Petronian Society Munich Section*

Niklas Holzberg

[for a version in English cf. below]

Während des Treffens der APA in Washington, D.C. Ende des Jahres 1993 gab es am Abend des 27. Dezembers im Sheraton Hotel eine Gedenkfeier für einen der beiden Gründer der Petronian Society, den am 9. April 1993 verstorbenen Santa Barbara-Professor John Patrick Sullivan. Jim Tatum berichtete darüber in einem Brief an mich: „It was an unbelievably crowdy cocktail party-cum-memorial service at the APA in December (‘John Sullivan was, as both a critic and a friend …’ [‘Is that with or without soda?’ – ‘Three dollars, please …’] ‘…one of the truly most …’ [‘No, I don’t think I care for sausages … grapefruit paste, thank you …’] ‘… and he will always …’ [‘I think it’s disgraceful that they would have the gall to …’] ‘… so we see him as one who, always rising above the …’ [‘… and she refused to have James Wiseman in the same room with her, even though …’] ‘… so, as I raise my glass on high …’). I think John would have loved the Trimalchionic chaos.”

Eine von den Reden, die gehalten wurden, bestand in einer von mir geschriebenen Grußbotschaft, die Jim verlas, weil ich bei der Feier nicht anwesend sein konnte. Ich hatte sie auf Bitten Judy Halletts geschickt und im Namen der Petronian Society Munich Section verfasst. Als diese vier Wörter dem Gehege von Jims Zähnen entflohen waren, ertönte allgemeines Gelächter, dem man eines deutlich anhörte: Die, welche sich amüsierten, hatten bisher nichts davon gehört, dass in der Stadt, bei deren Nennung man in den U.S.A. wohl primär an das Oktoberfest denkt und damit Vorstellungen von Lederhosen, Dirndln und riesigen Bierkrügen verbindet, eine Unterabteilung von Trimalchianern existierte.

An sich war das seit dem Erscheinen von Petronian Society Newsletter 21 (1991) immerhin „offiziell“ bekannt. Denn dort steht auf S. 6: “SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: Prof. Holzberg has asked me to bring to your notice something which might be of general interest here. Every semester, i.e. from November to February and May to July, he holds a weekly colloquium at the University of Munich on the ancient novel. The participants are in the main graduate students who have either completed or are still working on their theses or essays on a variety of problems connected with the ancient novel. These young scholars would no doubt greatly benefit from any contributions made by colleagues working on similar themes or simply from the opportunity to exchange ideas with new faces from outside. This is therefore an open invitation to all who happen to be in or near Munich on a Wednesday evening from 7-9 o’clock during term time and would care to join them. Prof. Holzberg also reports the formation of the Munich Section of the Petronian Society. Like IBM, BMW, Glaxo, Bayer, Holiday Inn, and other successful giants, the Petronian Society is pleased to break the news of its expansion via franchizing. (A personal note: Prof. Holzberg’s family has expanded with the birth of a son, Daniel, who will eventually take the helm of the Munich Section of the Society.) Below is a photo of the cover of the first publication of the Munich Section and a note of explanation” [Es handelte sich dabei um eine Bibliographie – in diesem Falle zu Phaedrus –, der bis in jüngste Zeit viele folgten].

Natürlich hatte beim Treffen der APA im Dezember 1993 kaum jemand diesen Text gegenwärtig, und so konnten die Teilnehmer der Gedenkfeier nun aus meiner Grußbotschaft Folgendes erfahren: „What I have to say in memory of John Sullivan is spoken not just in my own name, but in that of a whole group of younger scholars and friends who have been working on the ancient novel and who received from John decisive impulses. Our circle came into existence in 1990 and calls itself the Petronian Society Munich Section; besides our joint research projects we like to keep in touch with ancient novel people on the ‘outside’, for example by inviting them to give talks in Munich. We are not an official society and receive no financial help from any quarter, thus we rely for such invitations solely on the generosity and devotion to their subject of those we ask to come. John was one of the first to receive such an invitation and he accepted it quite spontaneously which was a considerable boost for our cause. He had planned a trip to Europe anyway, and simply came to Munich first, held a brilliant talk and spent an evening in stimulating conversation and taking an interest in the work of all members of our group. It is not hard to imagine what the effect of this friendly gesture was publicity-wise: Since John’s visit in July 1991 we have had guests from far, very far and near holding papers and discussions without even tentatively approaching the subject of money, although many of them are prominent in their field and in demand as speakers. It was then only natural that we should dedicate our first joint publicationm, a collection of essays on the Aesop Romance, to John and the other founder father of the Petronian Society, Gareth Schmeling: GARETH SCHMELING JOHN SULLIVAN FAVTORIBVS PRIMIS SODALITATIS PETRONIANAE MONACENSIS ευχαρίστως. John’s work will certainly survive him and the fact that he gave such encouragement to students and young scholars and became for them a sort of Leitfigur will, I believe, contribute greatly to this.”

