A (HI)STORY OF ILLYRIA(*).
In his recent book The Illyrians, John Wilkes attempts to reverse this ignorance by stripping away the accumulated legends, or `illusion', about the Illyrian people and unearthing, in their stead, painstaking detail about the reality of their civilization. But this strategy seems to reduce the overall picture of the identity of Illyria. For Illyria has always been a place where fact and fiction meet, where myth is substituted in the absence of knowledge and later becomes a geographical or historical reality, mapped onto the physical landscape or the territory's political borders. Illyria has also always been a threshold between the known and the unknown world, a threshold internalized by the Illyrian peoples themselves, sometimes considered `Western' -- and even Greek -- but at other times thought to be barbarian and different. It is a liminal space which dramatizes the problems of our conventional polarizations of ethnic identity.
In many ways, the study of Illyria, its myth and history, serves as an analogy for the study of Greece. Greece, too, comes with almost as much mythical baggage as historical facts. In the lesser known, and lesser loved, example of Illyria, we have a parallel land combining a powerful mixture of ancient stories and dimly remembered historical details to forge its independence in the nineteenth century. But Illyria is interesting because throughout history it has served, not: only as a parallel for Greece, but also as a counterpoint to it. From Herodotus to Byron, Illyria has been cited as the opposite of Greece, used to illuminate, by contrast, the particular qualities of Greece. This contrast: has by no means been straightforward, since it has not always been obvious where Greece stops and Illyria begins. Indeed Illyria serves to highlight the fact that the conventional polarization between Greek and barbarian/other, which persisted through ancient Greek history and has been revived since independence in 1830, created as much anxiety and lack of distinction as it did clarity. Thus the history of Illyria and its literary appropriation raises the issue of Greek ethnicity -- both ancient and modern -- and sheds light upon the uneasy relationship between national myth, politics, and geography which still troubles the Balkan area today.
The mountainous land of the ancient Illyrian tribes stretched down the Adriatic coast from modern-day Trieste to the Rhizonic gulf. The ancient Greeks considered the Illyrians to be barbarians. They were non-Greek speakers and they had different customs; they were made up of various tribes. Herodotus refers to the Eneti tribe in Illyria and their habit of taking their daughters to the marketplace to sell them for marriage, a custom which he compares with that of the Babylonians, another barbarian people.(3) Yet the clear distinction between the Greeks and barbarians with different customs is made more complicated by the observation that all of Greece was once populated by barbarians. Herodotus comments early in his history that Greece was originally occupied by Pelasgians who spoke a non-Greek language.(4) This notion of the barbarian origins of Greece was corroborated centuries later by Strabo in his Geography:
Now Hecataeus of Miletus says of the Peloponnesus that before the time of the Greeks it was inhabited by barbarians. Yet one might say that in the ancient times the whole of Greece was a settlement of barbarians, if one reasons from the traditions themselves.... And even to the present day the Thracians, Illyrians, and Epeirotes live on the flanks of the Greeks (though this was still more the case formerly than now); indeed most of the country that at the present time is indisputably Greece is held by the barbarians - Macedonia and certain parts of Thessaly by the Thracians, and the parts above Acarnania and Aetolia by the Threspoti, the Cassopaei, the Amphilochi, the Molossi, and the Athamanes -- Epeirotic tribes.(5)
According to this argument, the Hellenic Greeks had either emerged or arrived after the original barbarians and had civilized them and the land. The Illyrians and the Greeks were therefore thought to have shared a common origin, even if they had subsequently drifted apart. The Illyrians were closer to the primitive beginnings of the land, while the Greeks, like their Olympian gods, represented a later, and possibly higher, civilization.
Beyond ancient myths of ethnic origin, the Illyrians were also deeply involved with the Greeks in the historical period. Strabo refers to the fact that `the Thracians, Illyrians, and Epeirotes live on the flanks of the Greeks'. In fact much of Thrace, Illyria, and Epirus was colonized by the Greeks, with the inevitable mingling and merging of the peoples. The largest Greek colony in Illyria was Epidamnus, the later Durazzo. It was here, according to Thucydides, that the first sparks of the Peloponnesian War caught fire. In 435 B.C., the aristocrats of Epidamnus were expelled by a newly emerged democratic group of people in the city. Anxious to regain their power, they allied themselves with the neighbouring people, `a barbarian tribe, the Taulantians, of Illyrian race (ethnos)'.(6) `Making common cause with the barbarians', Thucydides writes, the aristocrats `plundered those who were in the city both by land and sea'.(7) The besieged democrats sought help from Corinth, the city of their original founder, while the now outnumbered aristocrats were soon aided by the newer colonizers, Corcyra. Athens and Sparta were quickly drawn into the feud, as the different political alliances spread, and the Hellenic world began the process of tearing itself apart.
