Ancient Greek Linguistics: New Approaches, Insights, Perspectives 9783110551754, 9783110548068

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Ancient Greek Linguistics

Ancient Greek Linguistics New Approaches, Insights, Perspectives Edited by Felicia Logozzo and Paolo Poccetti

ISBN 978-3-11-054806-8 ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-055175-4 ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-055138-9 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published be the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2017 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Cover image: Bronze lamina attributed to Caulonia recording a donation in Achaean alphabet (500-475 BC) © National Archaeological Museum, Naples Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Contents Introduction | XI

Part I: Phonology and its written reflexes Roberto Batisti The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek | 3 Violeta Gomis García & Araceli Striano Corrochano Los grupos de consonantes oclusivas labiales y velares seguidas de silbante en los dialectos griegos | 19 Ville Leppänen Gothic evidence for Greek historical phonology | 35 Felicia Logozzo Scritture Brevi in alfabeto greco: qualche considerazione linguistica | 57 Chiara Zanchi Metro e confini di parola: il caso dei preverbi multipli in Omero | 77

Parte II: Particles and their functional uses Rutger J. Allan The grammaticalization of Greek particles | 103 Luz Conti On the non–prototypical uses of adverbs in Homer: analysis of ἤδη | 119 Emilio Crespo Focus adverbs in Classical Greek | 133 Guglielmo Inglese Connettivi e marcatori discorsivi in greco antico: il caso di ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ in Omero | 155 José Miguel Jiménez Delgado Ancient Greek καί: marginal adverbial uses | 171

VI | Contents

María José García Soler Usos de καί y ἔτι como adverbios de foco aditivos en las declamaciones etopoéticas de Libanio | 181 Frédéric Lambert Les emplois de καί initial en grec ancien | 193 Dagmar Muchnová Homeric use of the particle οὖν in subordinate clauses | 211 Anna Novokhatko Discourse markers in a comic fragmentary dialogue | 227 Elena Redondo Moyano Defective approximative adverbs in Late Greek | 243 Kees Thijs “Single” μήν in Platonic dialogue | 259

Part III: Tense, aspect, modality and evidentiality Annamaria Bartolotta On deictic motion verbs in Homeric Greek | 277 Corien Bary Reportative markers in Ancient Greek | 293 Ronald Blankenborg Would–be factuality. Future in the Greek verb system | 303 Antonio Lillo On the oblique optative in Herodotus’ completive sentences, an evidentiality mark in Ancient Greek | 313 Elisabetta Magni Pluractionality and perfect in Homeric Greek | 325 Anna Orlandini & Paolo Poccetti Manifestazioni del “locutore” in greco | 345

Contents |

VII

Liana Tronci Forme sintetiche del futuro nel greco ellenistico. Brevi note sulla Settanta | 383

Parte IV: Speech acts and pragmatics Nicolas Bertrand Discontinuous and expletive topic expressions in Homeric Greek | 399 Marie–Ange Julia Le grec classique possède–t–il un présentatif? | 411 Donna Shalev Attenuated, modified, assent–seeking declaratives, interrogation and urbanitas in the Greek of Platonic dialogue | 429 Marina Solís de Ovando Focus in performance: some focusing expressions in anagnorisis scenes from Attic tragedy | 447 Massimo Vai Struttura informativa della frase in greco omerico: periferia alta, periferia bassa; collocazione delle relative nella periferia sinistra | 457 Rodrigo Verano Linguistic paraphrase in Platonic dialogue: a first approach | 475

Part V: Syntax, thematic roles and their morpho–lexical interface Marina Benedetti Quale avere? Sulla sintassi di ἔχειν | 491 Maria Carmela Benvenuto & Flavia Pompeo Abstract possession and experiential expression. Some preliminary remarks | 507 Carla Bruno Dietro la maschera. Apparizioni della prima persona nell’Antigone di Sofocle | 523

VIII | Contents

Jesús de la Villa Verbal alternations in Ancient Greek as an interface between lexicon and syntax | 535 Richard Faure Argument participial clauses viewed as abstract objects in Classical Greek | 551 José Marcos Macedo Noun apposition in Greek religious language: a linguistic account | 565 Rafael Martínez & Emilia Ruiz Yamuza Word order, adverb’s scope and focus | 581 Lucio Melazzo Did Pindar’s scheme really exist? | 597 Antonio R. Revuelta Puigdollers Result clauses in Ancient Greek: correlatives, negation, mood and sentence level | 609 Sira Rodeghiero L’aumento in Omero tra narrazione e sintassi | 625

Parte VI: Lexicon and onomastics Václav Blažek Apollo the Archer | 643 Gunnar De Boel Locative alternation as lexical derivation: the examples of νάττω and βάλλω | 663 Noemi De Pasquale The “Classical” way to encode motion | 679 Mercedes Díaz de Cerio Díez Voice and Sociative alternations in spatial symphero | 695 Françoise Létoublon Le lexique de la promesse en grec à l’époque archaïque | 711

Contents

| IX

Ilaria Liberati Zoomorfismo ed antropomorfismo nella formazione del lessico botanico greco | 735 Silvia Luraghi & Eleonora Sausa Pensare, sapere, ricordare: i verbi di attività mentale in greco omerico | 745 Domenico Giuseppe Muscianisi Theran hικεσιος (6th c. BC) and Homeric ἱκετήσιος: evidence for Zeus ‘of the Foreigners’ in Archaic Greece | 775

Part VII: Greek and other languages Paola Dardano Homeric and Hittite phraseology compared: introducing the soliloquy in the Homeric and Near Eastern epic | 791 Chiara Frigione Ipotesi su gr. Μαρσύας e gr. μάρσι/ύπ(π)ος | 811 Theodor Georgescu Le grec en latin: des mots grecs attestés seulement en latin | 825 Edoardo Middei Antroponimia sabellica nelle iscrizioni greche | 835 Analytical Indices | 853 List of Contributors | 861

Introduction This volume gathers fifty–one papers on Ancient Greek Linguistics, selected among those presented at the International Colloquium on Ancient Greek Linguistics, held in Rome, 23–27 March 2015. The purpose of this Colloquium, that hosted over one hundred participants, was to merge different venues of varied approach to Ancient Greek Linguistics previously organized by individual institutions in different locales. Consequently, this Colloquium featured a remarkable variety of participants of widely distributed international provenience, scholarly formation and personal interest to a variety of issues. The papers gathered in the present volume cover the main aspects of ancient Greek linguistics, both synchronic and diachronic in perspective, within a wide–ranging array of subjects, theoretical approaches and methodological pathways. The topics have been distributed into seven chapters, in a proportion reflecting the interest and quality of the submitted papers. However, the placement of individual papers was not easily carried out, given the partial overlap and mutual reciprocity among different subjects and methodical approaches. In particular, chapters 2 through 5, respectively entitled Particles and their functional uses (ch. 2), Tense (ch. 3), Aspect, modality and evidentiality (ch. 4), Speech acts and pragmatics (ch. 5), each of which refers to a relatively unitary topic, have been subdivided along the lines of individual aspects or methodological approaches. Among these, the most voluminous is chapter 2 (Particles and their functional uses), owing to the important function of particles in Ancient Greek and, subsequently, to the interest they have been attracting in the current trends of Ancient Greek linguistics. Contents of chapters 6 (Lexicon and onomastics) and 7 (Greek and other languages) likewise share a generous overlap. We are grateful to the authors for their invaluable contributions as well as for their patience in waiting for the publication. Finally, we would like to express our thanks to the publisher De Gruyter for having agreed undertake to this publication. Felicia Logozzo & Paolo Poccetti

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-011

| Part I: Phonology and its written reflexes

Roberto Batisti

The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek Abstract: This paper addresses the problem of the double development of liquid plus s sequences in Ancient Greek. The accent–conditioned rule first proposed by Wackernagel (1888) is defended as a satisfying explanation, while some objections that have prevented its acceptance are refuted.

1 Introduction¹ The treatment of medial *–Ls– clusters is an old problem in the historical phonology of Greek. As is well known, in other medial *–Rs–, *–sR– clusters the sibilant was lost, most probably via debuccalization to [h], with compensatory lengthening (CL) of the preceding vowel in most dialects, but gemination of the resonant in Thessalian and East Aeolic. When the resonant was a nasal or /w/, as well as before liquids, this process was regular; after a liquid, on the other hand, /s/ appears to be lost with CL only in some cases, while in other instances it is preserved down to historical times. The one category where CL is overwhelmingly regular are sigmatic aorists built to liquid stems (*éspersa > ἔσπειρα, etc.); in Homeric language, though, several exceptions are found. The picture is further complicated by the fact that, apparently, –VLs– from earlier *Ls always stays intact. ˚ In order to account for this puzzling distribution, three different approaches have been followed. Some scholars believe that CL was the only regular outcome, and that apparent exceptions did not, in fact, contain original *–Ls–; the fullest defense of this theory has been given by K. Forbes (1958)². A priori, this would seem the most appealing solution, since CL across the board is expected based on the beviahor of similar clusters. Unfortunately, Forbes had to resort to too many unlikely, ad hoc reconstructions in order to explain away all the exceptions³.

1 This paper is based on chapter IV.2 of my 2014 PhD thesis at the University of Bologna. I wish to thank my supervisor prof. Camillo Neri for his guidance throughout the research. I am also grateful to Andreas Willi, Adèle Jatteau and J. M. Jiménez Delgado for helpful feedback and discussion. Any mistakes are entirely my own. 2 Forbes’ article incorporated several ideas and suggestions by O. Szemerényi. 3 Cf. the detailed criticism by Miller (1976).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-015

4 | Roberto Batisti

The opposite view – retention of –Ls– as the only regular outcome – is predominant in the literature⁴. If one wishes to accept it, lengthening in the aorists could conceivably be due to some kind of analogy, which in some cases could even have spread to nominals⁵. However, this theory suffers from its own shortcomings. In particular, it is still difficult for its followers to account for all conflicting evidence, especially in isolated, unmotivated forms where analogical action is less likely. Moreover, it is a priori somehow unexpected that /s/ should not be lost – with eventual CL – next to a resonant. The third logical possibility is that CL was, in this case, a context–sensitive sound change. Such an explanation was put forth already in 1888 by J. Wackernagel, who pointed to the accent as the conditioning factor: a sibilant after a liquid was voiced and then lost with CL of the preceding vowel, except when that vowel carried the accent. F. Solmsen (1888) accepted this rule, but introduced an important modification, proposing that lengthening in s–aorists was not the result of sound change, but of analogical generalization. This solution failed to win widespread consensus, and was not explored further until Miller (1976) reprised it in the framework of (early) generative phonology, introducing theoretical refinements such as the notions of morpheme boundary and rule ordering. However, he rephrased⁶ the rule as «–VLs– became voiced ¯ to –VLz– (→ –VL–) when the accent was on the following syllable» (159); as will be shown later, this difference is not without consequences. The handbooks still treat the problem as fundamentally unsolved, and the accent– based rule is mentioned with skepticism, if at all⁷. There are, to be sure, signs of a growing acceptance of Wackernagel’s and/or Miller’s theory (not always distinguished) in some more recent works⁸, that however do not offer an explicit, in–depth discussion of it. The aim of this paper is to defend the validity of the accent–sensitive rule, distinguishing more accurately between its different formulations, and explicitly addressing the problems and objections (both typological and Greek–internal) that have so far prevented its total acceptance.

4 E.g. Osthoff (1881, 1590 f.), Brugmann–Thumb (1913, 140 f., 148), Schwyzer (1939, 284–86), Risch (1956, 127), Pisani (1973, 59), Palmer (1980, 237), Ruijgh (1986, 392), Rix (1992, 79; but cf. p. XVIII). 5 As suggested by Ruijgh (1986) for the family of κείρω and κουρά. 6 Or rather misrepresented, since from Miller’s wording one would be lead to believe that this was Wackernagel’s own formulation. 7 See Lejeune (1972, 126), Sihler (1995, 218). Cavazza (2011, 31) even numbers it among the «leggi non più accettate [. . . ] non avendo esse resistito al trascorrere degli anni o a un diffuso discredito». 8 Cf. Alonso Déniz 2008, 13; Minamimoto 2012, 104f.; Hawkins 2013, 70.

The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek | 5

2 The evidence: unmotivated forms A detailed examination of all potentially relevant material falls outside the limited scope of this paper; the reader is referred to the discussions by Forbes and Miller, and to the standard etymological dictionaries. Nonetheless, a few observations and updates may be appropriate here. Some forms have been discussed in the context of –Ls– sequences but probably ¯ never contained such a cluster: ἔρρω ‘go away, perish’ can hardly represent *uérso, ̑ since it shows ρρ even outside of Attic⁹, while χείρ ‘hand’¹⁰ is generally agreed today h

h

to represent IE *g esr– (NIL 170–172, cf. Hitt. keššar), not *g ers–, as Forbes (1958, 239–241) still assumed¹¹. For other forms an original *Ls is possible but not provable: πόρσω ‘forward’ could ¯ or even a zero–grade < *πρότ ̯ be metathesized from πρόσω < *prótio¹², ιο¯ (Lat. porro¯ is ̑ ambiguous in this regard), where CL is not expected (see below). Other forms are too obscure, such as βειρόν, βερρόν, βίρροξ, all glossed by Hesychius (β 464, 534, 627 L.) as δασύ, with irregular alternations strongly suggesting a non–IE background. As mentioned above, /s/ is retained after the outcome of a syllabic liquid, not only when the vocalization is –VLs–, but also with –LVs– (e.g. in θρασύς, τρασιά, πράσον). A recent examination of some relevant material by Manolessou and Pantelidis (2011) concluded that «alle Fälle, welche ursprünglich die Folge *RsV aufwiesen, Erhaltung von /s/ zeigen». Something similar also happens, in a less˚ systematic fashion, with syllabic nasals (δασύς < *dnsu–, cf. Lat. densus). As Sihler (1995, 171) observed, «there ˚ for such a thing»; in fact, the reason probably lies in is no obvious phonetic basis the relative chronology of s–lenition and liquid vocalization. Even though the matter deserves further investigation, the outcomes of *LsV will be considered not decisive for ˚ the purposes of this paper. This is the case for ἄρσην ‘male’ (*ursen), θαρσέω ‘be bold’ ̑˚ h (< *d rs–), ταρσός ‘basket for drying cheese’ (*trs–). Original zero grade is possible, ˚ certain, in ἄλσος ‘sacred wood’, if connected ˚ but less with ἄρσεα· λειμῶνες (Hsch. α 7458 L.); ἄρσιχος ‘wicker basket’; (ἐπι)κάρσιος ‘crosswise’; φάρσος ‘piece, fragment’ (< h

*b rs– ‘to break’? cf. φάρσαι, ὅ ἐστι σχίσαι EM 175,29 G.). ˚ Also indecisive are forms which in principle would be compatible both with Wackernagel’s and Forbes’ rules – i.e., where the presumed CL would have happened in an unaccented syllable. This is the case for δειράς ‘ridge’ (rather from *deruad, cf. Ion. ̑ δείρη, Arc. δέρϝα, than *dersad–); ἐπίκουρος ‘helper’ (from *krs– ‘run’, or rather Ion. ˚ ¯ 9 Forssman (1980) suggested a proto–form *uértio. ̑ ̑ 10 It is unclear whether χ¯ιράς ‘chap, crack’ belongs here. h

h

11 According to Forbes, χέρνιψ ‘water for washing the hands’ supports *g ers–, as *g esr–C would ˚ have given **χεαρ–, but on preconsonantal χερ– see now Viredaz (2000). 12 So Chantraine, DELG 929.

6 | Roberto Batisti

κοῦρος?); ἰουλός ‘down’, οὐλή ‘wound, scar’, πηλός ‘mud’ (where ls and ln are both possible); σειρά ‘rope’ (rs and ri both possible). ̑ A few forms, while etymologically dubious, would agree with Forbes’ rule but not with Wackernagel’s one. It has long been discussed whether βούλομαι ‘wish, want’ (with its many dialectal w w variants) represents *g ol–no– or *g ol–so–. The most recent discussion is found in Minamimoto (2012); I agree with him that the former reconstruction seems more likely on morphological grounds, as a nasal present poses less problems than either a desiderative or an old aorist subjunctive. The adjective πυρσός (Att. πυρρός) ‘flame–colored, ruddy’ (cf. πῦρ) is problematic in light of dialect forms with /w/ (Lin. B puwo, Corinth. Πύρϝος, Myc. Πυρϝίας, Arg. Πυρϝαλίων). It is unclear whether a proto–form *pursuós would explain all the attested ̑ variants, since we have no reliable examples for the behavior of *rsu. Miller (1976, 164 ̑ f.) preferred two separate derivations *pur–uo– and *pur–so–, with CL blocked in the ̑ latter by the morpheme boundary. The glosses φῆρον· βρῶμα θεῶν (Hdn. GG III/1 385), φῆρος· ἡ τῶν ἀρχαίων θεῶν h

τροφή (Hsch. φ 363 C.) could be from *b ars– (Lat. far, OCS brašьno, OIc. barr) but the connection remains uncertain. Also obscure are ἧλος ‘nailhead’, πῖλος ‘felt’, οὖλος ‘wooly, twisted’. Other forms, while etymologically dubious, would agree with Wackernagel’s rule but not with Forbes’ one. Non–Greek origin is very likely for βύρσα ‘skin, hide’, θύρσος ‘wand wreathed in ivy’(cf. Luwian tuwarsa?), μύρσος ‘basket’(cf. Etruscan murś?), τύρσις ‘tower’ (cf. Lat. turris). The group γάρσανα· φρύγανα. Κρῆτες (Hsch. γ 185 L.), γέρρον ‘wickerwork’, γάρρα· ῥάβδον (Hsch. γ 182 L.), γέρσυμον· ἄκρον ἁλιευτικοῦ καλάμου (Hsch. γ 435 L.), κέρσιμον, ὃ πρὸς τοῖς ἀκροῖς τῶν καλάμων ἅπτουσι πρὸς τὸ κατάγνυσθαι τῷ βάρει τῶν ἰχθύων (schol. T ad Il. XXIV 81) could show both zero and e–grade of the same root, but the relationship between these forms is dubious, as is their etymology; if they are indeed related, the oscillations κ : γ and υ :ι – as well as the meanings – would point to substrate origin. The following words support Wackernagel’s rule more strongly: Aeol. θέρσος h

‘courage’ (also in proper names: Θερσίλοχος) < *d ers– (NIL 120 f.); τέλσον ‘place where the plow turns at the end of the furrow’, τέλσας· στροφάς. τέλη, πέρατα (Hsch. w w τ 446 H.–C.) either from *k elh1 – ‘to turn’ (LIV 386–88) or *k els– ‘to carve’ (LIV 388 h

f.); τέρσομαι ‘become dry’ < *ters– (LIV 637 f.); χέρσος ‘dry land’ < *g´ ers– (LIV 178). The key evidence, however, comes from a set of correspondances between related forms belonging to lexical families with good IE etymologies, where both outcomes can be seen:

The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek | 7

Table 1 Root

´ –VLs–

¯ –VLs– > –VL–

*Huers– (LIV 291 f., NIL 356 ̑ f.) *uers–en– (NIL 722) ̑

ἕρση (dial. ἐέρση, ἐέρσα, ἀέρσα) ‘rain’ ἔρσην (Lesb., Cret., Hdt.) ‘male’

*kers– (LIV 355 f.)

κόρση ‘head, temple’ (< ‘shaved area’?), Κόρσης (nickname of first Athenian who shaved his beard, Chrysipp. SVF III App. II 198.30) ὄρρος ‘rump, arse’ (< *ὄρσος)

οὐρέω ‘urinate’ (< ‘to rain’?), οὐρανός ‘sky’ εἰρήν ‘young male in Sparta’, Εἰραφιώτης (epithet of Dionysos) κουρά ‘haircut’, κουρεύς ‘barber’,κουρίξ ‘by the hair’

*h1 ers– (NIL 246–248)

οὐρά ‘tail’

As a possible additional example one may add ἀτειρής ‘stubborn, unyielding’ if related to τέρσομαι (and not from *ἀτερϝής, cf. τέρυ· ἀσθενής, λεπτόν Hsch. τ 559 H.–C.). There are, to be sure, forms that seem to contradict the rule, such as οὖρος ‘urine’, if related to οὐρέω as usually assumed¹³. From *kers– there are κορσεύς· κουρεύς Hsch. κ 3658 L., κορσόν· κορμόν Hsch. κ 3665 L., κορσόω ‘shave’ (with several derivatives), 2

while κοῦροι ‘loppings’, thus accented by most sources, is attested only in IG II 1362.6. From *h1 ers–: ὀρσολόπος· ὁ λέπων τὸν ὄρρον; ὀρσοθύρη ‘back door’; ὀρσοδάκνη ‘an insect’; ὀρρώδης ‘pertaining to the rump’ in medical writers (v.l. οὐρ–!); ὀρροχμόν· ἔσχατον. ἀκρόν (Hsch. ο 1391 L.); ὀρροπύγιον ‘rump of birds’. The above words may show a «late accent shift» (Miller 1976, 160) or, rather, be «late derivatives» postdating the sound change. To sum up, Miller’s judgment can be confirmed, as lexical material clearly supports Wackernagel’s rule, while exceptions and potential counterexamples do not seriously threaten it; Forbes’ alternative etymological suggestions, on the other hand, appear unconvincing, and it is probably no coincidence that they were almost never accepted by later reference works¹⁴.

13 Van Beek (2011, 153 f. n. 48) tentatively reconstructs *uh1 ro– = OIc. úr ‘rain’, but this etymology is very speculative, since it depends on a proposed sound change *(H)uHC– > οὐC–. 14 Such as Chantraine’s and Beekes’ etymological dictionaries, both postdating Forbes’ article.

8 | Roberto Batisti

3 Sigmatic aorists and futures The situation in the verbal system is on the surface quite different from that in nominal forms, and thus deserves a separate treatment. In post–Homeric Greek, sigmatic aorists built to liquid stems show CL regardless of the accent, but in the Homeric poems –Ls– is retained in several aorist forms, along with some futures (labelled as ‘Aeolic’ by ancient grammarians): Table 2 Verb

Aorists

*ἀποϝερ– off’

‘sweep

ἀραρίσκω ‘fit’

ἀπόερσε (Ζ 348+), ἀποέρσῃ (Φ 283) ἦρσα, ἄρσε, ἄρσον, ἄρσας (Α 136+), etc.

διαφθείρω ‘destroy’ εἴλω ‘shut in’

θέρομαι hot’

Futures

διαφθέρσει (Ν 625) ἔλσαν (Λ 413), ἐέλσαι (Φ 295), ἔλσαι (Α 409+)

‘become

θερσόμενος (τ 507)

κέλλω ‘run ashore’

κέλσαι (κ 511), ἐκέλσαμεν (ι 546)

κύρω ‘obtain’

ἔκυρσα, ἐνέκυρςε (Ν 145), κῦρσαι, κύρσας (Γ 23+)

ὄρνυμι ‘stir, move, rouse’

ὄρσαι, ὄρσας, ὄρσ(ε)ο, ὦρσα, ὦρσε (Α 10+), ὄρσε, etc.

φύρω ‘mix, spoil, defile’

φύρσω (ς 21)

ὄρσουσα (Φ 335)

The aorist of κείρω ‘cut, shear’ shows mixed outcomes: active (ἐ)κερσ–¹⁵ (but κατέκειραν ψ 356) vs. middle κείρασθαι (Ψ 46, δ 198), ἀπεκείρατο (Ψ 141). It should be noted that the active usually means ‘devastate’, while the middle means ‘cut one’s hair’; only the middle is common in Attic prose.

15 Cypr. ekerese /ekerse/ ICS 3.2 is late and possibly secondary, cf. Egetmeyer (2010, 483).

The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek | 9

Szemerényi’s explanation (ap. Forbes 1958, 269) of Ls–forms as «either phonetically regular, (from –ρσσ– etc.) or as analogical formations» is hardly satisfactory. Whatever one may think of the derivation of ἀποερσ–, κερσ– from roots ending in –σ–, or of the late character of ἀρσ–, ὀρσ–, διαφθέρσει, Forbes herself admitted that she could not suggest «any special factors» with regard to the other verbs. Osthoff (1881, 1590 f.) was the first to explain the CL by analogy¹⁶ with nasal stems, where it is exceptionless. The lengthening would have arisen from the proportion μένω: ἔμεινα = στέλλω: X, where X = ἔστειλα. However, this analogical levelling would seem more motivated if at least some forms had already lost their *s by regular sound change. On the contrary, Wackernagel (1888, 129 ff.) explained verbal forms via his general rule; thus, s was retained in aorists built to monosyllabic stems (almost always accented when not augmented), but lost with CL in polysyllabic and/or augmented forms, e.g. *(ἐ)κάθαρσε > (ἐ)κάθηρε but ὦρσα, ὄρσας. Solmsen (1888, 352 ff.) saw this as the weakest point in Wackernagel’s theory, on the account of forms like Hom. στεῖλα (with monosyllabic, accented root) for expected *στέλσα. Solmsen, following Osthoff, believed that CL was generalized in verbs with a *–Lio¯ present by analogy to *–Nio¯ verbs, ̑ ̑ according to the proportion μιαίνω: ἐμίηνα = καθαίρω: X, where X = ἐκάθηρα. Even ¯ this theory does not explain why φυˉˊ ρω κυˉˊ ρω κείρω κέλλω, all *Lio–presents, retained ̑ –Ls– in the aorist. A plausible answer was provided by Debrunner (1927), who pointed out that –Ls– was retained in aorists to monosyllabic stems which had fallen out of use in later Ionic–Attic and thus couldn’t be ‘modernized’ in the epic diction¹⁷. This solution works for the stems ἀρσ–, ὀρσ–, φυρσ–, ἀποερσ–, (ἐ)ελσ–, κελσ– (replaced in classical Attic by the compound ὀκέλλω, aor. ὤκειλα). Miller (1976, 166–169) follows this line of thought, but stresses that «what we are dealing with in the aorist is not just analogy or generalization along a boundary, but a category–specific rule». According to him, this can not be in fact the same rule that produced οὐρά from *orsaˊˉ , since it is neither blocked by the clear morpheme boundary between resonant and sibilant, nor constrained by the accent. This is true from a synchronic point of view; however, since Miller (to my mind rightly) accepts the accent– sensitive rule elsewhere, it would still seem preferable to use it as a diachronic starting point for the aorists as well¹⁸. In fact, Wackernagel’s original formulation of the rule (CL by default, except with accent immediately preceding) needs very little analogical action to explain the attested outcomes. Given that the augment was originally optional, but gradually became mandatory, it is not surprising to see –Ls– still well–attested in Homer, and even able to be occasionally copied over into augmented contexts (ἔκυρσα, etc.). Later, as the

16 Cf. Risch (1956, 132) «nicht [. . . ] echter Lautwandel, sondern [. . . ] morphologisch bedingte Umformung». 17 Similarly Chantraine (1958, 172 f). 18 Miller’s other objection does not seem decisive, since his main example for morpheme boundaries blocking the rule in non–aorist forms is πυρσός, whose details remain too unclear (see above).

