Ceramic production in Foreign Compounds

Little is known regarding craft production in the foreign barrios of Teotihuacan; what is known is the inherent presence of foreign pottery. At the Merchants’ Barrio, located on the eastern periphery of the city, archaeologists have recovered ceramics and figurines from foreign regions. Indeed, according to Evelyn Rattray, the Merchants’ Barrio has the highest concentration of foreign ceramics found at Teotihuacan. Most concentrations were from the Gulf Coast region of Mesoamerica. Ceramics from the Maya lowland region is also found in abundance at the Merchants’ Barrio.

Turning to the Oaxaca Barrio, located on the western periphery of the city, allows for the study of ceramic production in more minute detail. The archaeological remains of the Oaxaca Barrio are nearly indistinguishable from that of non-foreign areas of the city, aside from one exception. Gray wares that were produced in the compound used a kiln-based technology foreign to Teotihuacan, but common in Oaxaca. Gray wares are also ceramic types uncommon at Teotihuacan; the most common type instead was orange wears. While both Oaxaca style figurines and ceramics were produced at the Oaxaca Barrio, they account for approximately 35% of the ceramic materials at the site (Croissier 2000; Rattray 1992); the other 65% of the materials recovered at the site were Teotihuacan style. The majority of the wears that were produced at the Oaxaca barrio were utilitarian in nature; indeed, they were goods that were primary utilized for cooking, eating and storage, while the Oaxaca style materials recovered from the site were more ritualistic in nature; they included figurines, urns, braziers, and censures. These materials are also centralized within the Oaxaca Barrio and are seldom seen circulated around the city, which may be due to the inclusion of these materials in burials found at the Oaxaca Barrio.

Another difference found at the Oaxaca Barrio incorporates the production of figurines. The figurines found at the Oaxaca Barrio are exact imitations of the types found at Monte Alban, the Zapotec capital located in the Valley of Oaxaca. Found exclusively in the Oaxaca Barrio, they are hand-made materials that represent both anthropomorphic and zoomorphic images. What is important to note when addressing figurines is both their production and circulation. The Oaxaca style figurines were primarily hand-made, varying greatly with later period figurines found at Teotihuacan (Rattray 1992). Although figurines were hand-made in the early periods of the city’s history, the artisans utilized molds significantly in the later periods. Hand-made figurines can still be found at the city, but the majority of the figurines recovered from later periods were mold-made (Barbour 1975; Goldsmith 2000; Scott 1994; Sullivan 2007). Furthermore, when taking circulation of Oaxacan style figurines into consideration, figurines are rarely found outside of the corridors of the Oaxaca Barrio (the significance of this will be discussed in greater detail in the following section). Finally, when Oaxaca style materials were recovered from the site, they were produced with clays found at Teotihuacan rather than that of their homelands, like that of the Merchants’ Barrio.
Discussion: Acceptance or Resistance?

Merchants’ Barrio

Then, were foreigners were accepted into the social strata of the city and how did they maintained their ethnic identity while residing in a primarily Teotihuacan homogenous community? In answering this question, several elements must be addressed. First, the Merchants’ Barrio offers conflicting evidence when determining whether or not foreigners were accepted into the city. As merchants and craftspeople that resided in the barrio, they inherently influenced Teotihuacan’s interaction with neighboring regions for the extraction of desired goods. The Gulf Coast and Maya populations that resided at the Merchants’ Barrio continued to produce ceramic styles commonly found in their homelands through the use of both local and non-local clays. In doing so, it is important to note that few Teotihuacan style materials have been found at this site (Taube 2003). Then, why were foreigners residing in the Merchants’ Barrio and were they accepted into Teotihuacan social lines? The people that resided at the Merchants’ Barrio were presumably individuals that produced goods and services to the citizens of Teotihuacan. They not only produced ceramics that were used by local populations, but many of their stylistic motifs and cosmologies can be seen throughout the city. Although they are primarily found in apartment compounds like Tetitla, these motifs exemplify an admiration and acceptance of Gulf Coast and Maya styles and beliefs. As discussed above, foreign influence can be seen in motifs of jaguars kneeling, ballcourt markers from the Gulf Coast, Maya style censers, vessels and Maya glyphs found on murals (Taube 2003).