The Illyrians had a role to play later in the war in the battle of shifting alliances which characterized the campaigns. Since the Illyrians lived on the `flanks' of Greece, as Strabo commented, it was unclear to contemporaries whether they supported Athens or Sparta in the war, whether indeed they were sufficiently Greek to express support for either city. In one particular campaign, described by Thucydides, Brasidas the Spartan general believes that his ally Perdiccas, who leads a troop of Macedonians, has elicited the support of the Illyrians, only to discover that they have deserted and gone to help the opposition. The Illyrians, suddenly become enemies, present: a frightening prospect to the Spartans, precisely because they are barbarian and different. Brasidas feels the need of a rallying speech:
Now as for these Illyrians, for those who have had no experience of them, the menace of their attack has terror; for their number is indeed dreadful to behold and the loudness of their baffle-cry is intolerable, and the idle brandishing of their arms has a threatening effect. But for hand-to-hand fighting, if their opponents but endure such threats, they are not the men they seem; for having no regular order, they would not be ashamed to abandon any position when hard pressed; and since flight and attack are considered equally honourable with them, their courage cannot be put to the test.(8)
Brasidas defines the otherness of the Illyrians by pointing both to their excessive violence -- their war-cry and their arms -- and at the same time to their weakness -- their tendency to retreat. What is not stressed is the fact that until the news of the Illyrian betrayal, Brasidas was prepared, and hoping, to fight alongside the men he now condemns so vehemently. Greek alliances, and thus to an extent Greek identity, are forged by such whims and exigencies of war.
In the third century B.C., the Romans began their conquest of the area, and two centuries later they had succeeded in establishing command. They named the province Illyricum. The place, and the name, lasted until the sixth or seventh centuries A.D. when Slav invasions changed the character of the whole region. Many Illyrians are thought to have died or to have fled. The others were absorbed by Slavic settlers. The name for the actual geographical place disappeared for the next thousand years. It left the space free for the fictionalizers.
The most well-known literary representation of Illyria occurs in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Viola finds herself shipwrecked on the shores of Illyria at the start of the play, and the subsequent comedy of the plot derives from the fact that she comes from a strange world beyond the naive isolation of Illyria and therefore her identity is unknown. Shakespeare's story is drawn from the tangled comic narratives of Plautus and most directly, it is thought, from the Italian play Gl' Inganni.(9) There is no mention of Illyria in these plays. But one source for Shakespeare's Illyrian setting has been suggested -- Ovid's Metamorphoses. Ovid describes Cadmus and Harmonia being washed onto the Illyrian shore after shipwreck and the turmoil of losing their daughter:
Compelled with grief and great mishappes that had ensewed together And strange foretokens often seene since first his coining thither, He utterly forsakes his towne the which he builded had, As though the fortunes of the place so hardly him bessad And not his owne. And fleeting long like pilgrims, at the last Upon the coast of Illirie his wife and he were cast.(10)
Besides Homer's description of the shipwreck of Odysseus in Odyssey 5, Cadmus' wreck upon Illyria had become one of the chief literary models for shipwreck in classical literature and therefore a clear source for Shakespeare's account. Besides, there is in the notion of the metamorphosis which comes over Cadmus and Harmonia on landing upon Illyria (they become snakes), a particular resource for comedy. The humour of Twelfth Night is based upon the saturnalian possibilities of the festive season to change identities and to turn hierarchies upside-down. Viola cross-dresses, Malvolio is fooled and mocked by the socially inferior members of the household. Comedy indeed is licensed to offer a topsyturvy mirror to the world. But the dark side of the play, such as Feste's mournfully reflective songs or the loss of Viola/Cesario's freedom as she reverts back in Act V to the meekly feminine Viola, also owes something to Ovid's Illyria in the Metamorphoses. Cadmus and Harmonia as snakes, or in Golding's translation `Dragons', live in wistful remembrance of their past: `now remembering what they were themselves in tymes forepast / They neither shonne nor hurten men with stinging nor with blast.'(11) Illyria offers the chance to explore the irrevocable, tragic consequences of change as well as the comic.(12)
But besides a place of comic or tragic metamorphosis, Shakespeare's Illyria is a traditional paradise. The connection between Illyria and paradise is highlighted in Viola's opening scene:
Viola: What country, friends, is this? Captain: This is Illyria, lady. Viola: And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium.