10 | Roberto Batisti

augment progressed, so did forms with CL. On the other hand, Miller’s version (sibilant retained by default, except with accent immediately following) can’t predict either the regular development of *éstelsa to ἔστειλα, nor the eventual replacement of *stélsa by στεῖλα¹⁹. Such a replacement appears even more understandable if the relative frequency of forms is taken into account. According to a recent study by Milizia (2014), the five most frequent person–number combinations in the finite moods of all Greek verb tenses²⁰ are – in decreasing order of frequency – 3sg active, 3sg mediopassive, 3pl act., 2sg act., 1sg act. With the exception of 3sg mediopassive, these are exactly the forms whose accentuation shifted in the indicative when the augment was introduced. It is likely, then, that with their high token frequency they could facilitate the generalization of CL in the entire aorist paradigm. Debrunner’s insight can then explain why even unaugmented forms show CL in the Homeric text when later Ionic–Attic had a familiar corresponding form, so that *στέλσα was remade to στεῖλα after ἔστειλα; and why, on the contrary, forms like Hom. ἐκέλσαμεν, κέλσαι, or active (ἐ)κερσ– escaped this paradigmatic levelling. Table 3 Person

Unaugmented

Augmented

1sg

*στέλσα

*ἔστελσα > ἔστειλα

2sg

*στέλσας

*ἔστελσας ἔστειλας

3sg

*στέλσε

*ἔστελσε > ἔστειλε

1pl

*στέλσαμεν

ἐστέλσαμεν → ἐστείλαμεν (but cf. ἐκέλσαμεν)

2pl

*στέλσατε

ἐστέλσατε ἐστείλατε

→

3pl

*στέλσαν

*ἔστελσαν ἔστειλαν

>

(Inf.)

*στέλσαι

→ στεῖλαι (but cf. κέλσαι)

>

The treatment of futures is compatible with this scenario: in contrast with the aorist, absence of augment means that the paradigm was mostly root–accented throughout, so that the conditions for CL were not met. Later on, the s–future of liquid stems gave way

19 I thank Andreas Willi for bringing this point to my attention. 20 For the statistical details, see the table in Milizia (2014, 98).

The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek | 11

to a wholly different formation with a different metrical shape – the ‘contract future’ of the type *ἀγγελέσω > –έω > –ῶ²¹ – that obviously couldn’t replace the sigmatic formations found in the Homeric text. This may explain why Ls–futures were preserved to some extent in the epic tradition.

4 Typological plausibility If the reconstruction proposed so far is correct, one problem remains: the oft–repeated typogical objection that the ‘pitch accent’ of Ancient Greek did not and could not affect phonetic developments at the segmental level. This objection, though, is not as decisive as it may seem, since it can’t be ruled out that Ancient Greek accent contained a stress element besides the pitch element, nor that even a pitch accent might have been able to affect segmental developments. On the first point, it seems safe to say that the current consensus among phonologists does not support a perfect dichotomy between pitch–accent and stress–accent languages²². In fact, several intermediate typologies must be acknowledged in living languages²³, and even though it remains difficult to assign Ancient Greek to one of them, it is far from clear that it had a ‘pure’ pitch accent²⁴. Pitch was phonologically contrastive, but – as already Pisani (1965, 280) remarked – «una delle due qualità dell’accento può avere valore distintivo ma non esclude la presenza, non opposizionale ma reale, dell’altra qualità [i.e. stress]»²⁵. In fact, dialectal developments such as widespread syncope (ξενοδόκος > ξενδοκος, ᾿Αριστόδαμος > ᾿Αστοδαμος) and apocope (παρά > παρ, –οιο > –οι) in Thessalian are usually taken as evidence for a dialectal shift to stress accent²⁶; but there exist other, typologically similar phenomena of Common Greek date. Szemerényi tried to prove that «under certain favorable circumstances syncope can occur even in languages with a pitch–accent» (1964, IX); in fact, Greek attests several clear cases of syncope, some quite early (e.g. οἶμαι < οἴομαι, ἔσται < ἔσεται, ἦλθον < ἤλυθον), which are generally

21 Pariente (1963, 119–122) saw the reason for this replacement in a general tendency to differentiate future formations from the corresponding aorists. 22 Cf. Gordon (2011, 928). 23 Cf. Ladd (2008); Hyman (2006, 2009); Van der Hulst (2011). 24 See Probert (2006, 55–57). 25 Note that this would be something different from the coexistence of tone with some kind of stress or rhythmical prominence distinct from it, as postulated by Allen (1973) or Devine and Stephens (1994). 26 See Chadwick (1992). Méndez Dosuna (1994, 117) similarly invoked early dialectal shift to stress accent to justify the double treatment of *–rw– in Heraclea Pontica (*órwos > ὄρρος vs. *orwíksanti > ὀρίξαντι).

12 | Roberto Batisti

accepted even by scholars who remain skeptical of Szemerényi’s main thesis²⁷. If at least (some) syncope was possible under the pre–dialectal Greek accent, then, it should not be excluded in principle that other segmental phenomena traditionally associated with stress also occurred at a similar date. Secondly, we need to determine the exact nature of the phenomenon under scrutiny, if we are to judge its compatibility with the accentual typology of Greek. In this case, the answer is not straightforward. There is substantial consent that the preliminary step to CL (and Aeolic gemination) must have been some kind of lenition of the sibilant, either by voicing (so Wackernagel) or aspiration. According to Miller (1976, 159), «we must constrain s–aspiration to apply to ms, ns, ys, ws, but not rs, ls». In principle, it is very much possible that two different mechanisms operated in two different contexts. Attempts to describe all cases of CL in Greek with one general rule (or constraint), however elegantly formulated, have proven unsatisfactory; in fact, cross–linguistic research on CL²⁸ has repeatedly shown that several different mechanisms should be recognized under this name. Ancient Greek is remarkable in attesting a typologically diverse²⁹ – though by no means complete – range of CL phenomena³⁰. High–sonority consonants and glottals are precisely the two categories most likely to trigger CL when lost³¹. At least for other instances of 1st CL, aspiration seems preferable due to a series of Greek–internal reasons: (1)

´ > ἑπτά, the change *s > h also occurs in initial and intervocalic position (*septm ˚ *génesos > *génehos > γένεος);

(2)

the development of (geminated?) aspirated sonorants from initial *sR testifies that *s changed to h also near resonants (*srowaˊˉ > ῥοή, *swe > Pamph. ϝhε)

(3)

some words where internal *s was lost with CL near a sonorant (ἁνίαι < *ansíai, ¯ show the same h–anticipation to initial position as words where ἕως < *awsos) *s was lost between vowels (ἱερός < *iserós).

It is true that there are no cases of h–anticipation from internal *–Ls–, but this is not a strong argument against debuccalization: not only it is e silentio, but h–anticipation is in general quite irregular – according to Colvin (2006, 51), «a tendency rather than a sound rule», whose absence «needs no particular explanation»³².

27 Lejeune (1972, 223) and Rix (1992, 18 and 58) still acknowledged a limited role for syncope, while Sihler (1995, 95) admits «more than a dozen clear cases of it». 28 See especially Kavitskaya (2002), Beltzung (2008), Gess (2011). 29 See Ringe and Eska (2013, 109–114) on the fundamental difference between ‘bottom–up’, phonetically motivated 2nd CL (πάνσα > πᾶσα) vs. ‘abrupt’, ‘abstract’ 3rd CL (ξένϝος > ξεῖνος). 30 This is a reason why Ancient Greek data often feature in theoretical treatments of CL; see Batisti (2014) for a short overview. 31 Cf. Rialland (1993, 82). 32 On the sporadic nature of this change see also Lejeune (1972, 94f).

The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek | 13

Interestingly, Méndez Dosuna (1987, 32 n. 20) suggested that the change s > h possibly even started before resonants, in order to repair a bad syllable contact, before spreading to word–initial and intervocalic position. According to the Syllable Contact Law (SCL), «a syllable contact A.B is more preferred, the greater the sonority of coda A and the lower the sonority of onset B» (Vennemann 1988, 40). In the case at hand, [h] has greater sonority than [s], and is thus preferred in the context /V_.RV. I suggest that the SCL can also provide motivation for the metathesis *–Rh– > *–hR– posited by Kiparsky (1967, 623)³³ to explain developments such as *ékrinsa > *ékrinha > *ékrihna > ἔκριννα ἔκρ¯ινα. In fact, once the change s > h had spread to the context /VR._V, it created sequences of the kind /VR.hV/, which violated the SCL, as [R] has lower sonority than [h]³⁴. The metathesis /VR.hV/ > /Vh.RV/ (doubtlessly aided by the existance of /Vh.RV/ sequences derived from earlier /Vs.RV/) would have improved the syllabic contact³⁵. Wackernagel’s original formulation of the rule referred to voicing because he made an explicit comparison to the accent–conditioned voicing in Proto–Germanic known as Verner’s Law (VL)³⁶. In the wake of Verner’s epoch–making discovery (first published in 1877), however, linguists often resorted to «fausses applications de la loi de Verner» (Malkiel 1966) to explain irregular sound changes in several languages, including a number of Ancient Greek cases where this was demonstrably the wrong solution³⁷. A judgment on the validity of this parallel is complicated by disagreement on the phonetic mechanism of VL itself; in particular, it is debated whether the Proto–Germanic accent that caused VL had a ‘stress’ or ‘pitch’ quality³⁸. Recently, Johnsen (2011) proposed that high pitch was responsible for blocking the voicing lenition of a following sonorant, but this theory would not work well for Greek, since /s/ should undergo this effect ´ especially when immediately following the accented vowel; instead, in –VsL– (as, of

33 But see already Hermann (1923, 69). 34 On the other hand, the earlier stage /VR.sV/ was a better sequence with respect to the SCL. It is clear, then, that here the change *s > h itself was not motivated by the SCL. 35 Another reason for this change and the subsequent CL is given by Kavitskaya (2002, 73 f.), who assumes an acoustically motivated perceptual metathesis. In her opinion, «the voiceless portion following the voiced portion of the sonorant could be misheard as preceding it [. . . ] after the perceptual metathesis the h portion (which [. . . ] often has formant structure of a neighboring vowel) could be reanalyzed as a part of the preceding vowel». I believe that this explanation is not incompatible with the one suggested above. 36 «Wie im germanischen silbenschliessendes s tonlos bleibt, wenn der accent auf dem vorangehenden vocal ruht, sonst aber tönend wird, so wurde im griechischen» (1888, 127; emphasis mine). 37 See e.g. Moulton (1887, 207) on the outcome of voiceless aspirates, Schulze (1891, 88 n. 4) and Jacobsohn (1909, 93) on *sw, Kretschmer (1892) on *rw, Smyth (1894, 165 and 228) on *ly, *sw. Also significant is the title of Conway’s (1887) study on Latin rhotacism. It goes without saying that in all these cases other mechanisms are held responsible today. Still Hamp (1997) explained the double outcome of initial yod with a rule he explicitly compared to «Verner’s famous law». 38 For the history of research on VL see Rooth (1974), Collinge (1985, 203–216).

14 | Roberto Batisti

´ course, in –VsV–) the sibilant is always lost. Perhaps, however, this kind of explanation is not necessary: if some stress element was involved in the phonetic realization of the Greek accent, it could be held responsible for the process which ultimately lead to CL, and there would be no need to reject the traditional view that VL–like effects are more likely triggered by stress than by pitch. The most serious problem for parallels with VL is that the distribution of the phenomenon in Greek is actually quite unlike that found in Germanic, where voicing affects *s and other fricatives adjacent to all vowels and sonorants, but is blocked by preceding accent. In Greek, preceding accent would block the presumed voicing only after a liquid, but never in clusters with other resonants or glides – while, of course, intervocalic *s is not voiced at all. So, while Wackernagel’s rule is in my opinion fundamentally correct, the parallelism with Germanic as regards its phonetic mechanism might in fact be misleading. Recently, Kümmel (2007, 103 n. 63) suggested instead that /s/ escaped lenition in ´ the context /VL_V because it strengthened to [ʦ]. This solution is admittedly presented in a very speculative and dubitative way, but it could be worth further consideration. Fortition of /s/ after a homorganic resonant is common enough cross–linguistically³⁹, and fortition is often associated with stress⁴⁰. A downside is that in Greek this development is indemonstrable (and not too economical), since the hypothetical affricate (or fortis sibilant) must later have merged again with plain /s/. An advantage of this solution is that it would work with either debuccalization or voicing as preliminary steps to CL, since it predicts just preservation of /s/ in a given context, regardless of its behavior elsewhere; thus, it is not in contrast with the Greek treatment of –VsV– and ´ –VsL–. There is, however, a more serious counter–argument: fortition usually occurs ´ in the onset of the stressed syllable, while here it would affect the context –VL.sV– ´ Even Küm(i.e. the onset of the post–accentual syllable) but not the context –VL.sV–. mel’s proposal, while promising under other respects, cannot therefore be embraced wholesale until closer parallels are found.

5 Conclusions I hope to have shown that the phonological rule originally proposed by Wackernagel (1888) is a satisfying explanation for the perplexing double outcome of *Ls. Not only it fits the attested distribution, but it does not contradict what we know about the accentual typology of Greek, and it can be phonetically motivated, even though further research may be needed to identify the exact mechanism. The same rule, combined

39 Cf. Kümmel’s own examples (ibid., 155), or regional Italian penso polso forse [ˈpεnʦo ˈpolʦo ˈforʦe]. 40 See Gordon (2011).

The outcome of liquid and sibilant clusters in Ancient Greek | 15

with Solmsen’s and Debrunner’s observations, aptly accounts for the behavior of *–Ls– in verbal forms as well, while Miller’s formulation is somewhat inferior in this respect. If the above reconstruction is correct, the possibility of accent–sensitive segmental sound changes in Ancient Greek (already challenged by Szemerényi 1964 with regard to syncope) should not be discarded a priori anymore. Another implication is that the treatment of *–Ls– clusters is not necessarily identical to that of *–Ns–/–sN– in chronology and/or mechanism. There is, in fact, a possible independent reason to treat them apart: the unexpected Panhellenic severior vocalism in κῶμος, ὦμος, ὦνος (and possibly γέγωνε, ζωμός), which seems to be regular for *–oNs–/*–osN–⁴¹, has no parallel with *oLs.

Bibliography Alonso Déniz, A. 2008: Estudios sobre la aspiración de /s/ en los dialectos griegos del I milenio, PhD dissertation, Madrid. Batisti, R. 2014: Fonologia esotica in una lingua classica: allungamenti di compenso ‘classici’ ed ‘esotici’ in greco antico, in La nozione di classico in linguistica. Atti del XXXVIII Convegno della Società Italiana di Glottologia, eds. N. Grandi & F. Tamburini, Roma, 139–147. Beltzung, J. M. 2008: L’allongement compensatoire dans le représentations phonologiques. Nature, contraintes et typologie, PhD dissertation, Paris. EDG = Beekes, R. 2010 Etymological Dictionary of Greek, Leiden and Boston. Brugmann, K. & Thumb A. 19134 : Griechische Grammatik, München. Cavazza, F. 2011: Lezioni di indoeuropeistica con particolare riguardo alle lingue classiche (sanscrito, greco, latino, gotico), III/1/2. Le leggi fonetiche dell’indoeuropeo, con premessa su alcuni universali del linguaggio funzionali alla trattazione (continuazione), Pisa. Chadwick, J. 1992: The Thessalian accent, «Glotta», 70, 2–14. Chantraine, P. 19582 : Grammaire homérique, I. Phonétique et morphologie , Paris. Collinge, N. E. 1985: The Laws of Indo–European, Amsterdam. Colvin, S. 2006: Autosegmental phonology and word–internal h in Mycenaean Greek, «Glotta», 82, 36–54. Conway, R. S. 1887: Verner’s Law in Italy. An Essay in the History of the Indo–European Sibilants, London. Debrunner, A. 1927: ἔκελσα – ἤγγειλα bei Homer, «Glotta», 15, 25–28. DELG = Chantraine, P. 1968–1980, Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque. Histoire des mots, Paris. Dunkel, G. 1995: More Mycenaean survivals in later Greek: ὦνος, ὦμος, ζωμός, Διώνυσος, and κῶμος, in Verba et structurae. Festschrift für K. Strunk zum 65. Geburtstag, eds. H. Hettrich et al., Innsbruck, 1–21. Egetmeyer, M. 2010: Le dialecte grec ancien de Chypre, Berlin – New York. Forbes, K. 1958: Medial intervocalic –ρσ–, –λσ– in Greek, «Glotta», 36, 235–272.

41 See Hackstein (2002, 184–193), contra Dunkel’s (1995) less convincing explanation.

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Forssman, B. 1980: Ein unbekanntes Lautgesetz in der homerischen Sprache?, in Lautgeschichte und Etymologie. Akten der VI. Fachtagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft, eds. M. Mayrhofer et al., Wiesbaden, 180–198. Gess, R. 2011: Compensatory Lengthening, in Van Oostendorp et al. 2011, 1513–1536. Gordon, M. 2011: Stress: phonotactic and phonetic evidence, in Van Oostendorp et al. 2011, 924– 948. Hackstein, O. 2002: Die Sprachform der homerischen Epen, Wiesbaden. Hamp, E. P. 1997: Indo–European initial yod in Greek, in Sound Law and Analogy. Papers in Honor of Robert S.P. Beekes on the Occasion of his 60th Birthday, ed. A. Lubotsky, Amsterdam, 91–94. Hawkins, S. 2013: Studies in the Language of Hipponax, Bremen. Heilmann, L. 1963: Grammatica storica della lingua greca, Torino. Hermann, E. 1923: Silbenbildung im Griechischen und in den andern indogermanischen Sprachen, Göttingen. Van der Hulst, H. 2011: Pitch accent systems, in Van Oostendorp et al. 2011, 1003–1027. Hyman, L. M. 2006: Word–prosodic typology, «Phonology», 23, 225–257. Hyman, L. M. 2009: How (not) to do phonological typology: the case of pitch–accent, «Language Sciences», 31, 213–398. Jacobsohn, H. 1909: Beiträge zur Sprache und Verstechnik des homerischen Epos, «Hermes», 44, 78– 110. Johnsen, S. S. 2011: The phonetics and phonologization of Verner’s law, in Krisch & Lindner 2011, 232–241. Kavitskaya, D. 2002: Compensatory Lengthening. Phonetics, Phonology, Diachrony, New York – London. Kiparsky, P. 1967: Sonorant clusters in Greek, «Language», 43, 619–635. Kretschmer, P. 1892: Indogermanische accent und lautstudien, «KZ», 31 [=11 n.s.], 325–472. Krisch, T. & Lindner, K. (eds.) 2011: Indogermanistik und Linguistik im Dialog. Akten der III. Fachtagung der indogermanischen Gesellschaft, Wiesbaden. Kümmel, M. 2007: Konsonantenwandel. Bausteine zu einer Typologie des Lautwandels und ihre Konsequenzen für die vergleichende Rekonstruktion, Wiesbaden. Ladd, D. R. 20082 : Intonational Phonology , Cambridge. LIV = Rix H. (ed.), Lexikon der Indogermanischen Verben. Die Wurzeln und ihre Primärstammbildungen , Wiesbaden 20012 . Malkiel, Y. 1966: Quelques fausses applications de la ‘loi de Verner’ aux faits romains, «CFS»,23, 76– 87. Manolessou, I. & Pantelidis, N. 2011: Die relative Chronologie des Frühgriechischen silbische Liquiden/Nasalen und Schwund der intervokalischen /s/, in Krisch & Lindner 2011, 367–375. Méndez Dosuna, J. 1987: La aspiración de s como proceso condicionado por el contacto de sílabas, «RSEL», 17, 15–35. Méndez Dosuna, J. 1994: Contactos silábicos y procesos de geminación en griego antiguo. A propósito de las variantes interdialectales ορρος (át. ὅρος) y Κόρρα (át. Κόρη), «Sprache», 36, 103–127. Milizia, P. 2014: Semi–separate exponence in cumulative paradigms. Information–theoretic properties exemplified by Ancient Greek verb endings, «LILT», 11/4, 95–123. Miller, D. G. 1976: Liquids plus s in Ancient Greek, «Glotta», 54, 159–172. Minamimoto, T. 2012: The relative chronology of ln–assimilation and Cowgill’s law in Greek, in Greek and Latin from an Indo–European Perspective 3, eds. W. Sowa & S. Schaffner, Munich, 101–102. Moulton, J. H. 1887: On the Greek treatment of original hard aspirates, «AJPh», 8, 207–213. NIL = Wodtko D. S. et al., Nomina im Indogermanischen Lexikon, Heidelberg 2008. Van Oostendorp, M. et al. (eds.) 2011: The Blackwell Companion to Phonology, Malden – Oxford.

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Osthoff, H. 1881: rev. of G. Meyer, Griechische Grammatik (Leipzig 1880), «Philol. Rundschau», 1, 1587–98. Palmer, L. R. 1980: The Greek Language, London. Pariente, A. 1963: Sobre los futuros sigmáticos griegos, «Emerita», 31, 53–130. Pisani, V. 1965: rev. of Szemerényi 1964, «Paideia», 20, 279–285. Pisani, V. 19732 : Manuale storico della lingua greca, Brescia. Probert, P. 2006: Ancient Greek Accentuation. Synchronic Patterns, Frequency Effects, and Prehistory, Oxford. Rialland, A. 1993: L’allongement compensatoire: nature et modèles, in Architecture des représentations phonologiques, eds. Laks B. & Rialland A., Paris, 59–92. Ringe, D. 2006: From Proto–Indo–European to Proto–Germanic, Oxford. Ringe, D. & Eska, J. F. 2013: Historical Linguistics. Towards a Twenty–First Century Reintegration, Cambridge. Risch, E. 1956: Zur vorgeschichte der sigmatischen Aoriste im Griechischen, in Festschrift für Max Vasmer zum 70. Geburtstag am 28. Februar 1956, eds. M. Woltner & H. Bräuer, Wiesbaden, 424– 431. Risch, E. 19742 : Wortbildung der homerischen Sprache, Berlin and New York. Rix, H. 19922 : Historische Grammatik des Griechischen. Laut und Formenlehre , Darmstadt. Rooth, E. 1974: Das Vernersche Gesetz in Forschung und Lehre 1875–1975, Lund. Ruijgh, C. J. 1986: Observations sur κορέσαι, κορέω, myc. dakoro δακόρος etc., in Ooperosi. Festschrift für Ernst Risch zum 75. Geburtstag, ed. A. Etter, Berlin, 376–392. Schulze, W. 1892: Quaestiones epicae, Gutersloh. Schwyzer, E. 1939: Griechische Grammatik, I. Allgemeiner Teil, Lautlehre, Wortbildung, Flexion, München. Sihler, A. L. 1995: New Comparative Grammar of Greek and Latin, New York – Oxford. Smyth, H. W. 1894: The Sounds and Inflections of the Greek Dialects. Ionic, Oxford. Solmsen, F. 1888: Sigma in verbindung mit nasalen und liquiden, «KZ», 29, 59–124 and 329–358. Szemerényi, O. 1964: Syncope in Greek and Indo–European and the Nature of Indo–European Accent, Naples. Vennemann, T. 1988: Preference Laws for Syllable Structure and the Explanation of Sound Change, with Special Reference to German, Germanic, Italian, and Latin, Berlin – New York – Amsterdam. Verner, K. 1877: Eine Ausnahme der ersten Lautverschiebung, «KZ», 23, 97–130. Viredaz, R. 2000: kerd, jerb, χερσί, «HSF», 113, 290–307. Wackernagel, J. 1888: Miscellen zur griechischen grammatik, «KZ», 29, 124–152.

