You’re Hired!
These competitions don’t judge themselves. Or at least, if they do, no-one has told us how that process works. For our latest contest, where you had to pose as a figure from the Greco-Roman world applying for a job in our present day, we decided to go back to basics: rather than trust our infallible human powers of arbitration, we headed to the professionals. So for some full-frontal omphaloscopy, or concerted navel-gazing, we tootled to Delphi, where we consulted Apollo’s Oracle in the Great Temple; or rather, we left her a polite query about who should win and headed to the taverna across the road for a lunch that soon got out of hand.
By the time we had returned the priestess had clocked off for the day (where does she go though?), so we had no choice but to head out for dinner. That was a long, eventful night, too, but the next morning we made sure to be up at the crack of lunch. After a suitably solid repast, we staggered over to find the High Priestess inhaling the Holy Fumes of Prophecy; her eyes glowed red almost as brightly as ours. Aware that we didn’t seem too well-dressed for so august an audience, we tried to lighten the mood: “Righty-ho, Pytho: what horse are you backing in this dogfight? Who comes out pithier than the Pythia? Do tell your pal Tigs!” The priestess offered a withering stare, took another fume hit, and gave us her hideous vape gape, before uttering something so utterly unprintable that we knew there was no coming back from the moment. So we left the country without even attempting an Apollogy.
To the Sibyl at Cumae, then. There we promptly had an answer written in scrawling Greek hexameters on oak leaves. But before we could make head or tail of this cursive-under-the-influence, they blew away. The Sibyl pocketed the fee anyway, and wouldn’t let us have “unlock” another prophecy until we coughed up again. We each heartily coughed up only to realise too late that this was merely a figure of speech. The Sibyl promptly asked us to leave, instructing us never to come back. So off we trudged, muttering ἀποθανεῖν θέλομεν (“We want to die”) as the first words that came to mind.
Next we tried an Etruscan haruspex at Piacenza. Messy business, sacrificing a sheep, then trying to read its liver with the help of a bronze Etruscan “liver map”. This should have given us a clear answer, except for the fact that none of us can read Etruscan (can anyone??). And by the time we’d figured out how to get our answer we’d run out of sheep, as had the entire region of Piacenza.
From Piacenza to Rome, where we could take the auspices with an augur. The pigeons appeared to take our dear augur as a statue of someone important, so this turned out to be our messiest attempt yet at finding a winner. Who visits Rome with an umbrella?! We were compelled to flee for shelter before the pigeons had finished expressing themselves, and by that point we had no further interest in indulging their forthright ruminations. According to our by-no-means-cheap augur this was a sign of “good luck”; frankly, we would rather be showered with bad luck, so long as that is no avian product.
After a brief dip in the Tiber, we hot-footed it to the celebrated library in the Temple of Apollo Palatinus. For here they have the ultimate cheat-sheet for fortune-seekers: the Sibylline books. Yet the cost of consulting them is prohibitively priced – they’re just another one of the Cumaean Sibyl’s eye-wateringly expensive scams. Luckily, though, the security guard who had been entrusted with their protection needed a ‘comfort break’, so we were able to consult them for free. We rapidly flicked through, from front to back, and back to front: it was just page after page of psychedelic stream-of-conscience Greek hexameters, in no obvious order, and with nothing that could be called an index. Although completely baffled, we nodded sagely as the other library-users snootily looked on, but we could see from glances at each others that we were absolutely clueless about how these nonsensical fortune-cracker longs-and-shorts could ever help us. Off we shuffled out into the unforgiving open air, bleary-eyed and confused.
Just how could we arrive at the winner? We’ had little luck with Greek hexameter verse (Sibylline verses, Cumaean Sibyl), less luck with reading Etruscan sheep livers, the least luck of all with Roman pigeon-flight, and nothing more than a severe headache to show from Delphi. Well, there was only one option left: to head home and take the Sortes Vergilianae – by randomly selecting a random line from a random book of the great bard’s Aeneid. Unfortunately, the volume we happened to chance upon was A.S. Pease’s commentary on Book IV, so our random opening turned up nothing other than two straight pages of largely irrelevant footnotes that demonstrated only the commentator’s industrious learning and industrial patience.