Illyria and Elysium are linked through alliteration. It is as if Viola has died and been washed ashore onto her own Elysium, Illyria. Later the parallel becomes even stronger when it is discovered that Sebastian, Viola's brother, has also survived the shipwreck and has landed in Illyria. His Elysium is also Illyria; Viola's opening words have proved false and yet strangely truer than she realises. Both siblings achieve Elysian happiness with the lovers they meet in Illyria.
In Matthew Arnold's poem Empedocles on Etna (1852), Illyria returns to Ovid's model in that it is again the setting for the story of Cadmus and Harmonia. While Empedocles agonizes about his sense of alienation from society on the mountain peak, Callicles sings the `soothing' song of Cadmus and Harmonia in the valley below. Unlike Ovid's account, Arnold's Cadmus and Harmonia, `far in the Illyrian brakes', do not remember their past:
Therefore they did not end their days In sight of blood; but were rapt, far away, To where the west-wind plays, And murmurs of the Adriatic come To those untrodden mountain-lawns; and there Placed safely in changed forms, the pair Wholly forgot their first sad life, and home, And all that Theban woe, and stray For ever through the glens, placid and dumb.(13)
Illyria becomes the site of forgetfulness, almost of troubling erasure. There are echoes, in Cadmus and Harmonia's `placid' state, of the Lotos Eaters portrayed by Arnold's contemporary, Tennyson. Indeed it is tempting to think that the ancient mapping of the Illyrians and the Lotos Eaters side by side, beyond the boundaries of the known world, must have filtered down to the Victorians.(14) The peaceful Illyrian landscape, with its soporific power to quell awkward resistance and anxiety, provides one controversial answer to Arnold's anxious but fascinated questioning of his contemporary world.(15)
At the end of the eighteenth century and beginning of the nineteenth century -- the so-called Romantic period -- Illyria once more assumed a historical and geographical specificity, albeit one influenced by the mythical associations of the name which had developed. The key figure in this alteration was Napoleon. By the treaty of Schonbrunn in 1809, the lands bordering the Adriatic were ceded by Austria to the Napoleonic kingdom of Italy. Napoleon chose to call these newly acquired lands -- then known as Trieste, Croatia, Carinthia, Istria, and Dalmatia -- the `Illyrian Provinces', a term not used since ancient times. As in his other campaigns, notably the one in Egypt, Napoleon was using ancient history to justify his military appropriation and reconstruction. Lands once acquired by him were `liberated' from recent historical oppression and degeneration, according to the current rhetoric, and restored to their original identity and splendour, albeit under the French aegis.(16) Restoring the name Illyria for the territory north-west of Greece was part of this strategy. And even though in 1815, with Napoleon's defeat, the land returned to Austrian rule, the consciousness of an ancient identity had by then been raised. The area, under the Hapsburg Empire, became known as the `kingdom of Illyria'.
The nineteenth-century Slav independence campaign, which carried the name the Illyrian Movement, appropriated the myth which had been fabricated by the West, by outsiders, and used it for a new, nationalist purpose. Like the Greeks in their campaign for independence, the southern Slavs devoted much energy to asserting their descent from the ancient Illyrians. The mysteriousness and the elysian qualities of the Illyrians of western legend became transformed into a vision of their former purity and perfection. The chief agitator for independence, Ljudevit Gaj, for example, urged the purity of the Illyrian language which must be re-acquired or re-invented. Writing in 1835 at the start of the campaign, he attempted to inspire dissenters:
Brother Illyrians, when will we, inhabitants of the old, great and world-famous Illyrica, throw away our prejudices and self deception and follow the glorious examples of our neighbours.... Books for the common people can be written in the local dialects but let educated and cultured Illyria have a mature and sweet language and a simple literature as her neighbour, Italy.(17)
Western travellers to Greece also became interested in Illyria after Napoleon's re-awakening. Chief among the travel writers was William Martin Leake, whose `principal object [in writing] was a comparison of the ancient and modern geography, by confronting the information contained in the ancient authors with the actual state of the country'.(18) His main concern was Albania, whose people, he argued, were descended from the ancient Illyrians. Indeed, according to his thesis, the Albanians had originally been one of the Illyrian tribes and had now blossomed to inhabit the vast mountainous territory in modern-day north-west Greece, Albania, and southern Yugoslavia. The Albanians were of interest to Leake partly for political reasons. They lived within the Napoleonic Empire, although never physically invaded or conquered by Napoleon, and thus offered a mediating vision of the enemy. Leake writes in the preface of 1814:
Subsequent events, which have checked the torrent of French ambition, may have diminished the political importance of Albania, but at the time these Researches were made, its dialect had received an additional claim to notice from the changes which had brought the country where it is spoken into contact with our own enemies, who then made no secret of their design of seeking a road through Albania into Greece. Under these circumstances it became doubly interesting to obtain some knowledge of the language ...
