapter 1. Chapter 4 has attempted to illustrate the value of this framework on the example of the modal form licet and to identify the possible switch context, which could lead to further development, provided the support of a high frequency of usage. 
Even the small sample from Plautus used in the study has high­lighted the importance of closer studies of modality. First of all, reading the older English translations of Plautus reveals deficien­cies in translations, where an epistemic licet is translated to English with a deontic modal allow or permit. This leads to such translati­ons as “you have caused me to be allowed to,” where the more na­tural translation would be “you have enabled me,” the permitting circumstance being an obstacle removed by the addressee of the utterance, and not some permission based on his or her authority. 
47 Heine, “On the Role of Context in Grammaticalization.” 
Secondly, it turns out that the Oxford Latin Dictionary contains no trace of the meaning of possibility for licet; Wiesthaler’s Latin­­Slovenian Dictionary does briefly mention it. This is serious – if such a significant proportion of attestations of licet in the archaic period is leaning towards epistemic, one may well suspect that in the classical period – in Cicero’s extensive opus, for instance – the number will be even higher. In other words, statistical data may soon confirm that our standard definitions of licet and other mo-dals may have to be somewhat modified if they are to represent the actual usage in antiquity. 
As observed above, Latin, with its material spanning for more than two millennia, is an essential resource for the study of mo­dality in general. It offers a possibility to conduct a close quanti­tative analysis of the usage of modal markers. The results could then be compared to similar studies in other well-attested langua­ges, such as Ancient Greek, English, or German, and offer another perspective in fields, such as cross-linguistic studies of modality and language typology, as well as in Indo-European and Romance linguistics. 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
Bolkestein, A. M. “Problems in the Description of Modal Verbs: An Inve­stigation of Latin.” Studies in Greek and Latin Linguistics 1. Assen: Van Gorcum, 1980. 
Bybee, Joan. “Mechanisms of Change in Grammaticization: The Role of Frequency.” In The Handbook of Historical Linguistics, edited by Brian 
D. Joseph and Richard D. Janda, 602–23. London: Blackwell, 2003. ———  . Language, Usage and Cognition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. 
———, Revere Perkins, and William Pagliuca. The Evolution of Grammar: Tense, Aspect and Modality in the Languages of the World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. 
Glare, P.G.W. Oxford Latin Dictionary. London: Oxford University Press / Clarendon Press, 1968. Haspelmath, Martin. “Why is Grammaticalization Irreversible?” Linguistics 37.6 (1999): 1043–68. 
——— . “On Directionality in Language Change with Particular Refer­ence to Grammaticalization.” In Up and Down the Cline: The Nature of Grammaticalization, edited by Olga Fischer, Muriel Norde, and Harry Perridon, 17–44. Amsterdam: John Benjamin, 2004. 
Heine, Bernd. “On the Role of Context in Grammaticalization.” In New Reflections on Grammaticalization 2, edited by Ilse Wischer and Ga­briele Diewald, 83–101. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2002. 
Hopper, Paul J., and Elizabeth C. Traugott. Grammaticalization. Cambrid­ge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. 
Lyons, John. Semantics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977. 
Magni, Elisabetta. “Modality’s Semantic Maps: An Investigation of Some Latin Modal Forms.” In Latina Lingua! Proceedings of the Twelfth In­ternational Colloquium on Latin Linguistics (Bologna, 9–14 June 2003); Papers on Grammar 9.1, edited by Gualtiero Calboli, 325–36. Rome: Herder, 2005. 
——— . “Mood and Modality.” In New Perspectives on Historical Latin Syn­tax 4: Trends in Linguistics, Studies and Monographs, edited by Philip Baldi and Pierluigi Cuzzolin, 193–275. Berlin, Mouton de Gruyter, 2010. 
Narrog, Heiko. Modality, Subjectivity, and Semantic Change. Oxford Uni­versity Press, Oxford, 2012. 
Nuyts, Jan. “The Modal Confusion: On Terminology and the Concepts Be­hind It.” In Modality: Studies in Form and Function, edited by A. Klinge and H. Hoeg Muller, 5–38. London: Equinox, 2005. 
Palmer, Frank. Mood and Modality. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­versity Press, 2001. 
Traugott, Elizabeth Closs, and Richard B. Dasher. Regularity in Semantic Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. 
Van der Auwera, Johan, and Vladimir A. Plungian. “Modality’s Semantic Map.” In Linguistic Typology 2 (1998): 79–124. 
Wiesthaler, Fran. Latinsko­slovenski slovar. Ljubljana: Kres, 1993–2007. 
Ziegeler, Debra. “Redefining Unidirectionality: Is There Life after Modali­ty?” In New Reflections on Grammaticalization 2, edited by Olga Fischer, Muriel Norde, and Harry Perridon. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2003. 
ABSTRACT 
The article tackles the problem of studying diachronic semantic chan­ges of modal markers in Latin. It proposes to do so by using context as a proxy for tracing the development of otherwise unchanging forms. In the first part, the leading theoretical positions in modality studi­es are presented, especially the notions of deontic modality, episte­mic modality, and pathways of modality. In the second part, Heine’s model for studying the role of context in language change is presen­ted and applied to the modal verb licet. In the case study of licet, an attempt is made to identify the so-called switch context, which co-cre­ates the conditions necessary for the semantic change. 
KEYWORDS:modality, Latin modality, grammaticalization, de­ontic, epistemic 
RAZISKOVANJE SEMANTICNEGA RAZVOJA PRI MODALNIH OZNACEVALCIH: VLOGA KONTEKSTA 
IZVLECEK 
Clanek obravnava raziskovanje diahronih semanticnih sprememb pri modalnih oznacevalcih v latinšcini. Semanticnemu razvoju sicer nespremenljivih oblik sledi z opazovanjem konteksta. V prvem delu so predstavljena glavna teoretska stališca pri preucevanju modal-nosti, zlasti pojmi deonticne modalnosti, epistemicne modalnosti in modalnih poti. V drugem delu je predstavljen Heinejev model za preucevanje konteksta pri jezikovnih spremembah. Model je pona­zorjen na primeru modalnega glagola licet. Študija primera licet je poskus razpoznavanja takoimenovanega preklopnega konteksta, ki soustvarja pogoje, potrebne za semanticno spremembo. 
KLJUCNE BESEDE:modalnost, latinska modalnost, gramatikali­zacija, deonticnost, epistemicnost 
Terracotta lekythos, attributed to the Sappho Painter, ca. 500 bc, Metropolitan Museum of Art, accession no. 41.162.29. 
doi: https://doi.org/10.4312/clotho.1.2.55–72 



Death as a Beginning: The Transformation of Hades, Persephone, and Cleopatra in Children’s and Youth Culture 
Viktoryia Bartsevich, Karolina Anna Kulpa and Agnieszka Monika Maciejewska* 
Who and what might be on the other side?1 In ancient beliefs, the places allotted to mortals in the afterlife were determined in various ways. They were in the charge of Hades/Pluto (Dis Pater), according to Greek and Roman mythology; Osiris, according to the Egyptians; Velnias, the god of the dead, in Baltic myths; and Weles, the god of the underworld, among Slavic nations. The motif of ancient beliefs about the afterlife, the contemporary idea of them, appears increa­singly in works dedicated to children and youngsters.2 
*  Faculty of ”Artes Liberales,” University of Warsaw; Nowy Swiat 69, 00-046 Warsaw; v.bartsevich@student.uw.edu.pl, k.kulpa@al.uw.edu.pl, agnieszka. maciejewska@student.uw.edu.pl. 
1 The research was conducted within the project Our Mythical Childhood… The Reception of Classical Antiquity in Children’s and Young Adults’ Culture in Response to Regional and Global Challenges led by Katarzyna Marciniak at the Faculty of “Artes Liberales,” University of Warsaw, with funding from the European Research Council (erc) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 Research and Innovation Programme – erc Consolidator Grant (Grant Agree­ment No 681202). 
2 Examples include a series of novels about Harry Potter by J. K. Rowling and novels about mythological gods and heroes by Rick Riordan. See Rowling, Harry Potter, books 1–7; Riordan, Percy Jackson & the Olympians, books 1–5; The Heroes of Olympus, books 1–5; The Kane Chronicles, books 1–3; Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, books 1–3; The Trials of Apollo, books 1–4. 
Reception studies are beginning to focus on this subject in pop culture, including ephemeral and audio-visual works like web­-comics, animations, and films dedicated to the young audience. This can help the process of explaining cultural changes. While the thorny research issues of Greek and Roman mythologies and ancient religious concepts go beyond the scope of this paper, this article aims to present an introduction to these problems. Its scho­larly perspective is framed by visual culture studies,3 and the pa­per shows three cases of transformation of characters connected with ancient beliefs about the afterlife. Each case focuses on one character. 