Seen as influential symbols of Teotihuacan’s acceptance of Gulf Coast and Maya motifs it appears, at first glance, as though these foreigners were accepted into the city; however, this pattern is far more complex than it first appears. One interesting point to take into consideration is the location of the Merchants’ Barrio within the city. At first appearing to be an apartment compound where foreigners were accepted into the social strata of the city, the apartment compound is located on the outskirts of the city’s eastern borders. If foreigners were commonly accepted into the social strata of Teotihuacan’s socioeconomic system, then why is this compound, and that of the Oaxaca Barrio which is located on the outskirts of the western portion of the city, isolated from the core political organization of the city? They were individuals that resided in the city for continuing periods of time. Indeed, as Sarah Clayton states:

If migrant groups that were comprised of the resident populations of the Merchants’ Barrio represent varied origins, a tentative suggestion is that they may have shared more general identities related to their positions as outsiders for foreigners in the context of Teotihuacan. It is worth emphasizing that the influx of people to this neighborhood, with their goods, continued over the long term. The Merchants’ Barrio does not represent a single transplantation of an ethnic population form elsewhere. Instead, materials there evince a continued flow of interaction, involving regular movement of people across great distances (2005:442).

Then, although occupation of foreigners was something that was commonplace at Teotihuacan, these individuals were most likely not fully accepted by Teotihuacanos and labeled as outsiders to the citizens of the city. As individuals that produced local goods materials using both local and non-local raw materials, the people residing at the Merchants’ Barrio were individuals were most likely seen as foreigners that resided at the city primarily for economic purposes. They were people that produced and traded goods from their homelands with the people of Teotihuacan while also producing local Teotihuacan style pottery for trade. However, until further excavations take place and more detailed studies of burials found therein take place, the true ethnic identity of the Merchants’ Barrio’s residents remains unknown.

Oaxaca Barrio

As a compound that produced both local and non-local ceramic materials in varying production modes, the Oaxaca Barrio is a unique scenario. The Oaxacans that resided within the barrio’s corridors produced both Oaxacan and Teotihuacan goods, varying greatly from that of the Merchants’ Barrio where archaeologist found larger proportions of foreign goods. Moreover, when Oaxacans produced goods from their homelands, they were centralized within the compound, in a private setting (Croissier 2000). As individuals who produced mostly local materials, they appear, at first glance, to be a homogeneously Teotihuacan apartment compound. The barrio was constructed in Teotihuacan style architecture, the people produced Teotihuacan materials, and they participated in Teotihuacan style lifestyles in the public realm. However, when examining the private realm of the barrio’s residents, one can see a sense of syncretism to Teotihuacan’s religious sectors.

Although the Zapotecs residing in the Oaxaca Barrio participated in homogeneously Teotihuacan public sectors, their religious practices and burials appear to mimic that of the traditions found in the Valley of Oaxaca. They maintained the same figurine styles for domestic use, the same burial practices and the same religious materials like that of the censers and braziers (none of which are found outside of the Oaxaca Barrio in Teotihuacan). At first glance, this may seem to be a form of resistance to a Teotihuacan norm; however, when taking a closer look, the adoption of two Teotihuacan specific materials into Oaxacan practice leads to the inference that a type of syncretism may be taking place. Along with the use of common Oaxacan motifs for rituals purposes, the residents of the Oaxaca Barrio also included Teotihuacan ritual paraphernalia into their burial and religious traditions. In numerous contexts, archaeologists have recovered both candeleros (small incense burners) and incensarios (or large theater censers that were used in public settings in the apartment compound) at the Oaxaca Barrio (Spence 1998). Whether they are signs of Teotihuacan’s enforcement of their traditional religious practices or a signals of a syncretic practice taking place is still unknown, but they must be considered. When comparing the rituals to that of homogeneously Teotihuacan apartment compounds, however, it may be an example of enforced inclusion.

Since Teotihuacan was thought to be a theocratic state, objects like candeleros and incensarios have an inherent ideological component. Found mostly in residential units and communal altars within the apartment compound, these objects appear to imbue some religious meaning (Berdan and Nicholas 1988; Blanton and Feinman 1984; Blanton, Feinman, Kowalewski, and Peregrine 1996; Feinman 1999; Hendon 2004; Schortman 1987; Schortman and Urban 1992, and 1994; Schortman, Urban, Ashmore, and Benyo 1986; Urban and Schortman 2004). These objects, then, were reminders of both the religious and state regulated power. Since they are found in the majority of the apartment compounds, these objects are both linked to household demographics, but also state regulated power (Hayden and Cannon 1982; Manzanilla 1996; Wolf 1966). The apartments participated in a religious practice that was present throughout the state; one that maintains the same ideology and iconography of the state. As small material remains of the city’s habitus, these objects offer methods for reconstructing possible ethnic shifts over time. The corporate groups of the apartment compounds acted as microcosms of the state-in construct, religion, and organization, to name a few. Then, the residents of the Oaxaca Barrio’s participation can be seen as a means for imbuing ethnicity as regulated by the state. The inclusion of elements like candeleros and incensarios into Oaxacan ritual practices may have been a means for the Teotihuacan state to regulate control over the religious practices of all Teotihuacan citizens, whether they were citizens born in the city, or from foreign regions. By maintaining many of their ritual and cultural heritage, however, the citizens of the Oaxaca Barrio continued to practice common rituals from their homelands while accepting many found in their new lands, similarly to contemporary Latinos residing in the United States. Many continue to practice their religion and hold fast to their language while accepting American traditions like celebrating the Fourth of July and Halloween (Stephens 1991). The syncretism of these practices allows for the acceptance of new traditions of belonging while maintaining important ancient traditions that were valued in their homelands.