At this point I was so exhausted by our mission that I told the other judges to go on without me, and I gave them leave to make the decision off their own bat. And so it was that Minos, Rhadamanthus and Aeacus convened to reach their incontrovertibly just decision: the following morning they delivered to me the following quartet of victors, along with a dozen highly-commended runners-up (which we share with you here). The lads did us proud.
So, without further ado (phew!), here is our winner, who scoops up a cool £500, for this exceptionally clever job application, in which Julius Caesar tries to write in the Latin style that would appeal to Donald Trump, should the latter want a running mate who knows his way around the world, political and actual. It really is a cracking piece, to which we append our own rough-and-ready translation.
FIRST PRIZE
C. Julius Caesar Donaldo Ioanni Tubae, Salve,
intellego te principem esse creandum ‘Civitatum Americae Iunctarum’ vicarioque tibi opus esse (in lingua tua blanda, credo, ‘socio currenti’?).
itaque ‘de me’ (ut dicas). gravissimum curriculum vitae habeo, victor sum. Italicus-Americanus gente (valde Italicus, revera). ‘factionis lusor’. in antiquitate duobus cum viris laborabam, nomine Crasso Pompeioque. Crassus erat maximus argentarius sed nimium aurum, cum Parthiis (in Perside alicubi – ultra Europam) agens, consumpsit. triste. alter homo, Pompeius, (si libere loquor, Donalde – tene appellem, ‘Donalde’?) mihi exauctorandus erat ( ‘incendendus’, integre loquor?). scis quomodo id sit. triste.
quoquo modo, tu et ego, communia multa magnopere habemus. oportebat antea me ‘vectem’ de pecuniis meis, ad ‘iter faciendum’, adhibere. multum mutuari ineunte ab aetate debebam. tum res erant paulum ‘scopulosae’. secundae res mihi factae sunt quando honorem adeptus sum, pontifex maximus fieri – potesne illud credere? ego flamen! verum! intellego te eundem sacris et sanctis, ut proposita tua promoveas, uti. te quondam (procul, subsidio machinae spectans) iactantem librum sacrum consulem vidi. te turbam ad rixam in Capitolio excitavisse dixerunt – num illud credis?! deridiculum!
etiam optime scio quemadmodum murus aedificandus sit (barbari erogabunt); optimam experientiam in Gallia nactus sum (vide infra).
par tibi, formosam puellam magni aestimo. olim Cleopatram, reginam Aegypti, tenebam – credisne illud? verum. decorissima. pulcherrima. gravida fiebat. fit!
insimulaverunt me evertere rem publicam et civitatis formam Romae conatum esse. num eos id dixisse credere potes? verum….verum. dixerunt me regem fieri velle. verum est me pro populo depugnavisse – sicut te, o Donalde. Optimatibus hoc non placuit. in dubium vocabam quomodo populi nummos insumpsissent. me esse ‘plebicolam’, diademae cupidum dixerunt. non verum. fictus nuntius!
ut tu vis et ego volo: utinam Americani iterum sint optimi. magnum imperium. in Gallia imperium feci. hic una id facere possumus: ‘ita vero possumus!’
ut tu, Britanniam amo – Brittanos ‘superare’ non potes (aut potius possum! et feci!). illuc transibam. multas res, annis LV et LIV ante Christum, statui.
sed etiam habilis secundus sum qui auxilio tibi sim (cunctas res odiosas facere possim – taedet!).
praeter libros de vita mea scriptos, Bellum Gallicum, Bellum Civile (tanti libros! tot exscriptos, non tibi dicam! verum!) – nonne eos legisti? – grammatices quoque magnum librum scripsi (perditum -‘extra imprimendum’. triste). hoc dico quia, peritus, magnas voces publicas tibi scribere possim: sum vir qui ‘veni, vidi, vici’ finxit. res optimae. nonne est verum? vivat factio Rei Publicae! vivat rex Donaldus! certo nihil mali, te principe, eveniet sed bono animo esto! si requisitus (solum una cordis palpitatione absim, vicarius), paratus sim! paratus sum!
postremo, ad rationem cogentem advenio. te pecunia non corrumpam – scilicet ultra ambitum es! vir honestus. castus. integer. audivi autem te de suffragio ferendo, proximo tempore, questum esse. verum! ego nunc eventum comitiorum praestabo. multas legiones fideles ad me ipsum, duros milites, nonnullos nimirum sicarios, habeo, Donalde. et tu, Donalde?
da mihi honorem, quaeso. vale, Caesar!