The first case examines Hades, whose image of the Greek god of death has been transformed into an image of a villain known from Disney movies, notably Hercules.4 The image is present in costumes, figurines, videos, and accessories for children and the youth. 
The second one deals with three webcomics: Underworld Love Story5 and Hades & Persephone Shorts6 by Gau Meo and Hades’ Holiday7 by Elvishness. In these works, one finds a new way of adapting myth for the contemporary young viewer, transforming the story of abduction and rape into a story of love. 
The third case describes the way Cleopatra VII Philopator is portrayed in Scooby­Doo! in Where’s My Mummy?8 This is an extraordinary example of reception where the queen represents a model of an Egyptian motif interwoven with its echos in the pop culture. The Egyptian elements prevail over the Greek ones, even though Cleopatra was a member of the Hellenistic Ptolemaic dynasty. 
3 Nicholas Mirzoeff points out that “visual culture is a tactic, not an academic discipline. It is a fluid interpretive structure, centered on understanding the response to visual media of both individuals and groups (…), it hopes to reach beyond the traditional confines of the university to interact with peoples’ every­day lives”; Mirzoeff, An Introduction to Visual Culture, 4–5. About visual culture studies see Smith, Visual Culture Studies; Jenks, Visual Culture; Mirzoeff, “What is visual culture?”; Bal, “Visual Essentialism and the Object of Visual Culture”; Mitchell, “Showing Seeing: A Critique of Visual Culture.” 
4 Hercules, directed by Ron Clements and John Musker, 1997. 5 Available online on the Tapas community website. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. 8 Scooby Doo! in Where’s My Mummy? directed by Joe Sichta, 2005. 
HADES: FROM THE GREEK GOD OF DEATH TO A DISNEY VILLAIN 
Hades, Roman Dis, or Pluto, was the first of Cronus’ sons,9 the ruler of the underworld10 with “a ruthless heart.”11 One can trace his image from ancient sources to medieval and modern works of art. Through intertextuality, it became present in va­rious manifestations of popular culture.12 A case in point is the blue-haired villain known from Disney’s Hercules. In this case, pop culture13 functions as a prism, which has transformed this mythological figure into a character in stories for youths. In this long-lasting process of continuous reception, pop culture has reduced features of Hades to an easily identifiable villain. The contemporary image of this god emerged from an amalgam of ancient beliefs, Christian perspectives of those beliefs,14 lite­rature, including educational works (for example, the retelling of classical myths for children), and, finally, popular series of books and movies and visual representations in global franchises like Disney. 
9 Homer, Iliad 15.40–44. 10 Hades’ domain is described, inter alia, in Homer’s Iliad 15.191 and Odyssey 10–11, 
as well as in Vergil’s Aeneid 6. 11 Hesiod, Theogony 455, 765–774, 820. 12 Julia Kristeva’s notion of intertextuality is, according to Irit Rogoff, a fundamen­
tal competence for the reading of popular culture; see Rogoff, “Studying Visual Culture.” 
13 From the diverse definitions of this type of culture, one should point out those suggested by John Fiske and Marek Krajewski, a Polish sociologist from Adam Mickiewicz University. Fiske points out that the starting point for a researcher of pop culture is to focus on texts that are overlooked in conventional scho­larly analysis. People create it at the junction of everyday life and the cultural resources provided by capitalism. Popular culture is not a collection of texts and audiences; it represents concrete practices in which text and audience inte­ract; see Fiske, Understanding Popular Culture. Krajewski adds that “popular culture is therefore what we do with it – an enemy, a threat, a captivating force and tool, a means of emancipation and resistance, entertainment, instructions for the use of the world, a source of profit and pleasure”; see Krajewski, Kultury kultury popularnej, 11. 
14 Homer, Iliad 9.158. For an example of Christian views of Hades see Bromiley, The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, vol. 2, 591. 
Hades appears in various myths, like the ones about his marriage with Persephone, Latin Proserpina,15 Heracles,16 and Orpheus and Eurydice,17 as a sinister and strict god, who “was the most hated by mortals of all gods.”18 His main attributes were Cerberus, a many-headed beast which protected the entran­ce to the domain,19 a chariot with “terrible steeds,” and an invi­sible helmet, ......20 The god could become invisible. He was the sovereign of death in a place inaccessible to most of the li­ving. Moreover, his cult was not as popular as that of the Twelve Olympian gods, which is why there were only a few sanctuaries dedicated to Hades.21 Hence it is remarkable that in pop culture, his images keep popping up – in different contexts. He is an am­bitious and mean villain with enormous power like in Disney’s Hercules, Clash of the Titans,22 and Wrath of the Titans.23 In Seinto Seiya24 he is a handsome god with the ability to become incarnate who wants to take over the world with the support of Thanatos and Hypnos. Furthermore, he is a wise, independent, honorable, yet bitter god in Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief,25 where he can look like a devil. On the other hand, in one of the games from the God of War series, due to its curious plot, one can explore Hades’ kingdom to change the sto­ry known from myths, and, for example, kill that sarcastic and monstrous god to free the souls from the underworld.26 
15 Ovid, Metamorphoses 346–486. 16 Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 2.5.12ff. 17 Ovid, Metamorphoses 10.8ff. 18 Homer, Illiad 9.159. 19 Apollodorus 2.5.12. 20 Apollodorus 1.2.1. 21 Pausanias, Description of Greece 5.14.8; 6.25.2; Strabo, Geography 5.4.5 ff.; 8.3.14– 
15; 9.2.29; 14.1.44. 22 Clash of the Titans, directed by Louis Leterrier, 2010, is in itself a remake of film 
from 1981 (directed by Desmond Davies). 23 Wrath of the Titans, directed by Jonathan Liebesman, 2012. 24 Seinto Seyia (Saint Seiya: Knights of the Zodiac) by Masami Kurumada is a series 
of manga, in 28 volumes, published by Shueisha from 1986 to 1990; it was adapted to anime series by Toei Animation. The episode 114 of this series, known as Saint Seiya or Knights of the Zodiac, directed by Kozo Morishita and then by Kazuhito Kikuchi, was screened between 1986 and 1989. 
25 Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lighting Thief, directed by Chris Columbus, 2010; based on the book by Rick Riordan, The Lighting Thief. 26 God of War 3, video game by sie Santa Monica Studio on PlayStation 3. 
The animated and live-action works made by Disney since 1997 have created the contemporary image of Hades, especially for children and young adults, which dominates the contempo­rary narration about him. Hades in Disney’s Hercules is probably the most influential animated representation of this god. In 1934, the company released an animation with references to the motif of the ancient underworld. In The Goddess of Spring,27 one can see a red-devil character28 who abducted the main protagonist, probably Persephone.29 This was the first time Disney presented a character that refers to the devil and Hades. A similar depic­tion of the god of the underground world as a villain30 is later adopted in Hercules.31 The hero, Hercules, is portrayed as the son of Zeus and Hera. He becomes mortal because of the in­trigues of the god of the underworld. When he turns 18 years old, he starts his journey to become a hero and to win back his way to Olympus. In this film, the depiction of Hades opposes the ancient description; he becomes the main antagonist of the Olympians, an evil god, who wants, with the help of his servants, Pain and Panic,32 to eliminate Zeus and rule the world. The un­derworld is a dark and depressing place, and Hades’ job seems to be the worst of the gods’ activities. In this film, one can notice the Greek pantheon freely interpreted by filmmakers who have provided a synthesis of several myths in one story, for example, the twelve labors of Hercules; or monsters like Medusa or Mino­taur, presented in the song “From Zero to Hero.”33 The character of Hades is a grey-skinned god with yellow eyes, canine teeth, 
27 The Goddess of Spring, directed by Wilfred Jackson, 1934. 28 He’s a black-haired man with a black goatee who wears a red costume consisting 
of red tights and a tunic finished with a white collar and a black cape. One can 
see two horns on his head. His servants look like little black devils, with horns, 
tails, and tridents in their hands. 29 In this animation figures of Persephone and her mother Demeter from the myth 
seem to be morphed in one character. 30 Anna Mik points out that “the reality is polarized between the feminine and the 
masculine power. The feminine is represented here by nature and life, the male 
element – by darkness, destruction and death.” Mik, entry on “The Goddess of 
Spring.” 31 Hercules, directed by Ron Clements and John Musker, 1997. 32 The appearance of Pain and Panic also seems to refer to the servants in the 
Goddess of Spring. Those little devils, red (Pain) and green (Panic), have horns, 
tails and tiny bat wings. 33 “From Zero to Hero” by Alan Menken and David Zippel was sung by Lillias 
White, LaChanze, Roz Ryan, Cheryl Freeman, and Vanéese Y. Thomas. 
and blue hair, which turns into a fire when the god bursts into anger. He also wears a black robe, possibly inspired by the Greek tunic and the Roman toga, with a skull-shaped pin. The god has a terrifying bat-winged horse harnessed to his black chariot. On the one hand, he is a comical villain with a great sense of humor; on the other, Hades is a cold and irascible choleric nuisance with outbursts of anger. Some of his deeds, especially in terms of his relationships with Pain, Panic, and Megara, appear to be very cruel indeed. His domain is a place where he dwells abandoned by everybody, like a fallen immortal, the evil one as opposed to good Olympian gods. 