By examining foreigners that resided in non-foreign barrios, one can understand foreigner’s roles within the city. As discussed above, the apartment compound of Tlajinga 33 appears to be a Teotihuacan homogenous apartment compound. Seen as a residence that has Teotihuacan architecture, burial programs, and craft production, to name a few, this community at first appears to be a non-foreign residence. However, when taking osteological evidence into consideration, a different pattern develops. Many of the individuals that lived, worked and died at Tlajinga 33 were from Michoacán. As foreigners that resided in a previously conceived homogeneously Teotihuacan residence, this pattern begs consideration. While there are few district patterns identifying these individuals as people from Michoacán due to the lack of Michoacán material remains, their osteological evidence leads one to infer that these individuals were presumably brought or emigrated to Teotihuacan for economic purposes. Thought to have been foreign recruits brought to the compound for their craft specialization, these individuals offer a unique look at Teotihuacan’s acceptance of foreigners (Price et al 2000). It is unknown whether these individuals elected to give up their ethnicity and become Teotihuacanos (or maintained their ethnic identity in private) or whether it was enforced; however, it appears evident that these individuals were accepted it the community, married into local families, and spent the rest of their lives at the city. Owing to the lack of Michoacán material evidence in burials, ritual contexts, or scattered throughout the compound, all the evidence present at Tlajinga 33 bears witness to the belief that these individuals may have been recognized as Teotihuacanos or foreigners that were accepted into the community.

In response to the question concerning whether foreigners were accepted by Teotihuacan, the answer is very complex. It appears from the information addressed above that the foreigners were may have been accepted by the Teotihuacanos; however, the evidence offers a convoluted understanding to the level of acceptance. In one case, that of Tlajinga 33, it appears as though foreigners were accepted into the community and treated as Teotihuacanos rather than outsiders. In another case, like that of the Merchants’ Barrio, foreigners may have been acknowledged, but not completely accepted as Teotihuacanos. Owing to the location of the foreign barrios on the outskirts of the city, a segregation of “us versus them” may have been taking place. All public sectors of foreign contact were stringently controlled by Teotihuacan government. We are still uncertain whether the seclusion of these ethnicities was regulated by Teotihuacanos or that of the foreigners who desired to maintain some semblance of their homeland’s practices; however, there appear to be some form of syncretism taking place in foreign regions of the city.

Ceramic production aids in understanding these interactions in a more complete sense. As individuals that continued producing their own goods through the use of their homeland’s methods, the foreign populations residing at Teotihuacan may have had more freedom when it came to production than that of religious practices. Since the state sought to control domestic rituals in apartment compounds (which were private residences that shared public rituals through the practice of rituals at an altar available to all residents), the corporate groups of the apartment compounds acted as microcosm of the state-in construct, religion, and organization, to name a few. Then, the residents of the Oaxaca Barrio’s participation, or lack thereof, can be seen as a means for imbuing ethnicity as regulated by the state. However, perhaps the government had less control over craft production. As something that was produced for trade, traditional styles of materials may have been preferred in many cases (seen at the Oaxaca Barrio where the residents produced Teotihuacan style goods); however the styles produced by the Gulf Coast and Maya populations may have been aesthetically pleasing to the Teotihuacan eye, allowing for the production of goods from their homelands found at the Merchants’ Barrio. This may also be due to the differences in the foreign compounds. Individuals residing at the Merchants’ Compound lived there for presumably short periods of time; there were few families residing there and most of the residents were merchants trading goods over long-distances (Croisser 2000). The Oaxaca Barrio, however, was a separate region where families from Oaxaca lived. Since they resided there for presumably longer periods of time than that of the inhabitants of the Merchants’ Barrio, the Oaxacans may have been acknowledged as long-term residents of the city rather than accepted am members of the community. Although ethnic identities and ethnic boundaries at Teotihuacan appear exceptionally convoluted and complicated, one thing is for certain: more inquiry is needed before archaeologists can fully understand the implications of foreign enclaves at Teotihuacan.

