Joanna Pypłacz
In June 2005, I graduated from the Jagiellonian University in Cracow with an M.A. in Classics.
In November, 2007, having continued my studies at the Faculty of Classics of the Jagiellonian University, I was awarded a Ph.D. in Classics. The subject of my thesis was: “Inter clementiam et crudelitatem. Estetyka tragedii Seneki” (“Inter clementiam et crudelitatem. The Aesthetics of Senecan Tragedy”). My Ph.D. supervisor was Prof. dr hab. Stanisław Śnieżewski, while my examining reviewers were Prof. dr hab. Stanisław Stabryła of the Jagiellonian University and Prof. dr hab. Elżbieta Wesołowska of the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań.
In May 2018, I obtained the habilitation degree at the Jagiellonian University.
Since 1st April 2008 I have been employed by the Jagiellonian Library. After a short spell in the Manuscripts Section (1st April – 31st June 2008), I have been working in the Old Printed Books Section (since 1st April 2010 as an assistant professor [adiunkt]).
In November, 2007, having continued my studies at the Faculty of Classics of the Jagiellonian University, I was awarded a Ph.D. in Classics. The subject of my thesis was: “Inter clementiam et crudelitatem. Estetyka tragedii Seneki” (“Inter clementiam et crudelitatem. The Aesthetics of Senecan Tragedy”). My Ph.D. supervisor was Prof. dr hab. Stanisław Śnieżewski, while my examining reviewers were Prof. dr hab. Stanisław Stabryła of the Jagiellonian University and Prof. dr hab. Elżbieta Wesołowska of the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznań.
In May 2018, I obtained the habilitation degree at the Jagiellonian University.
Since 1st April 2008 I have been employed by the Jagiellonian Library. After a short spell in the Manuscripts Section (1st April – 31st June 2008), I have been working in the Old Printed Books Section (since 1st April 2010 as an assistant professor [adiunkt]).
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Books by Joanna Pypłacz
AUTHORS: Anna Olszewska, Anna Sobańska, Beata Górecka, Zdzisław Pietrzyk, Marian Malicki
Papers by Joanna Pypłacz
of how the mechanism of (Greek) tragedy really works. The terrifying, cruel and murder-obsessed Iphigenia is at one and the same time a wronged, unhappy child imprisoned in the body of
a grown woman. She struggles with her pain by re-enacting her own unaccomplished murder in
a sinister „theatre within a theatre”, i.e. in the temple of Arthemis, where – among macabre decorations made from remnants of the bodies of those Greek sailors that she has slain so far – she
ritually kills any further newcomers from her homeland. An unexpected visit by her brother Orestes proves to be an effective remedy for Iphigenia’s distress. In this play, Euripides not only
enables his audience to achieve katharsis, but also – through metatheatrical means – shows us
exactly how a human mind is purged of dangerous emotions: as soon as Iphigenia stops concentrating on her own pain and starts to sympathize with Orestes, her mind is cured, and she is restored to a state of happiness. At the same time, the audience – who sympathize wih the characters – also feel a sense of relief. Iphigenia in Thauris is therefore a play within a play that shows
us how a good tragedy works.
them to take sides in the conflict, which would be highly inappropriate. Therefore, inspired perhaps by Aristophanes (or drawing on his own powers of invention), Lucan substituted the ‘traditional’ Graeco‑Roman
deities with the Thessalian necromancer Erichtho – who, though human, turns out to be more powerful than the gods themselves. Endowed with qualities that mirror those of the Civil War itself – as well as supernatural powers and a sinister kind of creativity (by means of which she destroys life in order to create death) – Erichtho proves to be the only appropriate ‘divine’ patron for an epic about civil conflict and – in effect – may be seen as an allegorical ‘goddess’ of the Civil War.