Once again, as in ancient times, Illyria/Albania was serving as a buffer between the known and unknown world, between the allies and the enemies.
But Leake was also interested in the Albanians because they seemed purer and therefore possibly more Greek than the Greeks. They were uncontaminated by invasion and were fiercely nationalistic. Leake described them as
irregular and undisciplined as soldiers, but possessing a perfect familiarity with the use of arms; ferocious and ignorant and uncivilised, but cherishing an enthusiastic partiality for their native mountains, and adding to the advantages of a country, which opposes the strongest natural obstacles to an invader, that determination to resist all foreign intruders, and that confidence in their ability to defend themselves, which had, until that period of the war, been found very deficient in some more civilised nations of Europe.(19)
The resistance to invasion meant that the Albanians were arguably closer to their distant ancestors than the Greeks, who had suffered incursions from Romans, northern barbarians, and eastern Turks and were now often indistinguishable from their Ottoman rulers. The Albanians therefore seemed to offer a picture of how the Greeks might have been, a picture of the more attractive elements of Greek culture.(20) Leake pointed out the subtle distinctions and connections:
Although possessing a marked distinction from the Greeks in form and physiognomy, having light eyes and high cheek-bones, they resemble very much in character and manners the natives of the more mountainous and independent districts of Greece. They possess perhaps more evenness of conduct, more prudence, more fidelity to their employers, and at the same time more selfishness, avidity, and avarice, but there is found in them the same rigid observance of religious prejudices, the same superstitions, the same active, keen, and enterprising genius, the same hardy, patient and laborious habits.(21)
Major Leake's theories quickly took hold. The clergyman Henry Holland, who published his travels the year after Leake's work, wrote of `the discovery' of the Illyrians and endorsed without reservation Leake's argument that the Albanians had descended from the Illyrians: `I should be disposed, then, to consider this historical point of the origin of the Albanians as nearly settled, as to give additional interest to the examination of a people who have descended from distant times, with fewer changes perhaps in their situation and habits of life than almost any other community in Europe.'(22) But John Cam Hobhouse, the companion of Byron's travels, was sceptical. He dismissed Leake's theories and argued that the Illyrian region had always been populated by a miscellany of barbarian tribes, an `almost uninterupted sucession of barbarians', for which a pure continuous line of descent was impossible. He confessed an admiration for the Albanian people, who were `exceedingly decent in their outward manners and behaviour', but this was rather as a result of the enjoyment of otherness than a consequence of re-claiming the Illyrians as Greek.(23) It is significant that Hobhouse's map does not designate the region as Illyria but as Albania, while Leake's map clearly terms the area which lies west of Macedonia Illyria.(24) The terms used by these cartographers were clearly more influenced by their particular theories of ethnic and historical identity than by any objective geographical or common usage on the ground.
Byron's description of Illyria in Childe Harold was published just a few years before Hobhouse's and Leake's maps, which owe much to his discovery. The sense of the obscurity and attractive difference of the Albanians/Illyrians which Leake reveals is inspired by Byron's portrayal. But Byron's Illyria is far more complicated than that of Leake, with his narrower ethnic concerns. Byron's Illyria is characterized by a great range of its associations, the changing significance of Illyria described so far. It draws upon the political Illyria, the literary, the mythical, and so uses one reading to impinge upon another.
One normally associates Byron's Childe Harold II with the philhellenic movement and certainly the poem is primarily concerned with creating a vision of classical Greece, a `sad relic of departed worth'. The melancholy of the narrator of Childe Harold influences the particular vision of classical Greece with its ruined columns, weed-strewn villages, and ancient battlefields and urges swift action from the British readers, who are created as the obvious sympathizers and inheritors of the situation, to remedy the situation. But besides the clearly philhellenizing rhetoric of the poem, Byron also explores other myths about Greece and other ways of understanding the country. This counter-rhetoric reaches a climax in a particular stanza:
From the dark barriers of that rugged clime Ev'n to the centre of Illyria's vales, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mountain sublime, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales; Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Are rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boast A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails, Though classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast.(25)
The contrast between `Illyria's vales' and `famed Attica' could hardly be made more telling. One is obscure but `sublime', the other `classic', `consecrated most', familiar. But what did Byron mean by Illyria?