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Appendix

1. 
   The Teotihuacan Map formulated by the TMP
   

This figure was obtained by permission per Warren Barbour from his dissertation entitled Figurines and Figurine Chronology of Ancient Teotihuacan, Mexico

This figure was obtained by permission per Warren Barbour from his dissertation entitled Figurines and Figurine Chronology of Ancient Teotihuacan, Mexico

Chapter 3
Learning Russian via Latin in the 17th Century

Kevin Roth

Classics

Being human means coming into contact with people who speak a different language and finding a way to interact with them. Today, as the European Union finds itself beset by economic problems that threaten to undo the progress toward unification of the last half century, an interesting representative of the EU’s foundational ideal can be found in a very unlikely source: the first ever grammar of the Russian language. This 1696 publication is a remarkable testament to the movement of people and ideas across borders. The short book is about Russian, is written in Latin, and was published in England by a German. The author’s decision to inform others about Russian through the medium of Latin highlights the continued importance of that language in Europe at the turn of the 18th century as a way to spread ideas and information across a continent divided by a multitude of tongues. The book not only gives evidence of the use and importance of Latin at the time, but reveals the ways in which the ancient language was adapted to meet contemporary needs (e.g. a Latin word for ‘vodka’). Latin functioned then in much the same way as English today, but it was the native language of no one and so was part of the patrimony of all members of the Republic of Letters, the cultural foundation that united the continent.
Language is an inherent part of being human, but for most of human history one did not need to travel far from home to encounter others with whom oral communication was impossible. Even today, though many languages are disappearing annually, the world is still divided into numerous mutually unintelligible communities. Bi- and multilingualism for some is the only way to obviate this difficulty, but learning another language is no easy task. For those who doubt the efficacy of sink-or-swim immersion, the best introduction into a new language is with a textbook. Analysis of one such textbook from centuries ago reveals how little both the need to communicate with others and the tools to make such communication possible have changed over time.

Though Russian has long been a widespread and fully-fledged literary language, in 1696 it was solely a spoken idiom and not at all a medium of writing. In that year Grammatica Russica, the earliest scholarly analysis of the Russian language, was published. This grammar is in itself a remarkable testament to the movement of people and ideas across borders. The short book is about Russian, is written in Latin, and was published in England by a German, who worked as a diplomat for the king of Denmark. Heinrich Wilhelm Ludolf’s decision to inform others about Russian through the medium of Latin highlights the continued importance of that language in Europe at the turn of the 18^th century as a way to spread ideas and information across a continent divided by a multitude of tongues. The work, of course, reveals a great deal about early Russian, but is an equally fruitful resource for examination of Neo-Latin, the variety of the language used and spoken in early modern times (Ijsewijn v). The book is also interesting in its own right, opening a window into the Europe of the turn of the 18^th century and presenting a surprisingly modern sight.

Early in the book there is a short passage about the differences between Slavonic and Russian (pp. 4-5). Grammars of what Ludolf called Slavonic and what modern linguists refer to as Church Slavic had been published earlier in the 17^th century, but Ludolf’s work was the first to specifically address Russian, which point he makes at length in the preface. The linguistic status quo in Russia at the time was clearly diglossia, the state in which prestige and non-prestige varieties of what is considered the same language are used in complementary distribution, the high form for writing and learned discourse, and the low form for everyday use. In 17^th century Russia Church Slavic was the high form and Russian the low. As Ludolf states in the preface to his work, “loquendum est Russice & scribendum est Slavonice” (one must speak in Russian and write in Slavonic). Ludolf knows of only a single book written in Russian, a collection of laws. He is, therefore, breaking new ground in deliberately trying to write about Russian, and specifically comments that his orthography is phonetic rather than traditional. He gives the example of the word ‘today’ which is written as segodnya сегодня in Church Slavic but pronounced as sevodni севодни in the spoken language (both phrases literally mean ‘of this day’). Modern Russian has compromised by retaining the traditional spelling, but standardizing at least part of the vernacular pronunciation as sevodnya. Ludolf actively encourages the ecclesiastical hierarchy (which had a monopoly on publishing in Russia in those days) to allow books written in the vernacular to be published. It is worth noting that Ludolf makes such an appeal through Latin, the use of which had been and was still in Ludolf’s time the most serious obstacle to the development of vernacular writing in Western Europe, and which had been promoted by the Catholic Church in exactly the same way as the Russian Orthodox Church promoted Church Slavic.

The bulk of the book’s first half consists of a section on Russian grammar (pp. 6-45), composed largely of paradigms of nouns and verbs. This is followed by a collection of sample dialogues that demonstrate the actual workings of the language (46-82). These dialogues follow in the tradition of colloquia, model conversations that had long been used to teach Latin to schoolchildren. This section is followed by a brief thematically-arranged vocabulary (83-90) consisting mostly of nouns. The dialogues feature parallel Latin and Russian versions, with a German translation at the bottom. The vocabulary section is arranged in three columns: Latin, Russian, and German. Ludolf mentions that he chose to include German in the work as well because that language was the lingua franca of the small community of western expatriates in Russia at the time. Peter the Great himself learned German and Dutch from this community. The works ends with a short appendix (91-7) written entirely in Latin that describes the country itself, specifically its minerals, vegetation, animals, and men.

