Guest Post : Water and Pompeii 2 of 2 by Caroline Brehaut / February 18, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

Once again, it is an absolute pleasure to welcome Caroline Brehaut to Legonium. Caroline is a dear friend and a spectacular historian. She received an Australian Commonwealth Scholarship to study a Master’s Degree at Oxford University and was awarded the University Medal at Macquarie University in her home town of Sydney.

The castellum aquae castle of water, situated at the town’s highest point, near the Vesuvian Gate, was the first collection and distribution centre for the water which reached Pompeii via the aqueduct. The structure has the appearance of a brick built bunker, with three beautiful brick arches. From these pipes which began the distribution of water to the remainder of the town.

Now, the castellum aquae, at Pompeii’s highest point, stands at 42 metres above sea level, and the lowest point of the town at only 6 metres above sea level. Again, what with water’s tendency to flow downhill, it is this height difference that allowed the flow of water from the castellum throughout the rest of the town. BUT, what with water’s tendency to flow downhill at increasing speed, and the immense pressure created as water was siphoned out of the large castellum via much narrower pipes, the problem became that of too much water. Solution? Water towers built throughout the town to help reset water pressure.

Fourteen have been excavated so far, serving a dual purpose: to regulate water pressure, and to provide a distribution point for smaller lead pipes, which in turn led water to the street fountains, the bath buildings, to the private houses of the wealthy, and to workshops. The towers are completely ingenious – they ‘consume’ water pressure by piping the water up the tower, collecting it in a basin at the top, and then drawing it down through a pipe on the tower’s other side, and then onto the next tower.

Forty street fountains, almost all equipped with a spout (plus a small sculpture) and a square or rectangular basin, were supplied from these towers, providing water for the majority of the town's inhabitants. In addition, about a 100 private households (out of about 1,000 dwellings) had a private connection to the public water. Public bath houses also drew water from these towers.

Now, you might be forgiven for thinking that this all sounds very clean and hygienic. But note: private dwellings seemed to have primarily used this water for ornamental displays, not for hygiene or cooking. Water displays in private homes, in the form of fountains and lush gardens, became status symbols. The House of the Vettii alone has 14 fountains!!! The streets of Pompeii, meanwhile, would have resembled open sewers at times, and those quaint looking stepping stones across the viae were probably in constant use (not just after heavy rainfall). Whether storm water was washing effluvia into the Sarno, or the streets were simply filthy with garbage and human waste, stepping stones would no doubt have seemed like a great idea.

Thank you, Caroline, for writing Legonium’s first Guest Post. If any readers, or one of your students, would like to write a Guest Post for Legonium, I would love to hear from you. I can be reached on visitLegonium@gmail.com.

In ancient times The Pompeians would often go to the baths to wash themselves. We walked around the ruins together.

The Lego model of Pompeii is housed in the Nicholson Museum of The University of Sydney, Australia. Entry to the museum is entirely free, and you may visit Monday to Friday between 10:00 and 4:30. The Nicholson is Australia’s oldest University museum and contains the largest collection of antiquities in the Southern Hemisphere.

The Pompeii model was commissioned by the Nicholson and constructed by LEGO Professional Builder Ryan McNaught. It is the third such model the museum has exhibited, following the Colosseum and Acropolis. The Colosseum was returned to McNaught and recently exhibited around Australia. The Acropolis was denoted by the Nicholson to the Acropolis Museum in Athens. The Pompeii model is estimated to include 190 000 bricks and took 420 hours to complete.

Guest Post : Water and Pompeii I of 2 by Caroline Brehaut / February 17, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

It is an absolute pleasure to welcome Caroline Brehaut to Legonium. Caroline is a dear friend and a spectacular historian. She received an Australian Commonwealth Scholarship to study a Master’s Degree at Oxford University and was awarded the University Medal at Macquarie University in her home town of Sydney.

Roman hydraulic engineering is undeniably cool, whether you are looking at the self-flushing toilets at Housesteads (a fort on Hadrian’s Wall), or the Qanat Firaun, a 170 km long aqueduct that runs underground in Syria (aka the Gadara Aqueduct).

