IN ANCIENT ROME there was a group of religious officials called augurs, whose job was to interpret the opinion of the gods on important decisions, something they did by studying the behaviour of birds, especially eagles, hawks and falcons.
Their role is dramatised in Robert Graves's classic book I Claudius, when a wounded eagle falls from the sky in front of the eponymous hero. The augurs interpret this to mean that the stuttering, limping Claudius must become emperor and save Rome.
And like many accurate predictions before and since, this one is ignored, because everybody thinks Claudius is an idiot.
The world has moved on since Roman times. But the notion that bird behaviour might have supernatural significance lingers to this day. Christian iconography continues to give doves a role in blessing important events. More profanely, humans on the receiving end of falling bird manure are said to be assured “good luck”.
And we still speak of “inaugurations” and “inaugural” events: terms that go all the way back to those priests who studied bird movements (no pun intended) before pronouncing on the prospects of a public enterprise.
I MENTIONall of this only by way of prelude to wondering aloud whether there is any significance, good or bad, in reports that there is a peregrine falcon nesting on the roof of the Central Bank in Dublin.
Probably not, is the answer. Falcons like to nest in precipitous places, whether cliffs or tall buildings: because that’s where they can best exploit their superb eyesight and their awe-inspiring dive speeds which, at 200 miles an hour, make them the fastest animals on Earth.
Even so. According to Birdwatch Ireland’s website, the first sightings of the Central Bank bird were in late 2007; which in retrospect seems ominous. Whatever about the falcon, the Irish banking system went over a cliff soon afterwards, and the diving speed of property prices has been inspiring awe in onlookers ever since.
No matter that nesting on tall buildings is typical of falcons. Given the importance of this particular building, the ancients would have called in the augurs. Then they would have sought a second opinion from that other class of Roman diviners, the haruspices, who specialised in studying the entrails of sacrificed animals, from which they too thought they could interpret the will of the gods.
(Modern-day consultants arguably continue the haruspices’ line of work. Indeed, the mockery they sometimes have to endure is not new either. Even by later Roman times, entrail-studiers had fallen into disrepute among educated classes. Cato the Elder is recorded as wondering how one haruspex could look at another without laughing.) Reports that the Central Bank falcon has been adding to Temple Bar’s problems with fast-food packaging – in this case by dropping the carcases of small birds – seems somehow portentous too.
Augurs would probably need more detail about the locations. But putting myself in their shoes, I would say that if a dead bird fell at the rear of the bank, on Cope Street, it could be a message of qualified hope to the Irish people: ie that we must manage as best we can until we turn the corner, from Cope Street to somewhere else.
Whereas if the bird fell at the eastern side of the bank, on Anglesea Street, it could be a more worrying sign. Apart from anything else, it might hit an already-nervous trader entering the Irish Stock Exchange, thereby triggering market panic, and setting the recovery back years.
IF YOUstill doubt the lingering power of Roman augury, consider another word we use in everyday English: "auspicious". This too comes to us via the augurs: from "avis" meaning "bird" and "specere", "to observe".
Thus the original "auspices" were omens so derived. And the phrase "under the auspices of" also has supernatural origins; although it now features mostly in discussions about public bodies. One recent usage, for example, was an Irish TimesEditorial about Nama, in which we warned against secrecy about the value of properties paid for by the taxpayer, "under its auspices".
In these circumstances, I make no apology for considering the name of the man appointed to lead one of the inquiries into Ireland’s banking crisis – Klaus Regling – very auspicious: even though it was hardly a factor in the Government’s choice.
My German is not extensive, so I'm indebted to alert reader Jake Walsh for explaining Mr Regling's nominative significance as he attempts to mop up after an era of financial laxity. "In case you're not aware," Jake writes, "Regel in German means rule, regelnis the verb 'to rule', reglermeans regulator and closest of all, regelung, is a regulation or settlement. Apt or what?" Apt indeed. In fact, maybe this was the message of the peregrine falcon. "Peregrine" meaning "foreign", or "imported from abroad", perhaps our feathered friend was emphasising the need to look overseas for someone to lead the bank inquiry.
And while we’re on the subject, how should we interpret news of the imminent return to Ireland of another peregrinating bird: RTÉ’s Charlie? No, I don’t know what it means either. But I recall that one of the veteran journalist’s greatest exposés was a bank scandal involving a Fianna Fáil TD. If Mr Regling believes in auspices, maybe he should inaugurate his Irish investigation by giving Charlie a job.