Innerhalb des “Trimalchionic chaos”, in das hinein diese Worte erklangen, wirkten sie sicherlich ganz un-Trimalchionic brav, ja geradezu pathetisch, aber ich hatte sie nun einmal für eine Gedenkfeier bestimmt. Daher lassen sie auch nur vage erkennen, dass die Idee der PSMS für eine deutsche Universität geradezu radikal alternativ war: Nicht nur wurden hier ganz und gar inoffiziell, also ohne staatliche Unterstützung und ohne die traditionelle akademische Etikette, Vorträge veranstaltet, sondern überdies bot der Ablauf der Abende schon damals (was bis in die Gegenwart beibehalten wurde) auch eine saturnalische (und in diesem Sinne trimalchionische) „université à l’envers“ in Form eines respeklosen Spiels mit allem, was deutschen Akademikern – speziell den classicists unter ihnen – auch nach 1968 lieb und teuer war und im wesentlichen heute noch ist.

Damit allgemein verständlich ist, worin dieses Spiel bestand und nach wie vor besteht, sei kurz skizziert, in welchem Rahmen Vorträge auswärtiger Wissenschaftler an einer deutschen Universität nur allzu oft stattfinden. Es lädt ein: einer der professores ordinarii des Instituts. Es holt vom Bahnhof oder Flughafen ab und geleitet ins Hotel: der unterwürfige Assistent oder die noch unterwürfigere Hilfskaft dieses Ordinarius – warum? Damit der Gast sieht, das der, der ihn einlud, gerade etwas Wichtiges zu tun hat – z.B. an einer Sitzung teilnehmen – und für sich arbeiten lassen kann. Kurz vor Beginn des Vortrags wird der Gast in das geräumige Arbeitszimmer des Ordinarius gebeten, wo ein denkbar steifes Begrüßungsgespräch stattfindet; daran nehmen ein paar Kollegen des Ordinarius teil, aber natürlich nur ebenbürtige, also Professoren – der Assistent bzw. die Hilfskraft muss währenddessen die Handouts des Gastes kopieren. Vor dem Vortrag stellt der Ordinarius den Gast vor, wobei er einerseits vor allem auch sich selbst präsentiert, andererseits den Fehler macht, den Gast als einen Jahrhundertwissenschaftler vorzustellen. Denn der hält dann meist einen viel zu langen und unendlich faden Vortrag, den er vor ewigen Zeit speziell für diesen Zweck geschrieben hat und nie publiziert. Da sein Gastgeber ihn in seiner laufenden Vorlesung sprechen lässt – darum braucht diese Stunde nicht vorzubereitet zu werden –, sind außer den Kollegen gezwungenermaßen die Studenten anwesend, die aber oft wenig von dem Vortrag verstehen. Entsprechend lahm ist dann auch die anschließende Diskussion. Außer dem Ordinarius melden sich ausschließlich Professoren zu Wort – die Assistenten wurden vorher ermahnt, sich zurückzuhalten –, und hier dienen die Fragen meist der Selbstdarstellung: Sie sind wiederum überlang und werden vom Fragenden implizit gleich selbst beantwortet. Schließlich weist der Ordinarius alle Anwesenden darauf hin, dass man in einem Restaurant in der Nähe einen Tisch reserviert habe und dass alle herzlich eingeladen seien. Dem leisten aber dann nur die Kollegen Folge, wobei aus dem Kreis der Assistenten allein die Mutigen zu erscheinen wagen, und aus dem der Hilfskräfte niemand.