Violeta Gomis García & Araceli Striano Corrochano

Los grupos de consonantes oclusivas labiales y velares seguidas de silbante en los dialectos griegos Abstract: Many different spellings are witnessed to note occlusive followed by sibilant groups [ks] and [ps] in the Greek inscriptions before the regularization of the Milesian alphabet, by which they acquired the standard spelling Ξ and Ψ respectively. From the detailed analysis of these consonantal groups not only in alphabetical Greek, but also in the Mycenaean and Cypriot syllabary, we intend to reflect on the underlying phonetic reality, which in our opinion was not unitary at any time. Judging by some spellings (ΧΣ, ΗΣ and even Σ) we consider that part of the ancient population (like currently in Spanish, for example) pronounced these groups with articulatory weakening, because of trouble of pronunciation of these groups, which tend to be simplified.

1 Introducción Los grupos de consonantes oclusivas labiales y velares seguidas de silbante [ps] y [ks] se transcriben de distinta manera en los alfabetos griegos epicóricos, es decir, en los alfabetos griegos locales anteriores a la uniformización del alfabeto milesio, que utiliza las grafías y . La conocida división de Kirchhoff de los distintos alfabetos rojos, azules y verdes se basa en buena medida en la transcripción de estos grupos consonánticos. Es bien sabido, por ejemplo, que los alfabetos rojos utilizan la grafía h

como notación de [ks] (no de [k ] como en el alfabeto milesio) y que, en última instancia, nuestro alfabeto occidental hereda esta grafía x con ese mismo valor. Ello se debe a que los romanos adaptaron su código de escritura a partir del alfabeto rojo griego empleado en las inscripciones de la Magna Grecia. Sabemos que estas diferentes grafías son el resultado de una confluencia de diferentes sonidos labiales y velares sonoros, aspirados y sordos que desembocan en una única realidad fonética que en el alfabeto unificado se transcriben como y ¹, cf. Fig. 1:

Nota: Este trabajo se ha realizado en el marco del proyecto de investigación FFI2012–35721–C02–01 financiado por el Ministerio español de Economía y Competitividad. 1 Para la consideración de estos sonidos, su descripción a cargo de los gramáticos antiguos y su peculiaridad estructural, cf. Allen (1974, 56b).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-031

20 | Violeta Gomis García & Araceli Striano Corrochano

Figura 1: Resultados de las consonantes oclusivas en contacto con la silbante.

Sin embargo, no todos los alfabetos epicóricos emplearon y o (para [ks]) para representarlos. En algunas zonas de Grecia se usaron distintas combinaciones de oclusivas labial y gutural más el signo de la silbante. Al menos desde un punto de vista teórico, podemos pensar que cualquiera de las siguientes tres opciones: , ο * para [ps] y , ο * para [ks] habría sido válida. Pero lo cierto es que no encontramos nunca o . Las grafías que presentan las inscripciones son y en los llamados alfabetos verdes según la terminología bien conocida de Kirchhoff, o bien y en los alfabetos azul claro. La primera de las opciones y se comprende bien, se trata de grafías fonéticas que recubren los sonidos [ps] y [ks]. Sin embargo, las que se usan en los alfabetos epicóricos azul claro, y , han llamado la atención de algunos estudiosos que se han preguntado por la realidad fonética que subyace en ellas, es decir, si constituyen un intento de reflejar una pronunciación diferente de [ps] y [ks]. Al analizar la cuestión con más detalle, nos hemos dado cuenta de que la complejidad de las grafías que presentan las inscripciones arcaicas merecía ser estudiada antes de abordar el análisis fonético de estos grupos consonánticos. Nuestro estudio tiene en consecuencia dos vertientes muy definidas: por una parte, el estudio de las grafías de los alfabetos epicóricos y, por otra, el de la realidad fonética que recubren estas grafías. Para la primera parte nos hemos fijado sobre todo en las inscripciones arcaicas anteriores a la generalización del alfabeto milesio, pero no hemos querido renunciar a los datos que nos proporcionan los silabarios micénico y chipriota en la idea de que pueden ofrecernos información de interés sobre la naturaleza fonética de estos grupos consonánticos. Hemos rastreado además las posibles grafías alternativas de y en inscripciones escritas en el alfabeto común generalizado en todo el territorio griego a partir del siglo IV a.C. en adelante. Nuestro método es claro: del análisis de todas las grafías de estos grupos podemos averiguar más de su naturaleza fonética.

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2 La diversidad de grafías de las inscripciones La distribución de los alfabetos de Kirchhoff por colores está basada en las diferencias que presentan los alfabetos epicóricos para transcribir algunas consonantes aspiradas desconocidas en el sistema gráfico fenicio y los grupos [ks] y [ps], tal y como se ve en la siguiente figura:

Figura 2: Clasificación tradicional de los alfabetos griegos, cf. Kirchhoff (1887). Mapa elaborado a partir de https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/19/Greek_epichoric_alphabets.png

Se trata de una clasificación útil en términos globales, pero la distribución real de estas grafías es bastante más compleja de lo que a simple vista puede parecer, ya que las inscripciones griegas arcaicas no parecen emplear con regularidad las mismas letras para transcribir [ps] y [ks], que no tienen, por otra parte, la misma frecuencia de uso. En efecto, los ejemplos de [ps] son considerablemente más escasos, lo que dificulta, en ocasiones, su sistematización, como ocurre en el caso de los alfabetos rojos, donde prácticamente cada territorio presenta una grafía distinta para este grupo (cf. Fig. 2). En términos generales la situación que nos presentan las inscripciones arcaicas puede plasmarse en los siguientes puntos: (a) Se constata una gran diversidad de signos o grafías para transcribir aparentemente el mismo grupo fonético, por ejemplo ᾿Ανακσιβία (Tera, LSAG 323.12, ca. 550–500?), ¯ (Atenas, LSAG 77.21, ᾿Αν]αξιμάνδρo¯ (Mileto, LSAG 342.26, ca. 575–550?) o ᾿Αναχσίoν ca. 550?). En todo caso, la variedad de grafías para transcribir tanto [ks] como [ps] resulta evidente: ∣ >, , , < >, [ks] : < Σ>, , ,, , , ,,. . . [ps] : , , , , < >, < >

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Parece claro que algunos de estos signos son simples variantes gráficas de uno solo, que se expanden según la época, la zona geográfica o el uso del lapicida en cuestión, como por ejemplo X, ⧖, + o ∨ ∣ , ↓, ². No obstante, en el caso de los dígrafos, la presencia de letras que representan distintos fonemas oclusivos (ΧΣ, ΚΣ e incluso ΗΣ o ΦΣ, ΠΣ) resulta más llamativa, ya que los sonidos asociados a estas letras son, en principio, los mismos en todos los alfabetos, y la elección de uno u otro podría deberse a algo más que una simple convención gráfica. (b) Existen algunas grafías esporádicas en algunos territorios que son “discordantes”, es decir, que no coinciden exactamente con la distribución de Kirchhoff, como por ejemplo en Creta en donde aparece en un texto eteocretense³ Βάρξε (LSAG 316.19a, ca. 550–525?), en un NP (Nombre/s propio/s) oscuro Οπρι⫯ς s. V a.C. ∣ > en ∨∣ ενίδας (Ξενίδας, s. VI a.C.)⁴, Κσενόκλες en Atenas (ABV pp. 184–5, s.V y desde época muy arcaica. 4 Bile (1988, 74). 5 Algunas inscripciones arcaicas de Rodas presentan grafías propias de los alfabetos rojos tanto para /ks/como /kh/, pero también hay ejemplos de /ks/ escrito en textos donde la aspirada se escribe también como en los alfabetos azul claro o bien como en los rojos, lo que podría dar lugar a interpretar como una grafía redundante. Tampoco faltan otros de finales del s. VI de para /ks/ como en los alfabetos azul oscuro. 6 Estas dos palabras son los dos únicos ejemplos de /ks/ de Amorgos, y no permiten saber si se trataría de un alfabeto azul claro o azul oscuro. El único ejemplo con [ps] que podría arrojar algo de luz sobre esta cuestión es Λαμπσαγόρεο (LSAG 304.17 ca. 550?) con una grafía típica de los alfabetos verdes, lo que dificulta aún más la situación.

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3 Dificultades en la pronunciación de los grupos [ks] y [ps] La pronunciación de la combinación de consonantes oclusivas y silbantes, puede ser dificultosa para los hablantes de algunas lenguas. En español, por ejemplo, se pronuncian de distinta forma ciertos grupos de consonantes en el caso de palabras tipo “adaptación”, “correcto”, “objeto”, etc., y entre ellos se encuentran tanto [ps] como en “psicosis”, “psicología” (“sicología” está admitido por la RAE) como [ks] en “extorsión”, “exacto”, “sexo”, etc.⁷ En ocasiones estas dificultades se reflejan, como es natural, en la escritura de las palabras de este tipo. Es muy probable que algo similar se produjera entre ciertos hablantes del griego antiguo, lo que justificaría el empleo de algunas grafías un tanto sorprendentes, del tipo Κλαλισενος (Καλλίξενος) ο Θεμισστοκελς (Θεμιστοκλῆς). Así deberían interpretarse también las duplicaciones gráficas del tipo Δόξξα (Ática, IG II² 8160, s. I–II d.C.), ἀχχιομα∨ ∣ ος, ἐχχ¯oλειαν, δοχχαι (= át. ἀξιόμαχος, ἐξώλειαν, δόξα, Lócride, LSAG 108.02, ca. 525–500?), ἐχχανακαδεν (= ἐξαναγκάζειν Tesalia, LSAG 99.10 ca. 450–425?) o αφιχχιν (= ψήφισμα Lócride, LSAG 108.03 ca. 500–475)⁸. Otro tanto cabría decir de las inversiones gráficas como Σχενήρετος (Ξενήρετος, Ceos, ca. 475–450, IG XII 5, 566) o en Atenas Καλλίσκενος (Lang, nº327), Καλλίσχενος (Lang, nº537), ἔγρασφεν, Σχενοκλες, –]σχιδεμον, Πισ[τ]όσχενος, Σκόνθον, etc. (cf. Threatte I, 20–21)⁹. Asimismo, quizá podrían incluirse dentro de la misma explicación algunas grafías redundantes como ⫯ύλιξς (Selinunte, LSAG 277.J.S461 ca. 600), ἐξς (Éfeso, LSAG 344.53 ca. 550?), o incluso Καλλίχχσενος (Lang, nº540). Las grafías esporádicas de los

7 En español, las realizaciones de las consonantes en posición implosiva, es decir, en la coda o margen postnuclear de la sílaba, son muy problemáticas y por tanto, muy variadas. Es frecuente que las consonantes en esa posición sufran algún tipo de modificación; por este motivo, la pronunciación individual de los fonemas oclusivos en posición silábica implosiva es asimismo heterogénea y puede variar desde el mantenimiento de las consonantes propias sordas o sonoras hasta la desaparición completa de estos fonemas pasando por diferentes realizaciones intermedias. De hecho, las realizaciones fonéticas básicas (aunque se pueden escuchar más) de la grafía ‘x’ que establece la Real Academia de la Lengua Española en el DPD (cf. http://www.rae.es/diccionario–panhispanico–de–dudas/representacion–de– sonidos) son: (a) /s/ en posición inicial, (b) /ks/ o /gs/ (en pron. general americana y culta enfática de España) o /s/ (en pron. general de España) cuando va seguida de otra consonante y (c) /ks/ o /gs/ en posición intervocálica. 8 Probablemente se trate de una forma basada en el tema de aoristo ψαφιξ–. 9 Parece que también ocurre a la inversa en este grupo de consonantes: en una inscripción del 2 s. V a.C. la primera grafía Αἰχσίνες fue corregida por Αἰσχίνες (IG I 543, 510–500? cf. Threatte I, 21), aunque, en este caso, las implicaciones de índole fonética parecen mínimas o simplemente inexistentes.

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alfabetos rojos para [ks], frente a la usual (cf. la forma beocia αργυροτοχσοι) pueden ser el reflejo del mismo fenómeno¹⁰. Por último, el nombre propio beocio Κóκκυφς, en lugar del esperable Κόκκυξ ‘cuco’¹¹ (cf. κόκκυξ, LSAG 95.19a, 424 a.C.), es con toda probabilidad una prueba del debilitamiento tanto de [ks] como de [ps]. En una pronunciación afectada de estos grupos, un hablante con dificultades para pronunciarlos puede no saber exactamente cuál de los dos debe emplear.

4 Análisis de las grafías alfabéticas y silábicas de [ps] y [ks] Veamos más de cerca las grafías que presentan los distintos tipos de escritura de los documentos epigráficos griegos. Analizaremos en primer lugar las inscripciones alfabéticas, pero también a continuación de estas, los ejemplos que nos proporcionan otros sistemas de escritura, en concreto, los silabarios micénico y chipriota. Nos hemos interrogado sobre las soluciones empleadas en estos últimos casos para las transcripciones de estos grupos, así como sobre la posibilidad de que hubiera grafías diferentes que arrojen luz sobre su naturaleza fonética.

4.1 Los alfabetos epicóricos Como ya se ha mencionado, son las grafías y de los alfabetos azul claro las que han levantado algunas sospechas en torno a la pronunciación de estos grupos al utilizar el mismo signo gráfico que el que se usa para transcribir la consonante h

h

oclusiva aspirada correspondiente: para [p ] y para [k ], en contraposición a las grafías de los alfabetos verdes y ¹²; pero además, como vamos a ver, existen otras grafías alternativas para [ks] que presentan características similares en otros alfabetos, y que también es necesario tener en cuenta a la hora de intentar ofrecer una explicación fonética.

10 Salvo que se considere que es el resultado simplificado de una grafía más antigua . 11 Contra, Bechtel, HPN 582–583. 12 En Creta se atestiguan formas para [ks] con koppa: Δο⫯σ[ον? (Praisos, LSAG 316.18 s. VII a.C.), Πρι⫯σος (Axos, LSAG 315.14a.S468 ca. 600), lo que parece simplemente una variante de . En ∣ > para este grupo, un signo Tera y Melos, a mediados del s. V a.C. también se atestigua la grafía , con el mismo signo que se utiliza para notar la aspiración inicial¹⁵: ᾿Α]ναhσύε[ς? (SEG 35, 914 inic. s. VII), Νάhσιο, ἔhσοχος, Φh?ράhσο¹⁶ (LSAG 303.02, ca. 650?), ho Νάhσιος (LSAG 304.03, ca. 620–600), ᾿Αλεhσιτίδης (SEG 16, 477, s. VI a.C.). Conservamos, además, un paralelo de esta grafía procedente de la isla de Amorgos: ᾿Αλ[ε]hσοι (LSAG 304.20 ca. 525–500?), en la que [ks] se escribe , con un signo para la aspiración inicial mucho más extendido en Grecia que el anterior. No se puede descartar que el ejemplo de Amorgos sea influencia de Naxos, pero el dato es importante porque es el único aparecido fuera de esta última isla. Resulta difícil entender estas dos grafías alternativas como simples variantes de , sin ningún tipo de implicación fonética. A diferencia de las grafías con una sola letra, donde no es posible aproximarse a la pronunciación que se esconde detrás del signo, la elección de una u otra letra (la oclusiva sorda o < >, la oclusiva aspirada o la aspiración sin oclusión) en los dígrafos podría revelar algo más de información sobre [ks]. Ello no es impedimento para que estas grafías se hayan convertido, durante algún tiempo o en determinada zona, en norma ortográfica.

13 también está atestiguada en Ceos, Egina y Lemnos. 14 Esta inscripción consta de dos fragmentos: (a) [– – –]ης ποιησεν εριν ο[– – –]/[– – –? ε]μ ροτοισιν η (h?) [– – –] (b) [– – –]ει συ αναχ[ς– – –]/[– – –]ληος αει[– – –]. La palabra αναχ[ς está reconstruida, y aunque se trata de un ejemplo sorprendente con respecto al resto de los testimonios más antiguos de la isla (cf. SEG 29, 736 y 47, 1220, donde se atribuye a la isla de Delos), parece una lectura correcta, ya que es un texto aparentemente muy literario; está precedida del pronombre de segunda persona, por lo que podría tratarse de un fragmento de un himno en honor de Zeus. El ejemplo claro más antiguo de también es de Naxos: –ἔγ]ραφσεν; (SEG 52, 794, c. 650 a. C.). Después, antes de la generalización del alfabeto milesio, sólo conservamos una inscripción más con : ᾿Αλχσήνορ, Νάχσιος (Naxos, LSAG 304.12 ca. 490–475 a.C.) 15 A partir de estas inscripciones tan antiguas, en esta isla parece existir una distribución de los signos < > (para la aspiración inicial y [ks]) y < > (para [εː]). Después, como en el resto de territorios, tanto la aspiración inicial como la vocal larga se escriben con el mismo signo: . Es relevante señalar que < > se emplea en Cnido para [εː], cf. LSAG p.291. 16 Se trata de un NP oscuro, parece que es una grafía redundante; así lo entiende Bechtel HPN 456 que lo recoge como hápax, Φράξος

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4.1.2 Las grafías de Beocia y los alfabetos rojos Junto con los azul oscuro, los alfabetos rojos son los más extendidos en el mundo griego y no presentan variaciones sustanciales. Su característica principal es la distribución y

el valor de los signos y , [k ] y [ks] respectivamente¹⁷, por ejemplo Φιλοχέν¯o (Etolia LSAG 226.01 s.VII a.C?). Sin embargo, es preciso analizar con un poco más de detalle las grafías de algunos de estos territorios, ya que no se ajustan completamente a esta clasificación. Como en otros lugares, también en estas áreas se atestigua la influencia del alfabeto milesio en algunas inscripciones entrado ya el s. V a.C., aunque en ocasiones, el signo h

para [ks] se utiliza al lado de para [k ], por ejemplo en Tesalia (ἐργάξατο pero συνδαυ∨ ∣ ναφόροι, de συν–δαυχναφόρος¹⁸, en LSAG 99.1, ca.450–425?) o en un abecedario de Epiro (LSAG 230.C.S452, s. IV a.C). Estas interferencias no solo se producen con las grafías de los alfabetos azul oscuro, sino también, en época más antigua, con las grafías de los azul claro, por ejemplo en Tesalia: –]εχς pero προ∨ ∣ ος de πρό–χοος, αρα∨∣ ον cf. ἄρακος (LSAG 98.01, ca. 550) ∣ αριϝετταν (LSAG 94.01, ca. 700–675)¹⁹. Las grafías o Beocia: ἀργυρότοχσοι pero ∨ podrían interpretarse como formas “rojas” redundantes (cf. supra) o por el contrario, al menos en el caso de Beocia, como formas relacionadas con las grafías epicóricas atenienses, puesto que se trata de zonas muy próximas entre sí. En cualquier caso, es preciso mencionar que en Beocia están presentes formas locales análogas a estas, mediante las cuales el grupo [ks] se escribe también con un dígrafo y con el signo de la consonante oclusiva aspirada, en este caso la que corresponde a los alfabetos rojos, más sigma, es decir, , así: ϝάνα∨∣ ς, φεφύλα∨∣ σο, ᾿Ε∨∣ έστροτος (LSAG 95.10/SEG ∣ σοι, Aἰσ∨∣ ρίον (LSAG 95.15, ca. 500), ἐ∨∣ ς, 29:449, ca. 550–525?, + ἔπεμφσ΄), ἀργ]υρότο∨ ∣ ᾿Ερ∨[ομένο] (LSAG 95.17, ca. 475–450?). Aunque en Beocia esta grafía parece algo más habitual²⁰, no es el único lugar en el que la encontramos. Hay al menos dos testimonios más en las inscripciones griegas: h

17 Como dijimos más arriba, los ejemplos de [ps] son muy pocos. Conservamos las grafías < > y y, en ocasiones, las palabras que presentan son difíciles de interpretar: –]ραφσεν ¿? (Beocia LSAG 95.19a, 424 a.C.), Μαρφσος? (Regio, LSAG 248.D.S455 ca. 550) e incluso encontramos en Beocia la grafía para [ks]: Κοκκυφς (cf. κόκκυξ, LSAG 95.19a, 424 a.C.). En un abecedario de Metapontion ∣ ΧΧ= se atestigua el mismo signo para los dos grupos consonánticos, cf. LSAG 261.19 ca. 475–450? Φ∨ [ph], [kh], [ks], [ps] ¿?. 18 Equivalente a δαφναφόρος, “portador del laurel”. 19 En otras inscripciones no se atestigua el signo de la consonante aspirada, por lo que no podemos comprobar el tipo de alfabeto, como en el caso de πλατυτοχσος (Beocia, LSAG 95.15a.S434, ca. 500), –]ο. ιραχσιαδ. [ας (Beocia, LSAG 94.03c, ca. 700–600?) o en la isla de Eubea προχσενον (Eretria LSAG 88.15, IG XII suppl. 549 c.500–475?). 20 En Beocia también existen ejemplos de para [ks], aunque son algo posteriores: Δαμοχενος (LSAG 95.19b, 424 a.C.), Μεχυλλειο (LSAG 95.F.S435, ca. 475–450). . .

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∣ σοίδα, ∨∣ άλκεον (Cefalonia, LSAG 234.05 ca. 550–525?) y ᾿Ε∨∣ σαίνετος (Lócride LSAG ᾿Ε∨ 108.14, ca. 500–475). Esta grafía arcaica mixta (entre los alfabetos azul claro y los alfabetos rojos) nos parece de gran interés para nuestro estudio. La coincidencia gráfica en la notación de estos grupos y su presencia ocasional en las inscripciones de algunos territorios puede ser un indicio de la existencia de grafías aproximadas. 4.2 Los silabarios Tanto la escritura silábica de las tablillas micénicas como la de las inscripciones chipriotas pueden reproducir los grupos [ks] y [ps]²¹. La primera suele desdoblar los grupos, de tal forma que [kse] se transcribe como ke–se, o [pse] como pe–se, mientras que en el caso chipriota las sílabas [ksa] y [kse] pueden escribirse con dos silabogramas específicos o bien como lo hace el silabario micénico. Desde un punto de vista fonético, parece que estos grupos se mantienen inalterados en griego micénico, pero no en chipriota.

4.2.1 Las tablillas micénicas Los ejemplos micénicos se agrupan en dos bloques: – [ks]y [ps] en interior de palabra: a–re–ka–sa–da–ra /Aleksandra/, ke–se–nu– wi–ja /ksenwia/, a–re–ki–si–to–jo /Aleksitoio/, to–ko–so–ta /toksotas/, ku–su– pa /ksumpan/; ra–pa–sa–ko /Lampsakos/, ku–pe–se–ro /Kupselos/, o–pi–si–jo h

/Opsios/, po–so–ra–ko /Psolark os/, etc.²²; – [ks] en posición final de palabra: se transcribe únicamente la consonante ocluh

siva, así wa–na–ka /wanaks/, o–nu–ka /onuks/, to–ra–ka /t oraks/, a3 –ti–jo–qo h

w

/Ait iok s/. Podría haber dos ejemplos en los que no se transcribe la oclusiva de [ks]: o–nu en h

lugar del esperable o–nu–ka y el NP to–ro–wi en lugar de to–ro–wi–ka /T rowiks?/. Sin embargo, ninguna de las formas es incontestable²³. Es importante recordar que [ks+m] se conserva todavía en micénico sin ninguna variación, a3– ka–sa–ma /aiksma/, frente a griego alfabético αἰχμή. De ello se deduce

21 Para ver la distribución de las grafías en ambos silabarios, cf. Schwink (1991). 22 Hemos seleccionado los ejemplos para los que hay unanimidad en su interpretación según el DMic. 23 El DMic. prefiere interpretar o–nu como *ὄνυχ, mientras que en el caso de to–ro–wi/to–ro–wi–ka no se aporta ninguna transcripción segura.

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que es muy posible que tanto [ks] como [ps] se mantengan intactos en el griego de las tablillas²⁴.

4.2.2 Los silabarios de Chipre Tanto el silabario común chipriota²⁵ como el pafio tienen unos signos específicos para notar las sílabas [ksa] y [kse], como en el caso de e–we–re–xa /ewerxa/, po–ro–xe–ni– o /proxenion/, no así para [ksi], [kso] y [ksu]: a–sa–to–wa–na–ka–si /Astowanaksi/ de/Aristo–/. Sin embargo, [ksa] puede también transcribirse como ka–sa como en pa–ra–ka–sa–to–ro /Praksandros/, e–u–ka–sa–me–no–se /euksamenos/, wa–na–ka– sa–go–ra–se /Wanaksagoras/, etc. No hay ejemplos seguros de sílabas con el grupo consonántico [ps], aunque las h

¯ formas ta–pa–sa /t apsas/ part. aor. masc. de θάπτω o el NP ka–pa–sa /Gapsas, ¯ podrían interpretarse de este modo. Kampsas/ Contrariamente a lo que veíamos en el griego micénico, podemos decir que hay indicios de que la oclusiva del grupo [ks] pudo haberse debilitado en chipriota. Los ejemplos son los siguientes: – Nombres en Πραξι– y en –ξεν–: pa–ra–si–po /Pras(s)ippos/, pa–ra–si–ta– h

/Pras(s)ida[mo?]/, pi–lo–si–wo–se /P ilos(s)iwos/, que se corresponden respectivamente con Πράξιππος (9 ejemplos en LGPN), Πραξίδαμος (31 ejemplos en LGPN) y *Φίλοξις, posible hipocorístico de Φιλόξενος (sin ejemplos en otros dialectos). Se ha señalado²⁶ que la interpretación de los NP chipriotas en Πραξι– no es segura porque pa–ra–si– puede responder a un primer término en Φρασι–, lo cual es posible en el caso de pa–ra–si–ta– que en lugar de Πραξίδαμος podría ser Φρασίδαμος (8 ejemplos en LGPN), pero no parece que lo sea en el caso de pa–ra–si–po porque no hay NP en *Φράσιππος vel sim. – Nombres propios en Ταξι– (del tipo Ταξικλῆς, Ταξίλαος, Τάξιππος, 6 ejemplos en ¯ ta–si–wa–na–to /Tas(s)iwanat(t)os/ que LGPN): ta–si–o–ro–wo /Tas(s)iorwo/, responden a *Ταξίορος y *Ταξιάναξ (sin ejemplos en LGPN).

