From my diary

Tomorrow is Christmas day.  But it is also Sunday and so, of course, I shall not be using my computer.  Allow me to wish all my readers a Merry Christmas today, therefore.

I’ve just been pottering around today.

It’s also the season to think about trips.  For a couple of years I have felt that I would like to go to see the Northern Lights.  You have to do these things, before you get to the age when everything is too much trouble.  But it is remarkably difficult to find decent tours online.  Icelandair do something, but it looks very much like a flight plus a room plus a local tour, which, if you travel alone, means that you will spend most of your time alone.  I gather that it is best to go at the New Moon when there is as little moonlight as possible.  This will mean going in late January, which risks conflicting with the start of a new contract.

Earlier today I discovered that I had little more than 1 Gb of free space remaining on my hard disk.  A quick check of the Ibn Abi Usaibia directories revealed that these were taking up around 80 Gb — not bad going, when you consider that all the images fitted onto a DVD originally.  It turns out that the Abbyy Finereader 10 directory takes up nearly all of  that.  Quite why Finereader now requires so much space I do not know.

Fortunately I have the answer: my two 1,000 Gb back-up drives have more than enough space, so I am placing a copy of the directory on each of these, and removing it from my hard disk.  Suddenly I shall be back in business!

I’m rather missing Ibn Abi Usaibia.  Without that to OCR, I’m at something of a loss!  And I can’t quite face grappling with the Origen book just yet.

Sales of the Eusebius book are still doing well.  Indeed I have had enough orders directly that today I was forced to set up a spreadsheet to keep track of them, after I started to think that I must have sent a hardback twice to one bookseller.  Another bookseller, LICOSA, from Italy, have not troubled to pay for the book that I sent them, I find.  Italian booksellers seem slow to pay.

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More (very small) images of the Septizonium

Another website caught my eye yesterday, while I was surfing around looking for old maps and depictions of Rome.  This one consisted of a lot of images of the Palatine hill in Rome.  I am, in truth, not that sure what I am looking at; is this, perhaps, material from a book?

The images themselves are very interesting, but, O! so tiny.  Why?

Some of these show the now vanished remains of the Septizodium, which is rightly seen as part of the Palatine constructions.  All that remained by this time was one end of the massive facade on three levels that Septimus Severus had built across the end of the Palatine.

The first of these shows it on the left of the image:

Hieronymus Cock, Praecipua aliquot Romanae, Blatt K (Riggs 12), 1550: Septizonium, Aqua Claudia, and other ruins

Moving to the left, we see the Septizonium again, with the arcade behind it.  The latter still stands, of course. The valley to the left is the Circus Maximus.

Hieronymus Cock, Praecipua aliquot Romanae, Blatt L (Riggs 13), 1550: Septizonium, Arcade, thermae of Maxentius

The viewer now turns right and looks up the road to the Colloseum.  The Septizonium is thus seen end-on.

Hieronymus Cock, Praecipua aliquot Romanae, Blatt P (Riggs 17), 1551: Septizonium and Colosseum

But something is wrong about the perspective here — I don’t believe that the Colosseum was that close, nor in quite that position.

The next item is a map, which shows something at the place where the Septizonium stood.  The Palatine hill is next to the Circus Maximus: but if you look at the road that runs from the upper section of the Circus up along the top of the Palatine, you see something just at the point where the road kinks left.

If only we had a high-resolution image!

The next item is an aerial view by Du Perac, which shows the Septizonium in just that position.  In this case we’re looking south, and I have ventured to circle the item.

Étienne Duperac Nova urbis Romae descriptio, 1577, Detail: Palatin

Once you get to know the shape of that stubby tower-like fragment, and start to look for it, it pops out at you in all sorts of images.

The next item is far more useful.

Anonymous Italian artist, early 16th century: the Septizonium from the North

Again, I wish it were bigger.  And I wish we had some more details, but a plan is very useful.