Bei der PSMS ist schon insofern der äußere Rahmen der Veranstaltung grundlegend anders, als einer Gruppe dieOrganisation übernimmt. Zunächst wird durch persönliches Schreiben jemand, den einer aus der Gruppe gut kennt, darum gebeten, eine Reise nach München zu machen und diese mit dem Halten eines Vortrages zu verbinden; falls er die Fahrt nicht selbst finanzieren wolle, möge er doch bei seiner Universität Unterstützung für Recherchen im Thesaurus linguae Latinae oder der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek beantragen – die letztere verfügt über die in der Welt größte Sammlung von Literatur zur Altertumswissenschaft. Der Gast übernachtet dann bei einem aus der Gruppe, und dieser holt ihn auch ab, zeigt ihm, wenn Zeit dafür ist, München, sitzt mit ihm im Biergarten, und oft übernimmt er die Diskussionsleitung, die aber ebensogut an ein anderes Mitglied des Instituts übertragen werden kann. Die PSMS-Gruppe besteht außer mir aus jungen Dozenten, Doktoranden und Studenten, ja, auch aus solchen, und so kann es geschehen, dass ein prominenter classicist von einem undergraduate vorgestellt wird. Und erfolgt nicht gerade das speziell im Sinne Trimalchios? Erklärt dieser doch saturnalisch in Kapitel 71.1 der Satyrica: et serui homines sunt et aeque unum lactem biberunt, etiam si illos malus fatus oppresserit.

Geladen sind außer Dozenten und Studenten alle, denen die griechische und römische Literatur besonders am Herzen liegt, also außer interessierten Laien z.B. auch Gymnasiallehrer und Lektoren von Verlagen, die altertumswissenschaftliche Bücher publizieren. Auch aus dieser Gruppe kann der Diskussionsleiter stammen; es ist jedesmal eine Person, die besonders gut zu dem Vortragenden passt, weshalb sie nicht selten ebenfalls von außerhalb anreist: So ist einmal Karl Galinsky extra aus Rom herbeigeflogen, um Mario Labate zu präsentieren und die Diskussion zu leiten. Diese ist in der Regel sehr rege, da das Publikum offenbar wirklich aus Interesse an Vortrag und wissenschaftlicher Kontroverse erscheint und, weil das abends um 7 Uhr stattfindet, auch Zeit hat dafür; unter 50 waren es selten, ja, es gaben uns mehr als einmal über 100 die Ehre. Und je mehr sich einspielte, dass die Diskussionen nach einer einmal von Philip Hardie formulierten Devise abliefen – von uns in München gefragt, wie der Ablauf bei Seminaren mit Gästen in Cambridge sei, sagte er: „We want blood on the floor!“ –, desto lebendiger und ergiebiger wurden sie.

Es winkt danach aber auch eine Belohnung: die Petronian Party. Von der Gruppe vorbereitet und aus Spenden der Freunde der PSMS finanziert, bietet sie außer Getränken ein kaltes Büfett, bei dessen Zubereitung oft auch Studenten helfen, die nicht zur Gruppe gehören, aber gerne zu den Abenden kommen; überhaupt ist die Zahl der undergraduates innerhalb des Publikums meist erfreulich groß – sogar bei Vorträgen in englischer Sprache (wo sie aber den Text des papers erhalten, also gewissermaßen Untertitel lesen können). Die Partys fanden bis zum Sommer 2008 in der Bibliothek des Instituts für Klassische Philologie statt, und seit dem Umzug der Bücher in einen Raum, der sich dafür nicht eignet, sind wir Gäste im Münchner Lyrikkabinett, einem in der Nähe der Universität gelegenen Vortragssaal (ebenfalls mit Büchern in Regalen an den Wänden), in dem sonst Poesie der Gegenwart ertönt, rezitiert von denen, die sie verfassten. Großzügig, wie Ursula Hausgen, die Besitzerin des Lyrikkabinetts, ist – auch diese Institution wird aus privaten Mitteln finanziert –, verlangt sie keine Saalmiete.