Since 1997, this animated figure has appeared in different Disney works, for example, in Hercules: Animated Series34 and in an interactive game Sorcerers of the Magic Kingdom in Disney’s theme park.35 Disney also adopted this character in a live-action fantasy television series Once Upon a Time,36 where he is played by Greg Germann, and in a tv film Descendants 3,37 where he is played by Cheyenne Jackson. The last example is curious because Hades is the father of Mal (played by Dove Cameron), a daughter of Maleficent, whom he had abandoned when she was a little child.38 He also acts and looks like a rockstar: he plays the gui­tar, wears distinctive make-up and a blue mohawk, and dresses in a black coat with studs and a flame-like pattern. 
Disney’s image of Hades has undergone a transformation evol­ving from ancient myths and intermingling with Christian beliefs, mostly with the popular perception of the devil, and then with the 
34 Disney’s Hercules: The Animated Series, directed by Phil Weinstein, animated tv 
series, 1998. 35 An interactive game in Magic Kingdom theme park since 2012; see “Villains Get 
Trickier: Sorcerers of the Magic Kingdom ‘Hard Level’ Rules Change,” published 
in 2013 by Disney Parks Blog, available online. The player receives a map of the 
park and special cards; the goal is to prevent Hades (and his team of villains 
from Disney animations) from turning the park into his new home. 36 The figure of Hades appears in the twelfth episode of fifth season, Souls of the 
Departed, directed by Ralph Hemecker, 2019. Once Upon a Time, the tv series, 
was broadcast between 2011 and 2018. 37 Descendants 3, directed by Kenny Ortega, 2019, is the third movie from the series 
based on novels by Melissa de la Cruz. 38 He also has a blue-haired son named Hadie, from an unknown mother. Hadie 
was first mentioned in Return of the Isle of the Lord: A Descendants Novel and 
does not appear in the movie; see de la Cruz, Return of the Isle of the Lord: A 
Descendants Novel. 
conception of the villain in literature and movies for youths.39 In­deed, Disney’s idea of Hades has dominated products that employ the image of this god. Among them are toys and video games, for example, plastic figurines from McDonald’s40 and Lego Minifi­gures,41 a plush doll from Disney’s Villains Cutesations series,42 even video games like Hades Challenge,43 and Sorcerers of the Ma­gic Kingdom in Disney’s theme park. One can also become Hades by using costumes and wigs. Hades’ fans can enjoy the collectible Funko pop figures,44 makeup products,45 clothes with his images as a character from the animation Hercules and the tv film Descen­dants 3, and a myriad of gadgets and accessories.46 The manufac­turers’ imagination seems to have no limits concerning the use of this representation of Hades in their products. 
TRUELOVE?HADESANDPERSEPHONEINCOMICBOOKS 
Hades’ image in children’s and youth culture also appears in the context of his relationship with Persephone. The myth of Per­sephone’s abduction, the relationship between her and one of the most powerful Greek mythological gods, the suffering of a mother after the loss of her daughter have been inspiring artists for centu­ries. A case in point are three web-comics that focus on the trans­
39 Gerrie McCall gives a thought-provoking description of different monsters and villains in her colorful picture book, Monsters and Villains of the Movies and Literature. 
40 As a toy included with a kids’ meal, available, for example, on Amazon. 41 Hades in one of Lego’s minifigures released on May 2019 in Disney Series 2; see “Hades (Disney),” Lego fandom, available online. 42 The series contains eight plush mini-dolls of Disney’s villains, including Hades, available online. 
43 Video adventure and puzzle game released in 1998 by Disney Interactive Studios, in which player’s actions are antagonized by Hades and his two servants, Pain and Panic; see “Hades Challenge,” Disney Fandom, available online. 
44 Item number 29325, released on 2018, available online. There are two versions of the figure, blue and red, which glow in the dark (item number 29343). 
45 Interesting sets of ColourPop cosmetics refer to the villains known from Disney animations. Limited edition Hades Collection Set contains lipstick Hades and lip gloss Hot Headed in coral-orange shades, as well as Everybody’s Got a Weakness highlighter described as “peach hue with a hot pink flip and pearlized finish”; see “Hades Collection Kit,” ColourPop, available online. 
46 Amazon and eBay are inundated with related products, watches, wallets, pins, mugs, phone cases, bags, lunch bags, wall decors, and even toilet seat stickers. 
formation of the relationship between mythological Persephone and Hades, showing it as true love. The genre of comics is a product of mass popular culture, and mythological motifs in the modern era were used as inspiration for comic book plots.47 Different mythologi­es, presented as part of a fairy-tale world, now appear in productions for children. The comics from the web platform tapas.io seem to be aimed at young people; their style is pleasant, soft, and lightweight. The illustrations in these comics are colorful and vivid. 
The first version of the story about Persephone, the Home­ric Hymn to Demeter, is the oldest version of the myth about Per­sephone’s abduction by the god of the underworld. The event also appears in other ancient poets’ works, for example, in Ovid’s Meta­morphoses 5.395–407 and Claudius Claudianus’ On the Kidnapping of Proserpine. 
Myths about Persephone always feature Hades or Demeter. Inte­restingly, whether in the story of Sisyphus or during Heracles’ twelve labors, Persephone dwells in the underworld. It is quite suspicious that mortals and heroes meet her there as if she had never left her husband’s palace. In the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, Persephone remains with her husband and listens to the young artist’s requests. Similarly, in the myth of Adonis, when Aphrodite asks Persephone to hide him in some dark corner of her palace in order to save the mortal,48 the goddess of the world of the dead stays in Hades. In various myths of Persephone, she remains in the underworld as a supporting heroine. Her presence can be perceived as a coincidence or as a deliberate mythological message, aiming to show the viewer that since the kidnapping of Kora by the Underground Zeus, she has been his wife only; her place has since then been in the underworld. Persephone appears in the myths of Demeter, but the action evolves until Hades abducts her. Ancient Greeks, in their creativity, thus placed her firmly next to the god of the dead. The sudden abduc­tion of the goddess deprived her of everything she had known and enjoyed. In comic books, the chosen plot takes on a different color and becomes a charming story of true love. 
Gau Meo’s49 Underworld Love Story, Hades & Persephone Shorts presents a mythological narrative in which Hades falls in love with a beautiful goddess and kidnaps her. The author also added other 
47 Gomes and Peuckert, “Memento Mori: A Portuguese Style of Melancholy.” 48 Graves, Greek Myths, 18.h. 49 Gau Meo was born in 1992 in Vietnam. She studied biology, decided to quit her 
job and started drawing. Classical myths and ancient cultures have surprised 
her with the richness of information on multiple aspects of life. 
themes that have enriched the already interesting mythological sto­ry. She added scenes showing how Hades first meets Kora when she is about ten years old. The god saves her from a centaur. In Greek mythology, Hades fell in love with the young goddess – but one does not know how old the goddess is at that moment.50 In the comic book, which tells the story of the first meeting of Hades and Kora, the god does not look at the goddess in terms of a future wife, but rather as a friend. However, when Persephone grows up, Hades falls in love with her. The plot does not reveal the exact age of the god­dess; the only hint the audience gets is in the illustrations. Parts of the comic book contain intimate scenes. At the wedding of Hades and Persephone, the goddess is a young adult. In the comic book, the divine couple is married, and in due time, their offspring appears. The Suda provides some necessary information about the offspring of Hades and Persephone. The Byzantine lexicon states that Hades and Persephone had a daughter named Makaria, the goddess of gen­tle death.51 
In her comic book, Gau Meo shows the goddess still living a blithe life with her husband, who takes care of her. Even though Per­sephone is a good-tempered and loving woman in the comic book, she can become a fearsome and dangerous queen of the underworld in a blink of an eye. The Odyssey describes the nature of the god­dess more precisely. Ancient sources frequently depict Persephone negatively, and even as frightening.52 Orphic plaques, referring to the teachings of Empedocles, indicate that Persephone was the one to decide about the fate of the deceased. Empedocles’ works conta­in the doctrine of the immortality of souls and appreciate the idea of reincarnation. In Religijnosc starozytnych Greków [Religiousness of Ancient Greeks] by Wlodzimierz Lengauer, the author assumes that such judicial vision represents the remnants of beliefs from the Mediterranean basin which originated from the cult of the chthonic female deity living inside the earth, the Mother Goddess – Gaia.53 In these comic books, Persephone is affectionate and caring for the dead, who seem to appreciate her. 
