Alexandros : to Hellenikon Paidion

Greek Learning Greek
1

This is the version of Rouse’s book by Mario Díaz Ávila. Though nominally in Spanish it tries to keep as much as possible in Greek so not knowing a word of Spanish is not a problem.

Rouse’s original is available for free as a download so is it worth paying for this edition?

Though keeping quite close to the original Avila has significantly revised Rouse’s texts. The pictures are very nicely drawn and there are a lot of exercises that are completely new but it does share a lot of the problems of the original.

First off it is a bit dull. Dull doesn’t just mean that it is less fun to work with - the language of text that is not stimulating is hard to learn. In Krashen terms, the effective filter will be high.

Further, one of the key requirements of an easy reader is that it should be easy. Rouse filled his text with quite a few rare words. That would have been less of a problem if those words were repeated sufficiently that they could become familiar to the reader but mostly they are not. The pictures that Avila has added help a bit but this is still a major problem. There are also places where Rouse was downright obscure. By that I mean the text would have been a bit hard to make out even in English. Avila’s rewrite has reduced this problem but again only to a limited extent.

All in all, this really doesn’t count as comprehensible input.

If we had an abundance of easy readers I would not recommend this edition. Given what is available as an alternative I reckon it is worth a try.

2

This is an example of how obscure the text can be.

φεῦγε, ὦ ὀδύνη κεφαλῆς, φεῦγε ὑπὸ πέτραν · φεύγουσι δὲ οἱ λύκοι, φεύγουσι δὲ οἱ ἵπποι πληττόμενοι τῇ ἐπῳδῇ τῇ.

The context is the nurse attempting to drive out a headache using a song. First off this cure for headaches may well be authentic Ancient Greek practice but it was new to me and I suspect to most learners. Then there is the metaphor of the headache being driven off by stones. For a learner a literal reading is likely to be their first stab and that is especially so when the metaphor is so counter intuitive as this. On top of that it was probably not the best point to introduce the imperative - φεῦγε is the first imperative to occur in the book. A context that is more obvious would have better.

It is possible that I missing something in my translation so my comments may be a bit off but that would not change my impression that this is a tadge tricky for beginners.

3

The greek boy at home was designed by Rouse to be used in classroom as a companion to his other introductory book, first greek course. Rouse introduced the language to the students through verbal exercises, that is, once he mentioned the word and the construction he would chat with the students in ancient greek, or have them chat out loud between themselves, before the other students. Your pheuge example would not be the first time the english boy at school would have seen it.

I am not quite sure if this was mentioned before, but you may check here how he conducted a class. (scroll down until you see his name).

4

I wrote my review on the assumption that someone is looking for easy readers to use at home. You are right his materials make a lot more sense when used as preparation for a conversation class conducted entirely in Greek. In that case, though, your decision to buy such a book would depend on the requirements of the course and any review is irrelevant.

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OK daivid Rouse’s book unsurprisingly doesn’t meet your criteria for an easy reader. That’s that.

In the bit you quote, ὑπὸ πέτραν doesn’t mean “by stones” (that would be plain dative, λίθοις) but “under a rock” (πέτραν accusative). And τῇ at the end makes no sense. (ταύτῃ would, or e.g. τῇ ἐμῇ.) I recognize that you may not find this input either relevant or stimulating, however.

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I said it is worth a try so “it half meets my criteria” would fit what I wrote better. The bit I quoted was one of the more stimulating bits. It is other sections that are dull.

And thanks for putting me right on which ὑπὸ I should have got from the case as you say.

But if something makes no sense the most likely explanation is a typo on my part as in this case. It should read:

φεῦγε, ὦ ὀδύνη κεφαλῆς, φεῦγε ὑπὸ πέτραν · φεύγουσι δὲ οἱ λύκοι, φεύγουσι δὲ οἱ ἵπποι πληττόμενοι τῇ ἐπῳδῇ τῇ > ἐμῇ> .

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The headache chapter was VI.A, but doesn’t contain anything like that (in the original). Nor do I remember it from the songs in the Appendix, or Rouse’s Chanties book. Where is that from? The Spanish version?

Also, is there a missing word at the end?