But it is a common misconception to imagine a town like Pompeii with clean sparkling streets, white marble, and well groomed, freshly bathed inhabitants. Rather, Roman cities would have more resembled 18th Century Paris: a breathtakingly cacophonous, odiferous, garish mess of colour and filth and wealth and poverty, all smooshed into one. (If you have ever seen the HBO mini-series Rome, you will know what I am talking about.) What impact could a piece of infrastructure, even one as splendid as an aqueduct, have had on such glorious squalor?

Nonetheless, aqueducts are amazing. Pompeii had fresh water piped in from the nearby springs at Acquaro, about 26 km from the town, from sometime in the late 1st century BC – mid 1st century AD. Until then, rain water was the citizens' only water supply. It would have collected in cisterns beneath the impluvia open roofs of many of the wealthier homes in town. Those less fortunate could collect water from public wells, or indeed make the walk to the bank of the River Sarno. The aqueduct improved matters, ensuring a fairly continuous supply of FRESH and FLOWING water, however tainted with lead from the piping.

The name, aqueduct, is apt. aqua water was ductus led down from the springs. This was done without the aid of a mechanised pump, instead relying on water pressure and gravity, via pipes above, below or at ground level (ductus comes from the Verb duco I lead, cognate with the Noun dux leader). The underlying principle was that water, given the opportunity, will of course flow downward. When an aqueduct carries water over a long distance, it must gradually slope down towards its destination, but not too steeply. The gradient has to be maintained with astonishing accuracy so that the water will continue to flow steadily, smoothly, and marginally downhill, over tens of kilometres.

Caroline’s piece will conclude tomorrow. If you or one of your students would like to write a Guest Post for Legonium, I would love to hear from you. I can be reached on visitLegonium@gmail.com.

Soon we arrived at the baths. Today the baths are only ruins, but we were able to imagine in our mind(s) people washing themselves there.

urbanitas – you either have it or you don’t / February 16, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

The Oxford Latin Dictionary defines urbanitas as refinement or polish or style, especially as marked by elegance, good taste and smartness of humour. Or, to put it another way (and to reveal its inbuilt prejudices), the qualities typical of a city-dweller, sophistication. Domitius Marsus, a poet of the Augustan Age and one of Maecenas’ inner circle, wrote a treatise on the subject, de urbanitate, now sadly lost. In Cicero’s de oratore, urbanitas is considered along with sal character : urbanitas being an elegant and cultured mode of expressing one’s sal to others. These references are collected by J.P. Sullivan in Martial : the unexpected classic. Sullivan also provides this elaboration;

Now the word urbanitas is essentially how a sophisticated Roman would refer to that broad and diachronically shifting quality or phenomenon once called ‘wit’.

urbanitas belongs to a family of words, the most common of which is urbs city. In the Latin context the quintessential urbs was, of course, Roma. There are also two Adverbs, urbane with refined politeness, suavely, urbanely, with refined humour, wittily and urbanatim in the style of a city-dweller. And then there is the Adjective urbanus having the style of the city, elegant and sophisticated, free from uncouthness, polished and smart. If you find the inbuilt assumptions of these terms worrying, you may not be alone. mus urbanus et mus rusticus The City Mouse and the Country Mouse, is an exploration of the highs and lows of both lifestyles. Horace has the mus rusticus conclude of urban living;

This life’s no use to me: and so, farewell: my woodland hole,

And simple vetch, safe from such scares, they’ll do for me.

One last example from the ancient literature, this time from Catullus who, mea sententia, oozes urbanitas. Suffenus, Catullus writes in poem 22, is stylish in everything that he does – except in the writing of his god-awful poetry;

homo est venustus et dicax et urbanus.

He is a person charming and witty and urbanus.

Claudia tells Miranda that Marcus was both urbanus and iucundus delightful. I could try hold you here longer to discuss that word too, but that would show a distinct lack of style.