The first answer must be that he was thinking of the historical or political significance of Illyria. When Childe Harold was published, Napoleon had enjoyed control over the region for two years, and had re-introduced the ancient name, the Illyrian Provinces. It is widely recognized that Childe Harold is a topical, political poem. Byron's landscape in the poem, for example, has been called `a palimpsest of political maps'.(26) As Byron's protagonist, Harold, travels from Portugal, Spain, Malta, Greece, and Illyria, he is effectively touring the areas most contested by the British and the French during the Napoleonic War. The little-known Illyrian Provinces were part of the new empire, just as the `sad relic' of Greece was part of the old ancient empire, now departed. Byron's poem marks the re-inscribing of the historical Illyria in the public consciousness.
But at the same time, Byron is keen to keep Illyria private, to retain its imaginary or literary qualities. While Childe Harold maps Napoleonic Europe, it is also concerned to subordinate `public sentiment to individual feeling'.(27) Harold invokes the topical, martial quality of his travels only to reject that association:
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanished war, Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar: Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight (Born beneath some remote inglorious star) In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight, But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial wight.(28)
Trafalgar, scene of the recent victory of the British over the French, is rejected in favour of Harold's private feelings and personal reflections. So, too, with Illyria. First in his notes to the poem, Byron wrests Illyria back from the French by noting the similarity between the Albanians, `part of Illyria', and the Scots: `The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in dress, figure and manner of language.'(29) The Illyrians are now British again, although as Highlanders they are still excitingly marginal. Second, Byron invokes the literary significance of Illyria, the Shakespearean Elysium. Illyria becomes the land of fiction, the `lands scarce noticed in historic tales', its sublimity an indication of its mystery And by contrasting it with the `classic ground' of Attica, Byron alludes to the long-running literary conflict between the French neoclassicism and the wildness of Shakespeare which broke all conventional rules. The Illyria of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night allows the individual imagination to overshadow the public, historical might of Napoleon.
But Shakespeare's Illyria was not only useful in countering Napoleon. Byron, in this stanza, was deliberately contrasting it with classical Greece. The Illyria of Twelfth Night was recognizably fictional, a magical conjuring trick by the dramatist. So by contrasting the Shakespearean Greece and the philhellenic classical one, Byron was able to question the historical validity of either image. The contingency of the two concepts of Greece become evident when juxtaposed. The idealizing and gloomy picture of Marathon, Thermopylae or Athens is exposed as another stereotype, a Western vision or imagining, rather than an objective, documentary description. Thus Byron's appropriation of Shakespeare's Illyria makes uncertain the assumed essential and uninterrupted link between the ancient Greek past and the contemporary Greek present upon which philhellenism and Greek nationalism depend.(30)
Byron's portrayal of Illyria is salutary. Much of the history of Illyria seems ostensibly to be the history of nationalism. Recalling standard accounts of the rise of nationalism, Illyria has been the place where fiction and fact meet, where myths become appropriated as history and used to forge a nation's physical geographical existence.(31) Today, when we have experienced the use of mythical or literary versions of identity to justify violent wars of nationalism, the difficulty of distinguishing between a fictional and a factual place called Illyria might seem disturbing. But Byron's poem, which combines the Illyria of war and of literature, deliberately allowing the two associations to clash and resonate uncomfortably together, highlights the particular, different qualities of the place. Rather than any fervently believed but misplaced notions of an essential Illyria, the (hi)story of the place reveals a tradition of liminality, of contingency, of reversal, where fixed identities and expectations are tested and overturned. That elusive (or elysian) capacity of Illyria to challenge fixed ideas offers the possibility of a different model of national identity and other ways of imagining a place.(32)
(*) This article was prompted by a question following a paper I gave at the Cambridge University `Greek Worlds' seminar. I am grateful to the seminar organizers, Pat Easterling and Shannan Peckham, for their suggestions at the time, and to Brendan Simms for later conversations.
(1.) The Illyrians (Oxford, 1993), 4.
