Roman baths

Today we take a bath (mostly privately) to clean ourselves, and visit the baths (or the swimming or leisure pool as it’s now more likely to be called) as a leisure activity. We also visit theatres, go out to meet friends for a chat and a drink or a bite to eat, make a visit to the library or spend some time in the gym. In imperial Rome, all of these activities could be achieved with one single visit to the baths.

Roman baths were distinctly different from the baths we know today and played a central role in the social life of the day. And given that entry was inexpensive, or sometimes free, they were affordable by most levels of society except, obviously, slaves. The evidence for this lies in the grandeur and extravagance of the buildings themselves, their abundance in Rome and in the writings of various Roman statesmen, philosophers and historians over a period of several centuries.

We’ll come to this evidence later but in the meantime it’s worth looking at the development of this social phenomenon. Like many things Roman, baths, and communal bathing, looks to have been adopted from the Greek way of life and in the days of the Roman republic baths were relatively modest structures known as balneae. These could have been privately owned or served as a community or municipal washing place. But these were generally no more than a simple place for bathing (washing) and did not offer the wealth of activities that would come later.

The earliest large scale common baths in Rome is thought to have been built by the emperor Agrippa in 25 BCE. Known as thermae, these baths were much larger than the earlier balneae and contained a number of different sized pools of varying temperature – the frigidarium (cold), the tepidarium (warm) and the caldarium (hot). Successive emperors, including Nero, Titus, Domitian, Comodus, Caracalla, Diocletion (who built the largest of the thermae in the centre of Rome) and Constantine, would establish new baths – each trying to outdo the last in terms of grandeur and offering low cost or free entrance to curry favour with the voting population. These new marvels weren’t restricted to Rome and began popping up right across the Empire, from northern Africa to southern Britain. Lucian, who lived from roughly 125-180 CE, describes with flowing complements a new public baths in Hippias or the Bath. He mentions the highly lighted retreats, capacious locker rooms, a high hall finished in marble with marble statues and even another hall, “the most beautiful in the world”, as if such a thing could exist. Regrettably Lucian’s description reads more like an advertorial than an honest appraisal. However, it does get across the lengths the patrons of new baths would go to in order to impress.

With the successive building of new thermae, these attractions began to offer more in the way of non-bathing facilities. Before bathing, visitors could even work up a sweat in the gym or in the exercise area (the palaestra). The bathing ritual was more complex than our own today and would involve being covered in oil, sweating the dirt out in the laconium (a sauna type room), having the dirt and oil scraped from your body using a curved wooden or metal tool known as a strigil, taking a variety of baths and finally having some scented oil rubbed into their bodies by a masseur. Seneca, who somewhat puzzlingly claims to have lived above a public baths, declares himself irritated by the small of a masseur’s hand pummelling the shoulders of a bather. Admittedly, it’s hard to imagine a large group of bathers, who could number more than 1,000 at the larger baths, being anything other than noisy.

Bathing over, male bathers in particular would get on with the job of socialising with their friends. The options open to them, depending on the size of the baths, would have included a visit to the library, watching a live theatre or sporting performance or taking a leisurely walk in the gardens. Of course, drinks and snacks would also be available. But socialising was the main attraction and there would be the opportunity to meet friends and be introduced to new people, conduct business, catch up with the latest news and communicate your own and, of course, to show off.

In the years of the empire, mixed gender bathing was outlawed or at the very least frowned upon. It was prohibited by both Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius though the fact that they had to prohibit mixed bathing lends credibility to the belief that it happened. Interestingly, when Vitruvius, a Roman writer, architect and engineer who died around 15 BCE, writes that, “the hot baths for men and for women are adjacent and planned with the same resources.” (This would make heating the pools easier). It is therefore possible that mixed bathing was anticipated but remember he was writing at the very beginning of this social phenomenon so attitudes could easily change when mixed bathing was found to be unworkable. The Roman working day began at sunrise and continued until around 2pm. In the morning, while the men were at work, the baths were available exclusively for women. When the working day was over it was the men’s’ turn to use the facilities and it remained a male domain for the rest of the day. This male only environment provided an excellent income opportunity for prostitutes. There may also have been some overnight facilities for travellers. And if Martial’s witty epigrams are to be accepted as a reflection of the truth, we can also surmise that nude bathing was at least tolerated if not the norm. In one self deprecating poem he writes, “You never invite anybody, Cotta, unless you have bathed with him.” “I used to wonder why you never asked me to dinner. Now I know that you didn’t like me in the nude.”

At the same time, there is some evidence that women’s bathing was not an entirely chaste exercise. Ovid, in The Art of Love, writes, “The public baths provide plenty of private fun for girls – while their guardians sit outside”. And Martial notes in Epigram 11.75, “Your slave goes into the bath with you, Caelia, covered with a brass sheath”.

Fabulously decorated thermae weren’t exclusively public places and wealthy, elite Romans could have their own personal baths – though obviously not quite on the same scale. In a letter to Gallus, Pliny describes the bathing facilities at his Laurentine home. He lets us know he has a cooling room with two curved baths, an oiling room, a furnace room, an antechamber and two rest rooms. He tells us they are beautifully decorated in a simple style and lead to a heated swimming pool which is much admired. We can only assume it was admired by guests. On the evidence of this letter it appears Pliny used his bathing facilities not just for his own relaxation but also for the entertainment of guests. But having your own private baths didn’t exclude the elite from also attending the public ones, particularly if it presented an opportunity to ingratiate yourself with voters. Titus was known to attend the public baths to court popularity and, later, Hadrian presented one man he met at the public baths with a slave and money for his maintenance, so that the man wouldn’t be forced to clean himself.

Among the largest of the thermae was the Baths of Caracalla, built by the emperor Marcus Aurelius between 211 and 216 CE. Situated on the outskirts of Rome on the Appian Way, the whole complex, including the extensive gardens, occupied around 30 acres. The bathing buildings, which incorporated the exercises areas, various pools, rooms for socialising, a library and other rooms, covered about the same area as four modern day football pitches, and could hold an estimated 1,600 bathers. The large outdoor swimming pool was comparable in size to today’s Olympic-sized pools but was only around one metre in depth.