Gau Meo uses a well-known myth. Her comic book contains a plethora of emotions, revealed by stories about mythological gods of the underworld. Characters frequently have the same emotional code as they do in mythology (Demeter is a desperate mother se­
50 Graves, Greek Myths, 24c. 51 See Suda, s. v. Makaria. 52 Homer, Odyssey 10.576; 11.649; Hesiod, Theogony 768. 53 Lengauer, Religijnosc starozytnych Greków, 76–77. 
eking help in search of her daughter, Hades is a kidnapper, and Per­sephone plays the part of a victim). The myth represents a starting point for adventures that Hades and Persephone could have encoun­tered in a future designed by Meo. 
Hades’ Holiday by Elvishness54 tells the love story of Hades and Persephone. The action, however, is not set in the darkness of the dead, but in the world of the living. Hades organizes his holidays and makes an anabasis; he comes to Persephone to the world of the living. He does it secretly and away from the other gods because he is not allowed to leave his kingdom. During his absence, he entrusts the Egyptian god Anubis with the reign of Hades. The story adopted in the comic book has the Greek myths as its basis, but the artist mo­difies them – the action is relocated to the twenty-first-century world of the living. Transferring mythological stories to contemporary re­ality is not a new device. The combination can be found in Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri, in which Christian hell intermingles with elements of Hades. A similar type of creative procedure can also be found in youth novels by Rick Riordan and in the Starcrossed trilogy by Josephine Angelini.55 
The god of the underworld in Hades’ Holiday is a romantic hero who, although he understands the consequences of his actions, still wants to spend time with his beloved. Demeter, again, is portrayed in the way myths depict her – she wishes to get rid of Hades so that he would stay away from her daughter, Persephone. She is impulsive and does not hesitate to do whatever it takes to make sure that the feelings arousing between her daughter and her brother do not flou­rish. The relationship between Persephone and Hades seems warm, with all the signs of true love. Between them, there is no hatred that ancient myths tend to show, as testified by Ovid, Met. 5.403–405. It is also telling that in this comic book Persephone and Hades are not married; they seem to enjoy an earlier stage of their relationship, being a boyfriend and a girlfriend. Thus the story gains more of a contemporary character. The divine couple is depicted as a mortal one, blessed with a love that develops gradually. Such a relationship might explain Demeter’s attitude and her constant attempts to sep­arate the lovers. 
The comics analyzed present Persephone and Hades as an example of true love that overcomes all obstacles. Greek mythology does not show the underworld couple in the same way as comic books do. Hades and Persephone’s marriage is far from perfect, gi­
54 Elvishness is a freelance illustrator for the tapas.io website. 55 Angelini, Starcrossed; Dreamless; Goddess. 
ven the circumstances of its very beginning. Ancient literary sources do not provide information about emotions that existed within this marriage. Persephone, as Hades’ wife, usually appears as frightening among the living and the dead. 
Hades and Persephone, as a pair of lovers in children’s and youth culture, offer a representation of these characters, which is quite di­fferent from the one found in Greek mythology. However, there are even more curious reception cases of historical and mythological characters one can encounter in the underworld. One of these extra­ordinary representations is Cleopatra. 
CLEOPATRA REACTIVATED: THE CLASSIC IMAGE OF CLEOPATRA VII TRANSFORMED IN SCOOBY­DOO 
Many characters from antiquity, both historical and mythological, undergo some transformation; so does the motif of death and the afterlife. A popular motif in modern animations is the character of Cleopatra VII Philopator, daughter of Ptolemy XII Auletes. One can encounter Cleopatra in animated films such as the Hotel Tran­sylvania,56 as well as in cartoon series, such as Monster High.57 In the first animation, she is a mute character, hosted by count Dracula in his hotel. The filmmaker depicts her as a sovereign with perfect manners who knows everything about savoir vivre. In the cartoons, she is a young princess who attends the monster school. In both cases, directors prove how antiquity intermingles with modernity. Among numerous examples of such works, there is the animation 
Scooby­Doo! in Where’s My Mummy? 
In this animation, the queen appears in her post-mortal shape. In the Hotel Transylvania and Monster High, Auletes’ daughter is portrayed as a mummy, while in Scooby­Doo, the authors decided to depict her as an evil and vengeful mummy-ghost. She has va­rious features that one can attribute to a spirit, such as the ability to fly. Cleopatra, as a mummy-ghost, shows up in one of the final scenes. It is the moment when the archaeologist Amelia von Butch, her coworkers, and a group of friends called Mystery Inc. reach the main chamber in the queen’s tomb where the treasures of Egypt are hidden. Cleopatra’s mummy-ghost initially looks attractive to the spectator – she wears a mask and floats in the air. Her mask reminds the perceptive audience of ancient Egyptian funeral masks. She also 
56 Hotel Transylvania, directed by Genndy Tartakovsky, 2012. 57 Monster High, directed by Audu Paden, 2010–2018. 
sports a glowing aura. The queen is merciless to Amelia von Butch. Initially, she listens to her but then punishes her coworkers for tres­passing and intention of theft by turning them into stone. 
When she performs the same action on Amelia, her eyes, and indeed her whole figure, start to glow stronger. This kind of repre­sentation reminds the discerning viewer of Horace. In his Ode 1.37.21, he describes her as a fatale monstrum, quae… expavit ensem. His Cleopatra is a hybrid (monstrum is neuter, and quae is feminine). Similarly, the queen in the animation becomes a mighty and scary monster, with the features of a mummy and a ghost combined. Oth­er Romans mention the queen as powerful and capable of enchant­ing and seducing men effortlessly.58 It is hardly surprising that Cleo­patra’s motif as an archetype of a strong and independent woman appears in modern cinematography. 
In further scenes, her appearance changes. Her physical shell re­sembles an ancient sarcophagus, and her funeral mask cracks and reveals the evil spirit. The queen is different than in later examples of the animations in which Cleopatra is a mummy with flesh and bandages untouched by time. In Scooby­Doo, the queen’s skin is desiccated, perhaps evoking the ritual of embalming.59 Cleopatra’s skin has a green hue, and her body is skin and bones. Cleopatra as a mummy-ghost is dressed in a costume evoking the queen’s clothes before her transformation, as well as the queen’s representation from the beginning of the animation, in which the Egyptian queen is still alive, running away from Roman soldiers to her tomb where she wanted to hide her treasure. In those scenes, one can see the stere­otypical image of Cleopatra. The authors thus use the features from historical images immortalized in pop culture.60 At the beginning of the movie, she wears oriental makeup (cat-eye), a particular ha­
58 Most of the texts were written by Romans who did not have much sympathy for 
Cleopatra – like Virgil (Aeneid 8) and Lucan (Bellum Civile 10). 59 Mummification and embalming are surprisingly popular in youth culture; for 
a detailed description see Wallis Budge, The Mummy: A Handbook of Egyptian 
Funerary Archaeology; and Day, The Mummy’s Curse: Mummymania in the 
English­speaking World. 
60 This image relates to Cleopatra created by Elisabeth Taylor in the 1963 movie. This movie defined the modern reception of the queen. “Since the visual tradi­tion that depicts Egypt and Cleopatra has been racially ambiguous, Cleopatra films have had to take special steps to secure her white image. Cleopatra’s racial ambiguity is closely tied to two fundamental elements of her power as an image: her sometimes tyrannical style of rule and her exceptional beauty and sexual power/domination/ persuasion over others.” Royster, Becoming Cleopatra: The Shifting Image of an Icon, 91–92. 
irstyle with a fringe, and her clothes relate to the image of goddess Isis.61 The queen, known to the viewers from the beginning of the story, becomes a priestess of Isis and casts a deadly spell. From that moment on, her appearance undergoes a remarkable transformation, with her clothes destroyed, her hair in disarray, her makeup gone. Cleopatra, as a mummy-ghost in the animation, is a scary and ven­geful character. Above all, she wants to punish Amelia von Butch. When Daphne disguised as Cleopatra reaches the tomb, the Egyp­tian queen chases her. In one of the scenes, the young girl attempts to use her skills and gives the queen advice on beauty and makeup. The cunning plot twist refers to legends related to Cleopatra’s beauty and her beauty rituals. 
The example we have analyzed shows how Cleopatra remains present in popular and youth culture. Although death could seem an inappropriate and stressful theme for children, the animation’s authors created a new image of the Egyptian queen, showcasing her character as an evil mummy-ghost. Scooby­Doo uses the image of the queen to teach the young about role models, both the ones that are positive and the ones that are the opposite of that. 
*  *  * 
For children and young adults, the characters that originate from ancient beliefs about the afterlife are not merely a part of Greek or Roman heritage, but also and maybe even prima­rily protagonists or villains from animations, films, and comic books. This paper presents an analysis of only three characters known from ancient history and mythology, featured in a se­lected handful of works addressed to children and adolescents. Plenty of others remain. 