EDIT:

I recall the headache chapter being one where the difficulty ramps up, but that it was understandable after a few reads when I was just starting. The hardest part was πτύει τρὶς ἐς τὸν κόλπον τὸν ἐμόν, because it means exactly what it says. Looking back, this is one of my favorite stories, because it’s a window on such a different world – though I don’t know whether it was informed more by modern Greek folk practices than by ancient. I think Rouse may have taken some of it from Lawson’s “Modern Greek Folklore and Ancient Greek Religion – A Study in Survivals,” which is worth a read. I doubt that anything could replace or replicate it nowadays.

ΒΑΣΚΑΝΙΑ

εἰ δ’ ὁ ἀδελφὸς ἔκλαυσε χθές, τήμερον ἐγὼ κλαίω· ἀλγῶ γὰρ τὴν κεφαλήν. καὶ μὴν ἡ τροφὸς λέγει εὐθύς, “ὦ φίλτατε, τί πάσχεις; τίς σ’ ἐβάσκηνεν; ἀλλὰ φίλτρον γε ἑυρήσω· μή, μή.” καὶ δὴ καὶ ᾄδει ἐπῳδήν τινα, καὶ πτύει τρὶς ἐς τὸν κόλπον τὸν ἐμόν, καὶ κοιμᾷ με ἐπὶ κλίνης, καὶ κλῄει μοι τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς, καὶ λέγει· “ὦ φίλη κεφαλή, λέγω δὴ τῆς λύπης παραμύθιον. εἰσὶ γάρ τινες ἄνθρωποι οἳ βασκαίνουσι τοὺς ἄλλους· τοιούτους γὰρ ἔχουσιν ὀφθαλμούς, ὥστε βλέπουσι πρός τινα, ὁ δ’ εὐθὺς ἀλγεῖ τὴν κεφαλήν· οὐδ’ ἐστὶ φίλτρον οὐδὲν εἰ μὴ ᾠδή τις μυστική, οἵαν νῦν δὴ ᾖσά σοι ἐγώ.”

8

Yes, the version by Mario Díaz Ávila.

9

Thank you, I found a description online, one that describes the source.

  • En el primer texto, líneas 13-15, se encuentra con algunas modificaciones un poema de Filina de Tesalia, poetisa de época de Augusto.

φεῦγ´ ὀδύνη κεφαλῆς, φεῦγε φθίνουσ´ ὑπὸ πέτραν·
φεύγουσιν δὲ λύκοι, φεύγουσι δὲ μώνυχες ἵπποι
ἐσσύμενοι πληγαῖς ὑπ´ ἐμῆς τελέας ἐπαοιδῆς.

10

It’s not just a song but a spell, originally in hexameters, cf. Theocritus’ Idyll 2.

“Filina de Tesalia”: Philip II of Macedon had a Thessalian wife called Philina. Did she use this spell to cure his headaches? And Thessalian witches were famous. They could draw down the moon, so exorcizing a headache will have been nothing.

11

The spell is an example of apopompe.

Here is an example of epipompe against headache:

Εὐχὴ ἡμικράνη εἰς πονοκεφάλι· Ἡμίκρανον ἐξήρχετο ἀπὸ θάλασσαν κρουόμενον καὶ βρυχούμενον καὶ ὑπήντησε αὐτῷ ὁ κύριος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ· ποῦ ὑπάγεις, κράνιον καὶ ἡμικρὰν καὶ πονοκεφάλι καὶ ὀφθαλμόπονον καὶ νεμοπύρωμα καὶ δάκρυα καὶ λεύκωμα καὶ κεφαλοσκότωσις; καὶ ἀπεκρίθη ὁ πονοκέφαλος πρὸς τὸν κύριον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν Χριστόν· ὑπάγομεν, ἵνα καθίσωμεν εἰς τὴν κεφαλὴν τοῦ δούλου <τοῦ θεοῦ> ὁ δεῖνα· καὶ ὁ κύριος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς λέγει πρὸς αὐτόν· βλέπε, μὴ ὑπάγε εἰς τὸν δοῦλόν μου, ἀλλὰ φεύγετε καὶ ὑπάγετε εἰς τὰ ἄγρια ὄρη καὶ ἀνέβητε εἰς ταύρου κεφαλήν, ἐκεῖ κρέας φάγετε, ἐκεῖ αἷμα πίετε, ἐκεῖ ὀφθαλμοὺς διαφθείρετε, ἐκεῖ κεφαλὴν σκοτώσατε, κυμαίνετε, διαστρέψατε· εἰ δὲ καὶ παρακούσατέ μου, ἐκεῖ σε ἀπολέσω εἰς τὸ καύσιον ὄρος, ὅπου κύων οὐκ ὑλακτεῖ ὅ τε ἀλέκτωρ οὐ φωνεῖ· ὁ πήξας ὅριον ἐν τῇ θαλάσσῃ, στῆσον τὸ κράνιον καὶ ἡμικρανον καὶ τὸν πόνον ἐκ τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ τοῦ μετώπου καὶ τῶν βρεφάρων <καὶ τῶν> μυελῶν ἀπὸ τοῦ δούλου τοῦ θεοῦ ὁ δεῖνα· στῶμεν καλῶς, στῶμεν μετὰ φόβου <θεοῦ>, ἀμήν