It does seem strange to us that bathing, and by that I mean washing oneself, would be a communal activity since for us it is usually a private one. But surely the idea of not bathing, or only bathing once or twice a year, as people were doing in nineteenth century Britain, seems stranger still. Looked at on a purely pragmatic and logical basis, the idea of Roman communal bathing seems less repellent than its nineteenth century alternative. However, we know these days that public bathing areas can be a perfect breeding ground for bacteria. In fact, in a letter to Rosianus Geminus, Pliny explains that his doctors are unwilling to let him have a bath at a time when he was suffering from a fever. Perhaps physicians even then had noticed a link between the baths and the spreading of disease though some other evidence seems to be to the contrary. Celcus, who lived at the beginning of the first century CE, recommends the baths as a place where people with, “some parts of the body weak”, can achieve some relief. Though he also recommends the avoidance of moonlight.

But ‘modern’ Roman baths weren’t universally popular among the elite and Seneca in particular reveals some criticisms of them in a letter to Lucilius, written sometime between 63 and 65 CE. Having visited the home of Scipio Africanus (who had lived there several hundred years earlier), Seneca contrasts what he sees as Scipio’s primitive but practical bathing room with the more elaborate bathing establishments of his own time. Seneca sees the only purpose of bathing being to wash off the dirt and sweat of honest labour. Of modern bathers he states, “…men are dirtier creatures now than they ever were in the days before the coming of spotlessly clean bathrooms”. Here Seneca is clearly not referring to the lack of physical cleanliness, but rather to the array of strong smelling scents favoured by men who attend the baths. He may also be making some oblique reference to the baths being a place where underhand business or political transactions took place. If this is the case then it is hardly surprising. When Seneca wrote his letter Rome, particularly its politicians, had a reputation for political (and actual) backstabbing. If those politicians were now spending more time at the baths than they were at the senate, it’s only natural that the ‘politicking’ would take place there. Perhaps though he was also referring to the prostitutes who plied their trade at the baths.

Roman thermae were very much a city within a city. At a time when popular entertainment choice and locations for socialising were far more limited than they are today, they must have presented fabulous entertainment for every visitor. Certainly they seemed to offer a great deal of choice and a surely a cooler afternoon than would be found in the hot sun of the Colosseum or the Circus Maximus. The very size of these baths, the sheer number of them (there were several hundred in Rome alone), the fact that they were present in all lands conquered by Rome and the number of references to bathing in writings of the time, gives us strong reason to believe that bathing was a central part of Roman social life.

The birth of Roman history

When Romans began writing about their history they were influenced by contemporary issues. Let me give you a few reasons why this might be true.

Though the Roman Republic dates back to 510BCE, it was much later before conflicts with other states, including Greece, Carthage and Macedon, would influence their culture. One aspect of this influence, particularly through regular contact with Greece who by the time of the Pyrrhic War (280-275 BCE) had a well developed sense of their own identity, was the recognition of the need to protect and project a strong sense of what being Roman actually meant. The strongest power in the Mediterranean needed some means to define itself to its own citizens and others. To do this, Romans, individually, had to create a body of work that glorified their past and exemplified their values. This could be one reason why the development of the writing of Roman history found its origin in the middle of the second century BCE – a need to record the greatness of the Republic, and later the Empire. Of course the general lack of writing (and reading) skills could also account for the virtual lack of written Roman history before that time.

So, if Roman historiography wasn’t necessarily borne out of an academic desire to record past events, how likely were those Roman writers of history to be influenced by the need to meet some other, non-academic, objective through their work? There is evidence that some writers of Roman history were influenced in their writing by their own perspective on Rome and even Rome’s perspective on them writing about Rome.

Let’s start by looking at some work by Sallust who lived between 86 and 34 BCE. It’s important to know a little about Sallust’s background before considering his work. He was a Quaestor and a Tribute but was expelled from the Senate in 52 BCE. He went on to become Governor of Africa Nova but was believed guilty of extortion and only Caesar’s intervention saved him from prosecution.(Though he does suggest his retirement was deliberate, ‘I had determined to pass the remainder of my days unconnected with public life). He then retired from public life to concentrate on writing. He was undoubtedly indebted to Caesar. It’s inconceivable that Sallust’s view of recent Roman history wasn’t tainted by his own personal position and the treatment he had received from his peers. He had held high office, twice, and had twice been removed. He had always put himself forward as being anti-aristocracy yet his behaviour as governor suggests he had abused his power and wealth in the way of the very aristocrats whose rule he sought to see ended. We therefore have to question Sallust’s impartiality when he writes about events and people who oppose his view.

In his first published work, The Conspiracy of Cataline, he declares his mind to be, ‘uninfluenced by hope, fear, or political partisanship’. Admittedly he does treat Cicero unnaturally fairly considering they had actively opposed one another during Sallust’s political career. However, it is his account of Caesar’s actions that lay open the question of his impartiality. According to Sallust, on the question of the guilt of Lentulus and others, Caesar delivers a long speech proposing a humanitarian approach and warning against unconstitutional action. Cato’s equally long response convinces the Senate that execution is the appropriate action. In this way Sallust portrays Caesar’s statesmanlike qualities and ensures that any remaining Cataline supporters are aware who should be blamed for the death of the prisoners. It’s not surprising that Sallust should show support for Caesar in this way. After all it was Caesar who supported Sallust during his political career and saved him from prosecution over the Africa Nova affair. Indeed, later in this story Sallust praises Caesar for his generosity, munificence, humanity and benevolence, among others.