Es liegt auf der Hand, dass die ersten Gäste der PSMS überwiegend aus den U.S.A., Großbritannien und den Niederlanden kamen. Denn etablierten deutschen Professoren war das alternative Unternehmen suspekt, nicht zuletzt auch deswegen, weil wir – wie unerhört! – auch immer wieder junge Wissenschaftler, also Assistenten und graduate students anderer Universitäten einladen. Durch diese Gruppe war Deutschland also von Anfang an gut vertreten, während der erste Ordinarius, der sich zu uns wagte, erst vier Jahre nach dem Beginn der Vortragsserie (Sommer 1991) bei uns sprach, und der war kein classicist, sondern Romanist. In den ersten Jahren kamen überwiegend scholars, die für ihre Arbeiten zum antiken Roman bekannt sind, unter ihnen Danielle van Mal-Maeder, Ewen Bowie, Ken Dowden, Tomas Hägg, Stephen Harrison, Richard Hunter, John Morgan, Bryan Reardon und Gareth Schmeling. In den letzten Jahren wurde das Programm so vielfältig, dass schon bald gewitzelt wurde „Mal wieder oudén prós Petrónion“, aber auch das gehört zum Konzept: Es soll jeder, der bei uns zu reden bereit ist, möglichst das ihm liebste Thema wählen. Und es soll sich jeder während seines Aufenthaltes in München so wohl fühlen wie z.B. Roy Gibson. Ihm wurde nicht nur die Erschließung der Stadt mit dem Fahrrad geboten, sondern auch die Vorstellung seiner Person und die Leitung der Diskussion auf Latein: Er redete über den jüngeren Plinius, und einer der besten Kenner dieses Autors, Matthias Ludolph, reiste 240 Meilen – einst Student in München, wohnt er jetzt in Nordbayern –, um als chairman zu fungieren, was deshalb nicht auf Englisch erfolgte, weil ihm die Sprache der Römer besser von der Zunge geht. Kein Wunder, dass Roy, nach Manchester zurückgekehrt, an die PSMS schrieb: „In fact, this is easily the most enjoyable and rewarding visit to another university that I ever had.“

Kann man sagen, dass das trimalchionische Konzept der Münchner Gruppe sich bewährt hat? Ich denke schon. Doch Stefan Merkle und ich, die wir es vor rund zwanzig Jahren erdachten – inzwischen haben wir beide drei Sammelbände mit Aufsätzen von Mitgliedern der Gruppe und auswärtigen Freunden publiziert und zusammen mit unseren Freunden 116 Vortragsabende möglich gemacht –, wären nie auf diese Idee gekommen, wenn wir nicht von den beiden Gründern der PS, Gareth Schmeling und John Sullivan, dazu angeregt worden wären. Es ist uns beiden noch in bester Erinnerung, wie wir im Juli 1989 aus unserer streng-hierarchisch organisierten, die bürgerliche Wissenschaft schrecklich ernst nehmenden deutschen Universität zur zweiten International Conference on the Ancient Novel, kurz und witzig “ICAN 2” genannt, zum Dartmouth College nach Hanover kamen: Weil wir uns völlig überraschend auf einmal unter richtigen Menschen bewegten, diese uns einfach mit Vornamen anredeten, zwischen Professor und graduate student nicht unterschieden und zudem dauernd gute jokes machten, kamen wir uns jeder vor wie das hässliche Entlein, das „heimkehrt“ zu den Schwänen. Und als wir dann auch noch einen wunderbaren Abend bei der von Gareth und John veranstalteten Petronian Party erlebt hatten, sagten wir einfach nur noch: „Yes, we can too.“

*Der Aufsatz ist allen denen gewidmet, die bisher zum Gelingen der PSMS-Abende beigetragen haben, also sowohl denen, die so großzügig waren, ihren Vortrag als Spende zu leisten, als auch denen, die freiwillig bei der Organisation halfen und zu ihrer Finanzierung beitrugen; besonders hervorzuheben sind in der zweiten Gruppe Dagmar Adrom, Nicole Balser, Karl Bayer†, Christoph Bergemann, Andreas Beschorner, Alexander Cyron, Tamara Eisenhut, Caroline Hähnel, Regina Höschele, Markus Janka, Hartmut Längin†, Barbara Leininger, Charlotte Lenhard, Sven Lorenz, Stefan Merkle, Margot Neger, Hans Peter Obermayer, Elisabeth Palme, Andreas Patzer, Marion Preuß, Rhea Silvia Remus, Anke Rondholz, Hannelore Rümmer, Stefanie Schnabel, Hans Schober, Dietmar Weiss, Isabella Wiegand und Claudia Wiener