Given its superlative status as the very earliest analysis of the Russian language, this work has long been well known to Slavic linguists, but I propose that it is also of great interest to classicists, since it provides unique insights into how Latin was used and spoken at the time of its composition. In the current paper I will focus on what can be learned about Latin, but I will first briefly discuss what we can learn about Russian and German. I will conclude with some comments on how the work reveals the Zeitgeist of the turn of the 18^th century, or at least the Weltanschauung of its author.

The most important insight into Russian that this book provides is that it has changed very little since 1696. Anyone with an adequate command of the contemporary language, and who is familiar with the orthographic conventions that predate the Russian Revolution, can easily understand the Russian. The work also reveals the early origin of a feature that marks Russian to this day: the use of Church Slavic to supply technical and scientific vocabulary. Just as English has long turned to Latin and Greek to supply such terms, Russian makes use of Church Slavic. For example, the Russian word for ‘milk’ is moloko молоко, but the word for ‘mammal,’ literally ‘milk-nourishing one,’ is mlekopitayushchee млекопитающее. The variation between moloko молоко and mleko млеко in the first part of the word shows the varying reflexes of so-called TorT groups in the two languages. This use of Church Slavic is exactly what Ludolf meant when he wrote that one must write in Church Slavic. Ludolf presents a lengthy list of Russian grammatical terms, and these very same terms are still used in Russian today (pp. 1-3). The terms are largely calques of Latin grammatical terms, which are themselves calques of Greek grammatical terms. As with German, Russian can make use of its own internal resources for technical vocabulary. The word ‘noun’ (which itself is derived from the Latin word nomen ‘name’) is imya имя, the Russian word for ‘name.’ In contrast, the word ‘verb’ (which is exactly the Latin word for ‘word’) is glagol глагол, which is Church Slavic, but not Russian, for ‘word.’

A cursory analysis of the German used in this grammar produces a few insights into the language of the time. All German words are written in the frustrating Gothic script that dominated German publishing until the 2^nd World War. For the most part, the German is very close to the standard Hochdeutsch of today. Spelling is somewhat archaic: there are no umlauts, nor does an e follow a vowel that would otherwise have an umlaut over it. The letter t sometimes appears as th (thun) and i as y (bey). Today’s ubiquitous 2^nd person formal pronoun Sie does not appear at all; rather the 2^nd person plural ihr is used as a translation of the Russian 2^nd person singular ty ты and Latin tu. This odd arrangement is due to the fact that, then as now, textbooks strove to display the language as actually spoken. Latin did not possess a formal 2^nd person pronoun, but German did, and the formal was more regularly used. Thus ihr was a better functional translation of Russian ty ты and Latin tu than the actual German equivalent, du. Although ihr is no longer used as a formal 2^nd person pronoun in German, having been replaced by Sie, it still retains that function in Yiddish (Weinreich 64). Russian at the time apparently did not use a formal 2^nd person pronoun. The use of vy вы in that capacity is probably a calque from French usage. As readers of Tolstoy can attest, during the 18^th century knowledge of French became universal within the Russian aristocracy. The use of vy вы as a formal 2^nd person pronoun was long a custom only among the nobility, who would use it even to address serfs, who would respond using the informal ty ты.

As regards Latin, although the book was written long after the end of Middle Ages and hence chronologically belongs to the period of Neo-Latin, the type of Latin used is quite distinctly Medieval. The dedication and preface are written in the more archaic classicizing style of Neo-Latin, but the bulk of the work makes use of Medieval Latin, as revealed by the pronunciation guide. Today Latin is pronounced according to two schemata, usually called the Classical and Ecclesiastical systems. Both are of comparatively recent date, the Classical originating from linguistic scholarship of the late 19^th century and the Ecclesiastical from the decision of the Catholic Church in the early 20^th century to promote the Italianate pronunciation as a standard. Before this, Latin was pronounced as the orthographic conventions of the various languages of Europe dictated: i.e. it was pronounced as a French word would be in France, but as a German word would be in German. In Italy Latin was pronounced as it is in Catholic contexts today. The usual English pronunciation of common Latin terms demonstrates this phenomenon: vice versa, angina, stare decisis. The words are pronounced as though they were English. Erasmus humorously commented on the resulting phonological confusion in his De recta Latini Graecique sermonis pronuntiatione dialogus, in which Latin-speakers from various European countries cannot understand each other because they all speak with their national accent. The evidence of Grammatica Russica confirms this. Ludolf describes the pronunciation of Russian letters in terms of the value of letters in various European languages (German, English, French, Italian), but never by reference to Latin values (pp 6-7). This reveals that there was no specific pronunciation of Latin, but rather various national versions.

