Mother Canada and Mourning Athena, by Matthew Sears Reading Virgil in the Cariboo, by Karen Simons Jane Blanchard: Two Poems the Agony of Inclusion: Louis A
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winter 2018 Inside this Issue: Robert Frost in Roman Mode, by Theodore Ziolkowski A JOURNAL OF HUMANITIES AND THE CLASSICS Anna JacksonInsidereads this Virgil’s Issue: first Eclogue NormanCasey Austin Dué examines: A Meditation politics, on songVirgil’s andFirst dance Eclogue in Lysistrata and Spike Lee’s Chi-raq A Journal of Humanities and the Classics Mother Canada and Mourning Athena, by Matthew Sears Reading Virgil in the Cariboo, by Karen Simons Jane Blanchard: Two Poems The agony of inclusion: Louis A. Ruprecht, Jr. Marina Carr’s Arielon andGreece Greek as partTragedy, of Europe by Isabelle Torrance Justin HudakMarianne: Horace McDonald and Wallace: Stevens James Joyce, portrait and still life The Sirens, a poem by Jamey Hecht Three translations by Len Krisak Clairs Sommers explores Plato’s Cave From Homer to Palladas: Gordon Braden Brian Walterson epictranslates annoyance from Lucretius KimberlyMemoir Johnson of a Losttranslates Museum, from by WorksFred Licht and Days SelectionsRhetoric andfrom reputation, Gwenaëlle from Aubry’ Protagorass novel, to Snoop Doggy Dogg, by Spencer Hawkins Persephone 2014 THIRD SERIES ClassicsMichelangelo or The Closing at the of theMetropolitan American MindMuseum, by ofEric Art, Adler a review by Paul Barolsky Richard Finn reviews Richard Sorabji’s , VOL Moral Conscience Through the Ages John Palmer reviews André Laks and Glenn Most’s . Early Greek Philosophy XXV , The last of Logue’s Iliad, by Charles Rowan Beye NO . 3, WINTER 2018 B OSTON U NIVERSITY $12.50 Mother Canada and Mourning Athena: From Classical Athens to Vimy Ridge MATTHEW A. SEARS introduction With downcast eyes and solemn mien, the colossal figure known as “Canada Bereft” or “Mother Canada” mourns over the tomb of an unknown soldier on Vimy Ridge in northern France. The central figure of Canada’s largest and most important war memorial, Canada Bereft stands as the personification of a young and newly confident nation. In the popular imagination today, and in the works of many historical writers, the Battle of Vimy Ridge in the spring of 1917—in which all four Canadian di- visions, comprising French, English, Indigenous, and new Canadian soldiers from across the country, fought together for the first time—gave birth to Canada as an independent nation. According to this line of reasoning, prior to Vimy Canada was just one more in a long list of British subjects that had no sovereign choice whether or not to go to war in 1914, which changed in light of the victorious effort of the Canadians where others, including Britain, had failed. There were many powerful symbols behind Walter Allward’s con- troversial design for this monument, finally unveiled in 1936, but Canada’s nationhood, which Canada Bereft brought to the forefront, seems to underlay them all (see figs. 1–2).1 That Canada should have a figurative embodiment may seem only natural. After all, The United States of America have Uncle Sam, and the French have Marianne. Britain itself has Britannia, a figure that stands, among other promi- nent places, atop the legislature of New Brunswick, my home province in Canada. Yet, Allward’s Canada Bereft is virtually unique. While winged victories and other symbolic arion 25.3 winter 2018 44 mother canada and mourning athena female figures abound (such as on Allward’s own earlier South African War Monument in Toronto), I can think of no public war memorial that represents Canada itself as a female figure, other than in the ill-fated attempt to erect a gigantic “Mother Canada” on the eastern edge of Cape Bre- ton in recent years, a project that met with almost universal derision across the country. Not only are there no other examples of a female Canada figure on public monuments, she seems to be unique among the official war memorials of other countries too, at least in North America and Western Europe. In many ways, Allward’s Vimy memorial stands as a provocative and unprecedented expression of art. Canada Bereft, however, does closely resemble another female national figure, one far older: the so-called “Mourn- ing Athena.” Dating to c. 460 BCE, the Mourning Athena is sculpted in shallow relief on a small stone stele originally found on the Athenian Acropolis. Today she is prominently displayed in the Acropolis Museum. Though few scholars now read an expression of mourning into Athena’s pensive downward gaze, a century ago she was originally interpreted as lamenting over the Athenian war dead, especially since she was sculpted as looking down upon a stone stele stand- ing at waist-height (see fig. 3).2 Beginning in the first half of the fifth century BCE, the Athenians commemorated their