24 El debilitamiento articulatorio de la oclusiva /k/ cuando va seguida de una silbante y una nasal [– ksn/m–] es conocido, como en el caso de αἰχμή “punta de lanza”, λύχνος “lámpara”, πάχνη “escarcha”, πλοχμός “trenza”, ῥωχμός “grieta, hendidura”. Sin embargo, no sabemos muy bien qué representa χ en estos casos ni cuál es su origen: ¿la aspiración de /k/ procede de la silbante?, ¿se trata de una oclusiva aspirada /kh/? Parece en todo caso que [–khn–] no es un grupo fácil de pronunciar. 25 Todos los ejemplos son de Egetmeyer (2010, 177–179), así como de Egetmeyer (1992, s.v.) 26 Cf. Egetmeyer (ibid. 177).

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A estos ejemplos cabría añadir también la preposición ἐξ, e–xe, que en las inscripciones de época helenística (finales del s.III a.C.) se transcribe como e–se, y no debe ser achacable a la lengua de la koiné, cf. Egetmeyer (2010, 177)²⁷.

5 Interpretaciones de las grafías de estos grupos Al margen de la diversidad de grafías que aparecen con mayor o menor frecuencia en los alfabetos griegos epicóricos, resulta innegable que y son empleadas con regularidad por los alfabetos azul claro. A estas grafías hay que añadir únicamente ∣ Σ> de algunas inscripciones arcaicas. Si desde un para el caso de [ks] la paralela , o si se admite esta posibilidad, lo más verosímil es que nos fías , y de Naxos y de Amorgos, no es aleatoria y responde a un intento de notar, con los recursos gráficos disponibles, un sonido particular de la primera consonante de estos grupos.

6.1 Argumentos a favor del debilitamiento articulatorio Para afirmar esta interpretación, nos basamos en los siguientes indicios: 1. La pronunciación de estos grupos consonánticos no es fácil, ni homogénea, en algunas lenguas, cf. nota 7. 2. Las dificultades gráficas para transcribir estos grupos, aunque son esporádicas, pueden encontrarse por toda Grecia en los alfabetos arcaicos, así como la diversidad de combinaciones gráficas que parecen convivir en una misma región y época. 3. Al menos en chipriota, la oclusiva de [ks] sufrió un debilitamiento articulatorio y, en consecuencia, se produjo su asimilación a la silbante, como demuestran ejemplos del tipo ta–si–wa–na–to /Tas(s)iwanat(t)os/. En este dialecto, por lo tanto, se oyeron en algún momento pronunciaciones semejantes a las que pueden escucharse hoy en día en el español de la Península en donde [ks] únicamente sobrevive en el caso de pronunciaciones claramente afectadas. 4. Resulta de interés señalar que contamos, además, con indicios gráficos alfabéticos que nos llevan a la misma conclusión, es decir, que también en otras regiones griegas y en otras épocas se producía el mismo fenómeno: Algunos ostraka de Atenas del s. V a.C., que reflejan grafías más espontáneas o «populares» que otro tipo de inscripciones, presentan únicamente para transcribir el grupo [ks]: Φιλοσσενον (Lang, nº18: Φιλοσσένο, φιλοξενέω), Κλισενς (Lang, nº 347), Καλλισενοι (Lang, nº 365), Καλλι]σσεννος (Lang, nº 439), Καλισενοι (Lang, nº 440), Κλαλισενος (Lang, nº 464), Καλισσενος (Lang, nº 474), Καλισενος

32 | Violeta Gomis García & Araceli Striano Corrochano

(Lang, nº 517), ᾿Αλέσανδρος, y más tarde, en épocas helenística y romana: ᾿Ερσιγένης, ᾿Αλεσάνδρου, Σένων, τάσιν³¹. Se atestigua en un número considerable de nombres propios de todas las épocas y procedencias la grafía para notar el grupo [ks] y en menor medida [ps], como se observa en el cuadro 1. Cuadro 1: Ejemplos de nombres propios griegos con debilitamiento de los grupos [ks] y [ps]. La mayoría se pueden consultar en la base de datos online de LGPN. [ks]

᾿Αναξι–

᾿Ανασικλῆς (Tera, ss. VII–VI) ᾿Ανασίων x2 (Creta, s. I a.C. y III a.C.)

᾿Αρηξι–

᾿Αρέσιππος x2 ( Atenas s. IV) vs. ᾿Αρήξιππος (Esparta, s. I)

—

῾Αρμοξι–

᾿Αρμοσίλας x2 (Rodas, s.III a.C.)

—

᾿Ερξι–, –ερξις

᾿Ερσίλας (Cirene, s. V a.C.) ᾿Ερσίς (Nísiros, s.III a.C.) ᾿Ερσιγένης (Atenas, s. III a.C.) ᾿Ερσικλῆς (Atenas, hipocorístico de ᾿Ερξικλείδης, s. IV–I a.C)

—

᾿Ερυξι–

᾿Ερύσιππος (Cirene, s.III a.C.) ᾿Ερυσίλαος (Creta, s.III a.C.)

—

Μειξι–

Μεισικράτης (Delos, s. II a.C.)

—

Ξενο–, –ξενος

Μαγασενος (Cirene, s.VI a.C. ¿híbrido? ¿étnico: Μαγας ξενος?)

—

Πραξι–, Πρηξι–

Πρασίας, Πρασίδας, Πρασίδης, Πρασίλας, Πράσιμος, Πρασίων x9

—

῾Ρηξι–

῾Ρησι– ῾Ρησίδικος, ῾Ρησίας. . .

—

Φυλαξι–

Φυλάσιος (LGPN vol. 2a)

[ps]

–ψυχ–

Ευσυχίς (Atenas, s. IV a.C.)

A partir de estos datos parece razonable pensar que algunos hablantes pronunciaron estos grupos con un claro debilitamiento articulatorio de la consonante oclusiva (y a juzgar por las grafías en , quizá con una completa asimilación a la silbante).

31 Threatte (1980, 551–552). Los ejemplos paralelos en el caso de [ps] son prácticamente inexistentes en las inscripciones procedentes de Atenas. Threatte menciona únicamente Τερσειχόρης y Τερσιχόμε (Τερψι–) y la grafía inversa en ἐριψαμένωι por ἐρεισαμένωι (Threatte 1980, 555–556).

Los grupos de consonantes oclusivas labiales y velares seguidas de silbante | 33

6.2 Las grafías de los alfabetos epicóricos Los datos de los puntos (3) y (4) del apartado anterior son suficientes para afirmar que el debilitamiento articulatorio de la oclusiva no es una pronunciación ajena al griego antiguo, ya que de hecho se constata en chipriota y en un número considerable de nombres propios de todas las épocas. Por ello consideramos que las grafías , , ∣ Σ>, < Σ> y pueden ser también una prueba de lo mismo. Este debilitamiento y de las inscripciones de las dos islas del archipiélago cicládico, Naxos y Amorgos, que presentan el signo específico de la aspiración inicial para notar el grupo mejor atestiguado [ks], entendiéndolas como otro intento gráfico, local, de reflejar esa pronunciación particular de este grupo de consonantes. La elección de < > y para notar estos grupos sería, de nuevo, una grafía aproximada como en los casos anteriores, donde se habría puesto de relieve la realización más bien fricativa de la consonante en ese contexto fonético. Esta visión de los hechos ha sido ya expuesta por Lejeune (1972, 72): «l’articulation en était si faible qu’on a pu parfois entendre, et noter, une spirante: à Amorgos et à Naxos, aux VIIe et VIe, on écrit tantôt χσ, tantôt hσ. Puis l’usage se généralise d’un signe unique pour chacun de ces groupes où l’occlusive, combinée à la sifflante, avait un caractère particulier». No obstante, no podemos precisar cuál era la pronunciación exacta de estos grupos. Además, no hay que olvidar que, salvo en el caso de los alfabetos verdes de Creta, Tera y Melos, donde la representación gráfica de estos grupos es, en general, mediante un dígrafo cuyo primer signo coincide con el de la oclusiva sorda, en la mayoría de los territorios griegos se utiliza un signo único y especial para transcribir estos grupos. Por tanto, no es posible, ni verosímil, afirmar que la pronunciación de [ks] y [ps] fuera unitaria en toda Grecia, ni en un sentido ni en otro, dada la diversidad de grafías atestiguada y teniendo en cuenta los testimonios esporádicos de los nombres propios, bastante alejados unos de otros tanto geográfica como cronológicamente, pero sí podemos señalar, gracias a los testimonios epigráficos, que el debilitamiento articulatorio de la consonante oclusiva en estos grupos debió de producirse esporádicamente (independientemente de la convención gráfica utilizada en cada territorio) y que, además, debió de ser una pronunciación lo suficientemente generalizada en

32 Estaríamos hablando de pronunciaciones fricativas sordas. Según la transcripción fonética del AFI podría tratarse, por ejemplo, de la fricativa sorda labiodental [f] en el caso de [ps] o la fricativa sorda velar [x], palatal [ç] e incluso retrofleja [ʂ] en el caso de [ks]. Cuando hablamos de una fricativa más aspirada (cf. infra) nos referimos a la glotal [h], o algo similar.

34 | Violeta Gomis García & Araceli Striano Corrochano

algunas zonas de Grecia como para ser transcrita de un modo diferente al del resto del territorio. Por ello, la elección del signo de la consonante aspirada no nos parece un resultado debido al azar. Se trata más bien de un uso gráfico consciente para notar una pronunciación específica y concreta (aunque no podamos precisar cuál) de las oclusivas en este contexto especial. Estas grafías se sumarían de este modo a los pocos ejemplos de notación de alófonos existentes en el alfabeto griego. La generalización del alfabeto milesio y la sustitución de estos signos por y nos impiden averiguar si esta pronunciación pervivió más tarde, aunque sí se conservan algunos testimonios posteriores de la asimilación completa de estos grupos en una clase de palabras un poco especial: los nombres propios.

Bibliografía ABV = Attic Black–Figure Vase Painters (J. D. Beazley, 1956). Allen, W. S. 1968: Vox Graeca. The Pronunciation of Classical Greek, Cambridge. Aura Jorro, F. 1993: Diccionario micénico, Madrid. Bechtel, F. 1917: Historischen Personennamen des Griechischen bis zur Kaiserzeit, Halle. Bile, M. 1988: Le dialecte crétois ancien. Étude de la langue des inscriptions. Recueil des inscriptions postérieures aux IC, París. Clackson, J. 2002: The writing of χς and φς for ξ and ψ, «Glotta», 78, 22–35. DMic. = Diccionario Micénico (cf. Aura Jorro, F.) Egetmeyer, M. 1992: Wörterbuch zu den Inschriften im Kyprischen Syllabar, Berlín – New York. Egetmeyer, M. 2010: Le dialecte grec ancien de Chypre, Berlín – New York. Fraser, P. M. & Matthews, E. 1987: A lexicon of Greek personal names, Oxford. HPN = Cf. Bechtel, F. 1917. Jeffery, L. H. 1990: The Local Scripts of Archaic Greece, revised ed. with supplement by A. W. Johnston, Oxford. Kirchhoff, A. 1887: Studien zur Geschichte des Griechischen Alphabets, Berlín. Lang nº ostrakon = The Athenian Agora, vol. XXV: Ostraka (cf. Lang, M. L. 1990). Lang, M. L. 1990: The Athenian Agora, vol. XXV: Ostraka, New Yersey. Lejeune, M. 1972: Phonétique historique du mycénien et du grec ancien, París. LGPN = A lexicon of Greek personal names (cf. Fraser, P. M. – Matthews, E. 1987, versión en línea y base de datos: http://clas--lgpn2.classics.ox.ac.uk/) LSAG = The Local Scripts of archaic Greece. Cf. Jeffery, L. H. 1990 (versión en línea: http://poinikastas. csad.ox.ac.uk/). Méndez Dosuna, J. 1993: Los griegos y la realidad fonética psicológica del fonema: κ y (koppa) en los alfabetos arcaicos, «Kadmos», 32, 96–126. Méndez Dosuna, J. en prensa: Once again on allophonic spellings in Ancient Greek, en homenaje a J. L. García Ramón. PHI = Packard Humanities Institute. Greek inscriptions (http://epigraphy.packhum.org/allregions). Schwink, F. W. 1991: The writing of Ancient Greek consonant clusters, «Kadmos», 30, 2, 113–127. Schwyzer, E. 1939: Griechische Grammatik I, Munich. SEG = Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum (versión en línea: http://referenceworks.brillonline. com/browse/supplementum--epigraphicum--graecum) Threatte, L. 1980: The grammar of Attic inscriptions, vol. I. Phonology, Berlín – New York.

Ville Leppänen

Gothic evidence for Greek historical phonology Abstract: This study presents the evidence that the preserved Gothic documents (most importantly the Bible translation of Wulfila, fourth century AD) provide for the historical phonology of Greek. The data consist of almost 600 attestations of biblical names and Greek loanwords in the New Testament of the Wulfila Bible (of which approximately 50% has been preserved), including both the Greek originals and their Gothic transcriptions. Provided that the sound value of a Gothic item can be established on the basis of non– Greek evidence (e.g. by way of Gothic internal or historical Germanic considerations), the comparison of the Gothic transcription with the Greek original can be used to infer the sound value of the Greek item. This, in turn, leads to considerations pertaining to the dating and spread of certain sound changes that took place in Greek during the Koine and Byzantine periods. This study complements my previous work (Leppänen 2016), in which the most frequently occurring graphemic correspondences were counted in order to establish the major trends. Here, however, the data are not amenable to statistical examination due to their scarcity. Most of the findings are in line with previous analyses of Greek historical phonology, while others indicate, for example, that certain vowel changes had not yet taken place by the fourth century AD. This most likely reflects a relatively conservative high-register or ecclesiastic variety used at that time in and around Constantinople.

1 Introduction Due to the relatively meagre amount of preserved Gothic documents, understanding the linguistic environment of contemporary (i.e. fourth century AD) Greek is essential to the interpretation of that language, as Greek demonstrably had a great impact on the formation of the Gothic literary language: the Gothic script is (at least for the most part) based on the Greek alphabet, and the longest surviving text – a near–literal translation of the Greek Bible – abounds in Greek names and loanwords with the syntax heavily influenced by the Greek original. The attributed translator, bishop Wulfila – who also devised the script – grew up among Danube Goths and became a member of the Greek– speaking clergy. Investigating the contact of these two languages in this period is thus

Note: I wish to thank Sonja Dahlgren for her helpful comments and suggestions on a draft of this paper.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-047

36 | Ville Leppänen

vital to our understanding of Gothic, although the situation certainly offers evidence in both ways. In this article I discuss the evidence that the Gothic language provides for Greek historical phonology. In a previous article (Leppänen 2016) I proposed a quantitative method by which the most central problems of this kind of analysis could successfully be overcome. The method is then used to check the dating of a number of sound changes. The analysis, however, is not exhaustive: this article complements my earlier work by discussing novel material. The quantitative component of the method has been dropped, as the data of this article are for the most part too few for a fruitful quantitative analysis. The central component of the method – the avoidance of circular argumentation – remains nonetheless crucial for the present analysis. In order to properly contextualize the results, particular effort is made towards understanding the linguistic environment surrounding the Gothic Bible translation. The discussion is based on a solid and useful theoretical founding by applying the principles of the framework of linguistic normativity. The data consist of Gothic transcriptions of biblical names and Greek loanwords, as well as of their Greek originals, as found in the Gothic Bible translation. Items attested in other Gothic documents (for example in the Skeireins and the charters) are not included, as such texts either are not translations in the first place or their Greek original is unknown. The main sources of both Greek and Gothic items are Streitberg (2000a) and (2000b). The method compares the transcriptions with their originals in order to elicit information on the sound values of the latter. This information is then interpreted within the larger context of Greek historical phonology.

1.1 Circular argumentation Gothic transcriptions of Greek words have to some extent been previously recognized and utilized, mostly on an ad hoc basis, in solving the problematic dating of several Greek sound changes in the Koine period (see, e.g., Sturtevant 1940, passim; Schwyzer 1953, 162–163; Allen 1987, passim). However, since the analysis of Gothic is to a large extent dependent on our knowledge of contemporary Greek, the argumentation may unintentionally result in a vicious circle – a fallacy that is not completely absent from the secondary literature (as pointed out in Marchand 1973, 27).¹ Needless to say such argumentation is not allowed, and a particular method needs to be employed in order to avoid (or at least circumvent) it. The method employed in Leppänen (2016) avoids circular argumentation in the following way: individual candidates for useful Gothic evidence for Greek explicanda are analyzed from the Gothic point of view; provided that the Gothic item can be reliably

1 The earliest mention of the problem is Luft (1898, 293).

Gothic evidence for Greek historical phonology | 37

established without resorting to decisive Greek evidence (for example, by basing the argument on Gothic–internal, or structural evidence, and on Germanic and Indo– European language history), it can then be safely used as a supportive evidence for a given Greek historical phenomenon. If, however, the interpretation of the Gothic item rests solely on Greek evidence, this particular item cannot as such be used as evidence for anything Greek, as precisely this would result in circular argumentation. For example, if the sound value of the Gothic digraph ai is taken to be [ε:] solely on the basis of Greek evidence (its Greek counterpart αι is known from others sources to have had that value at that time), this piece of evidence (that Gothic ai had the value [ε:] in the fourth century AD) cannot be used for backwards–evidence for corroborating the value of Greek αι. However, if we can establish the value of Gothic ai from other sources (which actually is the case), this piece of evidence is then valid as a supportive argument for Greek αι, too. In practice, however, a certain amount of Greek data must be used in order to understand Gothic: the result is a hermeneutic spiral, in which every matching piece of evidence supports each other towards a better understanding of the phenomenon. The difference between a hermeneutic spiral and a vicious circle is evident.

1.2 Transcription, orthography, literary conventions In an alphabetic script, each letter is a linguistic sign that connects a physical form (the grapheme, signifiant) to a sound (the phoneme, signifié).² This connection between a form and a meaning is a social norm, a rule of language (see Itkonen 1978; Itkonen 2003; Itkonen 2008). However, the relationship of writing and language is in fact more complicated than that: all writing systems exhibit a certain degree of independence or autonomy over the spoken language (see Miller 1994, xiv and the references there), and even in the best alphabets completely isomorphic correspondence between letters and sounds is rarely achieved.³ Moreover, rules of language that concern orthography tend to change with time: the signifiés (the sounds) change at a different rate than the signifiants (the graphemes). For the linguistic community at any given moment of time, the current relationship of letters and sounds constitutes the orthographic norms.⁴ Education and systematic training of scribes, coupled with the typically official,

2 Although the phoneme is a modern concept, there is evidence that lay speakers (also in antiquity) do have some kind of conception of such abstract phonological units (Balász 1965, 2 ff.; Miller 1994, 95–96). 3 Nonetheless, articulatory iconicity is the origin of segmentally coded scripts (Miller 1994, 102; cf. Harris 1986, 93). 4 In this framework, norms are not to be confused with prescriptions, as linguistic normativity and linguistic prescriptivism are unrelated phenomena, although norm and prescription are elsewhere often used as synonyms.

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holy, or otherwise solemn nature of literary texts in antiquity, results in the apparent conservatism of the literary register, which, in turn, complicates the investigation of historical phonology, as ongoing or completed changes in actual pronunciation are often not visible in the written form (cf. Bubeník 1989, 24–27): as a rule, the more official the nature of the text is and the more educated its writer most likely was, the lower is the likelihood of sound changes appearing in the written language in the form of spelling variants. In the fourth century AD, the Greek written register had already been standardized for several centuries (cf. Horrocks 2010, 3). Thus, sound changes that had happened in the spoken form during the Koine period are not visible in the official written language and must be inferred from other sources (such as the scribal errors mentioned above).⁵ The case of Gothic is completely different in this respect: the Greek alphabet was most likely not invented by a single person, but rather evolved over years in a multilingual and –cultural setting (see Miller 1994, 39 ff.; for an opposite view, see Powell 1991, 10– 11), and before Wulfila’s effort Gothic had lacked a proper written register, which would be suitable for translating the Bible.⁶ In order to overcome this problem, Wulfila devised a new script for that language (instead of, for example, using the runic or Greek scripts as such).⁷ The external appearance of the letters as well as some scribal conventions were mostly borrowed from the contemporary Greek script. There is general consensus that Wulfila’s script is mostly based on Greek models, with varying degrees of Latin and/or runic influence (Ebbinghaus 1979, 16; Braune 2004, §1G–H), although the exact principles by which Wulfila worked during the invention process have been debated (see Marchand 1955/56, Ebbinghaus 1979, Cercignani 1988). The most relevant factor for this study is that there was no preceding conventionalized Gothic literary tradition at the time Wulfila devised the script. This fact has two important ramifications. First, the inner workings of the Wulfilian script are accessible by comparing it to its model scripts, that is, especially the Greek, but possibly also the Latin and runic scripts. Second, by devising a new script, Wulfila effectually laid down a set of orthographic norms. Since the Bible translation can be assumed to be practically contemporaneous with the invention of the script, changes in spoken Gothic

5 Analyzing spelling variants in epigraphic or papyrological texts is the basic method of Teodorsson (1974), Gignac (1976), Teodorsson (1978) and Threatte (1980), among others. 6 There are very few runic inscriptions from the first few centuries AD, written in the Elder Futhark, that are suspected to represent Gothic (see Krause 1968, 22–23; Braune 2004, §E17). Whether Wulfila himself knew the runic alphabet and whether it had any influence on the Gothic alphabet, has been debated (Ebbinghaus 1979, 20). In any case, Wulfila apparently did not consider runes to be a suitable writing system for a holy text (cf. Cercignani 1988, 171). 7 The Coptic script, roughly contemporary to Wulfilian Gothic, is also based on the Greek alphabet (Kasser 1991; Richter 2010, 403). However, the Copts used the Greek alphabet (lunate capitals) as such with six additional letters supplemented from the Egyptian Demotic script, in order to represent sounds which did not have a Greek letter. See Layton (2011, 3 ff.); Richter (2010, 406).

Gothic evidence for Greek historical phonology | 39

had not yet caused a change in the sound values of the letters.⁸ Hence, it is reasonable to presume that – unlike fourth century AD Greek writing – written Gothic reflects the contemporary spoken form of that language to a considerably high degree.

1.3 Foreign material in the Gothic Bible The surviving sections of the Gothic Bible (see Stutz 1966, 28 for an overview of the preserved sections)⁹ include nearly 600 individual attestations of several hundred biblical names and Greek loanwords (not counting abbreviated forms such as gþ for guþ ‘God’, xus for xristus ‘Christ’, etc.; see Braune 2004, §1F n. 7). The analysis of these items and their comparison with the Greek original are complicated by several factors. First, Wulfila’s Bible is only preserved in the fifth to seventh century manuscripts, which most likely do not present the text in its exact original form. Critical editing is for the most part hampered by a lack of parallel manuscripts: most of the sections are only preserved in a single manuscript.¹⁰ Second, the original Greek text (the Vorlage) has not been preserved in the same form as that used by Wulfila during the translation process. He most likely used a Koine version that was in common circulation in the area of Constantinople at that time (Stutz 1966, 31 f.; Krause 1968, 63; Metzger – Ehrman 2005, 115–116, 279–280). Therefore, direct comparison with any modern edition (e.g. Nestle et al. 2012 of the NT) would not be fruitful. Gothic scholars have attempted to reconstruct the Vorlage (most notably Bernhardt 1875 and Streitberg 2000a), but the credibility of such reconstructions has been debated (see Jülicher 1910; Marchand 1973, 23 f.). Third, there is indication that at some point the Gothic translation has undergone influence from an Itala–type Old Latin version (Streitberg 2000a, xlvf.; Stutz 1966, 31). Such influence may have entered the text already during the translation process (according to the hypothesis that Wulfila used the Old Latin version as an aid), or later during the textual transmission in the following 100–300 years after Wulfila’s time. Lastly, the analyzed items have clearly arrived into Gothic at different points of time by different ways. For example, plapjo gen.pl ‘street’ is an early loan from Greek πλατεῖα that has undergone phonetic changes (ει > j, τ > p). Paurpura ‘purple’ is eventually from Greek πορφύρα, but actually via Latin purpura (Luft 1898, 296). A more recent loan would have resulted in a form like *paurfwra. Similar cases are Kreks ‘Greek’ (from Lat.

8 This, however, may have caused some of the orthographic variation that entered the corpus during textual transmission. 9 After the 1960’s there have been several minor finds, some of which include previously unattested passages from the Bible (see Streitberg 2000a, 500 ff.; Finazzi – Tornaghi 2013). These relatively short passages do not significantly alter Stutz’s overview. 10 Even the authoritative Streitberg (2000a) does not attempt to arrive at the original text form in those sections that have indeed been preserved in two manuscripts. What we have here is basically a diplomatic edition.