The Latin orthography is thoroughly medieval. As usual, long vowels are not marked with macrons, but the prepositions è and à are given grave accents, although such diacritical marks do not distinguish them from any other words. There is confusion between ti and ci. The vowel e and the diphthong ae are often written as oe, revealing the merger of the phonetic value of all three in Medieval Latin. In a few instances, y is written instead of i, as was also the case in some German words. H shows up at the beginning of words where it should not be, e.g. in the word erus ‘master.’ Ludolf is in good company in utilizing these non Classical spellings, since even scholars as knowledgeable (and as concerned for promoting good Latin) as Erasmus used many of the same spellings.

One feature of Medieval Latin is that the semantically distinct pronouns of Classical Latin (hic, iste, ille, is, ipse) all become generic 3^rd person pronouns in Medieval Latin (Beeson 19). Grammatica Russica is unique in that the Latin is translated into Russian and German, thus allowing the Russian and German values, which are known and specific, to be compared against the Latin ones. Analysis confirms what is expected: the different pronouns are used synonymously (they are all translated as a form of Russian онъ ‘he’) but do not appear equally. Ipse is by far the most common 3^rd person pronoun, though in Classical Latin it was an intensive (‘he himself’), and not personal pronoun. Next most common is ille, which originally meant ‘that one.’ The least common is ‘is,’ the standard Latin 3^rd person personal pronoun. Although ipse most often is simply a personal pronoun, in a few instances it functions as an intensive pronoun ‘he himself’ or some variant, its original Latin value. Latin does not require use of a personal pronoun, but neutral-register Russian does. Ludolf’s Russian verbs always have an explicit subject, but the equivalent Latin verbs sometimes lack them.

In a few cases, one Russian word is translated as multiple Latin ones. The word ‘eat’ occurs only five times, but is translated various as edere, comedere, manducare. All three words have different outcomes in the Romance languages. The most common Classical term, edere, does not survive in any modern Romance languages (probably because several forms were nearly homophonous with forms of the verb esse ‘to be’), but with the addition of the preverb cum it becomes comedere, the etymon of Spanish and Portuguese comer. Manducare eventually becomes French manger, Italian mangiare, and Romanian a mânca. The Russian word праздник ‘holiday’ occurs once, but the parallel Latin translation lists two possibilities: festa and ferias.

Many facets of 17^th century life had not even existed in the ancient world, so new Latin words were coined as needed. It is not surprising that a book about Russian includes the word ‘vodka,’ but it does present a challenge for the one translating it into Latin. Ludolf does this with a new construction, the euphemistic aqua aromatica. The German equivalent is given as gebranntes wasser ‘burned water,’ which is the origin of the English word ‘brandy.’ It is surprising that vodka, a drink that ideally has no odor at all but if it has any smells of alcohol, is translated with the Latin word for ‘fragrant.’ It was not, however, until the late 19^th century that our current conception of vodka came into existence, as the Russian government compelled the production of the drink to be industrialized. Before this, Russian vodka smelled strongly of the grain from which it had been distilled, so much so that it was often called ‘bread wine,’ and of infused herbs and berries (Joffe 60). It is likely that the drink Ludolf experienced was, in contrast to modern vodka, actually fragrant. It is equally unsurprising that the German Ludolf mentions beer, which the Romans did not drink. He uses the Latin word cerevisia, which was borrowed into Latin from Celtic, since the Celts did brew and drink beer. This word, of course, becomes Spanish cerveza.

Although the Russian word ‘tsar’ comes from ‘Caesar,’ Classical Latin had no ready equivalent for the Russian adjective царский, usually translated into English as ‘tsarish.’ Ludolf simply creates the Latin adjective tzareus, as in tzarea maiestas, ‘his tsarish majesty.’

There was also the opposite problem: common Latin or European commodities that were rare or unknown in Russia at the time, foremost among them wine. The modern Russian word vino вино was incorporated into the language later on, but in Ludolf’s work the word appears (in the genitive case) as renskovo ренсково, ‘Rhenish,’ probably because wine from the Rhineland was the only source of the commodity in Russia at the time. Trade was, after all, dominated by German merchants, who were favored by geographical proximity over other wine producers.