The contemporary image of Hades has emerged from an amalgam of ancient beliefs, the Christian perspective of those beliefs intermingled with stereotypical representations of the devil, literature fragments, educational works, and contempora­ry audio-visual texts, especially those created by franchises like 
61 Golden clothes described in ancient texts like in Parallel Lives by Plutarch: “Cleopatra, indeed, both then and at other times when she appeared in public, assumed a robe sacred to Isis, and was addressed as the New Isis.” Plutarch, Parallel Lives, Antony 9. Connection to the Isis costumes can be seen in the ear­lier cases addressed mainly to the adults; in the 1963 movie Cleopatra (directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz) or in the tv series Cleopatra from 1999 (directed by Franc Roddam). 
Disney. Hence the image of this god consists of mythological and historical frames built on ancient sources, and its canvas is adorned with multiple layers of pop-culture notions. 
Contemporary pop culture, adopting a Greek myth that can be considered as terrifying, has given the stories of Persephone’s abduction new colors. Two comic book authors, inspired by this myth and employing ancient sources, created a delightful story about two gods in love, providing them with features typical of relationships of contemporary couples. It may seem that, accor­ding to the comic book authors, gods like Hades and Persephone could serve as a perfect example of true love. 
The transformation of Cleopatra created by the director of Scooby­Doo is extraordinary and unique. The animations sub­vert her image of a beautiful and self-confident woman. Diffe­rent motifs connected with the queen’s mythical story transfer the most important pieces of information about her and combine it with a unique image. This Cleopatra is an evil, vengeful, and envious monster. Thanks to such a versatile approach, young au­diences learn about the significant moments of Cleopatra’s life; surprisingly, the animation also helps the viewers memorize the central features of the queen’s image. 
The combination of mythology and history from ancient sources and popular culture works is increasingly vital and inde­ed imperative for reception studies. The motif of ancient beliefs about the afterlife appears progressively more in contemporary works, including those directed to young audiences. One could argue that it is these works, more than ancient authors and their books, that now define the perception of antiquity for future ge­nerations. This article hopes to encourage much-needed further research on this topic. 
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ABSTRACT 
The motif of ancient beliefs about the afterlife and their present-day understanding appears increasingly in contemporary works directed to young audiences. The combination of mythology and history from ancient sources and popular culture works is fundamental for re­ception studies. The paper presents three cases of transformation of characters connected with ancient beliefs about the afterlife as protagonists in works directed to the youth: Hades as a villain from Disney’s works, especially Hercules; Persephone and Hades’s love story in three webcomics: Underworld Love Story and Hades & Per­sephone Shorts by Gau Meo and Hades’ Holiday by Elvishness; and the way Cleopatra VII Philopator’s image in Scooby­Doo! in Where’s My Mummy? differs from the usual representations of the queen. 
KEYWORDS:children’s and young adult culture, reception studies, ancient underworld, Hades and Persephone, Hercules, Cleopatra VII 
SMRT KOT ZACETEK: PREOBRAZBE HADA, PERZEFONE IN KLEOPATRE V OTROŠKI IN MLADINSKI KULTURI 
IZVLECEK 
Motivi starodavnih verovanj o posmrtnem življenju se v novih poustvaritvah vse pogosteje pojavljajo v sodobnih delih za mlado obcinstvo. Vzporejanje mitologije in zgodovine iz klasicnih virov z deli sodobne kulture je temeljnega pomena za študij recepcije. V prispevku so predstavljeni trije primeri preobrazbe, povezani s sta­rodavnimi verovanji o posmrtnem življenju, pri glavnih junakih v delih za mladino. To so Had kot zlikovec iz Disneyjevih del, zlasti iz animiranega filma Hercules; Perzefonina in Hadova ljubezenska zgodba v spletnih stripih Underworld Love Story in Hades & Per­sephone Shorts, ki ju je napisala Gau Meo, ter Hades’ Holiday izpod peresa Elvishness; in podoba Kleopatre VII. Filopator v filmu Sco­oby­Doo! in Where’s My Mummy? ter njeno odstopanje od obicajnih predstav o tej kraljici. 
KLJUCNE BESEDE:otroška in mladinska kultura, recepcija, mi-ticno podzemlje v antiki, Had in Perzefona, Herakles, Kleopatra VII. 

Terracotta lekythos, attributed to the Sappho Painter, ca. 500 bc, Metropolitan Museum of Art, accession no. 41.162.29 
doi: https://doi.org/10.4312/clotho.1.2.75–112 



The Early Explorers of the Eastern Desert and the History of Monasticism: Sir John Gardner Wilkinson and James Burton 
Blaž Zabel and Jan Ciglenecki* 
INTRODUCTION 
The mountainous Eastern Desert (Arabic: Al-Sa.ra. Al­-Sharqiyyah) that stretches between the Nile valley and the Red Sea is commonly regarded as the cradle of the Egyptian anacho­retic tradition.1 According to the literary sources, it was in this region where the first “desert father” St. Anthony took refuge in the 3rd and 4th century ad. Despite the importance that the Eastern Desert had in early monastic literature, especially in in­fluential works such as Vita Antonii by St. Athanasius and Vita Pauli by St. Jerome, relatively few remains of the ancient anacho­retic establishments can be found in the region today. 
* Durham University, Department of Classics and Ancient History, 38 N Bailey, Durham dh1 3eu, uk; blaz.zabel@durham.ac.uk; University of Ljubljana, Department of Philosophy, Aškerceva 2, si-1000 Ljubljana; ciglenecki.jan@ gmail.com. The authors would like to thank Ronald E. Zitterkopf for his help with navigating through James Burton’s archive, and to the Bodleian Libraries (Oxford), British library (London), and Royal Geographical Society (London) for granting access to the archival material. 
An essential source of information in this regard are the works of early explorers and adventurers who traveled to the area and had the chance to observe and record many of the monuments now de­stroyed or severely damaged. To this end, our study analyzes the published papers as well as the unpublished personal diaries, notes, sketches, and maps of two crucial early explorers of the Eastern De­sert, Sir John Gardner Wilkinson and James Burton. Both were true pioneers who documented several nowadays little-known anacho­retic sites. Their notes are of utmost importance for the history of monasticism in the Eastern Desert. 
SIR JOHN GARDNER WILKINSON, THE FATHER OF BRITISH EGYPTOLOGY 
Sir John Gardner Wilkinson (1797–1875) is best known for his work as an Egyptologist.2 During his long and productive career, he traveled widely around Egypt and Nubia, documenting important ancient Egyptian archaeological sites, among them, most famous­ly, Thebes, the Valley of the Kings, and the Tombs of the Nobles on the hill of Shaykh ‘Abd al-Gurna. Alongside the popular Hand­book for Travellers in Egypt (1847), he wrote several essential and ground-breaking studies on ancient Egypt, such as Topography of Thebes and General View of Egypt (1835) and the renowned Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians (1837), which are still consi­dered one of the earliest works of modern Egyptology. Alongside his archaeological and historical work, Wilkinson is notable also for his contribution to the decipherment of Egyptian hieroglyphics by Champollion, for he provided the French scholar with numerous transcripts and later even corrected some of his translations. His interest in ancient Egypt, his numerous travels and documentations, his archaeological work, and his influential publications brought Wilkinson international fame. Even today, as Dawson and Uphill wrote in their Who Was Who in Egyptology, Wilkinson is considered to be “the real founder of Egyptology in Great Britain” (figure 1).3 
2 For the life and work of Wilkinson see: Thompson, Sir Gardner Wilkinson and His Circle; “The Sir Gardner Wilkinson Papers”; “Sir John Gardner Wilkinson in Gower”; “Sir Gardner Wilkinson’s House at Sheikh Abd El Qurna”; and Wonderful Things (especially pages 149–172); Jasanoff, Edge of Empire; Colla, Conflicted Anti­quities. Cf. Thompson, “Osman Effendi”; and “Edward William Lane in Egypt.” 
3 Dawson, Who Was Who in Egyptology, 443. 
While Wilkinson is today known mostly for his work on an­cient Egyptian civilization, his interests were much broader. Be­sides all aspects of archaeology and history, these interests also included anthropology, ethnography, botany, zoology, geography, cartography, etc. Wilkinson first visited Egypt in 1821 on the rec­ommendation of his mentor, a prominent classical scholar of the time, Sir William Gell.4 This was his first trip to the country which impressed him greatly; so much so that he stayed continuously for the next twelve years. Soon, Wilkinson met another British ex­plorer and adventurer, James Burton (1786–1862), who befriended him and invited him to join his expeditions to the Eastern Desert in 1823 (figure 2). Over his twelve years’ stay, Wilkinson traveled often and far, to Fayum, the Western Oases, the Eastern Desert, and up and down the Nile Valley. During his travels, he conduct­ed thorough surveys and produced numerous detailed sketches of the ancient sites, monuments, and inscriptions, many of which are now lost or destroyed. The discoveries he made and the documents he produced were of immense importance for the development of Egyptology and are still considered a valuable source for modern scholars. 
