Birds in the Ancient World: Winged Words

476 Pages·2018·100.55 MB·English

by  Jeremy Mynott

Birds in the Ancient World

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PreFAce
Birds pervaded the ancient world. They populated the landscapes in an abun-
dance and diversity scarcely imaginable in today’s highly developed Western
societies, and they would have impressed their physical presence on the daily
experience of ordinary people in town and country alike. nightingales could be
heard singing in the suburbs of Athens and rome; there were cuckoos, wry-
necks, and hoopoes within city limits; and eagles and vultures would have been
a common sight overhead in the countryside beyond. not surprisingly, there-
fore, birds entered the popular imagination too, and figure prominently in the
creative literature, art, and drama of the time. They were a fertile source of sym-
bols and motifs for myth, folklore, and fable, and were central to the ancient
practices of augury and divination.
The ambition of this book is to bring together as much as possible of this
fascinating material in a connected and accessible way for the modern reader.
i present a large selection of readings from the ancient sources, all of which
i have translated freshly for the purpose. one hundred and twenty or so differ-
ent authors are represented—an indication in itself of the ubiquity and variety
of references to birds in classical literature—including all the most famous
Greek and latin authors, along with many less well-known ones, and some
material not previously translated into english.
The book is organized thematically to illustrate the many different roles birds
played in the thousand years between about 700 bc and ad 300: as markers of
time, weather, and the seasons; as a resource for hunting, farming, eating, and
medicine; as pets, entertainments, mimics, and domestic familiars; as scavengers
and sentinels; as omens, auguries, and intermediaries between the gods and
humankind. There are also selections from early scientific writing about the tax-
onomy, biology, and behaviour of birds—the first real works of ornithology in
the Western tradition—as well as from more incidental but revealing observa-
tions in works of history, geography, and travel. The aim is to give as full a p icture
vi preface
as the evidence allows. The translations are supplemented with numerous illus-
trations from ancient art—paintings, pottery, sculpture, coins, and seals, all of
which are texts in their own right with related stories to tell.
There is a wealth of intriguing material to illustrate these themes. i revisit,
and sometimes reinterpret, such cases as: the functions of official ‘bird-watchers’
as military consultants (homer); the observation of crane migrations to cali-
brate the agricultural calendar (hesiod); the ‘crocodile bird’ that supposedly
acted as a toothpick to its fearsome host (herodotus); the origins of expressions
like ‘cloud-cuckoo land’ and ‘jinxed’; the possible double entendres in ‘waking the
nightingale’ and ‘out with the cuckoo’ (Aristophanes); the enigmatic last words
of socrates about paying the debt of a cockerel (Plato); the identity of lesbia’s
pet ‘sparrow’ (catullus); the sentinel geese on the roman capitol (livy); the use
of flamingoes in haute cuisine (Apicius); and the Aesop fables about the raven
and the water jar (a feat of avian intelligence confirmed by modern experimen-
tation), and the eagle and the tortoise (a warning to be wary of special offers by
large airline operators).
i try to provide a strong line of narrative that gives a structure to these read-
ings and explains their literary and historical context. i also make comparisons,
where appropriate, with the roles birds have played in other cultures, including
our own, and encourage readers to reflect for themselves on their significance. i
see my task as that of a cultural and ornithological guide to some of these
remarkable exhibits from the ancient world, using birds as a prism through
which to explore both the similarities and the often surprising differences
between early conceptions of the natural world and our own. My hope is that
the work as a whole may in this way serve both as a contribution to the cultural
history of birds and as an introduction for non-classicists to this formative
period of Western history and some of its greatest literature.
As my references indicate, i am greatly indebted to many previous authors,
and in particular to three classical scholars who did pioneering research in this
area: the redoubtable d’Arcy Wentworth Thompson, who while a professor of
biology at dundee produced his Glossary of Greek Birds in 1895; John Pollard,
who compiled an early thematic survey of the Greek material in 1977; and W. G.
Arnott, whose comprehensive A–Z dictionary of ancient bird names appeared
in 2007. These works were indispensable in gathering references to the key
sources, but they are organized on quite different principles from the present
book and provide few extended translations that would enable readers to engage
more directly with the texts discussed. A closer model in that respect, though a
preface vii
model one can only aspire to, is Keith Thomas’s study of a quite different
period and place in his Man and the Natural World: changing attitudes in
England, 1500–1800 (1983)—a masterpiece of organization that deploys an
astonishing range of sources in support of his narrative about how our current
views evolved.
in reading the ancient classical authors on these themes we tend to move
between experiences of happy recognition and deep puzzlement. We react just
as they did to some of the familiar sights and sounds they describe and we share
the same feelings of curiosity and wonderment. But one should never assume in
advance that modern concepts or categories will coincide with those that would
have seemed natural two and a half thousand years ago, and there are constant
risks of anachronism and misunderstanding. There were, for example, no words
in Greek or latin meaning exactly what we mean by ‘nature’, ‘weather’, ‘land-
