Meta Description: Join Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe in Ad Navseam Episode 70 for the “Septuagesimal” spectacular. From the missing nose of Lord Elgin to the crying Turkish official on the Acropolis, explore the scandalous history of the Parthenon Marbles. Plus, a Maroon 5 Latin translation and the debate over whether the British Museum should return the goods.
Introduction: The Septuagesimal Celebration
Welcome back to the “Vomitorium,” listeners! It is Episode 70 of the Ad Navseam Podcast. Your hosts, Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe, are celebrating their “Septuagesimal” episode—a fancy Latinate way of saying they have somehow managed to record seventy of these things without being cancelled or running out of coffee. It seems like just yesterday they were recording Episode 1, but here they are, two years later, ready to tackle one of the most controversial topics in the history of archaeology and art: The Elgin Marbles (or, if you prefer, the Parthenon Sculptures). This is a story of ambition, disease, debt, and a very big boat sinking in the Mediterranean. It is a tale that asks the hard question: Is it preservation, or is it theft?
Shout-Out: Sugar in Latin
Before we climb the Acropolis, we have a shout-out to a former student who proves that the Latin language can be applied to anything—even pop music. This week’s honoree is Elli Huizinga, a former student of Dr. Winkle’s who is now making waves in the world of residential architecture. Elie remembers a specific day in Latin class when Dr. Winkle decided to translate Maroon 5’s “Sugar” into Latin to keep the students engaged. The translation for “Sugar”? Saccarum. Dr. Winkle admits to singing the translated chorus in class, a memory that Elie cherishes (or perhaps endures). To Elli, shaping the lives of people through architecture just as the ancients did: Macte virtute!
The Opening Quote: The Mona Lisa Analogy
Dr. Winkle sets the stage with a blistering quote from the late Christopher Hitchens, taken from his Vanity Fair article “Acropolis Now.” Hitchens was a staunch advocate for returning the marbles to Greece.
He posits a hypothetical:
“If the Mona Lisa had been sawed in two… and the separated halves had been acquired by different museums in, say, St. Petersburg and Lisbon, would there not be a general wish to see what they might look like if reunited?”
He points out the grotesque reality of the current situation: the body of the goddess Iris is in London, while her head is in Athens. The front of Poseidon’s torso is in the UK, while his rear end remains in Greece. It is a powerful argument for aesthetic unity, even if Dr. Winkle argues that the Mona Lisa (an Italian painting) doesn’t carry the same weight of “Western Heritage” as the Parthenon.
Who Was Lord Elgin?
Thomas Bruce, the 7th Earl of Elgin and 11th Earl of Kincardine, was a man burdened by a heavy lineage (tracing back to Robert the Bruce) but not necessarily burdened by heavy wealth. Dr. Winkle describes the Elgin family coat of arms, which features two men wearing what look like “ivy-wreathed diapers” or “boxer briefs” and holding Heraclean clubs. The family motto is Fuimus—”We have been.” Dr. Noe suggests alternate translations like “We have arrived” or even the MC Hammer-esque “Can’t Touch This.” It is a motto that suggests past glory, which is fitting for a man whose life was about to take a tragic turn.
The Mission: Elgin was appointed ambassador to the Ottoman Empire (Constantinople) in 1799. He married the wealthy heiress Mary Nisbet, a 21-year-old who threw herself into the role of ambassadress, reading Plato and Aristotle to prepare for the journey . Elgin’s original plan wasn’t to steal the statues. He wanted to hire draftsmen and molders to create drawings and plaster casts of the Greek antiquities to bring back to decorate his home, Broomhall.
The Turn: From Casting to Taking
So, how did it go from “making copies” to “sawing off statues”? When Elgin arrived in Athens and saw the Parthenon, he was blown away. He fell in love with the building. At the same time, he saw the local Turkish occupiers (and, in his view, the local Greeks) treating the ruins with indifference. He obtained a Firman (a legal decree) from the Turkish authorities. The original document is lost, but Elgin claimed it gave him permission not just to draw, but to take away any pieces of stone with inscriptions or figures. He interpreted this very liberally.
The Smoking Gun:
In a letter, Elgin wrote:
“The Greeks of today do not deserve such wonderful works of antiquity… Indeed, it is my divine calling to preserve these treasures unto all ages.” This reveals his mindset: he viewed himself not as a thief, but as a savior rescuing art from unworthy barbarians.