I led Marcus through the streets to the baths. Without a doubt, he was a delightful and urbanus man. Walking we talked about the ancient town.

mihi nomen est… / February 15, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

This year I have been beginning every Latin lesson the same way. Once everyone is settled and ready for the class, I stand at the front of the room and say salvete discipuli. The students respond salve magister (there is only one of me). Then, glancing around the room, they add with a smile salvete amici. In previous years, when we have performed only the first two steps, their enthusiasm for the process has fluctuated. Since adding the greeting to their friends they have become far more enthusiastic.

salve and salvete (and the reason for the two forms) is the first thing I show a new Latin class. I don’t tell them that it means Hello! or any such thing. It means Be Well! and the Romans (and many after them) used it as a greeting. Then we practise by moving around the room, shaking hands and saying Be Well! in English. How does it feel? It feels good. Then we do the same in Latin.

The second thing I show them is mihi nomen est…. They copy it into their books with the English written underneath each word;

mihi nomen est…

to me name is

Without fail they immediately make three observations. 1) It’s not the same as English. We would say my not to me. 2) The word the appears to be missing. That is right, I say, Latin has no word for a or the. 3) The order of the words is different from that we use in English. Yes, I say, that is very often the case. I quickly show them quid est nomen tibi? then ask each one in turn his* name. If I let them know that quid means what they deduce that tibi means to you very quickly.

On today’s page, Claudia writes to Miranda that she met a certain fellow outside of the amphitheatre. No doubt their conversation went something like this;

Claudia: salve! ut vales?

Marcus: sat bene. sed balnea invenire non possum.

Claudia: ego te iuvare possum. scio ubi balnea sint.

Marcus: gratias tibi ago. quid est nomen tibi?

Claudia: mihi nomen est Claudia. quid est nomen tibi?

Marcus: mihi nomen est Marcus. salve Claudia!

Claudia: salve Marcus!

Claudia wrote in her letter nomen ei erat Marcus The name to him (ei) was Marcus.

* I teach at a single sex school.

Departing from the amphitheatre, I met a certain man who was not able to find the baths. I decided to help him. His name was Marcus.

Pink Floyd: Live at Pompeii / February 14, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun. In October 1971 the Pompeii amphitheatre played host to an unusual event. The English psychedelic rock band, Pink Floyd, performed live for a camera crew and the handful of children who snuck in past the guards. Ryan McNaught, the creator of the Nicholson model, has - mirabile dictu - included the concert in his depiction of the arena. In a plot hole you could drive a tour-bus through, Claudia is there to watch the performance.

The story goes that the film’s director, Adrian Maben, was a Pink Floyd fan keen to splice the band’s live performance with shots of famous art works. When this idea was rejected by the band’s manager, Steve O’Rourke, Maben took himself to Naples for a summer holiday. He misplaced his passport in Pompeii, and it was while returning to the amphitheatre to seek it out that he was struck by the venue’s beauty and acoustic quality. He contacted the local University of Naples and they arranged to have the venue closed for six days of filming. A cable had to be run all the way from the Town Hall to power the equipment.

This was a few years before the release of Dark Side of the Moon, although in our story Claudia is treated to a song or two from that album – or at least upon that subject. Instead the band played Echoes, A Saucerful of Secrets and Careful with that Axe, Eugene (among others). Maben’s original idea, of splicing the concert with artworks, returned. Shots were taken at the neighbouring Naples National Archaeological Museum of sculpture and mosaics. Interspersed is foreboding footage of flowing lava.

In 2016 Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour returned to the Pompeiian amphitheatre for a 45 years on repeat performance. This time thousands of fans were in attendance. I can only imagine the feeling of being part of the crowd that packed this two thousand year old arena to relive a concert that happened nearly half a century ago. After the event David Gilmour was made an honorary citizen of Pompeii. macte!

Today, however, the musical bank, Pink Floyd, was giving as concert in the arena. I listened to some songs about the Dark Side of the Moon.

the Pompeii riots / February 13, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

The amphitheatre in Pompeii was situated in the south-east corner of the town, about as far as one can get from the Forum. It was built around 70 BC, long before Rome itself had a permanent venue for the viewing of gladiatorial combat. It is capable of holding around 20,000 people, which suggests that the designers anticipated visitors from neighbouring areas. Access to seating was via stairs from outside of the arena. Access to the arena floor was through two paved vaulted tunnels, the same way that visitors enter today.