Petronian Society Munich Section

by Niklas Holzberg

During the 1993 APA meeting in Washington, D.C., an evening gathering was held on 27 December at the Sheraton Hotel. Its purpose was to celebrate the life of one of the Petronian Society’s two founders: that of the Berkeley professor John Patrick Sullivan, who had passed away on 9 April 1993. Jim Tatum later described this event for me in a letter: “It was an unbelievably rowdy cocktail party-cum-memorial service at the APA in December (‘John Sullivan was, as both a critic and a friend …’ [‘Is that with or without soda?’ – ‘Three dollars, please …’] ‘…one of the truly most …’ [‘No, I don’t think I care for sausages … grapefruit paste, thank you …’] ‘… and he will always …’ [‘I think it’s disgraceful that they would have the gall to …’] ‘… so we see him as one who, always rising above the …’ [‘… and she refused to have J.W. in the same room with her, even though …’] ‘… so, as I raise my glass on high …’). I think John would have loved the Trimalchionic chaos.”

One of the tributes paid that night consisted in a message from me, this read out by Jim, as I was unable to attend in person. Judy Hallett had asked for a contribution, and it was written on behalf of the Petronian Society Munich Section. No sooner had these four words passed, ‘unweigh’d’, the good Jim’s lips, than a ripple of laughter was heard, its cause apparently the notion that a city normally associated in the U.S.A. primarily with the Oktoberfest and hence visions of lederhosen, dirndls, and generous measures of beer, should sport a subsidiary for the local Trimalchians.

Our existence as satellite had actually been ‘officially’ made public a good while before this. The Petronian Society Newsletter 21 (1991) shows, on p. 6, the following text: “SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: Prof. Holzberg has asked me to bring to your notice something which might be of general interest here. Every semester, i.e. from November to February and May to July, he holds a weekly colloquium at the University of Munich on the ancient novel. The participants are in the main graduate students who have either completed or are still working on their theses or essays on a variety of problems connected with the ancient novel. These young scholars would no doubt greatly benefit from any contributions made by colleagues working on similar themes or simply from the opportunity to exchange ideas with new faces from outside. This is therefore an open invitation to all who happen to be in or near Munich on a Wednesday evening from 7-9 o’clock during term time and would care to join them. Prof. Holzberg also reports the formation of the Munich Section of the Petronian Society. Like IBM, BMW, Glaxo, Bayer, Holiday Inn, and other successful giants, the Petronian Society is pleased to break the news of its expansion via franchizing. (A personal note: Prof. Holzberg’s family has expanded with the birth of a son, Daniel, who will eventually take the helm of the Munich Section of the Society.) Below is a photo of the cover of the first publication of the Munich Section and a note of explanation” [said publication a bibliography – the first in a series still continued up until quite recently – of work on Phaedrus].

Not many of those present at the Sheraton in December 1993 will have remembered much of this, of course, and so the short address which I sent from Munich for this gathering was able to restate it for them: “What I have to say in memory of John Sullivan is presented not just in my name, but on behalf of a whole group of younger scholars and friends who have been working on the ancient novel, and for whom John provided the decisive impulse. Our circle came into being in 1990 and is known as the Petronian Society Munich Section; alongside our joint research projects, we like to keep in touch with ancient novel people on the ‘outside’, for example by inviting them to give talks in Munich. We are not an official society and receive no financial help from any quarter, so that we rely for such invitations solely on the generosity and devotion to their subject of those we ask to come. John was one of the first to receive such an invitation and he accepted it quite spontaneously, which was a considerable boost for our new ‘chapter’. He had planned a trip to Europe anyway, and simply came to Munich first, held a brilliant talk, and spent an evening in stimulating conversation, taking an interest in the work of all members of our group. It is not hard to imagine what the effect of this friendly gesture was in terms of publicity. Since John’s visit in July 1991, we have had guests from far and very far, not to mention near, holding papers and discussions without even tentatively approaching the subject of money, and this in spite of the fact that many of them are prominent in their field and much in demand as speakers. It was, then, only natural that we should dedicate our first joint publication, a collection of essays on the Aesop Romance, to John and the other founding father of the Petronian Society, Gareth Schmeling: GARETH SCHMELING JOHN SULLIVAN FAVTORIBVS PRIMIS SODALITATIS PETRONIANAE MONACENSIS ευχαρίστως. John’s work will certainly survive him, not least, I believe, because he gave such encouragement to students and young scholars and was for them a sort of Leitfigur.”