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Graecus) and marikreitus ‘pearl’ (from Gr. μαργαρῖτα) (cf. Luft 1898, 294). Some names exhibit considerable variation in their Gothic orthography (e.g. Iaireikon, Eiaireikons, Iairikon for ᾿Ιεριχώ) indicating, perhaps, a late entry into the language, while several others, especially some frequently occurring names, are invariable (e.g. Paitrus always for Πέτρος), indicating a more conventionalized or normative status, and hence, earlier entry (cf. Haugen 1950, 216). The quantitative method in Leppänen (2016) circumvents these problems by concentrating on tendencies and majority Gothic renderings of particular Greek sounds. It is almost certain that the translator (or later scribes and copyists) did not simply transliterate most of the names and loanwords directly (i.e. letter–by–letter). This is evident even from a cursory look at the data, e.g. Paitrus for Πέτρος, Teibairiaus gen for Τιβέριος or Τιβερίου (not influenced by Latin Tiberius, either), Mosezis gen for Μωσῆς, lwstrws for λύστροις. Instead, the transcriptions were based on the current Greek pronunciation. Moreover, structurally Greek and Gothic scripts are two separate systems, which do not have 1–1 correspondence between their components; hence, direct transliteration is only possible in limited cases, in which 1–1 correspondence coincidentally exists (e.g. abba for ἀββᾶ). However, there exists a small number of names (mostly in the OT), which do not have a phonologically commensurate Greek counterpart: for example Fallasuris gen (Gr. Φασσούρ, Φαδασσούρ;), Lwddomaeis (Λύδδων Αδειδ?), Aai (Gr. ᾿Αϊά?), and Aizor (Gr. ᾿Εσρών) (cf. Luft 1898, 293). In some cases a declined form of a name exhibits Gothic morphophonemic variation, e.g. Moseza, dat of Moses (for Μωσῆς), cf. hatis (‘hate’, a native Gothic word), hatiza dat.sg. In rare cases, the original Greek case ending is preserved (e.g. aipistaule for ἐπιστολή nom.sg, lwstrws for λύστροις dat.pl), while in most cases a native Gothic case ending is attached to the word as a part of the nativization process of foreign linguistic material (e.g. Iosef nom, Iosefis gen, Iosefa dat for ᾿Ιωσήφ).¹¹ These particularities must be observed in the analysis. This concludes the rather lengthy introduction to the subject. In the next section, the data of this study are catalogued and interpreted from the Gothic point of view. Analysis of these items and their evidence value for Greek historical phonology is discussed in section 3, followed by more general discussion in section 4.

11 Greek 2nd declension names were regularly inflected as Gothic u–stem nouns. This large class includes some very frequent names, such as the holy name Xristus (xaus abbreviated gen, Gr. Χριστός), as well as rarer items like Alaiksandrus (Alaiksandraus gen, Gr. ᾿Αλέξανδρος). Despite the resemblance, an –us ending in the Gothic transcription is therefore not a transcribed Greek ending.

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2 Transcriptions 2.1 Consonants For the transcription of φ, θ, χ, β, δ, γ, see Leppänen (2016, 102) and the analysis below.

π:p Frequent and exceptionless, e.g. Πέτρος : Paitrus; πάσχα : paska, pasxa; ἐπίσκοπος : aipiskaupus; ᾿Επαφρᾶς : Aipafras; ῎Αρχιππος : Arkippau dat; etc.

τ:t Frequent and almost exceptionless, e.g. Τωβίας : Tobeias; τετράρχης : taitrarkes; ᾿Αρίσταρχος : Areistarkus; ἀπόστολος : apaustaulus; etc. The only exception is ᾿Ελισάβετ : Aileisabaiþ (8 times, no other variants attested), which is commonly attributed to the influence of Lat. Elisabeth (Braune 2004, §69 n. 3; Gaebeler 1911, 16). However, th in Latin never had a fricative pronunciation, which, considering that the names were most likely transcribed according to how they were pronounced, makes this explanation unlikely.

κ:k Frequent and almost exceptionless, e.g. Κορίνθιος : Kaurinþius; κορβάν : kaurban; ᾿Ιακώβ : Iakob; ἐπίσκοπος : aipiskaupus; etc. There are two exceptions, both of which are textually problematic. First, Κρήσκης : Xreskus, which appears in manuscript A (Krispus in B).¹² The person in question is Crescens – a Latin name. The confusion is probably due to the influence of the very frequent holy name Χριστός : Xristus. Second, Ζακχαῖος is rendered as Zakkaius nom two times and Zaxxaiaus gen once – probably scribal errors.

μ:m Frequent and exceptionless, e.g. Μαρία : Marja (or Maria); ‘Υμέναιος : Hwmainaius; ᾿Αδάμ : Adam; etc. 12 2 Timothy 4:10, see Streitberg (2000a).

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ν:n Frequent and exceptionless, e.g. Ναζαρέθ : Nazaraiþ; ῎Αννα : Anna; etc. In a few cases, a word–final ν of a Greek acc.sg ending is preserved in the transcription, e.g. βύσσον acc : bwssaun; συναγωγήν acc : swnagogen; Τίτον acc : Teitaun; Ζηλωτήν acc : Zeloten; etc. However, it is often impossible to establish whether the –n is actually a Gothic ending, as in ψαλμόν acc : psalmon (cf. qinon acc.sg ‘woman’); Θωμᾶν acc : Þoman (cf. attan acc.sg ‘father’); συναγωγήν acc : swnagogein (cf. managein acc.sg ‘multitude’); etc.

γγ [ŋg] : gg A special case is the velar nasal in combination with a following voiced velar stop. The convention of using the letter γ (corresponding to Gothic g) for both sounds is certainly of Greek origin (unlike Latin, e.g. angelus).¹³ The most famous example, ἄγγελος : aggilus is actually problematic within the context of this study, since this word has most likely entered Gothic in a pre–Wulfilian period and therefore the transcription is not directly comparable with the Greek original. Other items include εὐαγγέλιον : aiwaggeljo (also aiwaggeli) and its derivatives,¹⁴ and Ναγγαί : Naggais gen.

ρ:r Rare in initial position, but rather frequent elsewhere, and always exceptionless, e.g. ‘Ρεβέκκα : Raibaikka; ‘Ρησά : Resins gen; προφήτης : praufetes; ῾Ηρώδης : Herodes; ῎Αγαρ : Agar; etc. Note that the “aspiration” of word–initial ρ is not represented in the transcriptions, unlike in Latin (e.g. rh¯etor from ῥήτωρ).

λ:l Rather frequent in all positions, and almost exceptionless, e.g. Λάζαρος : Lazarus; Λουκᾶς : Lukas; διάβολος : diabulus (also diabaulus); Γαλιλαία : Galeilaia; ᾿Ισραήλ : Israel; etc. The first of the two exceptions is ᾿Ελμωδάμ : Airmodamis gen (hapax). Liquids can get easily confused; this is most likely a post–Wulfilian scribal error. The other exception, Σελλουμ : Sailaumis gen, in which the double consonant is rendered

13 Marchand (1973, 34). On the Greek origins of this convention, see Sturtevant (1940, 64–65). 14 Εὐαγγελιστής : aiwaggelista; εὐαγγελίζομαι : aiwaggeljan (nativized into Gothic first weak conjugation).

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as a single one in Gothic, is probably not a genuine exception, since the Gothic letters a and l resemble each other. Considering the usual transcription practices, the received text should be emended into *Saillumis.¹⁵

ς:s Sibilants are most commonly rendered according to their Greek counterparts, but there are some exceptions which cannot be attributed to Gothic morphophonemic alternation or loanword adaptation (which are not discussed here). Voiceless sibilants are very frequent in all positions, e.g. Σολομών : Saulaumon; σμύρνα : smwrna; ᾿Ιησοῦς : Iesus (two unabbreviated attestations); πάσχα : paska (or pasxa); Δημᾶς : Demas; etc. The exceptions include ᾿Εσλίμ : Aizleimis gen (hapax), ᾿Εσρώμ : Aizoris gen (hapax), πρεσβυτέριον : praizbwtaireis (once, praizbwtairein twice), and ὠσαννά : ozanna (also osanna and ossanna). Gothic allows voiced sibilants (represented by the letter z) in syllable–final position, e.g. mizdo ‘price’ (Braune 2004, §78); hence, these cases can be explained as voice assimilation in front of a voiced consonant (λ and ρ) (Braune 2004, §77). Alternatively, they may reflect regular Greek voiced allophones (see below). See also Luft (1898, 298) and Gaebeler (1911, 19, 43). Notice also the curious transcription Aizoris, which is most likely a corruption for an (unattested) *Aizromis.

ζ:z Rare in word–initial but rather frequent in medial position, and almost exceptionless, e.g. Ζαχαρίας : Zakarias; Ζοροβάβελ : Zauraubabilis gen; ἀζύμων gen.pl : azwme gen.pl; Ναζαρέθ : Nazaraiþ; etc. The only exception is Χουζᾶ : Kusins gen (hapax), which is most likely a scribal error. Gothic z represents a voiced alveolar fricative (Marchand 1973, 35), which originates from a Verner–variant of PIE *s (Braune 2004, §78).

ξ : ks and ψ : ps These consonant clusters are relatively rare in the data and are without exception rendered into Gothic by the corresponding single consonant signs, as the Gothic script does not include special letters for these clusters. E.g. ᾿Αλέξανδρος : Alaiksandrus; ψαλμός : psalmon acc.sg; etc.

15 Greek Σελουμ is also a possible reading in the Vorlage.

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‘ (spiritus asper) : h/Ø The rendering of spiritus asper in the Gothic transcriptions is not entirely consequent: while it is occasionally reflected as h in every transcription of a name (e.g. ῾Ηρώδης : Herodes), it is often found to alternate with h–less forms, e.g. ῾Ερμογένης : Hairmaugaineis, Airmogaineis; ῾Υμέναιος : Hwmainaius, Wmainaius (cf. Marchand 1973, 26). The use of the letter h in the middle of a name suggests a Latin, rather than a Greek, model (e.g. ᾿Ιωάννης : Iohannes, cf. Lat. Iohannes; ᾿Αβραάμ : Abraham, cf. Lat. Abraham). It is possible that some of the forms with h are influenced by the Latin version either during the textual transmission or already at the translation process. See also Luft (1898, 310 ff.), Gaebeler (1911, 16 ff.) and Braune (2004, §61 n. 2).

2.2 Vowels The transcription of vowels shows considerably more variation than that of consonants. Considering that the Gothic script was designed for writing that language, the translator or copyists (or both) apparently found the transcription of certain vowels in some foreign names problematic. This indicates that the Greek vowel system was unlike that of Gothic. For the transcription of η, ε, ι, ει, αι, see Leppänen (2016, 106) and the analysis below.

α:a Frequent and exceptionless in all positions of a word, e.g. ᾿Αβραάμ : Abraham; ᾿Ησαΐας : Esaïas, Esaeias; etc. It is common that word–final –α(ς) turns into –i– in certain inflected forms, e.g. Βηθανία : Beþanian acc, but Beþaniin dat. This is the regular morphophonemic alternation in Gothic n–stem nouns (e.g. atta ‘father’: attan acc.sg, attin dat.sg), in which paradigm such foreign names are often declined.

υ:w Rather infrequent and almost exceptionless, e.g. σμύρνα : smwrna; Τυχικός : Twkeikus; Συντυχή : Swntwkein acc; etc. This is a special use of the Gothic letter w and concerns foreign words only; in native Gothic words w stands for the glide [w], e.g. wulfs ‘wolf’ (Braune 2004, §39–40). Gothic lacks the rounded close front vowel [y] (i.e. Gr. υ in Attic– Ionic and Koine). An exception is the country name Συρία and the demonym Σύρος: the country name appears once in a genitive form Swriais – the expected transcription – but elsewhere as Saurais gen.sg, Saur nom.sg, and Saurim dat.pl. The alleged transcription

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υ : au indicates that the name probably arrived into Gothic earlier or from a non–Greek source language. Hence, these particular items (with the exception of Swriais) are not direct transcriptions. Another exception is Δίδυμος : Didimus (hapax).

ο : au/o/u The short rounded back vowel is mostly transcribed as au, forming a parallel case to ε : ai, e.g. ἐπίσκοπος : aipiskaupus; Βοόζ : Bauauzis gen; βύσσον : bwssaun (a directly transcribed Greek acc.sg); ᾿Ικόνιον : Eikaunion dat; etc. However, two competing transcriptions are also well attested. First, ο : o in Εὐοδία : Aiodian acc; ῾Ερμογένης : Airmogaineis (once, but Hairmaugaineis also once); Μακεδόνες nom.pl : Makidoneis nom.pl; Μακεδονία : Makidonja acc (also Makaidonja acc, Makidonjai dat, etc., for a total of 17 attestations of this name, always transcribed –ο– : –o–); and ψαλμός : psalmon acc.sg, psalmo gen.pl, psalmom dat.pl (but these should probably be interpreted as morphological adaptations into Gothic n–stem feminines). Second, ο : u in ἀπόστολος : apaustulus (also apaustaulus); διάβολος : diabulus (also diabaulus); ῾Ιεροσόλυμα : Iairusaulwma (also Iairausaulwmai dat once); Λαοδικεία : Laudeikaia dat; Λαοδικέων gen.pl : Laudekaion gen.pl; πεντηκοστή : paintekusten acc.sg (with a Greek case ending); Πόντιος : Puntiau dat (also Pauntiau dat and Paunteau dat). The variant transcriptions – provided that they can be attributed to Wulfila – may indicate that Gr. ο did not have a direct counterpart in the Gothic vowel system. The sound value of the Gothic digraph au (as well as that of ai) has long since been disputed. In native Gothic words it continues both Proto–Germanic *au and *o (Braune ̑ 2004, §24–25). At least in cases like baurgs (cf. OHG burg), au certainly stands for a short vowel (like ai in faihu, cf. OHG fihu), while elsewhere it may have been a long vowel or a diphthong in Wulfila’s time (Braune 2004, §25). Most likely, however, it was a monophthong, an open–mid back vowel [ɔ] (cf. Marchand 1973, 76). Although the convention of using digraphs to represent single sounds is most likely Greek influence, writing au for [ɔ] does not have a direct counterpart in Greek.

ω:o The most frequent transcription is ω : o, e.g. in ὠσαννά : osanna (also ossanna, ozanna); ᾿Ωβήδ : Obeidis gen; ᾿Ιακώβ : Iakob; ἀρώματα nom/acc.pl : aromata nom/acc.pl; ^ (?) : Nauel nom, Nauelis gen; πραιτώριον etc. The exceptions include ω : au in Νωε ¯ : praitauria acc.sg (but note that this is a loanword in Greek from Lat. praetorium); Τραχωνˉˊιτιδος gen : Trakauneitidaus gen. ¯ which continues Pre– In native Gothic words o represents the Proto–Germanic *o, ¯ from various PIE sources (cf. Kotin 2012, 44). E.g. broþar < Proto–Germanic *a¯ and *o,

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h

¯ Proto–Germanic *broþar– < Pre–Proto–Germanic *b raˊˉ ter– < PIE *b réh2 ter–. It was most likely pronounced as a close–mid back vowel [o] (cf. Marchand 1973, 75–76).

αυ : aw This digraph is attested in four names, always transcribed as aw, in Παῦλος : Pawlus; ᾿Ησαῦ : Esaw (an undeclined acc); Ναβαῦ : Nabawis gen; and ῾Ραγαῦ : Ragawis. A possible fifth item and an exception is Αὔγουστος : Agustau dat, but note that the transcription of this Latin name matches perfectly the Vulgar Latin Agustus, attested already in Pompeii (Väänänen 1981, 39).¹⁶ Hence, it is best to interpret Agustau as (Vulgar) Latin interference.

ευ : aiw(w) This digraph is rare (except for some frequent loanwords), and is transcribed commonly before vowels and always before consonants as aiw, namely in εὐαγγέλιον : aiwaggeli (and other derivatives of the same word, for a total of 46 attestations); εὐλογία : aiwlaugian acc; Εὐνˉˊικη : Aiwneikai dat; εὐχαριστία : aiwxaristian acc; and Παρασκευή : Paraskaiwe. However, the transcription aiww is not unusual before vowels, as in Εὔα : Aiwwa; Λευείς : Laiwweis; and Λευίτης : Laiwweiteis nom.pl.

ου : u The digraph ου is rare (except for some very frequent names), but it is almost always transcribed as u, as in ᾿Ιερουσάλημ : Iairusalem; ᾿Ιησοῦς : Iesus (attested twice unabbreviated); ᾿Ιουδαία : Iudaia; ᾿Εδδουα : Aidduins gen; etc. The only exceptions include ου : o in Σερούχ : Sairokis gen; and ου : au in Σέλλουμ : Sailaumis gen, although the latter one most likely is a scribal error (see above). Gothic u stands for a rounded close back vowel (Braune 2004, §13).

οι : w This rare digraph is attested only twice, in φοινίκισσα : fwnikiska and λύστροις dat.pl : lwstrws (a direct transcription of the Greek dat.pl). A possible third item is the name Λωΐς (Λωΐδος gen) : Lauidjai dat, which in Streitberg’s Vorlage appears in the form

16 Also cf. Brixhe (2010, 233–234).

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Λοΐδι dat. However, in this case ο and ι are not tautosyllabic, which means that the correct interpretation of the transcription is ω/o : au, ι : i. See also Luft (1898, 303, 307 ff.), Gaebeler (1911, 24 ff.) and Braune (2004, §39 n. 2). Other diphthongs, for example ᾳ, ῃ, ῳ, υι and ηυ, do not appear in the data.

3 Analysis 3.1 Consonants Voiceless stops Greek π, τ, κ remain very stable throughout the history of the language, and are pronounced today in the same way as, say, 3 000 years ago. The Gothic transcriptions present no exceptions.

Voiced stops w

Greek β, δ, γ descend from PIE voiced stops *b, *d, *g/*g , respectively, and were pronounced as voiced stops in most classical dialects (cf. Allen 1987, 30 ff.), but at some time before modern Greek they turn into corresponding voiced fricatives [β], [ð], [γ]/[j], respectively. As discussed in Leppänen (2016, 105), the exact phonetic value of the most frequent Gothic transcriptions (b, d, g) could not be determined without resorting to decisive Greek evidence. Hence, the Gothic material does not provide any evidence for the fricativization of these stops in Greek, as of the fourth century AD. Other evidence suggests that this change occurred during the first few centuries AD (Sturtevant 1940, 88), but was most certainly in place at least in the variant of Asia Minor by then (Brixhe 2010, 235).¹⁷

Aspirates h

h

h

wh

Greek φ, θ, χ descend from PIE voiced aspirated stops *b , *d , *g /g , respectively, and were pronounced as voiceless aspirated stops in most classical dialects (Threatte 1980, 469; Allen 1987, 18 f.). They turn into corresponding voiceless fricatives [f], [θ], [x]/[ç] before Modern Greek. There is indication that the change occurred during the first century AD, although it may have started several centuries earlier (Sturtevant 1940, 85; Allen 1987, 23–26). Indeed, as argued in Leppänen (2016, 104) the most frequent Gothic

17 Gignac (1976, 68 ff.) finds evidence for fricativization of β only in his data.

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transcriptions for φ and θ (i.e. f and þ) confirm the fricativization by the fourth century AD.¹⁸ The case of χ is more complicated, as the most frequent Gothic transcription k indicates stop value. This may be due to Gothic lacking a velar fricative, or the incompletion of fricativization in some areal or social variants.¹⁹

Nasals and liquids These consonants are very stable throughout the history of Greek,²⁰ and hence do not present any difficulties for historical phonology (see Brixhe 2010, 235–236 for some occasional mixups).

Sibilants The voiceless alveolar fricative σ is relatively stable in post–Classical Greek phonology, and consequently does not present difficulties (cf. Sturtevant 1940, 73–74). It most likely had a voiced allophone before voiced consonants (Gignac 1976, 120; Threatte 1980, 510; Allen 1987, 45). The letter ζ stood originally for a cluster, either [dz] or [zd] (Sturtevant 1940, 92; Threatte 1980, 546; Allen 1987, 56–57), but this cluster was later simplified into [z], which is the value in Modern Greek. The Gothic material points clearly towards a monosegmental value, which means that a terminus ante quem for the simplification of ζ is confirmed. Other sources indicate that the simplification occurred during the Hellenistic period (Sturtevant 1940, 93) or at least before Roman times (Gignac 1976, 120). Other s–clusters ξ and ψ are stable and have not changed during the history of Greek.

Spiritus asper The Greek [h], which after Mycenean occurs in many dialects mostly word–initially only,²¹ has multiple sources, most importantly PIE *s, *su and *(H)i. It was lost before ̑ ̑ 18 Sturtevant (1940, 84), however, argues that the scholastic plosive pronunciation was preserved for several centuries longer. Gignac (1976, 98 f.) does not find evidence supportive of fricativization. 19 Cf. the diffusion of the fricativization of β, δ, γ in Egyptian Koine – the process lasted nearly 500 years (Bubeník 1989, 218 ff.). 20 With the exception of the prehistoric change *m > *n /_#, and the later sporadic loss of word–final ν (cf. Horrocks 2010, 274). 21 But there is evidence in Latin inscriptions that Attic and Koine preserved the word–internal [h] in some cases (Sturtevant 1940, 71).

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or during the Koine period, or even earlier in some classical dialects (namely in the so–called psilotic dialects, e.g. East Ionic) (see Allen 1987, 50–51; Horrocks 2010, 171; Lundquist 2014). Since the Vorlage is not preserved, we are not in a position to determine the location and form of the spiritus–signs with certainty, or whether they were employed at all in the version used by Wulfila. Moreover, the appearance of word– internal h in the Gothic transcriptions indicates Latin influence. Hence, the Gothic material does not provide any evidence for the existence of word–initial or medial [h] in the fourth century AD; it is, however, very likely that it was lost by that time even in educated speech (see references above), although in writing the breathing marks have indeed survived up to our present–day text editions (cf. Sturtevant 1940, 72–73).

3.2 Vowels ˘ α¯ α, The Greek open back/central vowels α˘ and α¯ (see Allen 1987, 62–63) were very stable after the Classical period, and since then only quantitative distinction was lost. As the Gothic script does not make a distinction between short and long a, the transcriptions do not provide any information on Greek vowel quantities or whether vowel quantity still had a distinctive function in the fourth century AD.

Unrounded front vowels As shown in Leppänen (2016, 107), the Greek vowels ˘ι, ¯ι, ε, η, ει, αι no longer have their Attic values in the fourth century AD,²² but are already progressing towards Modern Greek, before which ˘ι, ¯ι, η, ει coalesce into [i], ε and αι into [e]. However, unlike other studies on contemporary or earlier historical phonology (Teodorsson 1974, 286 f.; Gignac 1976, 235 ff.), the Gothic material indicates that, while ¯ι, ει and ε, αι had indeed coalesced into [i] an [ε], respectively, η was still separate from the rest (cf. Sturtevant 1940, 37–38, 41; Threatte 1980, 165–166, 294–295).²³ This means that not all vowel changes had yet taken place before the fourth century AD, at least in that variant of Greek Wulfila was acquainted with.²⁴

22 In Attic, ˘ι [i] and ¯ι [i:] had identical quality and differed only in quantity, ει had monophthongized into a close–mid [e:], ε occupied a middle position [ε˕], and η stood for an open–mid [ε:], and αι was still a diphthong [ɑi] (Sturtev nt 1940, 34; Allen 1987, 63–79; Horrocks 2010, 161). ̑ 23 This corresponds roughly to an intermediate stage proposed by Horrocks (2010, 162, figures 3 and 4). 24 In roughly contemporary Attic inscriptions, confusions ε : αι and ει : ι are much more frequent than η : ι/ει (Sironen 2008, 211).

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υ˘ , υ¯ In Attic–Ionic, the rounded close back vowel [u] was fronted, probably before the sixth century BC (Tucker 1969, 42; cf. Allen 1987, 66). Apparently, Gothic lacked this particular sound and the letter w (shaped like Y) is used in double function (cf. Sturtevant 1940, 43). Therefore, the Gothic material provides only negative evidence on the quality of this sound in Greek: it was unlike any other Gothic vowel. Before modern Greek, υ coalesced with ˘ι, ¯ι, ει, η into [i]. The fact that Wulfila transcribed ι and υ with separate symbols indicates that this coalescence had not yet taken place in the fourth century AD.²⁵ From the single exception, namely Δίδυμος : Didimus, one cannot, in my opinion, draw the conclusion that the coalescence had taken place: it is very likely that such a single exception did not originate from Wulfila’s hand, and that the change occurred later than the present time frame (cf. Horrocks 2010, 163, 169).

Back vowels In Attic–Ionic, after the fronting of [u] into [y] the long close–mid [o:] (written ου) rose into [u:] in about 350 BC (Sturtevant 1940, 46; Allen 1987, 76–77; Horrocks 2010, 161). This is confirmed by the Gothic transcriptions – albeit without any reliable information on vowel quantity (cf. above). The digraph ου has the value [u] in Modern Greek. The mid back vowels ο and ω are relatively stable in the history of Greek – only the quantity distinction was lost before Modern Greek. The fact that ο is most commonly transcribed as au [ɔ] and ω as o [o] can be taken as evidence for a minor phonetic difference.²⁶ This difference – even if it ever existed – had no consequences in Greek historical phonology. The original diphthong οι coalesced with ι into [i] before Modern Greek. The process, according to Allen (1987, 80–81), began as a fronting of [oi] into [œi] or [øi], followed by ̑ ̑ ̑ monophthongization into [œ:] or [ø:], which then rose into [y:], effectively coalescing with υ¯ before being unrounded into [i] (with a loss of quantity distinction) (cf. Horrocks 2010, 162–163). The Gothic transcriptions indicate that during the fourth century AD the process was in the second–to–last stage. λύστροις : lwstrws is a particularly illuminating example: the word contains both the original υ as well as the new οι, which are both transcribed as w (=[y]).²⁷

25 Allen (1987, 68) arrives at the same conclusion. 26 Curiously, Sturtevant (1940, 45) suggests precisely the opposite for the classical period. According to Allen (1987, 62), ο occupies the middle position, while ω is an open–mid vowel. 27 In contemporary Attic inscriptions υ and οι are frequently confused (Sironen 2008, 212–213).