AUTHORS: Anna Olszewska, Anna Sobańska, Beata Górecka, Zdzisław Pietrzyk, Marian Malicki
of how the mechanism of (Greek) tragedy really works. The terrifying, cruel and murder-obsessed Iphigenia is at one and the same time a wronged, unhappy child imprisoned in the body of
a grown woman. She struggles with her pain by re-enacting her own unaccomplished murder in
a sinister „theatre within a theatre”, i.e. in the temple of Arthemis, where – among macabre decorations made from remnants of the bodies of those Greek sailors that she has slain so far – she
ritually kills any further newcomers from her homeland. An unexpected visit by her brother Orestes proves to be an effective remedy for Iphigenia’s distress. In this play, Euripides not only
enables his audience to achieve katharsis, but also – through metatheatrical means – shows us
exactly how a human mind is purged of dangerous emotions: as soon as Iphigenia stops concentrating on her own pain and starts to sympathize with Orestes, her mind is cured, and she is restored to a state of happiness. At the same time, the audience – who sympathize wih the characters – also feel a sense of relief. Iphigenia in Thauris is therefore a play within a play that shows
us how a good tragedy works.
them to take sides in the conflict, which would be highly inappropriate. Therefore, inspired perhaps by Aristophanes (or drawing on his own powers of invention), Lucan substituted the ‘traditional’ Graeco‑Roman
deities with the Thessalian necromancer Erichtho – who, though human, turns out to be more powerful than the gods themselves. Endowed with qualities that mirror those of the Civil War itself – as well as supernatural powers and a sinister kind of creativity (by means of which she destroys life in order to create death) – Erichtho proves to be the only appropriate ‘divine’ patron for an epic about civil conflict and – in effect – may be seen as an allegorical ‘goddess’ of the Civil War.
Leaving aside the indisputable similarities between Spenser’s Error and Milton’s Sin, the author shows that for all their apparent differences, Sin and Medusa actually have much more in common than it would seem at first glance. Firstly, both monsters are allegories of some primeval evil that, having set in motion a never-ending process of destruction, is portrayed as being a deadly, oxymoronic fertility that brings forth death instead of life. The morbid procreative prolificacy of both Medusa and Sin is triggered by a crime, which, once it has violated their bodies, renders them eternally “fertile in death”. While Medusa, having been mutilated by Perseus, posthumously “gives birth” to poisonous snakes, Sin, violated by Satan, literally becomes the mother of Death.
Although it is highly likely that the motif of monstrous fertility has itself been taken directly from Spenser, it would seem that Milton may also have been inspired by Lucan. The name of Cerberus, which is present in Milton and Lucan, but absent in Spenser, is a telling detail. Milton’s depiction of Death, which is described as being shapeless and similar to a substance, brings to mind Medusa’s poisonous blood. The subsequent rape of Sin by Death results in the birth of a pack of infernal dogs. This element also follows the Lucanian pattern of a crime triggering a deadly procreation by a wronged party.
Interestingly, Spenser’s depiction of Error itself contains certain motifs (for example that of “black poison” or that of the killing of a monster by a warrior) that are also present in Lucan’s Medusa excursus. This, together with some possible allusions to Hesiod’s legend of the rape of Medusa, as well as Ovid’s account of Scylla, leads us to conclude that the relationship between the discussed passages of Paradise Lost and their Lucanian and Spenserian hypotexts are quite complex, as they seem to reflect a process of elaborate contamination.
It is shown that Lucan’s depiction of Medusa may also have inspired Spenser himself. The connection between the portrayals of Medusa and Sin is not limited to the seemingly vague and superficial similarities that mainly concern the physical appearance of the two monsters, but is deeply rooted in the moral concept of a crime that triggers a perpetuum mobile of destruction. Although Milton and Spenser both share Lucan’s idea that one wrong leads to the “birth” of innumerable wrongs, only Milton consistently follows this line of thought by providing his monster with horrendous procreative powers that are also eternal and (literally) deadly. Seen against the background of Milton’s familiarity with the work and ideas of the Roman poet, it would seem that all the similarities between Sin and Medusa are far too striking to be attributable to mere coincidence.