The Removal: The Crying Turk and The Curse of Minerva
The process of removing the sculptures was brutal. Dr. Noe reads an eyewitness account from Edward Daniel Clarke, a rival antiquarian. Clarke describes workmen using ropes and pulleys to lower a Metope (a square relief sculpture) from the Parthenon. As they lowered it, a piece of the adjoining masonry shattered and crashed down with a “thunderous noise.” The Turkish official overseeing the work, the Dizdar, was so moved that he took his pipe out of his mouth, shed a tear, and shouted “Telos!” (“The End!” or “Enough!”). It is a heartbreaking image: even the occupier wept at the destruction of the temple, while the “civilized” British ambassador ordered it torn apart.
Byron’s Fury:
Elgin didn’t just face criticism from locals; he was savaged by his own countryman, Lord Byron. Dr. Noe reads from Byron’s poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, where the poet shames Scotland (“Blush, Caledonia!”) for producing such a son. Byron writes:
“Cold is the heart, fair Greece, that looks on thee / Nor feels as lovers o’er the dust they loved.” He calls Elgin a “dull spoiler” and laments that British hands defaced what even “tyrants left to stand.” It is a scathing indictment from the most famous celebrity of the age.
The Tragedy of Elgin’s Life
If you think Elgin got away with it and lived happily ever after, think again. His life after the marbles was a nightmare.
- The Nose: While in Constantinople, Elgin contracted a severe plague (or perhaps syphilis, as rumors suggested) that literally ate away his nose. He spent the rest of his life disfigured.
- The Prison: On his way home through France, he was caught up in the Napoleonic Wars and placed under house arrest for three years. He couldn’t see his marbles or his wife.
- The Debt: He spent roughly £75,000 (about $8 million today) of his own and borrowed money to transport the marbles. One ship even sank, forcing him to pay divers to recover the stones.
- The Divorce: While he was imprisoned, his wife Mary had an affair with a younger man. Elgin returned to a scandal, a divorce, and financial ruin.
Ultimately, desperate for cash, he sold the marbles to the British government for £35,000—less than half of what he spent. He died penniless. It is a classic Greek tragedy of hubris.
The Controversy: To Return or Not to Return?
The marbles now sit in the British Museum, in a room built specifically for them.
Dr. Noe and Dr. Winkle debate the arguments for keeping them:
- Slippery Slope: If we return these, every museum in the world will be emptied. (Hitchens argues the Parthenon is unique).
- Accessibility: More people visit London than Athens. (A weak argument, but true).
- Safety: The Greeks have nowhere to put them.
The New Acropolis Museum: This third argument was demolished in 2009 with the opening of the New Acropolis Museum. Dr. Winkle describes this museum as a marvel. It sits on stilts over archaeological excavations. You ascend a glass ramp that mimics the Dromos (the ancient path up the Acropolis). The top floor is a glass box rotated to match the orientation of the Parthenon, with the frieze laid out exactly as it was in antiquity. Crucially, there are empty spaces left for the missing marbles, waiting for their return like missing teeth in a smile.
The Verdict: Dr. Winkle admits that reading Theodore Vrettos’s The Elgin Affair made him more sympathetic to Elgin as a man—he was a good diplomat who suffered greatly—but he still lands on the side of repatriation. “If I could snap my fingers,” he says, “they would be back in the museum in Athens.” They belong together, under the Greek sun, as a complete work of art.
Sponsors: Fuel for Your Antiquarian Interests
This deep dive into history is supported by:
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- The Moss Method: Want to read what Plato wrote while strolling the Acropolis? Dr. Noe’s self-paced course takes you from “Neophyte to Erudite.”
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- Ratio Coffee: If Phidias were alive, he would drink from a Ratio 8. It is a machine of sculptural beauty.
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The Gustatory Parting Shot
We end with a quote from Vladimir Nabokov (author of The Real Life of Sebastian Knight). It captures the strange, impersonal nature of eating, whether in a dining room or a vomitorium:
“The dining room was curiously impersonal, like all places where people eat. Perhaps because food is our chief link with the common chaos of matter rolling about us.”
A bit heavy? Perhaps. But fitting for a story about heavy stones rolling across the ocean.
Valete! (And watch out for falling Metopes).
Resources for the Latin Learner:The Moss Method: Inspired by the tragic history of Athens? Learn to read the ancient historians yourself at latinperdiem.com.
