dual personalities

Recently, when reading about that most famous ancient temple, the Parthenon, I came across an interesting tidbit. As you know, the Parthenon was the brainchild of Pericles, the great statesman who made Athens into an empire in the mid-fifth century BC. At the time, the city was the intellectual and cultural center of the world.

The acropolis today

Inside the temple’s inner sanctum stood a colossal statue of Athena covered in gold and ivory. Only small ancient knock-offs have survived but you can get an idea of the size and splendor from these photos of the reproduction in the Nashville Parthenon:

The statue was huge and very, very impressive, though of course only the most important priests and statesmen would have been allowed to enter the temple and see it. Eventually, Athens lost its power and wealth to become  just another city in the vast Roman Empire. Even then the temple drew tourists, and one of them — I’m afraid I can’t remember who it was — managed to see the statue, only to observe with disgust that it was infested with mice. Yes, mice had burrowed under the gold and ivory and colonized the wooden core. If that didn’t ruin the numinous effect, I don’t know what would. How could anyone worship a goddess full of squeaking rodents?

Then again, mice invasions of holy places are not exactly unheard of in modern times, though we tend to find the idea appealing and even natural. For example, read John Betjeman’s Diary of a Church Mouse, from about 1975. Similarly, English author Graham Oakley has produced a beloved series of children’s books devoted to the topic.

Those of us who don’t have to deal with the tiny rodents in the flesh tend to romanticize them, but it has not always been thus. The Romans, apparently lacking the warm-fuzzy gene, knew exactly what to do with mice. Eat ’em up! In fact, they had special jars for fattening dormice, which they regarded as a delicacy.

An ancient Roman dormouse fattening jar, a glirarium, now in the Royal Ontario Museum.

To be clear, the Romans didn’t eat just any old mice. Dormice, which were rather larger in those days than they are now, made the best food. When cooked in a little honey and wine, and with the right spices added in, they were finger lickin’ good — at least that’s what the ancient Romans thought.

Personally, I’d be happy if I never saw another live mouse, and I’d certainly never eat one! They don’t make great gifts either. Next time you come across a mouse, remember that the species has been bothering people for millennia and we’ve managed to survive. It could be worse.

Have a great weekend!

*Genesis, The Mouse’s Night