Given the “Trimalchionic chaos” into which these words were intoned, they doubtless sounded wholly un-Trimalchionic – dutiful and perhaps even a trifle mawkish – but they had been written for a memorial service. They also, for that same reason, only hinted almost imperceptibly that, for a German university, the idea behind the PSMS was an almost radical alternative. Here we were, organizing entirely unofficial events, blithely indifferent both to state funding and to conventional academic protocol. On top of that, the programme for our evening meetings offered then as now the Saturnalian, and in this sense Trimalchionic spectacle of an ‘université à l’envers’ – an irreverent flouting of everything that, even after 1968, had remained and, broadly speaking, actually still is dear to German academics, especially to the classical scholars among them.

In order to appreciate this irreverence, one must be able to imagine the rituals then, and all too often still now, involved when an ‘outsider’ is officially asked to speak at a German university. First the invitation must be formally extended, this by none other than one of the department’s professores ordinarii. Then the speaker has to be picked up from the station or from the airport and taken to her or his hotel, this part carried out by none other than the obsequious Assistent or even more obsequious undergraduate Hilfskraft (a sort of novice). Delegating this task means that the guest speaker will immediately see that the person who sent the invitation is busy with something very important – a faculty meeting, for example – and that he or she has underlings for the less important duties. Shortly before the appointed time for the lecture, the speaker is ushered into the professor ordinarius’s roomy office for some stiffly polite words of welcome; there are a few members of staff present too, but of course only the peers, i.e other professors – the underlings, with or without degrees, will be busy xeroxing the guest’s handout. In the auditorium the ordinarius presents the speaker, but usually dwells in the process more on his own person, and makes, in addition, the mistake of introducing the guest as one of the age’s outstanding academics. The latter then gives a lecture which is generally far too long and mind-numbingly dull, one written years before specially for such occasions and so never published. The host has scheduled this event to take place during what would have been a class of his or her own – that way there is no need to prepare for that particular unit – with the result that, besides members of staff, there are students at the lecture too, conscripted, as it were, into attendance and mostly not really able to follow the lecture. The discussion afterwards is, then, rather lame. Fingers are raised by the ordinarius and professors only (the Assistenten having been warned to remember their place), and what they have to ask has more to do with their own profiles than with the subject in hand. These questions tend to be overly long and include in any case an implicit answer. Finally, the ordinarius informs everyone that a table has been reserved at a nearby restaurant and that all are herzlich welcome to join the party. Only members of staff actually follow the call, and out of the numbers of the Assistenten only the brave; the undergraduate underlings go home.

In the PSMS the differences begin right at the very start, or rather in the run-up, simply because it is a group of people that do the organizing. First, someone known personally to one member of this group receives a private letter asking whether he or she perhaps feels like a trip to Munich and would be willing to combine this with a lecture; if (the recipients of such invitations are told) they are unable to finance the visit themselves, they might like to take advantage of the opportunity to work at the Thesaurus linguae Latinae or the Bavarian State Library – the latter has the largest Classics’ collection in the world – and could therefore ask their own universities for help with funding. Accommodation is provided by a member of the group; it is usually this person who awaits the guest on the platform or in arrivals and, if there is time, shows him or her around Munich and/or takes her or him to the Biergarten. Sometimes it is the ‘tour guide’ who does the honours at the lecture, but not always. The PSMS group or ‘inner circle’ consists of, besides myself, other members of staff graduates and students – yes, undergraduates – and so eminent classicists can find themselves being introduced to their audience by a humble (but not obsequious) beginner with not a letter to his or her name. And is this not just the way Trimalchio would want it? After all, he does declare in Saturnalian mode, et serui homines sunt et aeque unum lactem biberunt, etiam si illos malus fatus oppresserit (Satyricia 71.1).

Not only university staff and students are asked to come and listen to these lectures. Our mailing list includes basically everyone with a keen interest in Greek and Latin literature – school teachers, for example, people who work in publishing, and an assortment of enthusiastic others. Any one of these can also chair the meeting: the choice falls each time on someone particularly suited to the speaker. Quite often we have people travelling to Munich simply to chair: Karl Galinsky, for instance, once flew in from Rome to present Mario Labate and preside over question time. The discussions are generally very lively, because those present are always clearly interested in the topic (and enjoy a good argument), also because they can take the time to listen and ponder, all meetings being scheduled for 7 in the evening. We have seldom had an audience of less than fifty, and more than once over one hundred people have taken the trouble to come. And then we like to maintain a certain standard. When quizzed by us here in Munich about the usual procedure on such occasions in Cambridge, Philip Hardie replied, “we want blood on the floor!” – this has been our motto ever since, and the exchanges are all the livelier and more fruitful for it.