While Sallust’s account of Cataline’s conspiracy was, almost, contemporary and he would have personally known many of the characters involved, his record of the Jugurthine war was written more than 60 years after the event. It may be natural to anticipate a greater degree of impartiality here and though he does cover the facts well, his invective remarks concerning the ruling classes remain obvious. In his introduction he makes a direct reference to the ineffectiveness of some members of the senate, ‘…more good will arise to the state from my retirement, than from the busy efforts of others.’ His vitriol is not restricted to his own views which flow clearly from the introduction. In his reports of a number of speeches given by Marius, both before and after his election as consul, he invariably includes lengthy attacks on the aristocracy. Sallust’s account of the war was published in 41-40 BCE, a few years after the murder of Caesar. He quite clearly uses the writing of history to reflect on and attack the classes of Roman citizen he blames for unrest in Rome at the time of the war and later for the murder of Caesar.

Horace was a very different type of Roman historian. While well educated, he never enjoyed the political success of Sallust but his relative wealth and ability to write poetry brought him into contact with important people of his time including Augustus. While Horace’s poetry was written for performance, the clear delineation between fiction and non-fiction we know today was not so easy to define in those days. Horace referenced known historical events, people and facts. To contemporary Roman society, Horace was writing about history – albeit what appears now to be a strange mixture of fact and belief. Horace writes his history with a message – not just a catalogue of events. Horace’s Odes were written from 23-13 BCE, corresponding broadly with the rule of Augustus. Reading his Ode 3.6, we can see that he makes reference to great generations of Romans who have developed and protected their state. He contrasts this with what he sees as a general decline in standards through the loose behaviour of women – granting favours when lamps are removed – the complicity of their husbands and the neglect of religion, ‘the temples and crumbling shrines of the Gods’. These references in the poem display broad support for legislation introduced by Augustus around that time. This legislation sought to promote a return to traditional values through the outlawing of sex outside marriage (for women). Augustus also introduced a programme of restoring temples throughout Rome. In this poem, Horace uses lessons from history to support the actions of Rome’s current ruler.

But perhaps one of the most blatant examples of historical writing being used to glorify a contemporary leader can be found in Virgil’s Aeneid. Like Horace, Virgil’s career spans the turbulence of the fall of the Republic and the ‘election’ of Augustus as emperor. Indeed, Augustus was known to be a patron to Virgil. The Aeneid follows the same general style and themes as earlier work by Homer. It concerns Aeneis, a Trojan hero, in his adventures across Asia and northern Africa before settling in Rome. Virgil’s poem is mythical, though it does include references to real people and places. There are a number of episodes in the poem that mix mythology with reality. For example when Aeneis meets his father, Anchises, in Hades, Anchises introduces his son to his and Rome’s future. Anchises points out Augustus in a long line of illustrious leaders of Rome and refers to him as, ‘son of a god’. In this way, Virgil makes a clear blood link between Augustus and Romulus, seen as one of the traditional founders of Rome, and himself the son of Mars. And just as Romulus (and his brother Remus) created a new city, Augustus with his various reforms was creating a new Rome, free from the decline and decadence which had brought it to its knees.

One other example where Virgil ‘uses’ history to justify later events, can be found in the episode where Dido, queen of Carthage, falls upon Aeneis’ sword and kills herself. Her grief and suicide, caused by Aeneis’ departure for Rome is cited by Virgil as the catalyst for the Punic wars. Of course the Punic wars came some 1,000 years after the events depicted in Virgil’s poem and had more to do with Rome’s need to secure its trading position than revenge for a spurned queen.

These are just a few example of how the writing of Roman history would take on contemporary themes and indeed be used to glorify contemporary leaders and justify their behaviour. This is not to say that Roman historians (and poets) are exclusively guilty of subverting the truth. As already mentioned, Sallust’s work for example contains a great deal of hard facts. The feature that makes Roman history stand out in this way is that virtually all history was written by politicians or those close to them, which is only natural since they are the best educated. Modern historical writings by political figures frequently suffer from similar flaws.

What’s the point of the Acropolis?

The Acropolis in Athens was considerably more than a city of functioning buildings, although it is was that as well. Its buildings, and their adornment, makes it function as it does – demonstrating the values held by Athenians, a showcase for their achievements and as a means of sustaining Athens as a major force to be reckoned with. In every sense the Acropolis is a conscious programme of display but in every sense there is also a purpose behind this programme. I will now attempt to justify this statement.

But first we need to narrow the field. The Acropolis covers a large area and contains numerous buildings. So we will concentrate on the Parthenon only.

Before we look at the design of the building, I’d like to consider some of the factors which would have been an influence on its construction and on the construction of the Acropolis generally.

Location 

The Acropolis is situated atop a large outcrop of rock in the centre of what is now modern Athens. This makes it an ideal place to repel any attacks and with some little fortification the Acropolis becomes easy to defend. This elevation means that it can be seen from a great distance. Indeed, the glint of the sun on the spear of the statue of Athena Promachos could be seen by sailors rounding Cape Sounion to the south of Athens. Given that this is 40 odd miles away, it could be possible if conditions were right. Being seen is only half the benefit though. The ability to see your enemy approaching from far off is a great advantage.

Persian influence 

The Greeks had waged war with the Persions since the middle of the sixth century BCE until they were defeated by Cimon at Eurymedon in 467 BCE. It’s inconceivable that after some 100 years of conflict both sides wouldn’t be in some way influenced by their opponent. The Greeks regarded Persians as barbarian and mocked their culture of wearing finery and ‘showing off’ their wealth. Another way of looking at this is illustrating your success. At the time when the building of the Parthenon commenced in 447 BCE, the Persians were beaten. The Parthenon is a reminder of that success. This is particularly true given that many of the earlier buildings on the site were destroyed by the Persians when they sacked the city in 480 BCE.

What defines Greek? 

Athenians already had strong ideas on their own identity through issues such as democracy, citizenship and laws which discouraged marriage with ’foreigners’. The Persian wars also helped raise awareness of what being Greek meant. Fundamentally, it was the opposite of barbarianism, a closer affinity with the gods and a sense of cultural unity. And like all cultures, they needed a physical symbolic presence which celebrated their ‘Greekness’. The Acropolis provides a focal point for this unity.