military dead annually by listing them by name on stone casualty lists, with little artistic or literary embellishment, a practice that probably influenced the Imperial (later Com- monwealth) War Graves Commission in its decision to honor its dead similarly more than twenty-four centuries later.3 Whether Athena really is mourning the past year’s mil- itary casualties—the face and inscription of the stele she gazes at are not visible to us—she nevertheless resembles Canada Bereft in several ways, most of all in her symbolic embodiment of a nation. The goddess Athena from time immemorial was insepara- ble from the city of Athens named in her honor, but at sev- eral points in history Athenian interest in her boomed more Matthew A. Sears 45 than usual. The first half of the fifth century BCE, when an Athenian empire began to take shape following the defeat of Xerxes, was one of those times. Under the leadership of Cimon, Athens expanded its influence across the Aegean Sea, and with the spoils of these conquests, Cimon paid for an explosion of artistic activity, central to which was the god- dess Athena as the personification of a newly confident and powerful Athens. The Great War, and Vimy Ridge in partic- ular, sparked a similar surge in national consciousness and assertiveness in Canada, which perhaps Walter Allward sought to capture in his memorial and the figure of Canada Bereft. But where Athena only became more popular in Clas- sical Athens, Canada Bereft failed to take hold in Canadian iconography despite the continuing importance of Vimy. Since I write this in 2017, the 100th anniversary of the Bat- tle of Vimy Ridge and the 150th anniversary of Canada’s confederation, it might be profitable to examine Canada Bereft and the Mourning Athena together—along with their respective historical contexts—in an effort to clarify some of the forms and functions of war memorials, ancient and mod- ern. Canada Bereft and the Mourning Athena might con- verse with one another in instructive ways.4 At the outset I am compelled to explain my quite unex- pected (to me, at any rate) interest in this subject by offering a personal reflection on my trip in May of 2016 to some of the European battlefields and cemeteries of the two World Wars. As an ancient historian, it is all too easy to be emo- tionally and intellectually detached from the real lives and persons affected by the subjects I study. The many cen- turies—and the often poor and brief primary sources—serve to blunt the edge of the suffering and violence inherent in ancient conflict and warfare. But to confront the names and images of those who lie buried in the fields of France, Bel- gium, the Netherlands, and Germany, on or close to the spot where they fell, focuses the mind on the true horrors of war. The soldiers who lie and are commemorated in Western Europe “look” a lot more like me, like others I know, than 46 mother canada and mourning athena the ancient Greeks do, and many of the veterans of these conflicts were and are still alive during my own lifetime, hav- ing fought for my own country and way of life. I now feel that I have a deeper understanding of what ancient memori- als must have meant for the people who made and viewed them. I also would like to think that I have a deeper under- standing of the human beings of antiquity who were affected by war. I encourage all ancient historians and students of antiquity to visit modern war memorials and cemeteries— not only as an aid to producing richer scholarship, but as a way more fully to appreciate the human condition. In this spirit, let us turn to Vimy and Athens. stone goddesses war memorials serve many functions, sometimes remark- ably similar ones across times and places. This is not to say that Ancient Greeks and 20th-century Canadians saw wars and the war dead in the same way. As Nathan Arrington points out, whereas Western soldiers in the wars of the past century could look forward to a blessed afterlife, as rein- forced by the prevalence of Christian imagery on modern war memorials, the ancient Greeks believed that life after death—for the brave and cowardly alike—promised only a grim existence as a shade in the gloomy halls of Hades. The best a Greek soldier could hope for, therefore, was to be remembered and honored by the living.5 Yet the gulf between ancient and modern memorials is not as wide as we might imagine. Where the Greeks were concerned most of all with being remembered by posterity, this too was a concern of the builders of modern war memorials. The Stone of Remembrance designed for the Imperial War Graves Com- mission by Edward Lutyens is inscribed with a phrase coined by Rudyard Kipling that would be at home in an ancient context: “Their Name Liveth for Evermore.” Not without reason, the general perception of ancient war memorials is that they were unabashedly triumphalist.