A reward for the efforts of all present is always certain: the obligatory Petronian Party. Prepared by the fair hands of group members, and financed with generous donations from friends of the PSMS, its basic components are liberal amounts of booze and a cold buffet, this often concocted with additional help from undergraduates who do not belong to the ‘hard core’, but who like coming to the events. The number of undergraduates in our audiences is, in fact, gratifyingly high, even when the lecture is given in English (in such cases ‘subtitles’ are provided in the form of print-outs of the speaker’s text). The venue for the lectures and parties was originally the Classics’ library, but when the whole department was rehoused in the summer of 2008, the new surroundings proved unsuitable for our purposes. We are now instead guests of the nearby Münchner Lyrikkabinett, which allows us access to a room (its walls too covered in bookshelves) normally used for recitals given by contemporary poets. Generous as Ursula Haeusgen, the owner of the Lyrikkabinett, is – and hers too is an institution which relies entirely on private funding – she charges us no rent.

Needless to say, the first guests of the PSMS came mostly from the United States, from Britain, and from Holland. Established German professors found this alternative a little too suspicious, not least perhaps because – unheard of! – we frequently invited young scholars (Assistenten and graduates) from other universities to speak. This section of Germany’s academic population was accordingly quite well represented from the start of our lecture seasons (summer 1991), but it took four years for the first ordinarius to come, and even then it was not a classicist, but a professor of Romance literature. In the early years it was predominantly ancient-novel people who came to the PSMS: Danielle van Mal-Maeder, Ewen Bowie, Ken Dowden, Tomas Hägg, Stephen Harrison, Richard Hunter, John Morgan, Bryan Reardon, and Gareth Schmeling, to name but a few. Later our programme became so varied that “again already oudén pròs Petrónion” became a standing joke. This is part of our concept, however: anyone who wants to come and talk can pick the subject dearest to their heart. The only obligation is to feel as welcome and content while they are here in Munich as, for example, Roy Gibson did. He was not only afforded the opportunity to explore the city by bike, but was also both introduced and given a discussion chaired in Latin. He had chosen Pliny the Younger as his topic, and one of the experts on this author, Matthias Ludolph (once a student here, now in Northern Bavaria), travelled 240 miles in order to chair; as Matthias’ Latin is better than his English, the language of international communication reverted for once to the latter. Hardly surprising, then, that, after returning to Manchester, Roy wrote the following to the PSMS: “In fact, this is easily the most enjoyable and rewarding visit to another university that I ever had.”

Can we look back today and say that the Munich Section concept was the right one? I think so. But twenty years ago, when Stefan Merkle and I were setting all this in motion – since that time we have together published three collections of articles written by members of our group and by friends ‘on the outside’, and we have, together and with the others, organized 116 evening gatherings – we would never have thought of doing all this, had the founders of the PS, Gareth Schmeling and John Sullivan, not put the idea into our heads. We both well remember arriving in July 1989 at Dartmouth College, fresh from the strict hierarchy and self-importance of our home university, for the second International Conference on the Ancient Novel or, short and witty, “ICAN 2”. The shock of finding ourselves among real menschen, people who used our first names, treated professors and graduates as equals and – incredible! – knew a lot of good jokes, left us feeling like a pair of ugly ducklings come home to the swans. And after a wonderful evening spent at the Petronian Party organized by Gareth and John, all we could think was “Yes, we can too.”

 

These reminiscences are dedicated to the many who, over the years, have contributed to the success of our PSMS evenings: to those who have generously ‘donated’ their lectures, to those who have given unstintingly of their time, and to those who have supported us financially. Among these last two groups, there are some who deserve special mention here: Dagmar Adrom, Nicole Balser, Karl Bayer†, Christoph Bergemann, Andreas Beschorner, Alexander Cyron, Tamara Eisenhut, Caroline Hähnel, Regina Höschele, Markus Janka, Hartmut Längin†, Barbara Leininger, Sven Lorenz, Stefan Merkle, Margot Neger, Hans Peter Obermayer, Elisabeth Palme, Andreas Patzer, Marion Preuß, Rhea Silvia Remus, Anke Rondholz, Hannelore Rümmer, Stefanie Schnabel, Hans Schober, Dietmar Weiss, Isabella Wiegand, and Claudia Wiener.