Civic development 

The earlier Acropolis buildings of the sixth century BCE, commissioned by Peisistratus, were built to create employment for the urban poor and build a beautiful city that would create more jobs, foster patriotism and attract wealthy foreigners. Any right thinking public official would agree that finding ways to create wealth in a city is a prime requirement to ensure its continued prosperity. It’s not unnatural then that when Pericles commenced his rebuilding programme in 447 BCE he would have had similar thoughts in mind. His aim was to create the ’school of Greece’ and clearly this would not be achievable with a series of lacklustre buildings.

As a building the Parthenon does carry several functions. It is a religious centre. Not simply a place for worship and sacrifice, but also a ‘home’ for Athena, the goddess whom the Athenians believed was their protector and foster mother. Inside the temple stood a large statue of Athena – a wooden structure covered in plates of gold and ivory. Today we imagine this as gaudy and obscene. But there is no denying that it’s sheer size and the fact that it was made from such expensive materials, would have ensured that it made a significant impression. The Parthenon was more than a temple. A smaller room at the west of the building was the treasury for Athens. Since Athens had taken over protection of the treasury of the Delian League in 454 BCE, the need for protection of this wealth was essential; there were many who believed Athens should not be responsible for these funds. The ‘fortified’ site of the Acropolis would have provided as secure a place as any for storing wealth. In Pericles’ funeral oration he states, "even the gold ornaments of Athene ... contained forty talents of pure gold and it was all removable". Perhaps he considered the statute to be a part of the treasury.

Finally it’s worth saying something about the building itself. The Parthenon was the largest building of the Acropolis – the base at the top step of the stylobate measured around 70 metres by 31 metres – and one of the largest of the temples in ancient Greece. Apart from the roof, it was built entirely of marble. It is an example of Doric order of architecture, arguably the finest example from that period.

More than its size though is the level and intricacy of its decoration which sets it apart – it is the most highly decorative building on the site. The metopes, a series of panels that run around the building just below roof level, form an exceptional sculptural decoration. On the east they depict the battle between the Olympian gods and the Giants. The south metopes show the battle between the Lapiths and Centaurs. On the west there are scenes from the invasion of Athens by the Amazons while the north contains scenes from the Trojan War. The sculptures on the metopes are created in high relief. By placing themselves at the same physical level as their gods, the Athenians give us a clear indication of their belief in their own superiority over other cultures. It’s hard to deny that in many respects this is true.

The Parthenon frieze sits at the same height as the metopes but is around the interior wall. Sculpted in low relief, this shows a long procession of people, horsemen, musicians and others. Though there is no ancient record of the meaning of this frieze, today it is generally regarded as the march to the Panatheniac Games, held every four years as part of a larger religious festival.

The most striking exterior design aspect of the Parthenon is the pediments. The east pediment shows the birth of Athena while the west shows the battle between Athena and Poseidon to become the protector of Athens. What is quite remarkable about these sculptures it their quality and attention to detail. Even the reverse of the figures, which can not be seen from the ground, are finished to a high degree. This illustrates the quality of Athenian craftsmanship which was around at that time.

In conclusion, the Parthenon is, even by our standards today, a fabulous building. It does have a practical purpose. But it is also extremely intricate in its design. And this design also has a purpose – to illustrate the values, culture, power and wealth of Athens. And in promoting this conscious programme of display to firmly position Athens as the greatest cultural centre of its time.

The role of the gods in Homer’s Odyssey

The Odyssey of Homer is generally considered to date from somewhere around 750 BCE and depicts events some 400 to 450 years earlier at the end of the Trojan War. It relates the story of Odysseus’ nostos (homecoming after the war) and eventual slaughter of the suitors who have abused his home.

In my view, the gods and their actions are central to the plot of this poem and they most definitely enhance the overall effect of they poem. The gods have significant influence on the actions of the central mortal characters, and the poem’s conclusion. Of course I’m making this assertion from the perspective of a twentieth century reader. It would be improper to assume the audience in 850 BCE would necessarily hold the same view as me. However, I believe that without the gods, this tale would be no more than a run of the mill, albeit well told, adventure yarn.

There are two key points that need to be appreciated; the Odyssey is a work of fiction and the Greek gods cannot be compared with the gods worshipped today.

The Odyssey is not a true story. It is a fantastical adventure story. It may have been based on some factual characters but its events are fictitious. None of us today would believe that Odysseus had blinded Polyphemus – the remains of a race of one-eyed cyclops has never been found. Nor would we believe that he was caught between the Scylla and Charybdis for broadly similar reasons.

It’s also important to put the Greek gods into some sort of perspective. They are not the same as the gods worshipped in developed societies today. Most modern religions have one god – invariably the embodiment of perfection, absolute wisdom and power. The ancient Greeks had a great number of gods and they were not universally so perfect. They frequently exhibited human frailties such as anger, jealousy, desire etc. But they had powers beyond that of mortals. In some ways they are the early equivalent of twentieth century super heroes – powerful and flawed. While Christians believe that God works in mysterious ways, ancient Greeks more closely linked the acts of their gods to the errors of humans.

There are four gods who are instrumental to the plot of the poem and others who play a lesser role. Poseidon causes Odysseus to be caught in a storm one more than one occasion – seeking revenge on Odysseus for blinding his son Polyphemus – and destroys Odysseus’ ship which leads to him being stranded on the island of Ogygia. Zeus also sends a thunderbolt which kills many of his colleagues, and it is Zeus whose decision signals the beginning of Odysseus’ return home. Kalypso imprisons Odysseus on the island for many years with the intention that he should become her husband. Pallas Athene is the god who plays the most active role in the poem. First (as Mentes), she counsels Telemachos to seek news of his father, and later she aids Odysseus by disguising him and, at various times, confusing his enemies and manipulating the perception of others. Of course she is also influential in persuading Zeus to allow Odysseus to leave Ogygia. Without the actions of the gods I have described here, the Odyssey would be quite the epic poem it is. It’s inconceivable to imagine how all of these events could have taken place without some immortal intervention.