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αυ, ευ These diphthongs (originally [ɑu], [eu]) evolved into V+fricative combinations before ̑ ̑ Modern Greek: [ɑf], [ef] before voiceless consonants and [ɑv], [ev] before voiced consonants and vowels (Allen 1987, 79–80). The Gothic transcriptions aw, aiw, however, indicate that the latter component of the diphthongs had not yet changed into a fricative by the fourth century AD (Brixhe 2010, 233 finds similar results). Had the fricativization occurred by then, the transcriptions would most likely have been different, considering that the Gothic script had separate letters for f and b (the latter possibly pronounced [β] in certain environments, see Kotin 2012, 64 f.): e.g. instead of aiwxaristian and aiwlaugian we would find *aifxaristian and *aiblaugian for εὐχαριστία and εὐλογία respectively.²⁸

Vowel system of “Wulfilian Greek” Based on the above findings, I propose the following (see Table 1) vowel system for that variant of fourth century AD Greek that Wulfila knew and used as a model for the Gothic alphabet and the transcription of the data discussed in this article (I assume that quantity distinctions were no longer phonemic):²⁹ Table 1 front

close close–mid open–mid open

unrounded

rounded

[i] ⟨ι⟩ ⟨ει⟩ [e] ⟨η⟩ [ε] ⟨ε⟩ ⟨αι⟩

[y] ⟨υ⟩ ⟨οι⟩

back unrounded

[ɑ] ⟨α⟩

rounded [u] ⟨ου⟩ [o] ⟨ω⟩ [ɔ] ⟨ο⟩

28 Sturtevant (1940, 54–56) has another interpretation, but his argument is based on the earlier analysis of Gothic au of diphthongal origin being a diphthong in all positions. The issue is resolved, if the monophthongal interpretation is taken as the starting point. 29 Contrast this with the five vowel (= Modern Greek) system proposed by Brixhe (2010, 232) for Greek of Asia Minor in the first few centuries AD.

52 | Ville Leppänen

4 Discussion The most central problem for the interpretation of the above findings is, which variant of Greek they represent.³⁰ This has implications for the general development of Greek phonology in the late Koine and early Byzantine periods.³¹ I approach the issue from two viewpoints: first, the personal history of Wulfila and the known linguistic environment of fourth century AD Greek, and second, the normative nature of language and the centrality of social factors in linguistic change. Wulfila (c. 311–383) was at least of partial Greek descent: his ancestors (grandparents, perhaps) were Cappadocian Greeks, who were brought to Danube Goths (Thervingi) as a result of one of the raiding campaigns that Goths conducted in the area during the third century, possibly in 257 (Wolfram 2009, 84–85; Schäferdiek 2014, 24). The current interpretation is that Wulfila was born and raised in a Christian community living among the Danube Goths, whose territory lay just outside the Roman province of Moesia, not far from Byzantium/Constantinople (Schäferdiek 2014, 24–25, cf. Ebbinghaus 1992).³² The name of Wulfila is connected to the Arian controversy of the fourth century, and he was an Arian Christian. The exact circumstances of his early life are not known, but the sources tell that he became bishop (perhaps in 341) and returned to his community among the Goths (Wolfram 2009, 86–87; Schäferdiek 2014, 27). Following Christian persecutions, Wulfila with his followers relocated by permission of Emperor Constantius II into the Roman province of Moesia Inferior (Ebbinghaus 1992; cf. Wolfram 2009, 88–89), where he possessed not only spiritual but also secular power (Wolfram 2014). It is believed that after this time, while living in Moesia, he devised the Gothic script and translated the Bible (Wolfram 2009, 89).³³ He attended several church councils and was an active participant in the religious debate of his day (cf. Wolfram 2009, 89–90). Moreover, the sources mention that he was competent in three languages (Greek, Gothic and Latin) and that he wrote texts (tractatus et interpretationes) in them.³⁴ The above contextualization has several implications. First, Wulfila seems to have spent his entire life in and around the Balkans, ranging from the lands beyond Danube inhabitated by Goths, and stretching over Moesia and Thrace into the western parts of Anatolia. The variants of Greek that Wulfila knew best included most likely the local variant(s) of these areas as well as the middle/high register of Koine used by

30 See the list of variants of Hellenistic Greek in Bubeník 1989, 17 (also cf. Brixhe 2010, 230–231). 31 For a recent overview on the most imporant developments, especially concerning popular variants, see Horrocks 2010, 160 ff., 273 ff. 32 Despite his Cappadocian lineage, Wulfila himself had a Gothic identity (Wolfram 2009, 85). 33 However, the attribution of the translation to Wulfila is not entirely certain, as it is based on a narrow set of mostly interdependent ancient sources (see Lendinara 1992). 34 Letter of Auxentius 54 (ed. Kauffmann 1899) = Streitberg (2000a xx); cf. Schäferdiek (2014, 25).

Gothic evidence for Greek historical phonology | 53

contemporary clergy. It is not known whether he was taught Cappadocian Greek as a home dialect, or whether he was raised as a monolingual Gothic speaker – which would mean that he learnt Greek as a second language later in his life (cf. Schäferdiek 2014, 25).³⁵ Whether he knew other diatopical variants of Greek is not known either. Second, Wulfila’s occupation as a missionary and a bishop was most likely preceded by some kind of ecclesiastic training, or possibly even further education (cf. Wolfram 2009, 85). Presumably, he was well acquainted with the literary register of contemporary religious texts – most importantly the Greek Bible. Whether he also knew other literary styles, for example poetry or Atticist prose, is not known. According to the normative nature of language, language change is first and foremost a social phenomenon (see Itkonen 1984, 204). In this approach, language use is the most central element of linguistic analysis. The normative framework includes two main aspects: correctness of linguistic expressions and rationality of linguistic actions.³⁶ In the present case, correctness is reflected in Wulfila’s internalization of both Greek and Gothic norms: as a speaker of both languages, he certainly had intuitive access to correct expressions in these languages, including their phonetic and orthographic shape. That Wulfila possessed this kind of knowledge is essential for our analysis. Rationality is manifested in the particular choices that Wulfila made during the translation process. The goal of Wulfila’s work was to translate the Bible into Gothic in order for non–Greek–speaking Goths to understand it (which, in itself, was a further means towards strengthening Christian views among them). This is reflected in the choice of writing system: considering the means at hand (using Greek or Latin alphabet, or possibly even runes), Wulfila’s choice to devise a new script is to be seen as an adequate means towards a certain goal: Gothic literary register suitable for a holy text.³⁷ Now, if we assumed that Wulfila had learned a markedly Cappadocian variety of Greek at home, it could have exerted influence on his interpretation of Greek while devising the script and translating the holy text. Even if this assumption was correct, I consider such influence very unlikely: considering that Wulfila knew the literary register of contemporary Greek, it was rational for him to use his knowledge of that variant as a basis for translating a holy text, rather than his home dialect. The results of this study indicate that the middle/high ecclesiastic register was markedly different from contemporary popular speech. It is reasonable to presume that literary texts of the day were read aloud according to the pronunciation of the higher registers – the conservative variety of Koine. This means that the generalization about post–classical Greek texts having been read aloud according to current popular pronunciation needs reconsideration and further inquiry (cf. Horrocks 2010, 3–4).

35 On Cappadocian Greek, see Janse (2002, 347 ff.). 36 On rationality and rational explanation, see Itkonen (1983); Itkonen (1984). 37 There must also have been some factors of practical nature here, which influenced some details. For example, it may have been advantageous that the new script was easily learnable for those who already knew Greek and/or Latin alphabet.

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5 Conclusion In this and my previous article (Leppänen 2016), I presented the data of the Gothic Bible that could be utilized in Greek historical phonology, concerning most of all the development of Greek phonology during the fourth century AD. Particular effort was made towards avoiding the possible circular argumentation that could result from bidirectional use of the language contact evidence. The Gothic material, consisting of transcribed biblical names and recent Greek loanwords, indicates clearly that the Greek variant that lies behind the Gothic Bible translation is phonetically and phonologically different from the Classical (Attic) language of the fifth and fourth centuries BC, and that some of the well known post–classical sound changes (e.g. fricativization of φ, θ, χ and the coalescence of ¯ι and ει) had certainly taken place before Wulfila’s time. Additionally, some changes (e.g. the coalescence of ι and η) that are known to have occurred much earlier in other variants, were absent from that variant of Greek Wulfila was acquainted with. This variant most likely is close to (or indentical with) the middle/high register of ecclesiastic Koine spoken and written in the Balkans and in and around Constantinople in the course of the fourth century AD.

Bibliography Allen, W. S. 19873 : Vox Graeca: a guide to the pronunciation of classical Greek, Cambridge. Balász, J. 1965: The forerunners of Structural Prosodic Analysis and Phonemics, «ALASH», 15, 229– 286. Bernhardt, E. 1875: Vulfila oder Die Gotische Bibel, Halle. Braune, W. 2004: Gotische Grammatik mit Lesestücken und Wörterverzeichnis, 20. Auflage, neu bearbeitet von F. Heidermanns, Tübingen. Brixhe, C. 2010: Linguistic Diversity in Asia Minor during the Empire: Koine and Non–Greek Languages, in A Companion to the Ancient Greek Language, ed. E. J. Bakker, Chichester, 228–252. Bubeník, V. 1989: Hellenistic and Roman Greece as a Sociolinguistic Area, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Cercignani, F. 1988: The elaboration of the Gothic alphabet and orthography, «IF», 93, 168–185. Ebbinghaus, E. A. 1979: The Origin of Wulfila’s Alphabet, «GL», 19, 15–29. Ebbinghaus, E. A. 1992: Some Remarks on the Life of Bishop Wulfila, «GL», 32, 95–104. Finazzi, B. & Tornaghi, P. 2013: Gothica Bononiensia: Analisi linguistica e filologica di un nuovo documento, «Aevum», 87, 113–155. Gaebeler, K. 1911: Die griechischen Bestandteile der gotischen Bibel, «ZDPh», 43, 1–117. Gignac, F. T. 1976: A Grammar of the Greek Papyri of the Roman and Byzantine periods. 1, Phonology, Milano. Harris, R. 1986: The Origin of Writing, LaSalle, IL. Haugen, E. 1950: The Analysis of Linguistic Borrowing, «Language», 26, 210–231. Horrocks, G. 2010: Greek: A History of the Language and its Speakers, 2nd edition, Chichester. Itkonen, E. 1978: Grammatical Theory and Metascience, Amsterdam. Itkonen, E. 1983: Causality in Linguistic Theory, London – Canberra. Itkonen, E. 1984: On the ‘rationalist’ conception of linguistic change, «Diachronica», 1, 203–216.

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Itkonen, E. 2008: The Central Role of Normativity in Language and in Linguistics, in The shared mind: Perspectives on intersubjectivity, eds. J. Zlatev, C. Racine, C. Sinha & E. Itkonen, Amsterdam, 279–305. Jülicher, A. 1910: Die griechische vorlage der gotischen Bibel, «ZDA», 52, 365–387. Janse, M. 2002: Aspects of Bilingualism in the History of the Greek Language, in Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Text, Oxford, 332–390. Kasser, R. 2010: Alphabet in Coptic, Greek, in The Coptic Encyclopedia, vol. 8 of 8, ed. A. S. Atiya, New York. Kauffmann, F. 1899: Aus der Schule des Wulfila. Auxenti Dorostorensis Epistula de Fide, Vita et Obitu Wulfilae, im Zusammenhang der Dissertatio Maximini Contra Ambrosium, Strassburg. Kotin, M. L. 2012: Gotisch: Im (diachronischen und typologischen) Vergleich, Heidelberg. Krause, W. 1966: Die Runeninschriften im älteren Futhark, Göttingen. Krause, W. 1968: Handbuch des Gotischen, dritte neubearbeitete Auflage, München. Layton B. 2011: A Coptic Grammar: with Chrestomathy and Glossar, Sahidic Dialect, 3rd edition, Wiesbaden. Lendinara, P. 1992: Wulfila as the Inventor of the Gothic Alphabet: The Tradition in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, «GL», 32, 217–225. Leppänen, V. 2016: Gothic evidence for the pronunciation of Greek in the fourth century AD: Transcription comparison method, «JHL», 6/1, 93–113. Luft, W. 1898: Die umschreibungen der fremden namen bei Wulfila, «KZ», 35, 291–313. Lundquist, J. 2014: Psilosis, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, Volume 3, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Leiden – Boston, 192–193. Marchand, J. W. 1955/56: Das akrophonische Prinzip und Wulfilas Alphabet, «ZDA», 86, 265–275. Marchand, J. W. 1973: The Sounds and Phonemes of Wulfila’s Gothic, The Hague – Paris. Metzger, B. M. & Ehrman, B. D. 2005: The Text of the New Testament: Its Transmission, Corruption and Restoration, 4th edition, New York – Oxford. Miller, G. D. 1994: Ancient Scripts and Phonological Knowledge, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Nestle, E., Aland, K., et. al. 2012: Novum Testamentum Graece, 28. neu bearbeitete Auflage, Stuttgart. Available online at http://www.nestle-aland.com/en/read-na28-online/ (read February 2016). Powell, B. B. 1991: Homer and the origin of the Greek alphabet, Cambridge. Richter, T. S. 2010: Greek, Coptic and the ‘language of the Hijra’: the rise and decline of the Coptic language in late antique and medieval Egypt, in From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and Linguistic Change in the Roman Near East, eds. H.M. Cotton, R. G. Hoyland, J. J. Price & D. J. Wasserstein, Cambridge, 401–446. Schwyzer, E. 1953: Griechische Grammatik. Erster Band: Allgemeiner Teil, Lautlehre, Wortbildung, Flexion, zweite unveränderte Auflage, München. Schäferdiek, K. 2014: Ulfila und der sogenannte gotische Arianismus, in Arianism: Roman Heresy and Barbarian Creed, eds. G. M. Berndt & R. Steinacher, Surrey, 21–44. Sironen, E. 2008: Index Grammaticus to Inscriptiones Atticae Euclidis Anno Posteriores, Pars V (=IG II/III2 ), Berolinum, 211–215. Streitberg, W. 2000a: Die Gotische Bibel, Band 1: Der gotische Text und seine griechische Vorlage. Mit Einleitung, Lesarten und Quellennachweisen sowie den kleineren Denkmälern als Anhang, 7. Auflage mit einem Nachtrag von P. Scardigli, Heidelberg. Streitberg, W. 2000b: Die Gotische Bibel, Band 2: Gotisch–Griechisch–Deutsches Wörterbuch, 6. Auflage um zwei neue Wörter ergänzt von P. Scardigli, Heidelberg. Sturtevant, E. H. 1940: The Pronunciation of Greek and Latin, 2nd edition, Philadelphia. Stutz, E. 1966: Gotische Literaturdenkmäler, Stuttgart. Teodorsson, S. T. 1974: The Phonemic System of the Attic Dialect 400–340 B.C. (Studia Graeca et Latina Gothoburgensia 32), Göteborg.

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Teodorsson, S. T. 1978: The Phonology of Attic in the Hellenistic Period (Studia Graeca et Latina Gothoburgensia 40), Göteborg. Threatte, L. 1980: The Grammar of Attic Inscriptions. Volume One: Phonology. Berlin/New York. Tucker, R. W. 1969: Chronology of Greek Sound Changes, «AJPh», 90, 36–47. Väänänen, V. 1981: Introduction au latin vulgaire, troisième edition revue et augmentée, Paris. Wolfram, H. 2009: Die Goten, 5. Auflage, München. Wolfram, H. 2014: Vulfila pontifex ipseque primas Gothorum minorum, sed non apostolus eorum. Vulfila, Bishop and Secular Leader of His People but not Their Apostle, in Arianism: Roman Heresy and Barbarian Creed, eds. G. M. Berndt & R. Steinacher, Surrey, 131–144.

Felicia Logozzo

Scritture Brevi in alfabeto greco: qualche considerazione linguistica Abstract: This paper deals with linguistic implications of Greek forms of Scritture Brevi (short writings). Particularly, it will be focused on the linearity of the linguistic sign in written language. Furthermore, the Greek alphabetic and acrophonic systems of numbers representation will be examined, as typologies of Scritture Brevi.

1 Introduzione Se si esclude il saggio del 1974 a cura di Oikonomides dedicato in massima parte all’ambito delle iscrizioni, gli studi sulle abbreviazioni in epigrafia, paleografia e papirologia greca non sono molto numerosi, né paragonabili ai paralleli studi in ambito latino¹. La motivazione principale della mancanza di specifici approfondimenti è forse la relativa scarsità di manifestazioni massicce di forme brevi nella scrittura in alfabeto greco, almeno fino all’età tardo–imperiale e bizantina, quando l’influenza latina favorisce la diffusione di pratiche scrittorie abbreviative². Anche se presenti più o meno sporadicamente in epigrafi³ e papiri in alfabeto greco, forme abbreviate, “simboli”⁴’ ed altri elementi scrittori segnalati dai manuali di epigrafia, paleografia e papirologia sono ascrivibili a pieno titolo alla categoria delle

Nota: Questa ricerca si inserisce nell’ambito del progetto Multilingualism and Minority Languages in Ancient Europe [HERA.29.015 | Cassio], finanziato dallo Hera Joint Research Programme “Uses of the Past”, Horizon 2020 – 649307. 1 Tra i lavori dedicati a specifici gruppi di testi si veda anche Petra (2012), relativa alle abbreviazioni in papiri non letterari del periodo 600–800 d.C. 2 «The use of abbreviations is, on the whole, as foreign to the Greeks as it is congenial to the Romans and Byzantines» (Oikonomides 1974, 10) 3 Un curioso caso di abbreviazioni è quello delle cosiddette «epigrafi invisibili», costituite da segni e simboli funzionali al processo di costruzione di templi e destinate a non essere più visibili a processo concluso (cfr. Inglese 2016). 4 Così vengono tradizionalmente definiti in epigrafia e papirologia segni grafici non riconducibili direttamente a lettere dell’alfabeto, espressione, ad esempio, di unità di misura o operatori matematici. Considerata la connotazione tecnica che il termine possiede in semiotica a seguito della tripartizione del segno in “indici”, “icone” e “simboli” ad opera di Peirce, si preferisce qui utilizzare per tutti i segni grafici di questa tipologia l’etichetta inclusiva di “Scritture Brevi”.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-069

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“Scritture Brevi”⁵, così come elaborata in Chiusaroli (2012), e in quest’ottica possono essere analizzati.

2 Epigrafi e papiri documentari La tendenza all’economicità nella scrittura è antica quanto la scrittura stessa; le prime forme di Scritture Brevi nel mondo greco risalgono ad iscrizioni del VI secolo a.C. su monete, che, per loro natura, offrivano spazi limitati per l’incisione della leggenda spesso ridotta – soprattutto nelle epoche molto arcaiche, in presenza di tecniche di incisione non particolarmente raffinate – ad uno o più elementi alfabetici: ᾿Αθη(ναιών) per le monete ateniesi, un koppa, per quelle corinzie, ψ (con valore di occlusiva aspirata) per quelle calcidesi (Guarducci 1967, 398). Grafie tronche di questo tipo si ritrovano dal V secolo su un maggior numero di supporti: pietra, vasi, scudi, laminette contenenti tabellae defixionum. Pur senza acquisire le dimensioni che il fenomeno ha al contempo nel mondo latino, nel periodo ellenistico le Scritture Brevi si moltiplicano soprattutto nelle iscrizioni ateniesi; si abbreviano ora cariche pubbliche, patronimici, parole di uso comune facilmente intellegibili anche in forma ridotta: Δη(μέου) patronimico; ἄρχ(οντος) ‘arconte’⁶;᾿Ελευσίν(ιος) demotico del demo di Eleusi; στα:(θμόν) ‘peso’ (Guarducci 1967, 401). Si tratta ancora di grafie tronche, con parole sospese in qualunque punto e segnalate dagli stessi elementi grafici impiegati come divisori: puntini sovrapposti, punto singolo, due punti, spazi bianchi. In età imperiale, il novero dei segni di abbreviazione si amplia con trattini, linee orizzontali, virgolette, e il fenomeno delle Scritture Brevi nel suo complesso diventa, «molto frequente e molto vistoso»⁷. A questa altezza cronologica si abbreviano le cariche pubbliche e i nomi latini, trascritti in alfabeto greco spesso nelle stesse forme in cui compaiono nelle contemporanee iscrizioni latine: è il caso, ad esempio, di Tiberius Flavius = Τι(βέριος) Φλά(βιος) (Guarducci 1967, 402).

5 «categoria concettuale e metalinguistica per la classificazione di forme grafiche [. . . ] espressioni testuali e codici visivi per i quali risulti dirimente il principio della ‘brevità’ connesso al criterio dell’‘economia’. In particolare sono comprese nella categoria ‘Scritture Brevi’ tutte le manifestazioni grafiche che, nella dimensione sintagmatica, si sottraggono al principio della linearità del significante, contravvengono alle regole morfotattiche convenzionali della lingua scritta, e intervengono nella costruzione del messaggio nei termini di ‘riduzione, contenimento, sintesi’ indotti dai supporti e dai contesti. La categoria ha applicazione nella sincronia e nella diacronia linguistica, nei sistemi standard e non standard, negli ambiti generali e specialistici.» (https://sites.google.com/site/scritturebrevi/). 6 Le traduzioni dal greco vengono indicate senza tener conto dell’effettiva accezione nel contesto di attestazione del termine. 7 Guarducci (1967, 402).

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Se le liste di abbreviazioni delle epigrafi latine sono lunghe e ben note, e costituiscono a volte tanti piccoli sistemi diversi per altezza cronologica e produzione geografica del manufatto, il mondo greco non raggiunge comunque mai la stessa sistematicità e capillarità di diffusione di forme brevi. Quanto appena riassunto per le epigrafi, viene confermato dai papiri documentari, fonte privilegiata di Scritture Brevi fino agli inizi del medioevo. Blanchard (1974) offre un veloce quadro delle modalità di abbreviazione attestate nei papiri documentari greci, inserendo le diverse forme brevi attestate sull’asse del tempo, per evidenziare come l’evoluzione della scrittura in alfabeto greco condizioni, di fatto, le scelte abbreviative. Anche su papiro, il più comune metodo di abbreviazione è la sospensione o interruzione della parola segnalata in qualche modo all’interno della scriptio continua di epoca tolemaica. Dal momento che, a differenza della moderna scrittura a stampa o a video, le scritture a mano su pietre o papiri offrono allo scriba molte possibilità di esprimere la propria creatività, il metodo più diffuso per segnalare la presenza di Scritture Brevi nel testo è il posizionamento anomalo delle lettere che compongono la forma breve. Ogni parola viene tendenzialmente abbreviata a due o tre lettere⁸, che non vengono banalmente accostate l’una all’altra, ma si sovrappongono mediante incroci ( πυ(ροῦ) ‘grano’) o legamenti ( κε(ράμιον) ‘vaso di terra cotta’); hanno spesso dimensioni ridotte e sono poste sopra ( βα(σιλικός) ‘del re, regio’, μικ(ρός) ‘piccolo’) o sotto ( πο(ιεῖν) ‘fare’) la lettera che seguono⁹. Anche le iscrizioni tarde offrono una ricca casistica di posizionamenti anomali di lettere all’interno di Scritture Brevi: lettere inscritte o sottoscritte, come in διπα(νάμια) ‘festa in onore del Sole’; lettere diverse da quelle finali sovrascritte ad altre del corpo centrale della parola, come in εὐλαβ(έστατος) superlativo di ‘religioso’; gruppi di più lettere rimpicciolite e disposte una sull’altra, come in κινσουάλ(ιος) (Oikonomides 1974, 30). Per quanto Scritture Brevi di questo tipo vengano tendenzialmente generate nel rispetto della convenzione per cui la prima lettera è quella di dimensioni standard ed è posta sul rigo di scrittura, e le successive sono incrociate, poste sopra o incluse all’interno di questa, la ricostruzione della linearità del segno è sempre a carico del lettore, soprattutto in quei casi in cui il supporto impone maggiori limiti di spazio. È di un ostrakon, per esempio, la forma breve γρα(μματεύς) ‘segreterio, cancelliere’, in cui vi è γ posta sul rigo di scrittura che contiene una ρ sottoscritta e un’α sovrascritta. Blanchard (1974) fornisce altri esempi di posizionamento non lineare dei segni grafici tra i quali ἀδ(ελφός) ‘fratello’, con δ posta sul rigo di scrittura ed α ad essa

8 Blanchard parla a proposito di «thèmes bilittères» o «trilittères» a p. 4–5. 9 Tutte le Scritture Brevi tratte da papiri e qui riprodotte sotto forma di immagine sono di Blanchard (1974).