scape’, ‘science’, or ‘the environment’; and conversely some words that do seem
familiar sometimes had a different range of meanings then—even the word for
‘bird’. take this passage from a comedy by Aristophanes, where a chorus of
birds is explaining to their human visitors the benefits they bestow on mankind:
You don’t start on anything without first consulting the birds,
whether it’s about business affairs, making a living, or getting married.
every prophecy that involves a decision you classify as a bird.
to you, a significant remark is a bird; you call a sneeze a bird,
a chance meeting is a bird, a sound, a servant, or a donkey—all birds.
so clearly, we are your gods of prophecy.
Aristophanes, Birds 716–24
What on earth does all that mean? At first sight, it looks as though the transla-
tor must have lost the plot somewhere. But it becomes clearer, or at least more
interesting, when you realize that the Greek word for a bird, ornis, was also their
word for an omen. The significance of birds—the ‘winged words’ of the subtitle—
is the theme running through this book.
There are also some outright mysteries of a cultural as well as a linguistic
kind. Why is there no account in the classical world of falconry as we now
understand it? Why did no one before Aristotle mention butterflies in descrip-
tions of the countryside? Why are singing nightingales almost always thought to
be female? And how could such bizarre beliefs as those in ‘halcyon [kingfisher]
days’ and ‘swan songs’ have originated and persisted? More generally, how could
the peoples who pioneered (and gave us the modern names of) such s ubjects as
viii preface
biology, zoology, philosophy, logic, and mathematics have simultaneously enter-
tained what now seems such a welter of superstitions and dubious folklore
about birds?
But puzzlement, as socrates always insisted, can be a necessary pre- condition
to better understanding. i thank in the list of Acknowledgements (p. ix) many
people who have helped me try to answer the various questions i have pursued
in writing this book; but i want to mention in advance two particular men-
tors—one from long ago and one my contemporary—who much encouraged
me in the habit of creative questioning and were both often in my mind through-
out the writing.
The first was my old classics master at colchester royal Grammar school,
Arthur Brown. Whenever i wrote him a callow essay on some topic from
ancient history he would return the script to me with his spidery marginal
annotations in the form, ‘Yes, interesting, but how do we know that?’ Arthur
always sent us back to the sources—and away from textbooks, reference works,
and secondhand opinions generally. he gave me my first inklings that every-
thing has its context and has to be critically interpreted. The second, and much
more recent, influence was my friend Geoffrey hawthorn, the former professor
of international politics at the University of cambridge (though that title does
little to convey the range and character of his interests, which extended deep
into both ornithology and the classical world). Geoffrey would generously read
in draft pretty much everything i wrote and would then send me, usually by
return, a long list of gentle but probing suggestions and queries. his character-
istic question was the complementary one, ‘Yes, interesting, but does that imply …?’.
Geoffrey always made me think about what might be the larger significance or
interest, if any, in what i was struggling to express. he read much of this book
in draft and discussed it with me on many occasions (mostly ‘in the field’), but
to my great sadness died at the end of 2015.
These questions, ‘how do we know this?’, ‘What does this actually mean?’,
and ‘Why does this matter?’ seem to me fundamental to most forms of enquiry.
There are still more questions than answers in what follows, but i dedicate this
book to the memory of these two inspirational mentors.
jeremy mynott
shingle street, 31 october 2016
AcKnoWledGeMents
i mention in my Preface two people to whom i owe special long-term debts:
Arthur Brown and Geoffrey hawthorn.
i am grateful to many other people for answering specific queries and making
helpful comments: in particular, Armand d’Angour, Pat Bateson, charles
Bennett, david Butterfield, Paul cartledge, isabelle charmentier, Mark
cocker, Pat easterling, stephen edwards, Mar tin hammond, richard hines,
Geoffrey lloyd, Peter Marren, Martin nesbit, Bob Montgomerie, ruth Padel,
Geoff sample, Quentin skinner, Anne Thompson, Michael Warren, and
Andrew Wilson. special thanks are due to tim Birkhead, Jonathan elphick,
Geoffrey hawthorn, Mike Mccarthy, William shepherd, and tony Wilson,
each of whom read several (in some cases all) chapters in draft, proposed numer-
ous improvements, and cheered me on generally. Their encouragement was
more necessary and inspiring than they probably ever realized. tony Wilson
even went the extra mile and read the proofs, with meticulous attention, as ever.
My wife, diane speakman, read the whole work in typescript, made many valu-
able suggestions, and, most importantly, believed in the project from the start—
to her, thanks of every kind.
Pauline hire generously edited the endnotes for me and compiled the Bibli-
ography. i have again benefited greatly from her friendship as well as from her
professional experience and critical attention to detail.
For advice and assistance with the illustrations, my thanks to lucilla Burn,
J. r. Green, and Vanessa lacey, and in particular to the picture researcher, Jane
smith.
Thanks to caroline dawnay of United Agents for advice and active support
throughout.
i am grateful to luciana o’Flaherty for her thoughtful editorial comments,
to Jonathan Bargus for his creative work on the design, to rosemary roberts for
her rigorous and searching copyediting, to hannah newport-Watson for man-
aging the production process so efficiently and sympathetically, and to all their
other colleagues at oUP who helped to bring this book to completion. it has
been a very happy collaboration.