Wilkinson returned to England only in 1833, after having spent a dozen years in Egypt, and started working on publishing his re­sults, including his Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians, which brought him international fame. He returned to Egypt in 1841, also intending to update data for his (soon-to-be) best-seller Handbook for Travellers in Egypt, but left rather soon to avoid the summer heat. In 1848, Wilkinson again traveled to Egypt to un­dertake further expeditions. Even though he stayed only during the winter, he journeyed down the Nile to present-day Sudan, taking extensive notes. This was his last productive trip to Egypt, even though he revisited the country in 1855 intending to study the Christian remains. His plans, however, came to an end when a sunstroke hit him, and his travel plans were hindered. The rest of his life he spent in England and Europe, and his interests slowly diverged from Egyptology to studying ancient Greek vases and to British prehistoric archaeology. In his old age, Wilkinson settled with his wife in Brynfield House in Gower, South Wales, where he died in 1875. 
Gell was also influential for the history of Egyptology, as he kept contacts with the foremost Egyptologists of the time. His role as an intellectual interlocutor played a valuable part in the decipherment of Egyptian hieroglyphs; see Thom­pson, Wonderful Things, 109–128. 
Wilkinson’s most enduring legacy, one still relevant for today’s scholarship, are his notes and sketches. They are now kept in the De­partment of Special Collections, Bodleian Libraries, Oxford, under the name “Papers of Sir John Gardner Wilkinson.”5 This vast archi­ve consists of almost 350 different documents, including notebooks, sketchbooks, maps, plans, leather satchels, and loose papers, spanning from his early years to the last days of his life. Even for today’s stan­dards, Wilkinson’s notes are surprisingly accurate and still relevant for contemporary researchers as they are often the only source of in­formation on the monuments that have been since long damaged or destroyed in the decades after Wilkinson’s visit.6 Not just for Egyptol­ogy, the archive is of immense importance for anthropology, history, geography, zoology, and biology of Egypt as well as of the Balkans,7 Wales, Greece, Syria and other countries to which he traveled. 
During his several trips between 1823 and 1826, Wilkinson visited the principal monastic sites in the Eastern Desert. He first visited the area in 1823 as part of James Burton’s expedition, followed by at least two more (self-organized) trips in 1825 and 1826. The notes from the journey in 1823 were partially published in the article entitled “Notes on a Part of the Eastern Desert of Upper Egypt” (1832) in the Journal of the Royal Geographical Society. His last two trips, however, remain unpublished, but they were thoroughly documented in several ver­sions. The notes and sketches he produced during these two trips are now located in his archive. 
BURTON’S AND WILKINSON’S JOINT EXPEDITION TO THE EASTERN DESERT IN 1823 
According to Wilkinson, the 1823 expedition (which was led by James Burton) started from Cairo and traveled from Beni Suef, a town on the western side of the Nile, towards the Red Sea coast. 
5 The complete catalogue of the Sir John Gardner Wilkinson archive is accessible 
online at the Bodleian Libraries website. 6 Unfortunately, Wilkinson’s manuscripts are extremely difficult to read, which is 
often also due to circumstances in which he produced his notes as, for example, 
writing them on horse- or camelback. See Thompson, Sir Gardner Wilkinson, 
103. 7 Wilkinson also traveled to the Balkans (including present-day Slovenia) in 1844. 
He subsequently published his travels in a monograph entitled Dalmatia and 
Montenegro (1848). Numerous notes and drawings from this journey are still 
accessible in the archive. 
Figure 1. Sir John Gardner Wilkinson (1797 1875). 
Figure 2. James Burton (1786 1862). 
The path led through the vast plain of Wadi Arabah, located in the northern part of the Eastern Desert, stretching between the modern town of Kureymat (in the Nile Valley) in the West and the town of Za’farana in the East (on the Red Sea coast). The historical epicenter of monasticism in Wadi Arabah has been St. Anthony’s monastery, from where the hermits spread to the remote wadis along the Northern and Southern Gallala escarpment. The (semi) anachoretic establishments in Wadi Arabah together with other monastic settlements around St. Paul’s Monastery and the Red Sea coast between Ayn Sukhna and Za’farana formed a geograph­ically unified monastic desertscape, known in ancient sources as the “Mountain of St. Anthony.”8 Since the (semi)anachoretic set­tlements were located around the few permanent water sources in the area, the caravans traveling from the Nile valley to the Red Sea frequently stopped there, offering Wilkinson the opportunity to visit and inspect these sites (figure 3). 
On the way to St. Anthony’s monastery, the caravan thus stopped in Wadi Um Innaba, located at the northern footslopes of the South Gallala mountain range.9 This fork-shaped wadi housed a small semianachoretic community. Close to the water source in its western branch, marked by a small palm grove, still lie the ruins of the hermitage. It is presumably this hermitage that Wil­kinson mentions in his article: 
At Gebel Annaba we stopped for water; there are two very good springs, three or four miles from the plain; near each of which is one old deserted house, probably built by the monks of the neighbouring convent. The ravines are very fine and bold, and, judging from their depth, much water must fall there in the rainy season. The distance from thence to Deďr Antonios is little less than twelve miles.10 
A built structure that was not mentioned in Wilkinson’s report, however, was the largest and best preserved of the hermitages in the Wadi Um Innaba, which is located on the rocky hillslopes of its eastern branch. 
8  Martin, “Les ermitages d’Abou Darag,” 185.  
9  For later reports see Fontaine, “Le monachisme Copte et la montagne de Saint  
Antoine.”  
10  Wilkinson, “Notes on a Part of the Eastern Desert of Upper Egypt,” 29.  

Furthermore, Wilkinson reported on another anachoretic site at Bir Bikheit on the northern side of Wadi Arabah, even though he did not explore it personally:11 
From St. Anthony we crossed the Wady Arabah, in the direction of Deďr Ebkhéit, or Bekhéit, about N.E. by N. Having heard that near that spot were some old copper-mines, we resolved on visiting them, in preference to the watering-place itself, where we understood there was nothing but a few palms, and not even any remains of a convent; though I have no doubt, from the name, that the place was once the abode of monks, as well as many others in these mountains, which bear the same prefix.12 
For some time, the expedition stayed in St. Anthony’s monastery and then continued towards St. Paul’s monastery. During this time, both Wilkinson and Burton produced several watercolors and sketches of the monastery (figures 4–9). 
After leaving St. Paul’s monastery, they carried southwards and visited the site that Wilkinson called “Wady Ghrásheca” (or possibly Ghrasheea), where he found several inscriptions, some of them pro­bably of monastic origins. The exact location of “Wadi Ghrásheca” is today unknown. Wilkinson writes the following: 
A short distance beyond is Wady Dtháhal, at the end of which is a spring of good water bearing the same name. We passed some rocks of micaceous schist approaching to gneiss, and a little farther on the junction of the primitive and grit-stone, from which we descended to the Wady Ghrásheca. Here we found some scratches on the rocks, and two or three Greek words and names.13 
From there, the expedition continued southwards to the ancient Mons Porphyrites (Gebel Dukhan) and Mons Claudianus area. The­re, Wilkinson surveyed the church of a semianachoretic settlement in Wadi Naqqat, located about 55 km west from the city of Hurghada at the Red Sea.14 He described the path to the site and its surround­ing as follows: 
11 For later reports see Ghica and Tristan, “Bir Bi.it: Preliminary Report on the 
2012 Field Season.” 12 Wilkinson, “Notes on a Part of the Eastern Desert of Upper Egypt,” 31. 13 Wilkinson, “Notes on a Part of the Eastern Desert of Upper Egypt,” 38. 14 For the general description of the entire settlement see Ciglenecki, “The Laura 
of Wadi Naqqat in the Eastern Desert” (forthcoming). 
The beautiful valley which leads to the water of Guttár, is filled with fine seyáles, which at this time were particularly green, in spite of the want of rain; on continuing further up the valley gradually diminishes in breadth, and presents the rugged appearance of a mountain torrent’s bed, filled with large stones, till it terminates in a precipitous rock, overgrown with hanging water-weeds, down which the water drops slowly; below are palm-trees and rushes, and a basin which affords a plentiful supply of excellent water on digging a hole in the gravel of decayed granite, with which it is filled. There are innumerable figures scratched upon the rocks on the road to the water, and among them is an old tomb, probably Christian. I ascended the rock, and crossing the ravine above, in which were some smaller natural reservoirs, arrived at a stone building, which, from its appearance, is not very ancient: it consists of three rooms, and a kind of portico, or covering, supported on two pillars; nothing but roof is wanting – the walls, windows, and doorways being all perfect. The Arab shiekh, my guide, at length pointed out a ‘written stone’ which proved to be a Greek inscription (…).15 
This inscription mentioned by Wilkinson reads: “Flavius Julius, the most eminent leader of the Thebaid, built here a public church, at the time when Hatres was the bishop of Maximianopolis.”16 The approximate dating of this commemorative inscription is based on a letter of St. Athanasius to Sarapion of Thmuis from 339 ad. In this letter, St. Athanasius mentioned that Hatres, the bishop of Maximianopolis, had died that same year. Hence, 339 ad is the latest possible dating of the construction of the church17 (even though Wilkinson wrote that the church does not seem very an­cient). The church in Wadi Naqqat, therefore, predates the earliest foundation of the more famous St. Anthony’s and St. Paul’s mon­asteries. 