Of course the very poem itself, though narrated by Homer, is told through him by a muse – ‘Tell me, Muse, of the man of many ways’. Muses are ‘goddesses upon whom poets – and later other artists, philosophers and intellectuals generally – depended for the ability to relate their works’. In this way, the complete poem is only capable of being told by the grace of a god.

We have established that the gods are important from the perspective of the development of the plot. But what other non-physical influences do they exert – for example over the behaviour and beliefs of the mortals in the tale? While we don’t know for certain that Greeks who lived during the ‘dark ages’ truly believed in these gods, we do know that the mortals characterised in the poem hold great store in the influence of the gods. They believe that everything that happens is in some way the will of the gods, and there is plenty of evidence of this scattered throughout the poem. For example when Telemachos tells Mentes (Athene) that it is the gods’ ‘evil intention’ that has caused his father’s absence. And when Menelaos relates the tale of his wanderings to Telemachos, he lays the blame for his inability to make a speedy return home squarely at the feet of the gods. They also believe that they require to pray to the gods to bring about the good fortune they need, such as when Odysseus prays to Athene to allow him to be ‘loved and pitied’ by the Phaiakians. And they make sacrifices (hecatombs) to please the gods. Interestingly, Penelope’s suitors make sacrifices and prayers – to bring misfortune and death to Telemachos and Odysseus – to the same gods who are helping the pair. Meanwhile Penelope and Telemachus don’t eject the suitors from Odysseus’ house partly for fear they may anger the gods because they will be seen as bad hosts.

All told, the relationship between mortals and gods is not a straightforward one. All mortals worship and revere gods. Some gods bear ill will towards some or all mortals while others, Zeus in particular, adopt a more balanced approach. Others still have favourites among mortals and Odysseus was clearly favoured by Athene, and Kalypso for that matter. But it is this very lack of universally predictable behaviour by the gods (they can blow hot and cold) which creates the dynamic, and dramatic, tension between gods and humans. Without this tension, without the inclusion of the gods, the story of Odysseus’ nostos would be a very different tale. It may have had similar themes – mans struggle against the forces of nature and other men – but would have lacked the fantastical qualities which give it greater depth. And, importantly, it would be much less than the astonishing tale which it is.

A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen

An analysis of A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen

A Doll’s House is set during the late nineteenth century. The action takes place in the home of a middle class family over the Christmas period. The central characters are Torvald and Nora Helmer (husband and wife), Dr Rank (a family friend), Christine Linde (an old friend of Nora’s) and Nils Krogstad (an employee of Torvald’s and the person who Nora has borrowed money from). The main plot revolves around Torvald’s (anticipated and eventual) ‘discovery’ that Nora has borrowed money from Krogstad, Torvald’s reaction to this and Nora’s subsequent response to Torvald’s behaviour. The events which take place were significant for their time for two principal reasons; the borrowing of money by a woman without her husband’s agreement which was illegal - it only became legal in this country in 1880 (Scotland) and 1882 (England and Wales) – and the growing interest in the women’s suffrage movement.

Before answering this question fully, we should consider the broad themes which define a woman’s position in Victorian societies, principally the middle classes, and above. Firstly, a married woman was not expected to work. Instead the husband would be the sole breadwinner while the wife concerned herself with looking after the home. This might mean managing the servants rather than carrying out household chores. As already stated, a woman was not permitted to own property beyond her own personal possessions. A woman was not permitted to vote and, crucially, was expected to be subordinate to, and obey, her husband. In essence, conditioning, morals, values, expectations and even legislation in Victorian times did not create an environment where women were able to feel ‘free’. A woman who was able to be herself in that society, would have to be able to experience the opposite of all of these things.

Perhaps one of the most obvious dramatic techniques evident in this play, and analogous with the lack of freedom for women, is the setting. All of the action takes place in one room of the Helmer’s home. Apart from a few moments at the beginning of Act 3, when Nora is at a party and Mrs. Linde and Krogstad are together, Nora spends most of her time in the room. Every other character in the story is free to move in and out of the room as they please. Nora is very much a captive of the room and in a sense it is like a prison to her. Nora’s idea of freedom changes as the plot develops. Initially she associates freedom with financial good fortune – Torvald’s salary increase and the repayment of Krogstad’s loan.

“Free. To be free, absolutely free. To spend time playing with the children. To have a clean, beautiful house, the way Torvald likes it.”   

But when her actions are discovered and Torvald fails to support her, her idea of freedom changes to mean independence from Torvald and from the constraints placed on her by society. In the final moments of the last act, Nora breaks free from her ‘prison’ when she leaves Torvald and their children. Closing the door behind her offstage symbolizes her release and the beginnings of her new life.

Money is a recurring theme throughout the play, indeed money is the catalyst which brings Nora and Torvald’s relationship to an end. As a bank manager, Torvald’s primary professional concern is to protect the bank’s money. The bank represents establishment and Torvald is its representative. He is therefore a custodian of (male) established values, particularly as they relate to money but also as they relate to every other aspect of a male dominated society. Nora on the other hand is portrayed, initially at least, as flighty with regard to money. Early in Act one she asks Torvald for money – under the pretence that it would be his gift to her at Christmas. Our early impression then is that she is totally dependent on Torvald for money. In fact Torvald controls Nora with the money he provides. It is not until later that we learn Nora has borrowed money from Krogstad and understand that some of the money she gets from Torvald is used to repay this debt. We also discover that Nora has taken on work –

‘Last winter I was lucky enough to get a lot of copying to do’ (P13)

 - in order to earn extra money to repay Krogstad. In these ways we see that left to her own devices Nora is capable of independent action which in her view represents the right   thing to do under the circumstances. Judged on today’s standards there are few who would disagree with this. While her actions may have been legally (borrowing money) and socially (working) corrupt, we find the first evidence that she is quite capable of being herself. Though she is unable to share her actions with Torvald, she takes some considerable pleasure in the knowledge that she has ‘saved’ her husband and expresses joy in having been able to earn some money –

‘It was like being a man.’ (P13)

From the very first scene when Torvald and Nora are together, Torvald indulges in a raft of name calling. In the early part of the play these names include ‘squirrel’, ‘skylark’ and ‘featherhead’. By the end of the play, once he has discovered that Nora has borrowed money, his name calling indicates anger at her actions, ‘a thoughtless woman’, ‘blind, foolish woman’ and also (after he reads Krogstad’s second letter) sympathy for her position, ‘frightened little singing bird’ and ‘little scared darling’. In many instances Torvald precedes his name calling with the possessive “my”. The names used and the ownership insinuation indicate that he does not see Nora as his equal. In his view she remains his possession; a trophy created for him and partly by him and existing to bring him pleasure and to reinforce his status.