Roy Calcutt, England
Gaius Julius Caesar sends greetings to Donald John Trump(et)
I know that you will be appointed President of the “United States of America” and you need a deputy (in your own charming language, I believe: a “running mate”?).
So, about me (as you’d say). I have the most impressive C.V., I’m a winner. I’m ethnically Italian-American (fully Italian, in fact). A “team player”. In ancient history I worked with two guys named Crassus and Pompey. Crassus was a great banker but consumed too much gold dealing with the Parthians (in Persia somewhere – outside Europe). Sad. Another guy, Pompey (if I can speak freely, Donald – may I call you, Donald?) I had to sack him (“had to be set on fire”, if I’ve got that right?). You know how it is. Sad.
Anyway, you and I have many things very much in common. I previously had to ‘apply a little leverage’ on my money ‘to make my way in life’. I had to borrow a lot when I was young. Then things were a little “rocky”. Things got better for me when I acquired a position, being made Pontifex Maximus – can you believe it? Me, a priest? True! I know that you likewise use religious and holy affairs to advance your plans. I once saw you (far away, watching with the help of a machine) brandishing a holy book when consul. They have said that you aroused a crowd to riot on the Capitol(ine) – surely you don’t believe that?! Ridiculous!
I also know how a wall should be built (the barbarians will pay for it); I have had excellent experience in France (see below).
Just like you, I value a beautiful woman highly. I once had Cleopatra, the queen of Egypt – can you believe that? True. Gorgeous. Stunning. She became pregnant. It happens!
People pretended that I tried to overthrow the republic and the order of the Roman state. Can you believe they said that? It’s true… true. They said that I wanted to become king. It’s true that I fought for the people – just like you, Donald. This didn’t please the Optimates. I questioned how they had spent the people’s money. They said I was a “populist” hungry for a crown. Not true. Fake news!
I want what you want: if only Americans could be great again. Major empire. I made an empire in Gaul. We can do it together here: “Yes we can!”
Like you, I love Britain – you can’t beat the Britons (or rather I can! And did!). I went over there. And I set up a load of stuff in 55 and 54 BC.
But I am a skilful deputy who would be helpful to you (I could do all the horrible stuff – boring!).
Other than the books written by me about my life – Gallic War, Civil War (Such great books! So many copied out, I couldn’t tell you! True!) – surely you’ve read them? – I also wrote a great book on grammar (lost, “out of print”. Sad.). I say this because I could, as an expert, write many public soundbites for you: I’m the guy who came up with “I came, I saw, I conquered”. Brilliant stuff. Isn’t that true? Long live the Republican Party! Long live King Donald! Certainly nothing bad will happen with you as President, but cheer up! If required (I would only be a heartbeat away, as Vice President) I’d be ready! I am ready!
Finally, I come to the clinching reason. I would not corrupt you with money – naturally you are beyond bribery. An honest man. Pure. With integrity. I heard, however, that you complained about the voting last time. True! I will now be in charge of the election. I have many legions that are faithful to me alone, tough soldiers, and doubtless some of them are assassins, Donald. And you, Donald?
Please, give me the honour: hail, Caesar!
Our second-prize winner was no less invested in our present moment, writing to the Board of what has historically been one of the most prestigious institutions of higher education in America, Harvard University. And the letter comes from a man who does not mess about: Periander, tyrant of Corinth for some 40 years in the late 7th and early 6th centuries BC. He is a man of robust opinions, you can be sure, and won’t take No for an answer. So we’re very happy to send 20 Classics books to the man behind the creation of this most worthy silver-medal winner!
SECOND PRIZE
To the Harvard Corporation,
I have taken no heed of the language in the public advertisement inviting me to “apply” for the position of President; let there be no such vulgar fictions among friends. I shall speak candidly: your institution is in crisis, beset by enemies within and without. Your student-citizens run wild and unchecked. The vacuous tongue and deceitful pen of your former president have humiliated your university before the mighty rulers of your Congress. The winds carried your crying and wailing even to Corinth, and I am here to offer sage counsel not to be rejected. Stop sniveling! And appoint as the new president of Harvard University me, Periander, “Tyrant” of Corinth (I understand the word has rather sundry connotations in your barbaric tongue, even the pronunciation a mutilation of our mellifluous τύραννος, but it, as you, shall serve).