Wilkinson’s subsequent trips to the Eastern Desert in 1825 and 1826 (without Burton) are equally crucial for the research of monas­ticism in the area. Although he did not publish the material gathered during these two expeditions, his notes, sketches and maps are pre­served in his archives. The most important documents (regarding the present discussion) relate to his survey of Dayr Abu Daraj, a large 
15 Wilkinson, “Notes on a Part of the Eastern Desert of Upper Egypt,” 49. 16 f.a..... ....... . d.as.µ.tat.. ..eµ.. .eßa.d.. . .atas.e..sa. ..ta..a .a....... ....es.a.. .p. [.A]t..t.. .p.s..[p.]. Ma..µ.a..p..[e..]; ibid. 17 Murray, “The Christian Settlement at Qattâr,” 108. 
Figure 3. Map of Wadi Arabah, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 50. 
85 
monastic complex with a surrounding semianachoretic settlement, located on the Red Sea coast between the modern towns of Ayn Sukhna and Za’farana. 
On the grounds of epigraphical and ceramological studies, the monastery and the semianachorite settlement could be dated to the late 6th century and the first half of the 7th century ad.18 The most prominent hermitage of the entire laura had numerous graffiti, dip-inti, and decorative elements. On the outer side of the hermitage stood a sandstone with Greek and Coptic inscriptions (mainly an-throponyms). Unfortunately, the recent construction of multi-line highways and surging tourist resorts between Ayn Sukhna and Za’farana caused irreversible damage to the historical monuments of laura Wadi Abu Daraj and gave the fatal blow to its most remark­able building.19 Regretfully, the site of Wadi Abu Daraj has been previously studied only in parts. Wilkinson’s notes, which include a description of the site, a detailed map of the archaeological remains, and some sketches are therefore of immense value for any further study of this important monastic site. 
JAMES BURTON AND HIS FIRST EXPEDITIONS TO THE EASTERN DESERT IN 1822 AND 1823 
Although Wilkinson is usually credited as the discoverer of several most important (semi)anachoretic sites in the Eastern Desert, Ja­mes Burton’s role in exploring this area was of equal importance.20 Indeed, Burton was a pioneer in many aspects, although his role for the research of monastic history is today much less recognized, also because he never published his findings.21 Nevertheless, as the following excerpt from Burton’s archival documents demonstrates, he was also interested in the history of monasticism: 
18 See Ghica, “Les ermitages d’Abu Darag revisités,” 119, 132. 19 See Ciglenecki, “Dayr Abu Daraj: Update.” 20 For the life and work of Burton see: Thompson, Sir Gardner Wilkinson; Cooke, 
“The Forgotten Egyptologist: James Burton.”; cf. Thompson, “Osman Effendi: A 
Scottish Convert to Islam in Early Nineteenth-Century Egypt”; and “Edward 
William Lane in Egypt.” 21 His only publication, Excerpta Hieroglyphica, published in Cairo in four parts 
(1825–1828) was of importance for the decipherment of hieroglyphs and was 
known to both Thomas Young and Champollion, two pioneers of decipherment 
of Egyptian hieroglyphics. 
Many proselytes to his example followed him [i.e. St. Antho­ny] into same desert and succeeding years witnessed the fo­undation of Dayr Boolos, D[ayr] Abou Déragy or Ohanes(?), Dayr Berkheit, Dayr Barda, Dayr Om Yessin and perhaps many others. Of all these Dayr Antonios & Dayr Boolos now alone exist – the sites of the others are known only by their ruins and tradition.22 
It is therefore vital to treat Burton’s unpublished archival materi­als which are now located in the British Library in London23 as a relevant source for the history of monasticism in the Eastern De­sert – and at the same time to consider his influence on Wilkinson’s discoveries. 
The story of Burton’s exploration begins in the year 1822. When he arrived in Alexandria, he was employed by Muhammad Ali Pa­sha in order to search for coal, which he hoped could be found in the Eastern Desert. This was his first trip to the area and even though he did not find any coal, he got acquainted with the region and fell in love with it – so much so that he spent most of his time in an encampment there from around 1828–1833.24 It was during the first expedition, however, that Burton came across several mo­nastic monuments in the area. Because his first journey took place a year before Wilkinson joined him for his second expedition in 1823, the discoveries described below can be regarded as earlier and demonstrate the seminal role Burton performed as Wilkin­son’s guide. 
Among the discoveries Burton made during this first trip in 1822 was, for example, the early pharaonic site of Wadi el-Jarf near St. Paul’s monastery. In later reports, both Burton and Wilkinson mentioned the oral tradition, held by monks living in the nearby St. Paul’s monastery, that the site of Wadi al-Jarf (which both identified as “catacombs”) was occupied by the pen­itent monks: 
The Monks say also the Catacombs were inhabited by their own people when the Convent was excessively full and the individuals wished to perform severe penitence.25 
22 James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 5. 23 Catalogue number Add. mss 25,613–75. 24 For Burton’s life and his duties in Egypt see especially Cooke, “The Forgotten 
Egyptologist.” 25 James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 10. 
Figure 4. Panorama of St. Anthonys monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 100. 
89 
Figure 5. Walls of St. Anthonys monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 102. 
91 
Figure 6. Panorama of St. Pauls monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 107. 
93 
Figure 7. Panorama of St. Pauls monastery, different view, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 108. 
95 
Figure 8. Interior of St. Pauls monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 112. 
97 
Figure 9. Interior of St. Pauls monastery, different view, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 110. 
99 
In this context, Burton mentions another archaeological site lo­cated above the springs of Wadi Gharib in the area south of St. Paul’s monastery, assuming, however, that it is of non-monastic origin: 
(…) above the springs of W[ady] Ghareib stand the ruined walls of a building similar in dimensions, which though rough have been too carefully built to be of Hermit or Arab work.26 
As water sources, Burton mentioned further archaeological sites, which are now considered as possible (semi)anachoretic settlements. Such are, for example, the Wadi Um Innaba and Ayn Barda, about which he wrote the following: 
There is water at a place called W[ady] Anaba about 5 miles west of the Convent along the range of Gebel Derr at the foot of the moun­tain – a good supply.27 
And: 
Nearly opposite G[ebel] Anaba is another called G[ebel] Berda better [sc. water] than Areidy and more – and another behind G[e­bel] Berda called Derr Bekheit.28 
Burton later described Ayn Barda as the original location of St. Anthony’s monastery, which was, according to his report, later mo­ved to its present location. 
Among other sites which Wilkinson later mentioned in his publication, Burton wrote down the name “Ghrásheea” (maybe “Ghrásheca”), which is hence the first known mention of this site.29 In the course of the same expedition in 1822, Burton also visited the remains of Abu Shar monastery located near the modern city of Hurghada.30 We can hence assume that Burton discovered all these sites before Wilkinson and very possibly also drew his colleague’s attention to them during their second expedition. 
26 James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 52. 27 James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 60. 28 James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 60. 29 James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 67. 30 James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 82. 
Burton’s second journey to the Eastern Desert (in 1823) was much better prepared and was accompanied by a caravan of camels carrying both servants and soldiers.31 It was this expe­dition that Wilkinson joined when traveling to the region for the first time. Burton’s archival documents from the year 1823 must be interpreted more carefully as they are most probably mixed with Wilkinson’s papers (according to our analysis of the handwriting as well as of the content of the manuscripts). Nevertheless, one can assume that Burton pointed to Wilkinson several monastic sites he had visited or noted during his previ­ous journey. Altogether, Burton mentioned “The five convents” in the area: 
Derr Abou Deragy – Ruined Derr Berkheit – Ruined Derr Berda – Ruined Derr Antonios – Flourishing Derr Boolos – Flourishing32 
It is also apparent from these documents that the 1823 expedition visited “Antiquities in W. Ghraashiya,”33 probably Ghrásheca or Ghrásheea. In the journal, there is even a sketch of one of the same inscriptions that can be found in Wilkinson’s papers.34 
The discovery of a semianachoretic establishment in Wadi Naqqat is less definite as the handwriting in Burton’s papers possibly belongs to Wilkinson and it seems, by the looks of it at least, that a few specific papers were inserted later.35 Among Burton’s manuscripts, however, there is a rough sketch of the map, which mentions Guttár and a hermitage (figure 10). It is therefore impossible to conclude if they documented the site there together or if Wilkinson just shared his observations with Burton. 