Within The Histories of Tacitus (written perhaps 30 years after Pompeii’s destruction) we can read of a terrible event that took place in Pompeii in 59AD, twenty years before it was destroyed.

sub idem tempus levi initio atrox caedes orta inter colonos Nucerinos Pompeianosque gladiatorio spectaculo, quod Livineius Regulus, quem motum senatu rettuli, edebat. quippe oppidana lascivia in vicem incessente[s] probra, dein saxa, postremo ferrum sumpsere, validiore Pompeianorum plebe, apud quos spectaculum edebatur. ergo deportati sunt in urbem multi e Nucerinis trunco per vulnera corpore, ac plerique liberorum aut parentum mortes deflebant. cuius rei iudicium princeps senatui, senatus consulibus permisit. et rursus re ad patres relata, prohibiti publice in decem annos eius modi coetu Pompeiani collegiaque, quae contra leges instituerant, dissoluta; Livineius et qui alii seditionem conciverant exilio multati sunt. Tacitus, Histories, 14.17

In what follows, the Latin word order has been rearranged to allow for an Interlineal Translation that reads well enough in English. This method was once popular, but has fallen into disrepute as it mangles somewhat the original text. It can be useful, however, when beginning to read complex texts.

sub idem tempus At about the same time atrox caedes a terrible slaughter orta arose levi initio from a trifling beginning inter colonos Nucerinos Pompeianosque between the people of Nuceria and Pompeii gladiatorio spectaculo at a gladiatorial show, quod which Livineius Regulus Livineius Regulus edebat was giving, quem motum whose expulsion senatu from the senate rettuli I have noted.

quippe For incessentes attacking oppidana lascivia with provincial impudence sumpsere they took up in vicem in turn probra insults, dein saxa then rocks, postremo ferrum and finally steel, validiore Pompeianorum plebe with the commoners of Pompeii being the stronger, apud quos in whose neighbourhood spectaculum edebatur the show was being given.

ergo Consequently multi e Nucerinis many of the Nucerians deportati sunt were carried away in urbem into the city [ie: into Rome] trunco corpore with body maimed per vulnera through wounds, ac plerique and very many deflebant were mourning mortes the deaths liberorum aut parentum of their children or parents.

princeps The emperor permisit delegated iudicium the trial cuius rei of this matter senatui to the senate, senatus the senate consulibus to the consuls.

et re relata And the case having been relegated rursus again ad patres to the [senatorial] fathers, Pompeiani prohibiti the Pompeians were prohibited publice coetu from public meeting eius modi of this kind in decem annos for ten years –que and collegia the clubs, quae instituerant which they had set up contra leges against the laws, dissoluta were dissolved;

Livineius Livineius et alii and the others qui who seditionem conciverant had stirred up insurrection multati sunt were punished exilio with exile.

Then I walked all the way to the amphitheatre, far from the Forum. Once the Pompeians used to watch gladiators fighting in this arena.

the son of the god of the sun / February 12, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

In honour of the templum Apollonis the temple of Apollo (and the heat here in Sydney) I thought I would try something new, and retell a myth of Apollo. It is a story of standing up to bullies, knowing who you are, and being without fear. Warning, it does not end well.

Phaethon was a boy of perhaps fourteen years, living in a small village of Greece. He was an ordinary boy, but he had an extraordinary secret. When he had become old enough to start wondering about the whereabouts of his father, his loving mother had told him that he was the mortal son of an immortal god. His father was Apollo, that burning disk that gazed down upon him daily; the comforting figure that rode the sun chariot across the sky.

But children can be cruel and they would taunt Phaethon for his belief in his mother’s story. These bullies laughed. And mocked. And shun. Life became difficult for Phaethon. But he had no doubt about who he was, even if the others could not – or would not – accept it. He declared to them that they were wrong. That he was leaving and that he would return having proved it. Their laughter followed him as he departed.