A rare rear view of the Septizonium now:

Maarten van Heemskerck, Heemskerck Album II, fol. 14 r, 1532–1537: substructures of the Circus Maximus, Septizonium, therma of Maxentius

Again a larger image would be useful.  It looks very ramshackle from this angle, doesn’t it?  Maybe this is why it was demolished; that it was already collapsing?

Next a clearer image:

Anonymus Mantovanus A, Heemskerck Album II, fol. 87 v–85 r, 1539–1560: Septizonium, Domus Severiana, Arcade, Maxentius thermae

I have not even exhausted all the images of the Septizonium on that page, yet already I think we know the monument better.  There are also notes at the foot of the page, indicating precisely where each image comes from (and well done, there!)

I’m entirely a novice at this business of finding images.  What I wish, tho, is that there was some way to get much better quality images online.

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A cork model of the arch of Titus in Rome

A delightful illustrated article here about reconstructing the appearance of ancient Rome.  One item in it caught my eye:

Arch of Titus - Cork model by Antonio Chichi

The article adds:

Among the most useful visual resources for studying the ancient city are the  physical models which, since the eighteenth century, architects started to  provide to help scholars and students better understand the ancient remains.

The pioneer was the famous cork-modeler, Antonio Chichi, who lived from 1743  to 1816. He created a set of 36 of the great sites of ancient Rome. Sold to  Grand Tourists, they served as souvenirs but also as study aids (cf. Wilton  and Bignamini 1996: 298) analogous to plaster casts of famous Greek and Roman  statues, which, not coincidentally, as Giuseppe Pucci has shown, also came  into vogue at this time (Pucci 1997).

As can be seen in the case of the model  of the Arch of Titus (fig. 9), Chichi’s reproductions were state models, not reconstructions:  that is, they showed the current condition of the monument.

In the example at  hand, we thus see the arch still embedded within the Frangipane tower before  Valadier’s restoration of the early nineteenth century.

Marvellous!

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Russian translation of Methodius now online

Some time back I discovered that a Russian translation existed of the works of Methodius of Olympus (d.311 AD).  This is significant, since most of the works of Methodius known today have survived only in Old Slavic, or Old Russian.

The translation was made by Evgraf Loviagin, and the 2nd edition appeared in St. Petersburg in 1905.  A copy exists in the University of Chicago library, and they agreed to digitise this if I sent them $20.  A colleague with a US bank account kindly wrote me a cheque for that amount, and off it went.

This evening I can announce a little Christmas present for us all, courtesy of the University of Chicago: Loviagin is now online.  They haven’t managed to upload the PDF to their own site yet — I’ll post the URL once I know it.  It is undoubtedly public domain, since Loviagin died in 1909.  So I have uploaded it to Archive.org, where you can access it here.

Not quite sure what it contains.  Here’s the table of contents (from the back, of course):

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Lanciani’s Forma Urbis Romae

For some years I have been aware that a detailed modern map of ancient Rome existed, with the modern street layout superimposed on it.  Bits of it cropped up in this publication or that, but never referenced.  Quite by accident this evening I found out what it was — Rudolpho Lanciani’s Forma Urbis Romae, a collection of plates published between 1893-1901.

Parts of it are online here, although I must confess that I’d really like to see PDF’s of the whole plates.  If you burrow into that site, you do get to some decent JPG’s.

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Galen on Jews and Christians

The Roman medical writer Galen (d. 199 AD) refers to Jewish or Christian ideas in six places in his works.

Some of the works of Galen involved no longer exist in Greek, and the Arabic translation has to be used.  In some cases the Arabic translation also has perished — although we know from Hunayn Ibn Ishaq that he translated it — and all we have is quotations in later writers.

Unfortunately Walzer, who published a monograph on the subject in 1949[1] did so in a very confused manner.  It was nearly impossible to work out from his text what precisely he was giving us, and from where.  Nor was it possible to see what the context of the quotations was.

It was as part of this process that I encountered Ibn Abi Usaibia, and was led to put an English translation online.

I have now transcribed these six passages, organised the material in a logical manner, looked up material that Walzer did not include, and compiled a web page of it all.

The result is here.  I hope it will be useful.