Here is another version of the same:

Περὶ τὸ ἡμίκρανον

Εἰς τὸ μέγα ὄνομα τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ παντοδυνάμου. Ὡς ἐξήρχετο τὸ ἡμίκρανον, τὸ ἥμισυ τοῦ ἡμικράνου, τὸ συνεργὸν τοῦ διαβόλου ἀπὸ τὰ βάθη τῆς θαλάσσης, καὶ ἠπήντησέν το ὁ κύριος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς, καὶ ἐπερώτησεν αὐτό· << ποῦ ὑπάγεις, τὸ ἡμίκρανον, τὸ ἥμισυ τοῦ ἡμικράνου; >> Καὶ ἀπεκρίθην καὶ εἶπεν· << Κύριε, τί μὲ ἐπερώτησας; ἐγὼ ὑπάγω εἰς τὸν δοῦλον τοῦ θεοῦ δεῖνα, εὶς τὴν κεφαλήν του νὰ καθίσω, τὸν ὀμυζλόν του νὰ χύσω. τὰ ὀμμάτιά του νὰ κινήσω. >> Καὶ ἀπεκρίθη ὁ Κύριος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦς Χριστὸς, εἶπεν αὐτῷ· << ὕπαγε εἰς τοῦ Ἀραρὰτ τὸ ὄρος, ὅπου σημαντηρίου φωνὴ οὐκ ἀκούεται, ὅπου ἀλέκτορος φωνὴ οὐκ ἀκούεται· ἐκεῖ νὰ φᾷς, ἐκεῖ νὰ πῇς, ἐκεῖ τὸν θυμόν σου νὰ διαβάσῃς. >> Χριστὸς ἐγεννήθη ἐν Βηθλεὲμ τῆς Ἰουδαίας, Χριστὸς ἐσταυρώθη ἐν τόπῳ κρανίου· φεῦγε, τὸ ἡμίκρανον, τὸ ἡμισὸν τοῦ ἡμικράνου, ἀπὸ τὸν δοῦλον τοῦ θεοῦ δεῖνα. Στῶμεν καλὰ, στῶμεν μετὰ φόβου.

12

Also apopompe. Hilarious Christianization, but largely drawn from very much earlier pagan tradition of course. Even has Philina’s φευγε. (“Get thee behind me, Headache”?) ὁ δεῖνα means “[Insert name here.]” Why the diversion onto a bull, btw?

On the Philina spell: what’s the evidence for Augustan age? That should rule out Philip’s Philina, but I find the connection irresistible.

13

Searching for the Greek text brought up nothing, so instead I searched for the likely English translation. The text turns out to be from the Philinna Papyrus, “one of the oldest Greek magical papyri.” PGM 20.13-18, dated to the 1st century BC.

The headache spell begins with “Φιλίννης Θεσσαλῆς ἐπαοιδή πρὸς Κεφαλῆς πόνον…” So the Spanish source seems to be conflating the (imaginary?) literary attribution with the age of the document.

I think that the bull may have been chosen just because it has a large head. Perhaps the idea for the epipompe simply comes from Mark 5.

Maybe there is an association with the astrological bull. Or if it’s Zeus (originally on holy Olympus?), it could be some sort of anti-pagan thing. But I’d think that would be out of place. He wouldn’t risk offending any deities – that may or may not exist – and spoiling the spell.

The holy mountain reference confuses me. Why would an evil spirit want to go someplace holy? But I seem to recall lots of Moschus’ stories about hermits fighting off evil spirits around there, so maybe it was considered haunted. If the unnamed “holy mountain” is Sinai, then there is the Golden Calf story, but it’s specially Ararat in the second version.