(2.) `Twelfth Night at Oxford', First Collected Edition of the Works of Oscar Wilde, 1908-1922, ed. by R. Ross, 15 vols. (London, 1969), Vol. 13, 46.
(3.) 1. 196.
(4.) 1. 56-8.
(5.) 7.7.1. See also E Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy (Oxford, 1989), 170.
(6.) 1. 24. 1-2.
(7.) 1. 24. 5-6.
(8.) 4. 126.
(9.) See J. M. Lothian and T. W. Craik (edd.), Twelfth Night (Arden edition, London, 1975), xxxv-xli.
(10.) The XV Bookes of P. Ovidius Naso, entytuled Metamorphosis, translated out of Latin into English meeter, by Arthur Golding Gentleman, A worke very pleasaunt and delectable (London, 1567), 52. Shakespeare would have read Ovid in Golding's translation.
(11.) The XV Bookes of P. Ovidius Naso, 52.
(12.) See J. Bate, Shakespeare and Ovid (Oxford, 1993), 144-51, for a dark reading of Illyria and the Metamorphoses in Twelfth Night.
(13.) Empedocles on Etna I.ii.452-60.
(14.) See, for example, Geographi Graeci Minores, ed. by C. Muller (Paris, 1855-61), i. 15-96: `After the Libruni there come the Illyrian people. The Illyrii dwell by the sea as far as Chaonia, which lies opposite Coreyra, the island of Alcinous. There is situated the Greek city called Heraclea, with a harbour. There dwell the Lotus-eaters, barbarian peoples with the names Hierastamnae, Bulini, and Hylli who are neighbours of the Bulini.'
(15.) For more on Arnold's vision of Greece and Illyria, see my `Translation in Arnold's Empedocles', Essays in Criticism 45, 4 (October, 1995), 301-23.
(16.) For more on the Napoleonic rhetoric of `liberation', see S. Woolf, Napoleon's Integration of Europe (London, 1991), 14-17.
(17.) Danica 1 (12 December 1835), 288, quoted in E. M. Despalatovic, Ljudevit Gaj and the Illyrian Movement (New York and London, 1975), 89.
(18.) Researches in Greece (London, 1814), i.
(19.) Researches, iii-iv.
(20.) Edward Daniel Clarke repeated the claim that the Albanians were more attractive and purer than the Greeks: `The Greeks are, for the most part, indolent and profligate, vain, obsequious, poor and dirty. The Albanians are industrious, independent, honourable and hospitable. They are a hardier and healthier race', Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia and Africa, 6 vols. (1810-23), Vol. 4, 321. For the attractive simplicity of the Albanians, see also R. Chandler, Travels in Greece or an Account of a Tour made at the Expense of the Society of Dilettanti (Oxford, 1776), 119.
(21.) Researches, 251. It is interesting to note that the Albanians, in their northern and mountainous terrain, are very close to the `Aryan Model' of Greece which Martin Bernal argues was developed in the early nineteenth century: see Black Athena, 2 vols. (1987-1991), Vol. 1, 190-330.
(22.) Travels in the Ionian Isles, Albania, Thessaly, Macedonia etc During the Years 1812 and 1813 (London, 1815), 101.
(23.) Travels in Albania and Other Provinces of Turkey in 1809 and 1810, new edn., 2 vols. (London, 1855), Vol. 1, 137.
(24.) See Hobhouse's map in A Journey through Albania and Other Provinces of Turkey in Europe and Asia to Constantinople, during the years 1809-1810, 2 vols. (London: 1813), Vol. 1; see Leake's map in Travels in Northern Greece, 4 vols. (London, 1835), Vol. 1.
(25.) Childe Harold 11.406-14.
(26.) C. Woodring, Politics in English Romantic Poetry (Cambridge, Mass., 1970), 156.
(27.) R. Cronin, `Mapping Childe Harold I and II', Byron Journal 22 (1994), 27.
(28.) Childe Harold II.355-60.
(29.) Byron's note to line 338, Childe Harold II.
(30.) See my Shelley and Greece: Rethinking Romantic Hellenism (Basingstoke, 1997), chapter 6.
(31.) For the link between the imagination and nationalism, see, for example, E. Hobsbawm and T. Ranger (edd.), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge, 1983) and B. Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London, 1983).
(32.) For one possibility of non-ethnic nationalism, see M. Tanner, `Illyrianism and the Croatian Quest for Statehood', Daedalus (Summer 1997), 47-62.
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|Publication:||Greece & Rome|
|Date:||Oct 1, 1998|
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