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sovrapposta, o ἐπιλάρχης ‘epilarco’ con π posta sul rigo di scrittura, ε ad essa sovrapposta, λ all’interno di π, e ι, a sua volta, all’interno di λ. Pur trattandosi di esemplificazioni di frequenza non valutata statisticamente, molto probabilmente rare, esse suscitano un notevole interesse come manifestazione della libera espressione creativa del parlante/scrivente che manipola il segno linguistico attraverso la scrittura, con la convinzione che questo non pregiudichi la comprensione da parte del lettore; quest’ultimo, a sua volta, è tenuto a ricomporre la sequenza grafica, armonizzandola con quanto il contesto gli fa apparire verosimile¹⁰. D’altronde, Scritture Χ Brevi ben diffuse in ambito epigrafico come Α Ρ = ἀρχ(αῖος) ‘vecchio’/ ἀρχ(άγγελος) Τ

‘arcangelo’ o Μ ΑΡ μάρτ(υρες) ‘martiri’ distorcono senza problemi la linearità della sequenza di lettere attesa, che dovrebbe essere, concordemente con il significante Χ Τ linguistico rappresentato, ΑΡ e ΜΑΡ . Accanto a sequenze grafiche complesse come quelle sopra, Blanchard (1974, 23) riporta anche Scritture Brevi composte da due lettere doppiamente ordinabili, quali πο/οπ che rinvia a ποιεῖν ‘fare’ nel papiro P.Lille I 3 40 e a ὅπως ‘come, affinché’ nel papiro P.Ent. 3 10; λι/ιλ che sta per λίθος ‘pietra‘ in P.Cairo Zen. III 449 20 e per o ἰλάρχης ‘ilarco’ in P.Hib. II 198 r 10; λο/ολ che si scioglie λοιπογραφούμενος ‘segnato come rimanente’ in P.Tebt. III 2 867 181 e ὄλυραι ‘farro spelta’ in P.Hal. 20 2; queste si aggiungono a quanto già annotato da Wilcken (1963, XLI) a proposito di πι· «wie in kann nur der Zusammenhang entscheiden, ob ιπ() oder πι() gemeint ist». Col passare del tempo ed il passaggio dalla capitale epigrafica a forme di scrittura corsiva, i segni grafici possono via via discostarsi dalle originarie lettere per diventare segni d’abbreviazione generici, il cui valore all’interno della specifica sequenza è dedotto di volta in volta dal contesto. Il rapporto biunivoco lettera/suono, meta ideale e al tempo stesso irraggiungibile dei sistemi alfabetici, si dissolve per lasciare spazio a Scritture Brevi che non sono più concretizzazione grafica di singoli elementi della lingua ma espressione di informazioni aggiuntive o, addirittura, di regole necessarie alla decodificazione complessiva del testo. Il sistema grafico si arricchisce di nuovi elementi – i segni di abbreviazione – che non sono in grado intrinsecamente di rimandare ad elementi specifici di un significante linguistico, ma indicano la necessità di integrare quello rappresentato.

10 Che la lettura di una parola non avvenga lettera per lettera e che la comprensione di una sequenza di parole dipenda fortemente dal contesto sono presupposti dell’esistenza di tutte quelle Scritture Brevi che si sottraggono al principio della linearità del significante (cfr. Chiusaroli – Zanzotto 2012, 10–12) e sono fatti ampiamente studiati dalle neuroscienze. Informazioni generali e bibliografia di base sull’argomento sono consultabili sul sito internet della MRC Cognition and Brain Sciences Unit – Cambridge, http://www.mrc–cbu.cam.ac.uk/people/matt.davis/Cmabrigde/.

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La barra orizzontale può, per esempio, essere ricondotta paleograficamente per tappe intermedie ad almeno quattro lettere di partenza; idem per , riconducibile ad α, β o η.

Figura 1: (Blanchard 1974, 7–8)

Quanto questi segni siano considerati o meno “lettere”, è testimoniato dalle scelte dei vari editori che, in un caso come ‘vento di levante’ possono optare per la resa ἀπη(λιώτης) o per ἀπ(ηλιώτης). Blanchard (1974, 25 n. 35) propone di operare secondo il seguente criterio: «si dans un même papyrus, deux lettres superposées de valeur différente ont absolument la même forme, si elles ont perdu toute individualité, alors on ouvrirà la parenthèse avant elles. Mais si la moindre flexion rappelle, même de façon minime, la lettre originelle, on reculera la parenthèse». Solo l’analisi contrastiva all’interno di uno stesso testo permette infatti di stabilire quanto un determinato segno voglia essere, nelle intenzioni di chi scrive, rappresentativo di uno specifico significante linguistico, e quanto sia invece un generico segno di abbreviazione. Il discorso pertiene anche alle cosiddette Verschleifungen (Wilcken 1963, XLII– XLIII) o griffonages¹¹ (Blanchard) ovvero casi in cui lo scriba inizia a scrivere una parola ma, dopo le lettere iniziali, prosegue con una generica linea più o meno ondulata, in cui non vi sono più lettere distinguibili, sul tipo, per esempio, di moderne sottoscrizioni e firme.

11 Blanchard (1974, 1 e 17 n.6), contesta la collocazione, ad opera di Wilcken (1963), delle Verschleifungen nel novero delle abbreviazioni; a suo dire infatti «les griffonages sont une forme d’écriture et non pas d’abréviation [. . . ] Dans le griffonage, il n’y a pas, comme dans l’abréviation, suppression de lettres, mais réduction de celles–ci à un trait continu et illisible». Dal punto di vista di chi scrive, la questione è ininfluente, rientrando, entrambe le modalità scrittorie citate, nella categoria delle Scritture Brevi.

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Anche in queste forme di Scritture Brevi infatti, la scrittura interrompe la riproduzione del significante linguistico pur occupando lo spazio del supporto che sarebbe stato necessario all’espressione estesa del significante stesso. Il criterio di economia che dirige l’operazione, questa volta, non è spaziale ma temporale: l’obiettivo non è ridurre l’area di supporto utilizzata ma procedere nella compilazione del documento nel più breve tempo possibile. In ogni caso, la perdita di individualità grafica colpisce segni o parti di segno che non sono considerate indispensabili per la comprensione complessiva del messaggio: nella maggioranza dei casi, ad essere rappresentate in forma di Verschleifungen sono le formule di chiusura o di datazione dei documenti, con Scritture Brevi, per esempio, di nomi di imperatori o nomi di mesi. Il progressivo allontanamento di alcune Scritture Brevi dalle lettere dell’alfabeto che le componevano originariamente può essere ricostruito a volte per alcuni famosi monogrammi come quello per πυροῦ, evoluzione del digramma πυ¹² (Blanchard 1974, 45 n.21); altre volte, in presenza di segni diversi da quelli alfabetici si possono tentare ricostruzioni di lettere o semplicemente prendere atto dell’ignota origine dei segni stessi¹³. La stessa spinta alla motivazione mediante ricostruzione alfabetica del segno, presente nei tentativi esplicativi portati avanti dai paleografi moderni, era così forte nell’antichità che si procedeva persino all’ellenizzazione delle scritture brevi di origine demotica che non avevano al principio rapporti di derivazione diretta da parole greche. Si pensi, a questo proposito, alla barra obliqua , espressione della parola demotica irj(n) ‘uguale’, ‘totale’, con la quale si concludevano conti o resoconti di vendite e acquisti e nella quale si cercava di leggere, nell’antichità, una forma breve per γ < γίνονται, termine greco corrispondente a irj(n). Sempre in ambito contabile, era in uso il segno , anch’esso di origine demotica, indicante il ‘resto’ e ricondotto ad abbreviazione della corrispondente parola greca λοίπον, per la somiglianza formale dei suoi tratti alle lettere λ e ο. La sospensione non è l’unico sistema abbreviativo. La storia della scrittura greca conosce anche forme di contrazione¹⁴ e forme intermedie quali la cosiddetta ‘doppia sospensione’, che prevede la creazione di Scritture Brevi composte dalle sospensioni

12 Un esempio ben noto è quello dell’ampersand o “e commerciale” &, derivato dall’evoluzione della legatura delle lettere e e t nella scrittura latina. 13 Si veda Blanchard (1974, 29 ss.) per un tentativo di ricostruzione paleografica delle vicende di segni come quelli per dracma, artabo, ecc. 14 Il termine, comunemente impiegato in paleografia latina, è utilizzato nella classificazione delle abbreviazioni dei papiri da Wilcken (1963, XLIII) (con riferimento quasi esclusivo ai nomina sacra) ma è contestato da Blanchard (1974, 2 e 18), secondo il quale «du moins dans le domaine papyrologique, la contraction n’est qu’un mythe»; a suo dire, non si può parlare propriamente di contrazione né per i nomina sacra, né per le abbreviazioni “a tema discontinuo” di epoca bizantina. Di entrambe queste Scritture Brevi si dirà a breve; quanto ai problemi terminologici, non essendo significative, dal punto di vista dell’analisi linguistica, le specifiche questioni papirologiche, si preferisce mantenere qui il termine

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οι

di entrambi i membri di un composto come come κοι o κ = κ(άτ)οι(κος) ‘abitante, assegnatario’ (Wilcken 1963, XLI) / κ(ατ)οι(κικός) ‘bene assegnato ad un κάτοικος (Gonis 2009, 173); τγρ / τοπγρ per τ(οπο)γρ(αμματεύς) ‘cancelliere municipale’ (Gonis ω 2009, 173); κ γρ per κω(μο)γρ(αμματεύς) ‘cancelliere del catasto per i villaggi’, τ

λ

πο φυ per ποτ(αμο)φυλ(ακία) ‘prefettura del fiume’ (Blanchard 1974, 27 n. 41). Sebbene in linea teorica, in presenza di Scritture Brevi di questo tipo, sarebbe sempre opportuno verificare che non si tratti di vere e proprie “parole macedonia”¹⁵ o “blend”, è estremamente probabile che – almeno i casi citati – si riferiscano a procedimenti abbreviativi esclusivi della lingua scritta, verosimilmente mancanti di corrispondenti forme vitali nell’oralità¹⁶; in ogni caso, esse rivestono interesse dal punto di vista linguistico in quanto risultati di un processo di scomposizione morfologica e ricomposizione di più forme brevi. A questo proposito, è opportuno ricordare l’abbreviazione di due parole – occasionalmente anche di espressioni di numero maggiore di parole – frequentemente κ κ occorrenti in sequenza del tipo: ο = ὁ κ(αί) (Gonis 2009, 172); το = τὸ κ(ατ᾿ἄνδρα), λ

τ

επι = ἐπὶ λ(όγου), ως = ὡς τ(ῆς) (Wilcken 1963, XL). Si tratta, nella maggior parte dei casi, di sospensioni singole dell’ultima parte della sequenza, senza disgregazione della linearità della stessa; sono attestati però anche γ casi come quello di δη = δη(μόσιος) γ(εωργός) ‘contadino di Stato’ (Wilcken 1963, XLI), in cui si osserva una vera e propria doppia sospensione come quella appena descritta per le parole composte. Si noti, negli esempi appena riportati, la segnalazione della presenza di Scritture Brevi attraverso il posizionamento anomalo dell’unica lettera delle parole abbreviate, posta sopra a quelle della parola precedente. Dal IV secolo d.C., quando la disgregazione della linearità del segno nella scrittura non è più fatto eccezionale, si può parlare senza esitazioni di Scritture Brevi per contra-

“contrazione” – nel suo significato generico di abbreviazione mediante soppressione di materiale grafico all’interno del corpo della parola –, come sottocategoria di Scritture Brevi comprendente “doppie sospensioni”, “temi discontinui” e nomina sacra. 15 Il termine è di Migliorini (1949). Thornton (2004, 569 ss.) definisce la parola macedonia come «formata con pezzi di parole che non coincidono né con le lettere o le sillabe iniziali di un sintagma base (in tal caso avremmo sigle o sigle sillabiche), né con un morfo». 16 La questione, sebbene non strettamente pertinente ai casi citati, è da considerare sempre nell’analisi di Scritture Brevi di tale tipologia, delle quali andrebbe di volta in volta considerato il rapporto con l’oralità. Forme brevi, sviluppatesi indifferentemente nella lingua scritta o in quella orale, entrano infatti a pieno titolo nei processi di creazione lessicale (cfr. Logozzo 2012, 204). In italiano il fenomeno riguarda, ad esempio, nomi di enti, associazioni o composti coordinanti (a titolo meramente esemplificativo si pensi ad Assoconsumatori = Associazione consumatori, Polfer = Polizia ferroviaria, ristobirreria = ristorante–birreria ecc.). Nel caso di lingue ad esclusiva documentazione scritta, altri elementi (struttura fonetica e pronunciabilità, numero e tipologia di attestazioni) consentono di escludere o ipotizzare l’affermazione di una forma breve come elemento lessicale vero e proprio della lingua.

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zione o, come propone Blanchard (1974, 12), «à thème discontinu»¹⁷: ζ = ζ(υγος)τ(άτης) πγ ‘sovrintendente dei pesi e delle bilance’, ναυ = ναυπ(η)γ(ός) ‘costruttore di navi’ (Gonis 2009, 173). La scelta delle lettere da riportare ricade sui contenuti della sequenza giudicati più informativi, si predilige cioè l’espressione alfabetica delle parti del segno linguistico che meglio permettono di disambiguare la frase attraverso il “completamento” mentale della parola abbreviata: vengono salvaguardati dall’omissione soprattutto elementi caratterizzanti dal punto di vista morfologico come la theta dell’aoristo passivo in ἐπερ(ωτη)θ(είς) ‘pregare’ o la terminazione casuale in μον(αχ)οῦ ‘monaco’ (Blanchard 1974, 12–13). A differenza di quanto ci si potrebbe aspettare, nelle lingue a prevalente componente flessiva non sono comunque i morfemi grammaticali ad essere conservati con maggiore frequenza nei processi di creazione di Scritture Brevi. Le informazioni grammaticali, riproposte con ridondanza in più segni linguistici della stessa frase, sono infatti spesso facilmente deducibili dal contesto (qll è mia sorella / qll è mio fratello). Sebbene alcuni principi generali regolino l’informatività degli elementi della lingua¹⁸ (come ad esempio il fatto che un elemento tanto più è frequente tanto meno è informativo, motivo per cui si sopprimono più facilmente le vocali rispetto alle consonanti nella creazione di Scritture Brevi¹⁹), tuttavia è sempre la specifica circostanza di produzione del messaggio scritto e abbreviato a guidare le scelte delle scrivente nel difficile equilibrio tra le esigenze di brevità e la salvaguardia della efficacia del processo comunicativo. Al lettore deve essere infatti garantita la possibilità di comprendere il messaggio in tempi ragionevoli; un esercizio di decodifica troppo lungo e complesso è infatti accettabile e previsto solo per tipologie testuali specifiche, quali le crittografie, in cui le Scritture Brevi hanno funzioni diverse dal garantire una qualche economia linguistica. La presupposizione di una non eccellente competenza della grammatica della lingua da parte del lettore, in un contesto storico in cui il greco classico non è certo più la principale lingua d’uso, può, per esempio, favorire la produzione di forme brevi per contrazione con mantenimento di morfemi flessivi. L’esempio più diffuso e noto di Scritture Brevi con mantenimento dei morfemi flessivi (o di parte di essi) è costituito dai nomina sacra, un gruppo ristretto di nomi propri e pochi altri sostantivi di particolare valore religioso in ambito cristiano:

17 Avi Yohah, nel suo saggio sulle abbreviazioni nelle epigrafi in Oikonomides (1974), definisce “contrazioni continue” quelle in cui è salvaguardata la prima e l’ultima lettera di una parola ΠΣ > π(ρεσβύτερο)ς, “contrazioni discontinue” quelle in cui sono conservate anche una o più lettere del corpo centrale della parola ΠΒΣ > π(ρεσ)β(ύ/τερο)ς. Entrambe le modalità sono attestate per i nomina sacra di cui si dirà a breve. 18 Per il rapporto tra informatività e Scritture Brevi, si veda Chiusaroli – Zanzotto (2012), in particolare pp. 9–12. 19 Cfr. Stilp – Kluender (2010). La questione è stata già affrontata in Logozzo (2012, 201–202).

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Tabella 1: Nomina sacra ‘Dio’

Θεός

ΘΣ = Θ(εό)ς nom., ΘΥ = Θ(εο) υ gen., ΘΝ = Θ(εό)ν acc.

‘Signore’

Κύριος

ΚΣ = Κ(ύριο)ς nom., ΚΥ = Κ(υρίο)υ gen., ΚΩ = Κ(υρί)ῳ dat.

‘Padre’

Πατήρ

ΠΗΡ Π(ατ)ήρ nom., ΠΡΣ Π(ατ)ρ(ό)ς gen., ΠΡΑ Π(ατέ)ρα acc.

‘Paradiso’

᾿Ουρανός

ΟΥΝΟΥ Ου(ρα)νοῦ gen., ΟΥΝΟΝ Ου(ρα)νόν acc.

‘Gesù’

Ιησοῦς

ΙΣ Ι(ησοῦ)ς nom., IY Ι(ησο)ῦ gen., ΙΝ Ι(ησοῦ)ν e IHN Ιη(σοῦ)ν acc.

‘Cristo’

Χριστός

ΧΡΣ Χρ(ιστό)ς, ΧΣ Χ(ριστό)ς nom., ΧΥ Χ(ριστο) υ e ΧΡΥ Χρ(ιστο) υ gen., ΧΝ Χ(ριστό)ν acc.

‘Figlio’

‘Υιός

ΥΣ ‘Υ(ιό)ς nom., ΥΝ ‘Υ(ιό)ν acc.

‘Spirito’

Πνεύμα

ΠΝΑ Πν(εύμ)α nom., ΠΝΣ Πν(εύματο)ς gen., ΠΝΤΑ Πν(εύμα)τα acc.

‘Uomo’

῎Ανθρωπος

ΑΝΟΣ ῎Αν(θρωπ)ος nom., ΑΝΟΥ Αν(θρώπ)ου gen., ΑΝΟΝ ῎Αν(θρωπ)ον acc.

Quale che sia la loro origine – si è molto discusso su una eventuale possibile influenza ebraica, ma pare verosimile che l’uso sia nato e si sia diffuso in seno alle prime comunità cristiane di Gerusalemme, e successivamente si sia esteso a tutta la cristianità²⁰ – essi rappresentano forse l’unico vero e proprio sistema di Scritture Brevi in alfabeto greco per l’alto grado di convenzionalità e la trasversalità di epoche di attestazione e supporti scrittori. Presenti già nei testi papiracei dei primi secoli d.C., i nomina sacra accompagneranno la grecità cristiana fino ai codici di epoca moderna; ad essi verrà spesso riservato uno speciale trattamento nel corpo del testo, saranno ora decorati, ora colorati, ora posti in evidenza in qualche modo. Alcuni di essi acquisiranno significazione universale come i cristogrammi IHC/IHS e XPC/XPS²¹ tuttora impressi su costruzioni e decorazioni sacre. In particolare, il nome di Gesù nella forma IHS, una volta traslitterato in alfabeto latino nella forma IHS o JHS, subisce continue reinterpretazioni e diventa forma breve per Jhesus (con un’acca non etimologica, per analogia formale con la eta maiuscola greca) o acronimo per Jesus hodie et semper, Jesus hominum salvator ecc.²²

20 Il dibattito ha interessato, in particolar modo, L. Traube, sostenitore dell’origine ebraica, e C. H. Roberts, sostenitore dell’origine cristiana; un veloce riepilogo dei termini della questione in Martinez (2009, 593). 21 Il segno non è espressione esclusiva del nome di Cristo, sebbene con questa significazione sia stato impiegato prevalentemente. Canart (1980, 87), a proposito delle abbreviazioni nella scrittura libraria in alfabeto greco, lo cita come forma breve per χρόνος; Avi Yonah in Oikonomides (1974, 112) riporta una decina di scioglimenti diversi attestati in testi epigrafici tra cui χιλιάρχης, χρεοφυλάκειον, χρήσιμον, Χρισιτανός, χρυσός ecc. 22 In spagnolo, per esempio, può essere anche reinterpretato come acronimo di Jesus Hijo Señor, Jesus Hóstia Santa, Jesus Salvador de los Hombres, Jesus Hombre Salvador, come testimoniato

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, acronimo di ’Ιησοῦς Χριστός Θεoῦ Υιός Σωτήρ ‘Gesù Cristo ᾿Ιχθύς ‘pesce’ salvatore, figlio di Dio’, è alla base di un altro famoso cristogramma, originato in principio con funzione criptica, per permettere ai primi cristiani perseguitati un riconoscimento reciproco attraverso una forma breve costituita da un nome comune ἰχθύς e/o dalla sua rappresentazione iconica, che non fossero immediatamente riconducibili all’ambito della cristianità. Dal VI secolo in poi, si registra nei papiri greci una casistica di Scritture Brevi che riprende l’uso latino di raddoppiare l’ultima lettera di una parola abbreviata per indiαα ο ο carne la forma plurale²³: καρρ = κάραβοι ‘carabi’ (Blanchard 1974, 14); δημ μ τ τ = δημο(σίων) ‘pubblico (al genitivo plurale)’, ν ν = ν(αυ)τ(ῶν) ‘marinaio (al genitivo plurale)’ (Bell 1953, 432). L’espediente, dice Blanchard (1974, 13), è graficamente efficace ma porta, in qualche caso, a usare più segni di quanti sarebbero stati necessari per riportare la parola in extenso. Il raddoppiamento di una o più lettere possiede infatti un’iconicità con intrinseco riferimento alla pluralità e questo è probabilmente sufficiente affinché il meccanismo sia occasionalmente preferito ad altre forme di marcatura morfologica, quale l’esplicitazione della desinenza casuale o di altro morfema grammaticale (basta pensare alla forma breve dell’italiano sig.ra – femminile singolare – vs. sigg. – maschile plurale –). A differenza del plurale, rappresentabile mediante ripetizioni, altri morfemi grammaticali come il femminile di sig.ra difficilmente potrebbero essere iconicizzati attraverso impieghi non convenzionali delle lettere dell’alfabeto. Scritture Brevi di questo tipo, nonostante la presenza esclusiva di segni alfabetici, non pretendono di rappresentare il significante di un segno linguistico mediante un rapporto 1:1 = lettera: suono, ma riutilizzano gli elementi alfabetici, normalmente riferenti a unità fonetiche della lingua, per fornire informazioni operative utili al lettore per sopperire alle informazioni non esplicitate attraverso la scrittura. I segni, ancorché alfabetici, acquisiscono dunque significazioni varie in relazione alla loro posizione reciproca nello spazio. È così che in sigg. , che tradizionalmente in italiano riproduce i fonemi /g/ e /dʒ/, vale una volta /ɲ/, in quanto grafia tronca per , una volta [+ plurale], quando è posta in una specifica posizione nella sequenza. Lo stesso tratto morfologico [+ plurale], se le convenzioni e la grafotassi lo consentono, può, di conseguenza, essere rappresentato da diversi segni grafici che non sono necessariamente espressione di morfemi della lingua, quali e in ss. vv.

da un divertente dibattito su Yahoo! answers (https://ar.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid= 20061009063523AAiniHY). 23 Tale modalità di marcatura morfologica, ereditata dal latino, è registrata anche in ben note Scritture Brevi dell’italiano come sigg. ‘signori’, ss. ‘seguenti’, ss.vv. ‘signorie vostre’.

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αα

Sia sigg. sia κάρρ sono evidenti testimonianze di Scritture Brevi nate e impiegate esclusivamente nella lingua scritta, come dimostra il fatto che l’accostamento delle lettere dell’alfabeto, se interpretato come semplice successione di suoni linguistici, genererebbe sequenze malformate e dunque impronunciabili.

3 I commentari tachigrafici Nutrite raccolte di Scritture Brevi si trovano su supporto papiraceo nei cosiddetti vocabolari e commentari tachigrafici. I vocabolari tachigrafici sono elenchi di parole disposte in ordine alfabetico (limitatamente alla prima o alle prime due lettere) e preceduti dalle corrispondenti forme brevi; i commentari, da cui in alcuni casi sono estratti i termini raccolti nei vocabolari, contengono invece termini raggruppati, per esempio in tetradi o pentadi, per associazione di idee o altri criteri. Nelle redazioni più complete dei commentari, ogni gruppo di parole è preceduto da un segno di abbreviazione principale, identificativo dell’intera tetrade/pentade/ecc., e seguito da segni tachigrafici secondari, identificativi di ciascuna parola. La più famosa raccolta antica di Scritture Brevi su papiri è il commentario tachigrafico dei papiri PBrit.Mus. 2561 e 2562 ed edita da Milne (1934) i cui termini ricompaiono continuamente negli altri commentari e nei vocabolari restituiti dai papiri²⁴. Il PSI inv. 379 ne riporta, ad esempio, alcune poche tetradi, ampliate in pentadi (e in un caso in esade), corredate del segno stenografico principale, identificativo del gruppo, ma prive di quelli secondari:

Figura 2: (Menci 1995b, 31)

24 Cfr., tra gli altri, Pintaudi (1978), Pintaudi (1993).

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I papirologi hanno molto discusso sulle funzioni di questo tipo di testi, evidentemente collegati tra loro; è verosimile che facciano parte della manualistica per la formazione del σημειογράφος ‘tachigrafo’, sebbene non vi siano testimonianze esplicite a riguardo. I vocabolari, nello specifico, potrebbero essere serviti a scopo mnemonico, per favorire la memorizzazione dei termini; essere stati impiegati come eserciziario, lasciando all’apprendente l’onere di apporre la forma breve accanto ad ogni parola; oppure essere solamente uno strumento di indicizzazione di quanto contenuto nei commentari. Termini del commentario di Milne (1934) si ritrovano, ad esempio, nel codice di Montserrat²⁵, che riporta semplici elenchi alfabetici privi di segni di abbreviazione, ma anche nel vocabolario del codice PSI XII 1284²⁶ con corredo tachigrafico:

Figura 3: (Menci 1992, 19)

Di diverso genere sono le parole raccolte: ai termini dell’oratoria si affiancano altri di uso comune; ritrovati anche elenchi di forme pronominali²⁷, con le rispettive forme brevi, e una lista non alfabetica di nomi di fiumi²⁸. Molta varietà si riscontra anche dal punto di vista morfologico, in quanto le parole non vengono registrate in una forma convenzionale di citazione (es. il nominativo per i nomi o l’infinito per i verbi, come nei moderni dizionari) ma nella forma flessa evidentemente più frequente²⁹ nella tipologia di testi comunemente trascritti in tachigrafia. Quale che sia stato in dettaglio l’uso concreto, commentari e vocabolari tachigrafici sono una preziosa testimonianza dell’uso professionale delle Scritture Brevi nell’Egitto dei primi secoli dell’era cristiana.