Further evidence of Torvald’s control can be found in her having to hide her macaroon and the fact she is not allowed access to the key for the mailbox. We see him exert his power over her as he insists she practice the tarantella until she reaches his standards of perfection – although from Nora’s perspective she was happy that he was diverted from looking in the mailbox. And later he drags her away from the party before she was ready to go. Her dancing arouses him sexually and it is through his need to satisfy his own selfish desire that he deprives others of her company. In these ways we can see that Nora is forced to obey her husband against her own will.

One final dramatic technique used is the characterisation of the central male figures: Torvald, Dr Rank and Krogstad. When we first meet Torvald and Dr Rank we associate them with all that is normal, upright, noble and good about important men in society. They represent what we regard as the establishment. Torvald has a responsible job, he is a serious man who takes his work seriously, he provides well for his wife and family. But soon we begin to see the cracks in his make up; when Nora calls him petty and Krogstad addresses him by his first name he becomes angry; when he learns of Nora’s borrowing he refuses to stand by her as he sees that this would harm his image and discredit him in the eyes of his staff; and when Krogstad returns the bond he quickly reverses his tune and acts as if everything is normal again. In these ways Torvald is exposed as vain, egotistic and spineless. Dr Rank fares little better. As a doctor he is naturally viewed as an upstanding member of the community but secretly he holds sexual desires for his friend Nora which he reveals to her in a clumsy fashion. He also suffers from a syphilis related illness which he blames on his father. However it is entirely possible that he contracted syphilis through his own actions as it was not uncommon for even wealthy unmarried men to visit prostitutes in Victorian days. Unlike these two, Krogstad is initially portrayed as an unsavoury character and is described by Dr Rank as ‘morally sick’. However it is Krogstad, a man who has previously been rejected by society for his crime, who shows the greatest humanity of the three in his forgiveness of Mrs. Linde and in releasing Nora of her debt to him.

While the relationship between the two central characters is certainly one of master and servant, the developing relationship between Mrs. Linde and Krogstad is more evenly balanced. Theirs is a more mature bond based on a genuine liking and respect for one another. Though Mrs. Linde rejected Krogstad in the past, she was behaving merely as society would have expected her. Ibsen uses their relationship to illustrate how a marriage in a modern society should be. However, their relationship is not the point of the play. It is through the breakdown of Nora and Torvald’s relationship we learn of the forced dependency of women on men, the control exercised by men over women and the physical conditions which prevent a women from being herself in society at that time.

The Eolian Harp by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined

Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is
To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown
With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle,
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)
And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light,
Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve
Serenely brilliant (such should Wisdom be)
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world is hushed!
The stilly murmur of the distant Sea
Tells us of silence.

And that simplest Lute,
Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark!
How by the desultory breeze caress'd,
Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover,
It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs
Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings
Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes
Over delicious surges sink and rise,
Such a soft floating witchery of sound
As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve
Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,
Where Melodies round honey-dripping flowers,
Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,
Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam'd wing!
O! the one Life within us and abroad,
Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,
A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,
Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where
Methinks, it should have been impossible
Not to love all things in a world so fill'd;
Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air
Is Music slumbering on her instrument.

And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope
Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon,
Whilst through my half-clos'd eye-lids I behold
The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main.
And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;
Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd,
And many idle flitting phantasies,
Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
As wild and various as the random gales
That swell and flutter on this subject Lute!
And what if all of animated nature
Be but organic Harps diversely fram'd,
That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
At once the Soul of each, and God of all?
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof
Darts, O belovéd Woman! nor such thoughts
Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meek Daughter in the family of Christ!
Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd
These shapings of the unregenerate mind;

Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break

On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring.
For never guiltless may I speak of him,
The Incomprehensible! save when with awe
I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels;
Who with his saving mercies healéd me,
A sinful and most miserable man,
Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess
Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour'd Maid!

An analysis of The Eolian Harp by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s ‘The Eolian Harp’ is a poem of medium length, stretching to 64 lines. This is a descriptive poem, where the focus is on aspects of the lute and the poet rather in relating any tale. It could also be described lyrical as it expresses so much about his personal feelings and, indeed, has narrative elements in the story about going up the hill and the change of mind at the end. The subject of the title is a smallish ornamental harp which ‘plays’ ‘music’ when wind blows across the strings. The subject of the poem is less straightforward and though the first dozen lines suggest it to be no more than a simple love ballad, the main body of the poem takes on an allegoric approach where the harp represents the poet and the wind which causes it to play is a metaphor for God’s breath. The narrator is the author himself, speaking to Sara, who we can safely take to be his lover, “And thus, my Love!” (line 33), “heart-honour’d Maid!” (line 64), and who indeed is almost certainly Coleridge’s own wife to be Sara Fricker.