I understand that the recent events in the Levant, for which I care nothing, have led to a minor uprising on your stronghold in Cambridge. The first order of business is quelling it. You shall bring me the ringleaders of this insurrection, any campus informants—I believe you call them “journalists”—the student body president, and, if you have any aspiring scholars of Rhodes, bring them to me as well. We shall mount their disembodied heads somewhere accessible; I believe you have an office of student accessibility for this purpose. We shall then use the decaying remains to turn your yellowed tennis lawns into a verdant expanse of butterfly gardens. In my experience clever, inquisitive, fiercely rebellious young people make the best fertilizer.
I have experience running a successful state for over 30 years. I inherited a city that was stuck in place, thanks to old Sisyphus, and I made it prosper. My accomplishments include stocking the sacred treasury, which I shall do for your god, Endowment; furthering trade with Egypt, which gave me ample experience with ghastly, desiccated mummies that will be helpful when dealing with your Congress; and the development of wise and pithy sayings like “effort is all” and “give all your gold and jewelry to Periander or burn on the pyre.” (My ex-wife loved that one!)
My policies as president shall center around the student experience, specifically the experience of unquestioning obedience. Your curriculum will be replaced by mathematics, once it’s purged of all those disorderly irrational numbers, the fine arts, including painting Periander, sculpting Periander, and composing music in praise of Periander, and practical skills, such as ditch-digging, landscaping, and lepidopterology.
You may find me already in your president’s office. Your security forces have surrendered their batons and walkie-talkies to me. You are free, of course, to swear fealty or not. I may be a “tyrant,” but the choice is yours. However, if you are determined to oppose me, I recommend that you be careful on the stairs—I hear they can be a bit dangerous.
Just ask my ex-wife.
Your forever president,
Periander, Tyrant of Corinth
NOTE: The letter was accompanied by a white poppy, carefully pressed into a gold-embossed piece of parchment, and an onyx dagger, sharp to the touch, from which a dark, fetid liquid drips.
Jake Rohde, USA
In bronze position, and neatly completing the trio of viable languages, is this brilliant composition in Greek: it is addressed to that most esteemed of online publications, Antigone Journal, and seeks to help us with the thorny business of Public Relations – not all of the public have proved relatable! Well, there is no better woman to take the helm on this score than the Queen of Myceneae, and self-styled ‘Queen of PR’, Clytemnestra. To the ingenious author, whose translation we add beneath, we are delighted to award 15 Classics books. (And, much to our amazement, we since learn that the author only started learning Greek in summer!)
THIRD PRIZE
Κλυταιμνήστρα
womanscorned@γμαιλ.κομ
Τάρταρος, OX1 11H
Ἐφημερὶς Ἀντιγόνη, Εὐδόκιμε Σύνοδε,
θέλω ἔργον τι γεμίζειν χρόνον μου. Oὐδὲν γίγνεται ἐν Ἄιδῃ. Προσδεδεγμένη τὴν παρουσίαν Ο.Τζ. Σίμψου, ὡς ἔχω ἐρωτήματα λογιστικὰ πρὸς αὐτόν. Μέχρι τούτου τοῦ χρόνου, ἐπισκοπήσω Ἴλιον μετὰ Βρὰδ Πίττου (χύββα χύββα) καὶ Oἰχομένην Κόρην. Πάντως, φιλῶ τὴν ἐφημερίδα Αντιγόνης. Νομίζω δεῖ σέ με ἐργάζεσθαι ὑπέρ σου. Ὡς ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ, ἂν εἴην τιμία σοὶ ὡς βασίλεια τοῦ “Π.Ρ.”