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  1. [1]R. Walzer, Galen on Jews and Christians, Oxford, 1949.

Should we expect a translation when a scholar prints a previously unpublished text?

At the Hill Monastic Manuscript Library, cataloguer Adam McCollum has written an interesting article on whether scholars publishing newly discovered ancient texts should be obliged to translate them as well. (H/t Paleojudaica)

… the optimum scenario is to have texts and editions. No question: that way, those closely involved with the language and literature and those outside this group can both get some benefit and have opportunity and even incentive to interact with the text. And even for the eventual case of every text edition, an included translation or translations is not too much to wish for. But in our own meantime, are translations always necessary?

…  translation is always time-consuming and often hard work …. Now, producing useful editions of texts is also hard work, but not in the same way. In some cases, this latter labor can even come down to reading and transcribing manuscripts, or sometimes even a single manuscript, making perhaps some emendations here and there to correct the text, but doing so all the while having also recorded the manuscripts’ real reading…

Dr McCollum then points out that one motive for printing a translation in the past was sales — that people were reluctant to buy text-only volumes, so it was necessary to include a translation, just to make the book commercially viable.  He responds:

Electronic texts, even a PDF that can be both electronic and then physical with the push of a button, are relatively easily and very cheaply made, … they also mean more potential readers, since these resources are discoverable so simply via searching and linking.

Where would be in terms of material for Jacob of Sarug, the Syriac Martyr Acts, etc., had Paul Bedjan (or his publisher) decided that French translations were requisite for the thousands of pages he edited? I fear we would hardly have so many thousands of pages in Syriac edited by him anymore! What about Wright’s editions of the Travels of Ibn Jubayr, the Kāmil of Al-Mubarrad, and the later Syriac translation of Kalila wa-Dimna. What of Paul de Lagarde’s numerous text editions? We would be better off if all of these texts had translations, and indeed some of the texts just mentioned eventually have found their translators, but if the necessity of translation had loomed over the head of Bedjan, Wright, or Lagarde, it is hardly likely that we would have the texts edited by them that we have, and we would thus have much less within reach so much literature. …

The question for now is simply that of the title above: should scholars be required, by their own or external compulsion, in every case to produce a translation alongside any newly edited or re-edited text? My own answer, as will be obvious by now, is “no”, but I think discussion of the question may prove fruitful for the fields concerned.

These are interesting points, well made.

I think the key point being made is fairly simple.  Translating whole texts is hard and time-consuming.  It is considerably simpler and quicker simply to transcribe the manuscript, adjusting for some of the more obvious typos along the way.  If you have a lot of unedited material, and you have limited time and resources, then you can put out a lot more stuff if you do the latter, than if you do the former.  You’ll be able to make accessible to scholars a load of stuff that they could not otherwise access.  On the other hand, few people will ever be able to read the stuff you publish.

Dr McCollum’s point is obviously that of a man with a pile of manuscripts in front of him, wondering what to do with them, in any reasonable period of time.  What should he do?

Certainly publication is the most important thing.  For instance there are two scholars sitting on a Greek mathematical papyrus, which they can’t be bothered to publish, and which they alone have access to.  Doubtless the reason why they don’t publish the text is that they want to do a “commentary” and thereby enhance their own reputations.  Such behaviour is by no means novel in the world of papyrology, and is utterly poisonous.

But on the other hand, texts that are edited without translation are really only half available.  They can sit there on library shelves, untranslated, hardly used, for centuries.

It’s all a question of time and resources.

If a scholar is sitting in his ivory tower, editing one text, then I expect him to supply a translation.  Any scholar who has the time to produce a text and commentary but doesn’t include a translation is being a jerk.

Likewise an enterprise with several hundred scholars and translators should certainly include translations.  Migne managed it, after all.