On first reading this is not an easy poem to read or to comprehend. The reading difficulty comes through the non-existence of any rhyming scheme —the absence of stanzas is also a challenge. This type of writing might be said to tend to the prosaic but it remains a poem in free verse. At a stretch it is almost possible to identify a single rhyming couplet in lines seven and eight (eve and be) but given that this is a solitary instance it is more likely to be borne out of necessity, or even mischief on the part of the poet, rather than any serious attempt at rhyme . There is little evidence of any pattern at the beginning of the lines either although the at the start of lines seven to ten there is evidence of sibilance (a repetition of the ‘s’ sound) with the words ‘Slow, Serenely, Shine and Snatch’d’. Comprehension is not aided by the fact that the poem is not broken down into regular stanzas. The poem can be divided into five distinct verse paragraphs which end at lines 12, 33, 43, 48 and 64. As we can see from the numbering here these sentences are not of similar length and in fact the first sentence ends in the middle of line 12 rather than the end as all others do. Comprehension is further confused by the excessive use of exclamation marks - 13 in total - some of which appear unnecessary, for example after “field” and “hush’d” in line 12. However there are others (after ‘opposite’ in line nine and ‘wrong’ in line 17) which seem to be more grammatically correct since the following word starts with a capital letter thus indicating a new sentence. It could be that Coleridge has used this technique for the same reason a composer of music might use scherzo to indicate excitement - he is after all young and in love – rather than to challenge the reader and poetic convention.

There is however a rhythm to the poem and this is constant throughout every almost every line. The rhythm used is iambic pentameter – each line being composed of ten syllables with stress on alternate syllables. This structure is occasionally broken, for example in lines four, 23, 25, 39 and 47 where there are 11 syllables in each line though there is no clear pattern emerging.

Enjambment (where the phrase runs on to the next line) and caesura (where some punctuation causes us to pause in the middle of the line) are both used liberally throughout the poem. Again these contribute to the difficulty of a first reading of this poem.

Looking at the first section (up to line 12), as already mentioned, it appears on the surface to be little more than a simple love ballad. However, as early as line four, ‘With white-flower’d Jasmin, and the broad-leav’d Myrtle’, which he describes as emblems of innocence and love, Coleridge has introduced links to heavenly beings. Jasmin (Jasmine) comes from the Persian Yasmin meaning ‘gift of god’ and Myrtle was sacred to the goddess Aphrodite in Greek mythology. Coleridge capitalises the words Innocence and Love (line five), Wisdom (line eight), Sea (line 11) and Silence (line 12) and through this elevation, gives them life. So we can see already that there is some deeper meaning and purpose in this poem.

The second, and longest, verse paragraph (lines 12 to 33 introduces the harp, ‘And that simplest Lute, plac’d length-ways…’ moving the theme away from his love for Sara and providing an evocative description of the harp. Referring first to the ‘desultory breeze’ (line 14) there is a suggestion of aimlessness in the way the harp relies on the wind to feed its musical inspiration and in the next line the ‘coy maid half-yielding’ implies the sense of the harp as a helpless object at the mercy of the random breeze.

But Coleridge quickly finds beauty and joy in the sounds produced, ‘a soft floating witchery of sound’ (line 20), ‘gentle gales from Fairy-Land’ (line 22) and ‘joyance every where’ (line 29). By the end of this section he also acknowledges the symbiotic    relationship between the wind and the harp, ‘the mute still air is Music slumbering on her instrument’ (line 32/33). Again the careful use of capitalisation at Melodies (line 23) and Music (line 33) gives a different meaning to these words, making them nouns and giving them a sense of physical presence. In lines 23 to 25 Coleridge likens the melodies to ‘birds of Paradise’, ‘hovering on untamed wing’. Birds were well represented in Romantic poetry of that period and were at times used to represent the poet looking down on the world and expounding a view which was not seen by the, flightless, remainder of humankind. This is the first indication that the poet sees a likeness in his own situation to the relationship that exists between the wind and the harp.

In the following section Coleridge moves the focus firmly to himself. We see this in line 35, ‘I stretch my limbs’. Here he considers the impact of his own relationship with nature seeing parallels between the way his musings are created in the presence of natures forces, ‘sunbeams dance, like diamonds’ (line 37), and the sounds of the harp produced by nature’s wind.

The fourth verse (lines 44-48) contains a revelation. The poet ponders whether or not it can be the case that all of nature is in a sense one great harp or even a multitude of different harps each reacting to the wind. Further, that the wind is more than a random movement of air but it has some purpose and direction. He sees nature and God as the same thing, ‘one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All?’ (line 47/48). It is interesting that Coleridge chooses to end here with a question mark. In asking a question he suggests some doubt. It may be that he doesn’t think this is the case at all or that to be openly seen holding such a belief may be seen to be seditious.

In the final passage Coleridge returns to his address to Sara. In a sense he shrugs of his poet’s garb and recognises that since it is his desire to live in a world with her, he must acknowledge and enjoy the worldly pleasures that God has created.

To understand and appreciate this poem fully it is useful to have some understanding of Pantheism, a belief system of which Coleridge was a major proponent. This is particularly true in coming to understand Coleridge’s apparent climb down in the final passage. In simple terms, Pantheism is the identification of God with all that exists. Pantheists would believe in the idea of an abstract god rather than an individual deity which serves as the central focus of worship. This abstract god would encompass and include everything which was known on earth and indeed the universe itself. Therefore God, from the perspective of a pantheist, would include all aspects of nature including man. This of course would make man equal with God since man was part of God and vice versa. While this may be a suitable platform for a poet to work in – the idea of being an ‘equal’ with God allows the poet to act as a conduit for God – it poses difficulties in defining relationships with others who hold different, traditional, views. Because of his love for Sara, Coleridge is prepared to put aside his beliefs, ‘biddest me walk humbly with my God’ (line 52), as he realises that this sacrifice will be a small price to pay for the pleasure it will bring. Coleridge rounds off the poem with a reaffirmation of his acceptance of God in the recognised form for that age and concludes with an acknowledgement that in accepting God he has become himself improved, ‘his saving mercies healed me,…and gave me to possess Peace’ (lines 61-63).

As already stated, this is not an easy poem to engage with on a first reading but on closer analysis layers of meaning become more apparent. In structuring the poem in an arguably awkward way (no rhyme scheme, irregular length passages and a welter of punctuation), Coleridge has forced us to examine it with greater deliberation. In this way the techniques used have been effective not only in providing a challenging piece of work but also one where, after some investigation, we are able to understand the poet’s joy with his life.