–

Here is Fraenkel on epipompe:

This type of prayer is based on a widespread and very ancient belief. If a daemon or god is bent on harming you – and in the early days, before the gods became humanized, that seems to have been their favorite occupation – it will do you little good if you just cry out ‘spare me’ (pheidou, parce). You have to do that as a matter of form, but if you are wise you will add some more effective bait. If you are able to point to a really attractive substitute, then, perhaps, you may succeed in diverting the god from his original object, from you and yours. An obvious candidate for such a substitute is an enemy, either your country’s or a personal one; but if you do not want to be so specific, you may be content with asking the daemon to prey on ‘others’.

–

All this strikes me as easy comprehensible input for beginners, as long as you don’t agonize about the meaning of every single word.

φεῦγε, ὦ ὀδύνη κεφαλῆς, φεῦγε ὑπὸ πέτραν · φεύγουσι δὲ οἱ λύκοι, φεύγουσι δὲ οἱ ἵπποι πληττόμενοι τῇ ἐπῳδῇ τῇ ἐμῇ.

I think that the above is a fine way to introduce the imperative. The reader who knows the context sees a verb associated with flight being addressed to the headache that is supposed to go away. He’ll understand the imperative without knowing the form. The hardest part is πληττόμενοι, but it clearly agrees with ἵπποι, and could be understand as an adjective whether or not the reader knows about participles.

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And here is another example of this φεῦγε usage, linked to the Philinna spell by Faraone. See P Gaillard-Seux, “Magical formulas in Pliny’s natural history.”

Aristoteles fr. 496 R (ap. Eustath. in Odyss. 13.408 p. 1746)

ὁδ’ αὐτὸς λέγει καὶ ὅτι Ἀριστοτέλης ἱστορεῖ λοιμοῦ κατασχόντος καὶ κοράκων πολλῶν γενομένων τοὺς ἀνθρώπους θηρεύον τας αὐτοὺς καὶ περικαθαίροντας ἐπαοιδαῖς ἀφιέναι ζῶντας καὶ ἐπι λέγειν τῷ λοιμῷ φεῦγ’ εἰς κόρακας.

15

Thanks, yes, I thought I’d seen the Philinna text before. It’s in Page’s “Greek Literary Papyri” Loeb.

As Paul Maas said in the article on it that you linked to, “The φεῦγε type is one of the earliest and most frequent in charms for diseases; cf. …” (incl. Aristotle with εις κορακας).

While he mentions Philinna as a name instanced in Aristophanes’ Clouds (where you also have Thessalian witches drawing down the moon), I’m a bit surprised he didn’t make the link with Philip’s wife Philinna of Larisa, the only Thessalian Philinna known to me and surely the only one with a claim to fame. (I haven’t properly checked the LGPN, but a quick name search gives only ten Philinnas in the enormous vol. III.B which includes all of central Greece.) I wonder if the Syrian Gadarene is a known too.

I don’t see any holy mountain. The headache is told to go to τὰ ἄγρια ὄρη. The idea is to get it well away from people, same as with Mt. Ararat.

16

Perhaps Philinna was simply a Thessalian female name that got attached to this spell (and maybe others, too) simply because Thessalian women were known as witches – rather than some actual historical Thessalian woman.

17

Yes, you’re right. For some reason I thought that it said ἅγιον ὄρος, but it’s definitely ἄγρια ὄρη. Reading too fast gets me into enough trouble in English, so I shouldn’t try it in Greek.

18

In Finnish, “get lost!” is “suksi suolle” (ski to the swamps!) or “painu kuuseen!” (get to the spruce forest( i.e. wilderness) out of here!) - which I suppose is what “wild mountains” correspond to here. No mountains around here.

19

Athenians said εις κορακας, of which Aristotle’s tale quoted by Joel above is aetiological.
The point of banishing the migraine demon to the wild mountains is that nobody lives there, or nobody worth bothering about. It has to go somewhere. This doesn’t fit very well with diverting it on to a bull. I guess they’re really alternative courses of action for the exorcist, here combined: send it far away from civilization, or sick it on to some other poor creature to torment. Or do both to cover your bases.

Yes but why Philinna? It’s not a particularly Thessalian name. Just a completely random female name? It’s possible—coincidence has a long arm— but I find it hard to believe that the existence of King Philip’s Thessalian Philinna didn’t exercise at least some influence on the identification. Of course we don’t have to believe that the historical Philinna (who’s said to have been a dancer) was the actual composer or performer of the spell.

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