In some instances an old Latin word is given a new meaning. Horologium originally referred to a sun dial, but it becomes a modern pendulum clock. A mitra was a specific type of ancient head garb, but becomes a generic term for ‘hat.’ Templum becomes ‘church.’ Orbis is used for ‘plate.’ An ocrea was originally a greave, the armor worn on the shin, but this becomes the word for ‘boot.’ The omnipresent Russian patronymic suffix -вич becomes the Greek patronymic -ides.

Many current proper names had not existed in ancient times. Ludolf Latinizes his own name as Henricus Wilhelmus Ludolfus. The Russian city of Novgorod (literally ‘new town’) becomes (in the ablative case) Novogorodio. The Russian language is obviously Russica, but French is Gallica. German is Germanica and the country is Germania. In Russian Germany is once called tsecarskuyu цесарскую, presumably a reference to the Holy Roman Empire.

In Classical Latin there was only one way to express an indirect statement: a construction in which the subject of the indirect statement changes from the nominative to accusative case and the finite verb becomes an infinitive. The equivalent of ‘I know that he saw you’ would be expressed in Classical Latin as ‘I know him to have seen you.’ This construction was still alive in Medieval Latin, but was to a large degree supplanted by the use of a conjunction (such as the word ‘that’ in English or chto что in Russian), as happened almost entirely in the Romance languages (Beeson 22). Both grammatical constructions are seen in Grammatica Russica, but the innovation predominates. There are eight instances of the accusative-infinitive construction, but fifteen of the use of a conjunction. Quod is the only conjunction used, and in all but two cases is followed by the subjunctive mood rather than the indicative. In one instance quod retains its Classical Latin value ‘because.’ None of the main clause verbs that signal the beginning of an indirect statement favor one construction over the other. Thus, the type of indirect statement used seems to depend entirely on stylistic consideration rather than semantic or syntactic demands.

Latin has for so long been largely confined to the rarefied atmosphere of the university that it is difficult to imagine it as a robust spoken idiom, but in the past it certainly was. The corpus of surviving Latin writings consists almost entirely of literary, scholarly, or other careful crafted documents, and so there is little evidence of Latin as a spoken language. The Russian-Latin sample conversations are quite unique in revealing a little seen Latin, that of everyday tasks and mundane activities. Ludolf meant to teach Russian, but we note the Latin for ‘set the table’ (sterne mensam) and ‘please sit’ (sedeas quaeso) Phrases like these are essentially for a conversation command of a language, but they occur exceedingly rarely in Latin literature, whether Medieval or Classical.

From the modern perspective, the dialogues are often quite humorous, sometimes because the same conversation could easily take place today, sometimes because the subject matter seems quintessentially Russian. Such is the case with an extended exchange between a Russian host and his apparently German guest. The former offers the latter a drink (50, 51-2):

Libetne tibi cyanthus aquae aromaticae? (Do you want a glass of vodka?)

Aqua aromatic non utor. Cerevisia, alius potus mihi non arridet (I don’t drink vodka. I don’t care for drinks other than beer.)

Puer infunde cerevisiam sed munda antea poculum, cyanthum. (Boy, pour a glass of beer, but clean the glass beforehand.)

Quomodo tibi placet nostra cerevsia? (How do you like our beer?)

Bene, sed fortis est, timeo ne inebrier. (It’s good, but it’s strong. I fear I’ll get drunk.)

Noli timere. Adhuc neminem ebrium reddidi, videtur mihi, quod cerevisia nostra valde tenuis sit. (Don’t fear. I’ve never gotten anyone drunk before, it seems to me, because our beer is very thin.)

The guest then asks for a piece of meat (52):

Quaeso seces mihi parum de illo ansere, anate, gallina. (Please cut me off a little of the goose / duck / chicken.)

Alamne pedem? (Do you want a wing or a leg?)

Perinde mihi est. (It doesn’t matter.)

Another conversation takes place between a master and his servant (57-9):

Expergefac me cras hora quarta & aquam mundam affer, hodie oblitus es. (Wake me up tomorrow at 4:00 and bring clean water. Today you forgot.)

Miseras me foras, non possum dua negotia simul facere. (You had sent me out. I can’t do two things at once.)

Si moras ne nexisses rediisses antequam ego surrexi. (If you had not delayed, you would have returned before I woke up.)

Cucurri instar canis rabidi. (I ran like a mad dog.)

Hoc scio, te instar stulti semper respondere. (I know that you always respond like a fool.)

Praestat ineptire quam fuarari. (Better to be foolish than to steal.)

Saepe stulti quoque furantur, & quamquam tu non furatus es, tamen res meas non custodis. (Fools often steal too, and although you didn’t steal, nonetheless you don’t take care of my things.)

Alium servum conducere potes. (You can hire another servant.)