Great Expectations by Charles Dickens

An analysis of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens

Originally published in serialised form during 1860 and 1861, the timeframe for Great Expectations begins a few years after the start of the nineteenth century and ends around 1840. It is therefore appropriate to consider that this novel deals with contemporary issues from sometime around 1800 to no later than 1860. There is enough corroboration in the text – for example when Pip receives the two one pound notes – to suggest that these dates are broadly accurate.

Perhaps one of the most prominent social issues of these times was the treatment of debtors. Debtor’s prisons and the Poor Law can be traced back to the early 1600s. Though an amendment to the Law was made in1834, this did little to improve the conditions in prisons but rather changed the focus of responsibility. Dickens had first hand experience of the conditions of these institutions when his father was imprisoned at Marshalsea debtors' prison in 1824 and fighting the causes of poverty and oppression was a feature of his personal and literary life. In Great Expectations Pip visits Newgate Prison, which housed both debtors and other criminals during the time in question, with Wemmick. Though he gives no great description of the conditions there, the little that is described paints a bleak picture, ‘At that time, jails were much neglected….felons were not lodged and fed better than soldiers (to say nothing of the paupers)…’. Near the end of the novel Pip is threatened with a spell in debtors’ prison himself before Joe settles his debts. Prisons, and the life of prisoners, is a central theme in the story with the prison ship located not far from Pip’s childhood home and his various encounters with Magwitch.

It is also appropriate to consider the type of novel under consideration and whether indeed it is fitting that it should deal with contemporary issues. Arguably, the realist novel - a style of literature that seeks to represent the familiar or typical in real life, rather than an idealised, formalised, or romantic interpretation of it – lends itself most readily to being used to make links to circumstances happening in the real world at the time of writing. I say this because the very essence of realism serves to engender the belief in the reader that the events described could actually happen. It seems only natural then that to link elements of the story to current social or moral issues, events, beliefs, political climates etc., would help to reinforce that sense of realism. Conversely the gothic novel relies to a far greater extent on the reader’s capacity to at least temporarily suspend disbelief. This does not necessarily mean to say that a gothic novel cannot contain reference to current issues but it may be less effective if it were to use supernatural, and thus unbelievable, events to act as a basis for comment on real social issues.

The question really is whether or not the narrative techniques found in a realist novel best serve the purpose of comment on social issues. Great Expectations uses first person narrative with the central character, Pip, telling the story as he remembers it. This form of storytelling is frequently referred to as bildungsroman, and shows the development of the main character over time from childhood to adulthood. Direct speech, which is used liberally throughout, makes us feel as though we are there and being spoken to, and validates Pip’s impressions of minor characters, even the caricatured ones. In the early parts of the novel there are elements of comedy; Pip and Joe’s secret teasing of Mrs Joe, Pumblechook’s pomposity and Mr Wopsle’s thespian antics. There is a great level of detailed description applied to many of the characters, to locations, situations and even apparently trivial objects such as Tickler, one of Mrs Joe’s means of exerting her authority over Pip. All of these techniques bring the reader’s mental picture of the story into sharper focus giving us a well defined canvas on which we can envisage the characters in their setting. To all intents and purposes this could be a real story, if we can conveniently ignore the enormous raft of coincidence which ties some of the characters together and Pip’s verbatim recall. But it is only when we believe that that the story is anchored to reality, we can take on board the themes and ideas it presents – and these could easily be contemporary social issues among others – and similarly anchor them firmly in what we see as the real world. Since a non-realist novel by its very nature takes us away from reality, it is therefore a less effective vehicle for the deliberation of the reality of social issues.

Certainly Great Expectations is fundamentally grounded in the real world and follows many of the characteristics of a realist novel. The background settings of London and Kent are not fictional locations. A number of recognisable streets and landmarks in London such as Barnard’s Inn and Temple are referenced. Even the churchyard which forms the opening scene was based on a Kent churchyard which Dickens is understood to have visited. The central character, while not necessarily following a classical heroic mould, is nonetheless on a journey of moral improvement. While some may argue that Magwitch was a tyrannical figure more at home in a gothic tale the reality is that only in the opening few pages did he really pose any threat to Pip. The threat of Magwitch sustained through volumes one and two were more closely linked to Pip’s fertile and boyish imagination rather than any physical presence. The story is told in its proper linear chronology. Though Great Expectations is related sometime after all of the action has taken place, there are no unexplained or unexplainable gaps in the timeline and no flashbacks. While there is a continuing theme of guilt and shame (for example Pip’s feelings of responsibility for his sister’s death and his abandonment of Joe) the clear messages which Pip embraces at the end of the story are those of love, friendship and the sense of wellbeing that comes through good honest work. Generally speaking the story also deals only with real and intelligible things which we can understand and relate to. Admittedly there is a mild reference to the supernatural when Pip imagines he sees the body of Miss Havisham hanging by the neck in the disused brewery. But little is made of this incident and its absence would not materially affect the plot or its meaning. In any case it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that an individual in the real world may mistakenly believe that they have seen an apparition. There have been plenty of stories in the media of such events over the years to make this a significantly less than unique event.

However, like much of Dickens’s other work, Great Expectations does not fit squarely into the category of realism and leans to some extent on gothic and comic or satiric traditions. Evidence of the gothic influence lies in the setting; the almost primeval marshes of Kent and the sound of gunfire on the prison ship echoing across the darkness, the fire in the forge, the dark and shadowy streets of London at night, the unlit rooms and corridors at Satis House and its overgrown and neglected garden. As far as characterisation is concerned, the early introduction to Magwitch, where Pip describes his physical appearance, the way he walks across the marshes and the way he eats, also has gothic overtones. Even his name has more than a suggestion of menace to it – could mag be an abbreviation of magic and witch be the merchant of same?

On balance, Great Expectations is not a realist novel in its purest sense but is probably closer to this genre than any other. It has a cast of well defined and believable, albeit at times over-caricatured, characters and thus, I believe, provides a powerful medium for the discussion of contemporary issues.