For many days the boy travelled, until he reached the gleaming temple of his father. He entered nervously with head bowed and began to pray. Father, you have never once been here with me. You have never been more than a distant face upon the sky. But now I need something from you father. And I need you to promise that you will grant me what I ask. The statue nodded. A voice boomed. And a vow was made to give whatever it was his son requested.

I wish to drive your burning chariot across the sky. To hold within my hands the reigns of those furious horses. I want every eye upon me as I look down upon my tormenters and know that they know that they are wrong. I want to be respected. I want to be valued. And I want to be believed. No son, the god replied, this cannot be. You do not have the strength, the knowledge, the familiarity with the steeds. It is dangerous. Ask for something else, ask for anything. But a promise had been made.

Apollo of course was right. Phaethon could not do it, and he died trying. He drove too high and the horses were spooked by the giant crabs, lions and bulls that live above the heavens. They fled towards low ground and the heat of the sun began to scorch the land and evaporate the seas. Jupiter, seeing the risk he posed, with a single bolt blew him from the sky. Apollo wept. His mother cried. Even the bullies wondered if they had played a part.

Beside the Forum is the temple of Apollo, the god of the sun. It is smaller than the temple of Jupiter, but – as I see it – a little more beautiful.

dux femina facti / February 11, 2017 by Anthony Gibbins

dux femina facti a woman was the author of the achievement. So says Virgil of the fleet that departed Tyre, in modern day Lebanon, to find a new home on the north coast of Africa. The woman was Dido, a member of Tyre’s royal line. She was accompanied by citizens who would no longer live under the sway of Tyre’s corrupt leader, due either to fear of him or a severe dislike.

These three words, dux femina facti, may well have crossed Claudia’s mind as she stood before the Eumachia building in the Pompeian Forum. Here are three paragraphs from Mary Beards’ Pompeii: The Life of a Roman Town. It is one of Claudia’s favourite books;

But the biggest surprise in this male hierarchical world is to be found in the Forum itself. The largest building in the area, standing at the south-east corner, was erected in the reign of Augustus. Its function has long been a cause of controversy, like so many of the Forum buildings: market, slave market, multi-purpose hall? But its inspiration is clear. We have already seen [liber totus tibi legendus est!] that two of the statues on its façade were copied from the Forum of Augustus. The carved marble door frames, decorated with scrolls of acanthus, reflect the contemporary style of the capital, and are very close to those on another celebrated Augustan monument, the Altar of Peace. Some art historians have compared its conception to a huge portico erected in Rome by Augustus’ wife, the empress Livia.

That is a good comparison in more ways than one. For this building, known as the Building of Eumachia, was also sponsored by a woman. Inscriptions over the two entrances declared that Eumachia, who was a priestess in the town, daughter of one leading family and married into another, built it ‘in her own name and that of her son…at her own expense.’ Her statue stood at one end of the building, paid for by the fullers (hence the fantasy that the whole building might be a cloth-workers’ hall). We know almost nothing of Eumachia, and can only guess at all the different circumstances that might lie behind her building of this monument, and the different degrees of active involvement she might have had in the planning and design. Most likely she was attempting to advance the career of her son. But one thing is certain: the finished product is stamped with her own name almost as firmly as the theatre is stamped with that of Holconius. Eumachia here represents a similar conduit for the culture of the capital to make its way to Pompeii. And Eumachia was not the only such female benefactor. An inscription found in the Forum makes it clear that another of the major buildings there was the work of another priestess, one Mamia.

We should not, for this reason, overestimate the degree of power held by women in this town. To be a priestess, public office though it was, was not the same as being duumvir.* Even large-scale benefaction was a long way from formal power. That said, Eumachia is another example of the varied routes to public prominence the town offered. She is another ‘face of success.’ (pp. 213-5)

*duumvir: one of the two equal magistrates elected annually to preside over the municipal council with law giving powers. Only men were eligible for this role.

Also in the Forum is the square colonnade built by Eumachia. Eumachia was a distinguished (clara) Pompeian woman, both rich (dives) and generous (liberalis).