Such quick and ready responses to reproach are reminiscent of the servus callidus or ‘crafty slave,’ a stock figure of Roman comedy (Conte 53). Another conversation involves two friends, one of whom is about to go on a trip abroad, and who had already been to France (60-1):

Dicunt pulchras foeminas in Gallia esse. (They say that there are beautiful women in France.)

Non conversatus sum cum illis, pulchrae non me aspexerunt & non concupivi notitiam contrahere cum deformibus. (I didn’t spend any time with them. Beautiful women didn’t look at me and I didn’t want to get noticed with ugly ones.)

Despite the modern notion that almost no one ever travelled anywhere in the past (due to the expense and difficulty), even in some medieval colloquia discussions of past or future travels occupy a key place among the sample dialogues (Gwara 4).

Another exchange reveals that at least one detail about Russia had already penetrated the western consciousness (62):

Libentiusne hyeme vel aestate peregrinaris? (Would you rather travel in the winter or summer?)

In Russian hyeme praestat. (In Russia it is better in the winter.)

Dicunt ibi immane frigus esse. (They say that it is very cold there.)

Here is a nice human touch (62-3):

In seram noctem heri conversationem protaxeram cum amicis nonnullis quos invitaveram, ideoque, ultra statum tempus dormivi. (I dragged out a conversation into the late night with some friends whom I had invited, and so I slept late.)

Quotiescunque ego convivio interfui, postero die surgere non possum. (Whenever I have been to a party, I cannot get up the next day.)

The sympathetic commentary is soon replaced by moralizing (63):

Qui crebro convivantur, faciliter in penuriam & paupertatem incidunt. (Those who often party fall easily into poverty.)

Elige socios qui non propensi sunt ad potum, vel ad otium. (Choose companions who are not inclined to drink or to leisure.)

One exchange involves the conventional medical advice of the time, and a surprisingly modern view of that advice (66).

Podagra soepe laboro. (I often suffer from gout.)

Consuluit mihi medicus sanguinem extrahere vere. (A doctor advised me to have myself bled in the spring.)

Quantum ego existimo, illud debilitate aegrotum. (As far as I know, that weakens a sick man.)

The longest thematic division within the model dialogues is for a subject that one would not expect to find in a modern phrasebook: religion. Given the centrality of faith at the time, it is perhaps not surprising that the dialogue on religion takes up about half of the entire chapter, but the modern sentiments expressed are quite surprising. The conversation takes the form of an extended exchange about the importance of religious toleration. Typical statements include:

Quando virum probum invenio, ipsum amo & honoro, quamquam ille alii religioni sit addictus & quando video hominem nauci, ipsum contemno, etiamsi ille cognatus meus fuerit. (When I find a good man, I love and honor him, even if he is devoted to another religion, and when I see a worthless man, I condemn him, even if he should be a relative of mine.) (69-70)

Stultitia est irasci homini, quoniam eodem modo non est educatus, ac nos. Succensere homini quod cogitationes eius non convenient cum meis, perinde est, ac si indignari vellem, quod vultus eius differ à meo. (It’s foolish to get mad at a man because he was not raised the same way as us. To get mad at a man because his thoughts do not agree with mine is the same as if I wished to take offense because his face differs from mine.) (70)

Ludolf’s ecumenical attitude is easy to understand in light of his background. He was born (1655) less than a decade after the end of the Thirty Years’ War (1618-48), the last of Europe’s wars of religion, which had ravaged Germany and killed off a third of its population. A Protestant, he later found himself in Orthodox Russia, where he evidently was well-received, despite his denomination. He had good reason to hope that his coreligionists could put aside their theological differences and live in peace. There was, however, a limit to his empathy: it extended only to Christians. As Ludolf writes (79-80),

Concedat Deus nobis omnibus spiritum pacis & veritatis, sanctificantem & illuminantem nos, ut discernamus, quomodo omnes very Christiani membra sint unius corporis, cujus caput est Jesus Chrustus. (May God grant to all of us the spirit of peace and truth, sanctifying and enlightening us, so that we might realize how all true Christians are members of one body, whose head is Jesus Christ.)

Ludolf’s opinions were advanced for his own day, but there were limits to his acceptance of others. He does not specifically mention non-Christians, but it seems that belief in Christ was his threshold for toleration. Nevertheless, Ludolf’s beliefs foreshadow the Enlightenment of the following century.

REFERENCES

Beeson, Charles

1925 A Primer of Medieval Latin. Chicago, New York: Scott, Foresman and Company.

Conte, Gian Biago

1994 Latin Literature: A History. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Gwara, Scott

1996 Latin Colloquies from Pre-Conquest Britain. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of

Medieval Studies.

Ioffe, Julia

Ijsewijn, Jozef

Ludolf, Heinrich Wilhelm

Weinreich, Uriel

Chapter 4

Britta Spaulding