But if it’s a lone scholar (or two) editing masses of stuff, I think we can cut him some slack.  Don’t worry about the translation.  The priority is to get the stuff out there in multiple copies — yes, definitely on the web, where automated translation tools make using it easier all the time — and worry about the translation later.  The burning by the mob of the Institut de l’Egypte in Cairo this week is a reminder that no text is safe sitting in an archive.  If Addai Scher had remembered this, when he discovered Theodore of Mopsuestia’s De incarnatione in a complete Syriac version in the hills of northern Persia in 1905, and had published a transcription, we would today be able to study that interesting text.  Instead it perished in the sack of his residence by Turkish troops in 1915.

Go to it, Adam.

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ZDMG online?

I have just discovered what looks like all the issues of the Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft online, for free, up to 2005, here:

http://menadoc.bibliothek.uni-halle.de/dmg/periodical/structure/2327

It includes indexes, supplements and all. You can’t download whole volumes, but you can download the individual articles you want.  The scans are greyscale, and good quality.

This journal is very important for Syriac studies, I know.  Probably for Arabic also.  And it’s all here.  Wow.

I’m deeply impressed, and I deeply approve.  This is what we want to see from an academic journal.  The fact that we don’t have the last few years doesn’t matter a bit, except to specialists.  For the rest of us it’s a bonanza.  It doesn’t really matter that you can’t download whole volumes — you don’t really need to.

This is the shape of the future.

The collection online also includes digital books which the publishers have given the OK to put online — specialised monographs from 20 years ago, which are out of print and so not earning a bean any longer.  Well done, the publishers.

Who says that Germany doesn’t get the internet?  (Me, that’s who — and I’ve said it pretty often)  Not any more, it seems.

I hope these items show up in search engines, by the way…

(H/t AWOL)

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From my diary

The Roman medical writer Galen (ca. 190) mentions Jews and Christians in 6 places in his works.  This afternoon I have been trying to compose a sensible web page on these passages.

The passages were collected (more or less) by R. Walzer in his monograph, Galen on Jews and Christians (Oxford, 1949).  But the book is so badly put together that it is very difficult indeed for the reader to determine what precisely he is looking at.  You have to flip to and fro in the book, merely to find out what the source is for whatever he is quoting.  It is a terribly incoherent book.

One example of carelessness that I observed is that for passages 1-5 he mentions whether the work of Galen is in De libris propriis, Galen’s own list of his own works.  For passage 6 he does not bother (although I find that it is).

He often uses out of date texts; he gives a Latin version of a passage in Bar Hebraeus, while ignoring Budge’s English translation.

He starts a discussion of the Arabic witnesses to passage 6 with the latest, and then plunges into a confused discussion of parallel sources.  He gives something from most of these, but apparently forgets to actually give the text of Ibn al-Qifti, for instance.

Eh, lad, it’s hard work!

But I’m getting there.  I’m gradually bringing some order into it all, and, when it’s done, it will be truly done.

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Du Perac’s 1575 picture of the ruins of the Septizodium

I’ve posted before about the Septizodium (or Septizonium), an immense facade which ran across the front of the Palatine hill in Rome, in order to form a gateway for visitors coming up the Appian Way.  It’s all gone now, but parts of it still existed in Renaissance Rome, before being demolished for use as building materials.

Du Perac, in his collection of drawings of Rome in 1575, includes a picture of the remains of the Septizodium as he saw it.  Click on the image for a larger picture.

Septizonium, 1575 (Du Perac)

What makes his image useful is that he gives a panorama — we can see how the monument stood and looked, relative to the road outside the Palatine.  The Circus Maximus is to the left, while the road running right today leads up to the Colloseum.

I think all of us have walked down this road, from the Colloseum on our way to the Circus Maximus and the Baths of Caracalla, so the Septizodium would have been on our right.  I believe the modern pavement has a marking on it to show where it stood.

The image is from Gallica.bnf.fr.  I would hope that one day Du Perac’s book will appear online in a rather better quality image.

UPDATE: I had not realised that Du Perac also includes a view of the remains of the Septizodium from the side/rear, in a view of the Circus Maximus.  But he does!  Here  it is — the Septizodium is on the right of the Palatine.

Circus Maximus, Palatine and Septizodium (Du Perac, 1575)
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