Χρῄζεις ἄνθρωπόν τινα μάχεσθαι κλέος κακόν, καὶ ὁ ἄριστος τρόπος μάχεσθαι τοῦτό ἐστιν ἀποκτείνειν τοὺς ἀνθρώπους κακῶς λέγοντας. εὖ δὴ ὀργισμένη εἰμι τούτῳ. Προηγούμενα ἔργα περιέχει· φόνον, ἀπάτην, τιμωρίαν. Καὶ δὴ καί, ὁμιλῶ μετὰ σποδοῦ καὶ τούτων τῶν ἡμερῶν εἰμι πλήρης ἐπιθυμίας αἵματος. Κἀγὼ ἔχω πολὺν χρόνον ἐπὶ ταῖς χερσίν, ὡς κάμνουσα τῷ βλέπειν τὸ πρόσωπον τοῦ φάσματος ποσίου ἐμοῦ. Οὐδέποτε ἦν πολὺ καλός, ἀνόμοιος τῷ Βράδ.
Ἐὰν χρείαν ἔχῃς βασιλείας τοῦ Π.Ρ., φροντίζετέ με. Πάντως, καλή εἰμι μετὰ ξίφου (γιάδα γιάδα)… ἆρα εἶπόν ποτε τιμωρίαν; Ἴσως πείρασον μνημονεύειν τούτου. Οὐ φιλῶ ὅτε ἄλλαι γυναῖκες ἐκλέγονται πρὸ ἐμοῦ. Δυνατόν ἐστιν ἐξικνεῖσθαί με μεθ᾽ ἑνὸς Οὗτξι βόρδ. Χάριν σοὶ ὑπὲρ τῆς εὐγνωμοσύνης.
Μετὰ εὐνοίας,
Κλυταιμνήστρα
Carter Cooper, USA
Clytemnestra
womanscorned@gmail.com
Tartarus, OX1 11H
Honored Assembly, Antigone Journal,
I want a job to fill my time. Nothing happens in Hades. I have been awaiting the arrival of O.J. Simpson, as I have some logistical questions for him. Until that time, I will watch Troy with Brad Pitt (hubba hubba!) and Gone Girl. Anyway, I love Antigone Journal. I think that you must allow me to work for you. It seems to me that I would be valuable to you as Queen of P.R.
You need some person to fight evil repute, and the best way to fight this is to kill any slandering people. I am well-suited to this. Previous work includes: murder, deceit, and revenge.
Moreover, I converse with ashes, and these days I am full of bloodlust. I also have a lot of time on my hands, as I am tiring of looking at the face of my husband’s shade. He was never very handsome, unlike Brad.
If you have need of a Queen of P.R., think of me. At any rate, I am good with a sword, also, did I mention the revenge? Maybe try to remember that. I do not love when other women are chosen over me.
It is possible to reach me with a Ouija Board. Thank you for your consideration.
With kindness and goodwill,
Clytemnestra
Finally, among our crop of prize-winners, comes this ingenious take on how to win a Christmas job at one of the world’s most chaotic shopping malls: be a poet, write with all the wit and charm of your own verse, point to the skills that your own corpus can demonstrate, and write in your very favourite metre, the eleven-syllabled Phalaecian hendecasyllable. In short, be Catullus at his most delightful and inventive! A brilliant effort, and we are thrilled to turn up ten Classics books for its ingenious author!
FOURTH PRIZE
To the Manager at the Bluewater store,
John Lewis and Partners, Catullus submits,
His job application, newly polished,
For the role of Sales Assistant (Christmas temp).
Why apply, you might perhaps be asking me?
Catullus’ bank account is full of cobwebs,
He heard retail promises easy money,
Not only does he hope there might be a pretty girl,
But his father knows the chief executive.
To your customers, Catullus will bring wit
And wine Christmas cheer so the store rings with laughter,
When he jokes about a poor patron’s accent,
If they say EN-VUH-lope, not ON-vuh-lope.
Catullus excels in communication,
In hendecasyllables or elegiac couplets,
Whichever pleases clients at the till.
Confident with numbers without any doubt,
Especially when he is counting kisses,
With a sweet girl in your stock room’s warm embrace.
Unlike Callimachus’ jealous Telchines,
Catullus’ references, Gaius Memmius
And Cornelius Nepos do not grumble,
Even when contacted in the afterlife.
Doubtless once you have read my application,
Head Office will transform this mere petition,
Into the soundtrack of your department store,
Being the first to weave a CV in this verse.
Postscript
If he is unsuccessful, Catullus warns,
You will find your gob stuffed with his urbane words.
Georgina Durant, England
But, oh oh oh, dear reader, our runners-up are so clever too, and in order to give the best of them their due, we have gathered them in a separate collection here. You will love it, we promise!