31  See especially Cooke, “The Forgotten Egyptologist.”  
32  James Burton papers, mss 25,624, f. 65.  
33  James Burton papers, mss 25,625, f. 20.  
34  ms. Wilkinson dep. c. 13, fol. 81.  
35  James Burton papers, mss 25,623, f. 14, cf. also f. 15.  

CONCLUSION 
This paper highlights the importance of unpublished archival material of early explorers for the history of monasticism in the Eastern Desert. To this end, it discusses the discoveries of (semi)anachoretic sites by Sir John Gardner Wilkinson and Ja­mes Burton during their expeditions to the area. Both explorers were among the first to document several important monastic sites, many of which are now completely destroyed, damaged or forgotten. Even though Wilkinson was the first to publish his findings as part of his article in the Journal of Royal Geographi­cal Society in 1832, this paper also argued that it was James Bur­ton who had discovered many of these sites already in 1822 and very possibly pointed them out to Wilkinson a year later during their joint expedition. 
Hence, James Burton knew about Ayn Barda, Wadi Um Inna-ba, Bir Bikheit, Wadi el-Jarf, Wadi Ghrásheca, and Abu Shar be­fore his colleague. It is less certain who first visited Abu Daraj. Although Burton mentions the site in his notes (alongside an undated map of Abu Daraj), it seems that it was Wilkinson who was the first to visit the site. This thesis is partly corroborated by an inscription that was found on one of the rocks in Abu Daraj, reading “Burton” and “Depuy” with the date “1830” written be­sides.36 In Burton’s archives, there are also two sketches of Abu Daraj (figures 11–12). 
Regardless of the question who first visited the discussed si­tes, it was Wilkinson who paid more attention to archaeological remains and their documentation (as Burton was focusing more on geology), which eventually makes his unpublished documents and papers more relevant for the research of monasticism in the Eastern Desert. Nevertheless, both archives are of immense im­portance for further research on the topic. 
36 Scaife, “Further Notes on Myos Hormos and Tadnos Fons; with Some Remarks on a Station at Bir Aras; on an Ostrakon from El-Heitaand on Some Ruins at Bir Abou Darag,” 64. 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
Ciglenecki, Jan. “Dayr Abu Daraj: Update.” In Claremont Coptic Encyclope­dia – Claremont Colleges Digital Library (2018): 1–40. Available online. 
——— . “Wadi Naqqat, The Laura of.” In Claremont Coptic Encyclopedia – Claremont Colleges Digital Library (2017): 1–6. Available online. 
——— . “The Laura of Wadi Naqqat in the Eastern Desert.” In Christianity and Monasticism in Alexandria and Its Surroundings and in the Eastern and Western Deserts, ed. by G. Gabra and H. Takla. Cairo: The Ameri­can University in Cairo Press, 2020. (Forthcoming.) 
Colla, Elliott. Conflicted Antiquities: Egyptology, Egyptomania, Egyptian Modernity. Durham, nc: Duke University Press, 2007. 
Cooke, Neil. “The Forgotten Egyptologist: James Burton.” In Travellers in Egypt, edited by Paul Starkey and Janet Starkey. London: I.B. Tauris, 2001. 
Dawson, Warren R, and Eric P. Uphill. Who Was Who in Egyptology? Lon­don: Egypt Exploration Society, 2012. 
Fontaine, Alfred-Léon. “Le monachisme Copte et la montagne de Saint An­toine.” Bulletin de l’Institut des Etudes Coptes 1 (1958): 3–30. 
Ghica, Victor, Sylvie Marchand, and Antigone Marangou. “Les ermitages d’Abu Darag revisités.” Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Ori­entale 108 (2008): 115–163. 
——— , and Yann Tristant. “Bir Bihit: Preliminary Report on the 2012 Field Season.” Bulletin of the Australian Center for Egyptology 23 (2012): 7–24. 
Jasanoff, Maya. Edge of Empire: Lives, Culture, and Conquest in the East, 1750–1850. New York: Vintage Books, 2006. 
Martin, Maurice. “Les ermitages d’Abou Darag.” Bulletin de la Société d’Ar­chéologie Copte 18 (1965–1966): 139–145. 
——— .  “Abou Darag dans la montagne de Saint-Antoine.” Bulletin de l’In­stitut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 70 (1971): 173–189. 
Murray, G. William. “The Christian Settlement at Qattâr.” In Bulletin de la Société Royale de Géographie d’Égypte 24 (1951): 107–114. 
Scaife, C. H. O. “Further Notes on Myos Hormos and Tadnos Fons; with Some Remarks on a Station at Bir Aras; on an Ostrakon from El-Heita and on Some Ruins at Bir Abou Darag.” Bulletin of the Faculty of Arts 4 (1936): 63–64. 
Thompson, Jason. “Edward William Lane in Egypt.” Journal of the Ameri­can Research Center in Egypt 34 (1997): 243–61. 
——— . “Osman Effendi: A Scottish Convert to Islam in Early Nineteenth­-Century Egypt.” Journal of World History 5, no. 1 (1994): 99–123. 
——— . Sir Gardner Wilkinson and His Circle. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1987. 
Figure 10. Map with marked hermitage in Wadi Naqqat, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 137. 
105 
——— . “Sir Gardner Wilkinson’s House at Sheikh Abd El Qurna.” kmt: A Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt 7, no. 2 (1996): 52–59. 
——— . “The Sir Gardner Wilkinson Papers: An Update.” The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 78 (1992): 273–74. 
——— . Wonderful Things: A History of Egyptology 1; From Antiquity to 1881. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. 
Thompson, Jason, and Robert Lucas. “Sir John Gardner Wilkinson in Gower.” Gower Journal 46 (1995): 1–14. 
Wilkinson, John Gardner. “Notes on a Part of the Eastern Desert of Upper Egypt.” The Journal of the Royal Geographical Society 2 (1832): 28–60. 
SOURCES 
British Library. James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,623. British Library. James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,624. British Library. James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,625. British Library. James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628. Oxford, Bodleian Library, ms. Wilkinson dep. ms. Wilkinson dep. c. 13. 
FIGURES 
Figure 1: Sir John Gardner Wilkinson (1797–1875). 
Figure 2: James Burton (1786–1862). 
Figure 3 Map of Wadi Arabah, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 50. 
Figure 4: Panorama of St. Anthony’s monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 100. 
Figure 5: Walls of St. Anthony’s monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 102. 
Figure 6: Panorama of St. Paul’s monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 107. 
Figure 7: Panorama of St. Paul’s monastery, different view, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 108. 
Figure 8: Interior of St. Paul’s monastery, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 112. 
Figure 9 Interior of St. Paul’s monastery, different view, James Burton pa­pers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 110. 
Figure 10: Map with marked hermitage in Wadi Naqqat, James Burton pa­pers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 137.s. 
Figure 11: Wadi Abu Daraj, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 87. 
Figure 12: Wadi Abu Daraj, different view, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 88. 
Figure 11. Wadi Abu Daraj, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 87. 
Figure 12. Wadi Abu Daraj, different view, James Burton papers. Add. mss 25,628, f. 88. 
109 
111 
ABSTRACT 
The paper analyzes the personal documents of two early explorers of the Eastern Desert who recorded several monastic monuments in the area: Sir John Gardner Wilkinson and James Burton. The authors argue that these papers are a valuable source for the history of early monasticism as they record many of the monuments now destroyed, severely damaged, or forgotten. It is also suggested that Burton preceded Wilkinson in visiting and documenting some of these archaeological sites, even though Wilkinson was the first to publish them. 
KEYWORDS: monasticism, Desert fathers, Archaeology, Egypt, Eastern Desert, Sir John Gardner Wilkinson, James Burton 
PRVI RAZISKOVALCI VZHODNE PUŠCAVE IN ZGODOVINA MENIŠTVA: SIR JOHN GARDNER WILKINSON IN JAMES BURTON 
IZVLECEK 
Clanek analizira osebne dokumente dveh zgodnjih raziskovalcev Vzhodne pušcave, ki sta na tem obmocju odkrila nekaj samostan­skih najdišc – sira Johna Gardnerja Wilkinsona in Jamesa Burtona. Avtorja dokazujeta, da so njuni dokumenti pomemben vir za zgo­dovino zgodnjega meništva, saj opisujejo številne spomenike, ki so danes uniceni, mocno poškodovani ali pozabljeni. Izkaže se tudi, da je Burton nekatera arheološka najdišca obiskal in dokumentiral pred Wilkinsonom, ceprav je ta svoj popis objavil prvi. 
KLJUCNE BESEDE:meništvo, pušcavski ocetje, arheologija, Egipt, Vzhodna pušcava, sir John Gardner Wilkinson, James Burton 
Terracotta lekythos, attributed to the Sappho Painter, early 5th century bc, Metropolitan Museum of Art, accession no. 41.162.138. 
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