25 Edito nel 2006 da Tovar – Worp. 26 I segni tachigrafici del vocabolario non corrispondono a quelli del commentario edito da Milne (1934), a conferma del fatto che di quest’ultimo devono essere esistite più versioni. Cfr. Menci (1992, 17). 27 In PRein II 87, piccolo frammento papiraceo che deve aver fatto parte di un manuale di tachigrafia, cfr. Menci (2007). 28 PBon Isa 1, cfr. Geraci (1985). 29 Secondo un criterio impiegato anche nei dizionari predittivi dei moderni smartphone.

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4 Numerazione acrofonica e numerazione alfabetica I segni grafici impiegati per l’espressione di numerali³⁰, siano essi creati a questo specifico scopo, siano essi di altra origine, rientrano a pieno titolo nella categoria delle Scritture Brevi. Essi sono infatti espressione sintetica di parole della lingua e si inseriscono da sempre dinamicamente nei giochi della scrittura. Che numerali – intesi come parole scritte o orali per designare quantità numeriche – e segni grafici corrispondenti – intesi come scritture, diverse dalla rappresentazione alfabetica dei significanti numerali, atte a rappresentare quantità numeriche e corrispondenti parole (cifre arabe o romane, ad esempio) – entrino frequentemente in gioco nei sistemi abbreviativi, è cosa nota con la quale è facile confrontarsi nella quotidianità. Si pensi a marchionimi³¹ come me4me,in cui si gioca sulla somiglianza fonetica tra il numerale four e la preposizione for, o Chin8 Neri, in cui il segno grafico per il numerale otto è introdotto nella sequenza per il suo valore fonetico, o a nickname come K4T3RIN4³², in cui si gioca sulla similarità grafica delle lettere dell’alfabeto maiuscole A ed E e, rispettivamente, le cifre 4 e 3. Intersezioni più o meno frequenti tra numeri e parole, nella scrittura, sono attestate fin da tempi antichissimi; nell’antico Egitto, ad esempio, uno dei geroglifici per ‘uno’ (wa’) era il segno dell’arpione (wa’), sulla base dell’omofonia tra le due parole; idem per il numerale ‘nove’ (psd), rappresentato con il segno , per omofonia con il verbo brillare (psd)³³ (Hifrah 2008, 357–359). In alcuni ambiti linguistico–scrittori lettere e numeri si intrecciano, non già nella scrittura non convenzionale di me4me o K4T3RIN4, quanto piuttosto in un sistema convenzionale e ben organizzato quale quello noto come numerazione acrofonica. Il sistema acrofonico greco, ideato in Attica e diffuso poi in varie regioni, è attestato già nel VI secolo a.C. e rimase in voga fino al III sec. a.C. ³⁴, quando cominciò a diffondersi la concorrente numerazione cosiddetta alfabetica. Esso prevedeva l’utilizzo della lettera dell’alfabeto greco corrispondente alla prima lettera dei numerali per 5, 10, 100, 1000 e 10.000: Γ³⁵ π(έντε) Δ δ(έκα) Η h(εκατόν) Χ χ(ίλιοι) Μ μ(ύριοι).

30 «I numerali sono la componente del lessico di una lingua dedicata alla designazione delle quantità numeriche» (Pannain 2000, 63). 31 Cfr. Caffarelli (2012). 32 Nickname da Twitter, già in Logozzo (2012, 193). 33 Hifrah (2008, 357–359). 34 Le ultime attestazioni di numerazione acrofonica nel mondo greco sono databili I sec. a.C. (Guarducci 1967, 419). Per uno sguardo complessivo alle problematiche relative al sistema di numerazione acrofonica in Grecia cf. Tod (1911/1912), (1926/1927); interessanti spunti di riflessione anche nel volume Epigrammata 4, a cura di Alessandra Inglese (in stampa). 35 Π pi arcaica, molto simile a gamma (Γ).

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Queste Scritture Brevi, in compagnia del segno per ‘uno’ rappresentato da una semplice asta verticale I³⁶, permettevano di esprimere tutti numeri piccoli e grandi mediante processi di addizione e moltiplicazione.

Figura 4: (Guarducci 1967, 420)

Così come nella numerazione latina, anche nel sistema acrofonico greco il posizionamento, o meglio, la sintassi interna ai segni è portatrice di significato perché traduce la scelta tra l’operatore matematico dell’addizione e quello della moltiplicazione: il semplice accostamento determina infatti la somma dei numeri rappresentati; l’inscrizione di Δ, Η, Χ e Μ all’interno di Γ, significa invece moltiplicazione (come in 50, 500, 5.000 e 50.000). Scritture Brevi erano anche impiegate per alcune unità monetali, rappresentate con la prima lettera della corrispondente parola, come per esempio in Attica: il ‘calco’ (1/8 di obolo) χαλκοῦς Χ, lo ‘statere’ (2 dracme) στάτηρ Σ, la ‘mina’ (100 dracme) μνᾶ Μ, il ‘talento’ (6000 dracme) τάλαντον Τ. Esse potevano essere variamente combinate alle sequenze numeriche per rappresentare valori monetali: per esprimere una certa somma in dracme³⁷ ( ) o oboli (|), si potevano sostituire i segni / | alle barre verticali delle unità; il segno per il talento,

36 L’espressione del numerale ‘uno’ mediante una barra o un’asta verticale può essere considerato un universale, perché frutto di una semplice incisione attraverso la quale si annotava su un supporto la presenza di un oggetto, fin dalle prime manifestazioni della scrittura. Nel caso specifico della numerazione greca, è interessante notare come Prisciano abbia tentato di ricondurre il segno per ‘uno’ ad un’origine acrofonica, facendolo derivare da una variante ἴα del numerale μία: Una per I scribitur antiquo more Atticorum, qui solebant principalem nominis numeri litteram ponere et significare numerum. ἴα ergo pro μία dicentes I scribebant et Π πέντε (De figuris numerorum, 1, IV). 37 Per l’origine e l’evoluzione del segno per ‘dracma’ si veda Blanchard (1974, 32 ss.).

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invece, oltre ad essere sostituito al segno per l’unità, veniva aggiunto direttamente ai numeri Δ, Η, Χ, Μ e Γ:

= 2544 dracme e 5 oboli = 3263 talenti Figura 5: (Hifrah 2008, 374)

L’impiego di Scritture Brevi per la numerazione acrofonica non è prerogativa esclusiva del mondo greco. Lo stesso principio governava infatti il contemporaneo sistema di numerazione sudarabica (V– II/I a.C.)³⁸ del regno di Saba secondo il seguente schema:

Figura 6: (Hifrah 2008, 380)

Quando si passa al sistema di numerazione alfabetica, che in realtà in greco è antico quanto quello acrofonico³⁹, la significazione che acquisisce ogni lettera non è motivata direttamente da una caratteristica della lettera stessa – quale essere la prima lettera del numerale che va a rappresentare – ma deriva dal suo far parte di un sistema organizzato fissato negli abbecedari; è la posizione costante di ogni lettera nel sistema alfabetico a far sì che essa possa agevolmente rappresentare un ente numerico: α=1 β=2 γ=3 δ=4 ε=5 (stigma)⁴⁰ = 6 ζ = 7 η=8 θ=9 ι = 10 κ = 20 λ = 30 μ = 40 ν = 50 ξ = 60 ο = 70 π = 80 (koppa) = 90 ρ = 100 ς = 200 τ = 300 υ = 400 φ = 500 χ = 600 ψ = 700 ω = 800 (sampi) = 900

38 Cfr. Hifrah (2008, 379–381). 39 L’origine del sistema di numerazione “alfabetica” risale, secondo Guarducci (1967, 422), all’VIII–VI sec. a.C. Per uno sguardo complessivo alle problematiche relative al sistema di numerazione alfabetica, cfr. Tod (1950). 40 Al posto del digamma, lo stigma, derivato dall’unione di σ e τ.

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Il criterio di formazione dei numeri è prevalentemente additivo; nel caso delle decine di migliaia, espresse ancora con criterio acrofonico con Μ μ(ύριοι), è prevista la sovrapposizione di altri segni numerici con valore moltiplicativo:

Figura 7: (Hifrah 2008, 451)

Gonis (2009, 173) riferisce di forme di Scritture Brevi attestate in papiri – simili alle moderne Chin8 Neri – composte con numeri alfabetici, in sostituzione dell’espressione estesa dei numerali: εκωμια per Πεντακωμία (toponimo) (ε = 5 = πέντε); ημηνος per ὀκτάμηνος ‘di 8 mesi’ (η = 8 = ὀκτώ) Blanchard (1974, 27 n. 42) riproduce inoltre le seguenti forme: ἑπταπ(άλαστος) ‘di sette spanne’ con επτα- rappresentato da ζ inscritto in una π; τριμήνος ‘di tre mesi’ con τρι- rappresentato da γ, sormontata da una barra di abbreviazione o da una μ abbreviata. Stessa commistione tra lettere e lettere/numeri si ritrova in testi epigrafici come riportato da Avi Yonah in (Oikonomides 1974, 42): AEDPOY = (πρωτοπρο)έδρου ‘protoproedro’, A = πρῶτος; ECTI = (πεντηκο)στή ‘Pentecoste’, E = πέντε; TRICKI = τρισ(καίδεκα) ‘tredici’, I = δέκα; in taluni casi, in epoca tolemaica, i numeri vengono impiegati da soli come Scritture Brevi di titoli militari indicanti il numero di sottoposti di un certo ufficiale: I = δεκαδάρχης; N = πεντηκοντάρχης. Il sistema di numerazione alfabetica non è esclusivo del mondo greco; è caratteristico, per esempio, della numerazione ebraica, e si dibatte se la seconda sia il risultato di un contatto col mondo ellenistico⁴¹ Esso risponde infatti alla tendenza universale di utilizzare sequenze standardizzate a fini di numerazione. In linea teorica, qualunque sistema di elencazione può fungere da mezzo per l’espressione di sequenze numeriche: elenchi solitamente fissi come i giorni della settimana, i mesi dell’anno o le fermate della metropolitane, ma anchesuccessioni convenzionali di parti del corpo⁴². In un contesto di alfabetizzazione, il vantaggio dell’alfabeto, tra gli infiniti sistemi di elencazione possibili, è quello di essere convenzionalmente organizzato, relativamente fisso nel tempo e già familiare, perché impiegato per altri scopi.

41 Cfr. (Hifrah, 465 ss.). I sistemi di numerazione alfabetica greco ed ebraico, a loro volta, sono alla base di altri quali le lettere numerali siriache e quelle arabe (Hifrah, 493 ss.). 42 Cfr. (Pannain 1993).

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Le lettere/numeri diventano così a pieno titolo Scritture Brevi, quali espressioni sintetiche di numerali, e possono essere impiegate per dare un titolo a determinate sequenze di oggetti (si pensi ai capitoli dell’Iliade e dell’Odissea, numerati dai filologi alessandrini con le lettere dell’alfabeto greco, rispettivamente maiuscole e minuscole). Lettere e numeri sono sentiti talmente tanto correlati tra loro che le cifre romane, pur essendo originariamente segni del tutto autonomi dalle lettere dell’alfabeto, sono state progressivamente alterate fino a raggiungere l’aspetto di I, V, X, L, C, D e M col quale oggi sono note. Non è questa la sede per descrivere le infinite possibilità degli accostamenti e degli scambi tra lettere e numeri mediante la scrittura⁴³, a fini ludici, sacrali o magici. Nello Pseudo–Callistene I, 33 Serapide si rivela ad Alessandro Magno, “traslitterando”, per così dire, il suo nome in numeri sulla base della numerazione alfabetica: Δὶς ἑκατὸν ἤδη καὶ μίαν ψῆφον σύνθες, εἶθ ᾿ἑκατὸν ἄλλας καὶ μίαν, τετράκις εἴκοσι καὶ δέκα, λαβὼν δὲ πρῶτον γράμμα ποίησον ἔσχατον· καὶ τότε νοήσεις, τίς πέφυκ ᾿ἐγὼ θεός. ‘Prendi duecentouno, poi centouno e quattro volte venti e dieci. Metti il primo di questi numeri alla fine e saprai quale dio sono io’.

Σ 200

Α 1

Ρ 100

Α 1

Π 80

Ι 10

Σ 200

La numerazione alfabetica è alla base dell’isopsefia, la pratica di assegnare valori numerici a nomi o espressioni tratte dall’antico e dal nuovo testamento sulla base delle quantità espresse da ogni lettera di cui sono composte:

Ι 10

Η 8

Σ 200

Ο 70

Υ 400

Σ 200

= 888

rappresentabile anche come

Η 8

Θ 9

Ο 70

Ω 800

Α 1

= 888

Pur non essendo l’economia il motore alla base della isopsefia, in taluni casi la ‘trasformazione numerica’ può essere anche strumento di abbreviazione: 880 = ΩΠ = Διὰ κύριον Μείθραν.

43 Si pensi, per esempio, alla crittografia mediante sostituzione di lettere e numeri, o alla tombola napoletana con corrispondenze numeri/parole/immagini.

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Le possibilità crittografiche offerte dalla numerazione alfabetica greca sono sfruttate anche in sede di contatto interlinguistico, come riferisce Menci (2008, 261): «Un sistema diverso per criptare parole greche inserite in testi demotici è quello testimoniato da alcuni ostraka di Medinet Madi (II d.C.): sia parole comuni che nomi di persona sono espressi con numeri demotici, considerando cioè ogni lettera greca come cifra e scrivendo il corrispondente simbolo demotico». Un esempio estraneo al greco, infine, ma molto significativo, è quello dei cronogrammi ebraici in cui una data viene espressa mediante l’accostamento di lettere dell’alfabeto che indicano uno specifico numero e che, al contempo, formano una frase o un sintagma di senso compiuto. E così l’anno di morte del re Sher, perito durante un’esplosione nel 1545 d.C (952 dall’Egira), viene espressa col cronogramma ‘morto bruciato’ = 952

Figura 8: (Hifrah 2008, 515)

5 Conclusioni In presenza di Scritture Brevi, la scrittura, pur non potendo ovviamente prescindere dalla lingua, accentua la sua autonomia, superando la linearità del significante linguistico grazie alla spazialità pluridimensionale dello spazio scrittorio: la parola è frammentata; le lettere sono omesse, invertite, sovrapposte e sottoposte, portando al massimo livello la tensione tra l’economia dello spazio scrittorio e la necessità di rifuggire l’ambiguità o, peggio, l’oscurità. Il valore e la funzione del singolo segno scrittorio sono definiti dal rapporto con gli altri elementi grafici del micro–sistema impiegato da un certo scriba e dal rapporto con gli altri segni della catena grafotattica. La prima questione permette di affrontare il dilemma “lettere o segni di abbreviazione?” quando i contorni definitori delle lettere sfumano. La distintività e la significatività di un elemento grafico non sono, in questi casi, dati a priori, ma si evidenzia solo per contrasto all’interno del sistema di segni che quello specifico scriba utilizza. Dice Blanchard (1974, 25 n. 35) che solo quando il medesimo segno viene utilizzato in un testo per indicare due o più lettere differenti potremo parlare di ‘segno di abbreviazione’; se a due valori diversi si fanno corrispondere segni anche solo leggermente differenti, la distintività e il collegamento con i significanti linguistici viene mantenuto, a prescinde-

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re dalla maggiore o minore somiglianza formale con le originarie lettere dell’alfabeto rappresentate. Passando alla seconda questione, l’importanza della sintassi interna alle Scritture Brevi nell’attribuzione di una certa significazione ad ogni elemento grafico è ben esemplificata dal raddoppiamento dell’ultima lettera di una parola abbreviata impiegato come marca morfologica di plurale, di cui si è già detto. Quando si parla di sintassi dei segni o grafotassi nell’ambito di Scritture Brevi occorre però precisare che non si fa riferimento ad un ordine prestabilito e coerente di elementi, ma all’insieme complessivo delle relazioni pluridimensionali di ogni segno con gli altri, anche se non contigui nella rappresentazione grafica. A differenza dell’oralità, che non può prescindere dalla sequenzialità degli elementi di un segno linguistico, la parola scritta viene fotografata attraverso la vista, immagazzinata e rielaborata nel suo insieme; le informazioni linguistiche (lettere che rappresentano fonemi della lingua di riferimento) vengono integrate con quelle operative (rappresentate da segni di abbreviazio“ ”i, usi convenzionali di lettere o altri elementi grafici) e con altre totalmente mancanti ma inferibili dal contesto. Il risultato di questo processo è la ricostruzione del messaggio linguistico originario ed è raggiungibile solo se mittente e ricevente condividono non tanto le convenzioni abbreviative, quanto una sufficiente competenza del medesimo sistema linguistico.

Bibliography Bell, H. I. 1953: Abbreviations in documentary papyri, in Studies presented to David Moore Robinson on his seventieth birthday, II, ed. G. E. Mylonas, Saint Louis, 424–433. Blanhard, A. 1974: Sigles et abbréviations dans les papyrus documentaires grecs, «Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies», suppl. 30. Caffarelli, E. 2012: Specificità e creazione del nome commerciale, in O réclame . . . o reclamo, ed. F. Dragotto, Roma, 45–80. Canart, P. 1980: Lezioni di paleografia e di codicologia greca, Città del Vaticano. Chiusaroli, F. 2012: Scritture Brevi oggi: tra convezione e sistema, in Scritture Brevi di oggi, eds. F. Chiusaroli & F. M. Zanzotto, «Quaderni di Linguistica Zero», Napoli, 4–44. Chiusaroli, F. & Zanzotto, F. M. 2012: Informatività e Scritture Brevi del web, in Scritture Brevi nelle lingue moderne, eds. F. Chiusaroli & F. M. Zanzotto, «Quaderni di Linguistica Zero», Napoli, 3–20. Geraci, G. 1985: P. Bon. ISA 1, recto: lista di fiumi con equivalenze tachigrafiche, in Studi in onore di Edda Bresciani, eds. S. F. Bondi et al., Agnano Pisano, 231–243. Gonis, N. 2009: Abbreviations and symbols, in The Oxford handbook of papyrology, ed. R. Bagnall, Oxford, 170–178. Guarducci, M. 1967: Epigrafia greca I, Roma. Hifrah, G. 2008: Enciclopedia universale dei numeri, Milano. Inglese, A. 2016: Le «epigrafi invisibili»: il caso del tempio di Demetra a Cirene, «Epigraphica», 78, 21–33. Inglese, A. (in stampa): Introduzione, in Epigrammata 4. L’uso dei numeri greci nelle iscrizioni, ed. A. Inglese, Tivoli.

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Logozzo, F. 2012: Forme e modi delle Scritture Brevi di oggi, in Scritture Brevi di oggi, eds. F. Chiusaroli & F. M. Zanzotto, «Quaderni di Linguistica Zero», Napoli, 192–207. Martinez, D. 2009: The papyri and early Christianity, in The Oxford handbook of papyrology, ed. R. Bagnall, Oxford, 590–622. Menci, G. 1992: Vocabolario tachigrafico, in Dai papiri della Società Italiana. Omaggio al XX Congresso Internazionale di Papirologia. Copenhagen 23–29 Agosto 1992, Firenze, 16–23. Menci, G. 1995a: Il commentario tachigrafico 4, in Dai papiri della Società Italiana. Omaggio al XXI Congresso Internazionale di Papirologia. Berlino 13–19 Agosto 1995, Firenze, 26–28. Menci, G. 1995b: Il commentario tachigrafico 5, in Dai papiri della Società Italiana. Omaggio al XXI Congresso Internazionale di Papirologia. Berlino 13–19 Agosto 1995, Firenze, 29–33. Menci, G. 2007: PRein II 87: Sillabario tachigrafico, «Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik», 159, 253–255. Menci, G. 2008: Scritture segrete nell’Egitto romano e bizantino, «Atene e Roma», 3–4, 260–270. Migliorini, B. 1949: Uso ed abuso delle sigle, in B. Migliorini, Conversazioni sulla lingua italiana, Firenze, 86–90. Milne, H. J. M. 1934: Greek shorthand manuals, Oxford. Oikonomides, A. N. 1974: Abbreviations in Greek inscriptions: papyri, manuscripts and early printed books, Chicago. Pannain, R. 1993: I numerali dei primitivi: riflessioni per una definizione analitica della ‘primitività’ nella numerazione, «AIΩN», 15, 249–311. Pannain, R. 2000: Numerali ed istanze di numerazione: note per un progetto di tipologia areale dei numerali, «AIΩN», 25, 63–103. Petra, E. 2012: Remarks to symbols and abbreviations in non – literary Greek Papyri of the Early arabic Period (640–800 a.d.), «Επιστημονική Επετηρίδα, Φιλοσοφικής Σχολής τοῦ Πανεπιστημίου Αθηνών», 2011–2012, 397–425. Pintaudi, R. & Sijpesteijn, P. J. 1978: Fragments of Greek Shorthand Commentaries, «Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik», 29, 259–262. Pintaudi, R. 1993: Frammento di un commentario tachigrafico di Vienna, «Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik», 99, 113–114. Stilp, C. & Kluender, K. 2010: Cochlea–scaled entropy, not consonants, vowels, or time, best predicts speech intelligibility, in «Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of United States of America», 107 n° 27, 12387–12392. Tod, M. N. 1911/1912: The Greek Numeral Notation, «The Annual of the British School at Athens», 18, 98–132. Tod, M. N. 1926/1927: Further Notes on the Greek Acrophonic Numerals, «The Annual of the British School at Athens», 28, 141–157. Tod, M. N. 1950: The Alphabetic Numeral System in Attica, «The Annual of the British School at Athens», 45, 126–139. Torallas Tovar, S. & Worp K. A. 2006: To the origins of Greek stenography (P.Monts.Roca I), Barcelona. Thornton, A. M. 2004: Parole macedonia, in La formazione delle parole in italiano, eds. M. Grossmann & F. Rainer, Tübingen, 567–571. Wilcken, U. 1963: Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde, Hildesheim.

Chiara Zanchi

Metro e confini di parola: il caso dei preverbi multipli in Omero Abstract: In this paper, I analyze the Homeric passages that attest to composites containing multiple preverbs from a metrical, philological, and linguistic standpoint. My working hypothesis is that a number of composites handed down by the tradition in fact rely on a non–univerbated sequence. The analysis allowed achieving a twofold goal. First, it shows that, in about half of the relevant passages, composites occur in correspondence with a metrical pause that virtually separates preverbs from the verbal stem that they modify. Second, it points out that the metrical analysis must be supported by linguistic evidence: the regularization of metrical pauses in fixed positions is still an ongoing process in Homeric Greek. Moreover, the positioning of pauses, used to assume word–boundaries, has been detected based on word–boundaries. Lastly, what counts as a word has not always been consistently defined from a linguistic standpoint by those who studied the Homeric hexameter.

1 Introduzione In questo articolo mi occupo di preverbazione multipla nel greco omerico da un punto di vista metrico, filologico e linguistico. Spesso gli studi di linguistica, anche se condotti su testi della letteratura greca e latina, prestano scarsa attenzione alla tradizione testuale di tali testi. Questo atteggiamento può portare ad analisi fuorvianti, soprattutto per i poemi omerici, e soprattutto per studi riguardanti l’ordine delle parole e i confini di parola. Nonostante che la preverbazione sia un tema molto caro alla linguistica indoeuropea, il fenomeno della preverbazione multipla rimane a tutt’oggi poco studiato, seppur con qualche eccezione (McCone 1987 sull’irlandese antico, Imbert 2008 sul greco omerico, Papke 2010 sul vedico e sul sanscrito classico). Analizzerò da un punto di vista metrico, filologico e linguistico le occorrenze per le quali la tradizione manoscritta ha tramandato composti con più di un preverbo. Il loro numero non è eccessivo: questo permette di farne un’analisi metrica e filologica accurata. Nel prossimo paragrafo accennerò a come i poemi omerici furono composti e trascritti. Nel paragrafo 3 mostrerò come il metro influenza la sintassi e come può essere sfruttato per ricostruirla. Nel quarto paragrafo passerò in rassegna le teorie sulla struttura metrica dell’esametro . Nel quinto, mostrerò che il comportamento metrico di alcuni appositivi può darci informazioni sul loro statuto morfologico e sintattico. Nel paragrafo 6 analizzerò le occorrenze di preverbazione multipla da un punto di vista metrico, filologico e linguistico. Infine, trarrò le mie conclusioni.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-089

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2 Il corpus omerico, la tradizione orale e la pratica della scriptio continua Nonostante che si faccia riferimento al loro autore come a Omero, Iliade e Odissea sono in realtà un esempio di tradizione orale. Per tradizione orale, si intende un sistema espressivo che combini performance e composizione (Nagy 2009): gli aedi ricomponevano i poemi durante performance pubbliche, combinando e ispirandosi a temi narrativi precedenti, e a formule (=gruppi di parole) ricorrenti pronte al riuso per descrivere determinate situazioni narrative. Sappiamo che in epoca classica (v sec. a.C.), Iliade e Odissea continuavano a essere recitate dai rapsodi durante le feste cittadine. Tuttavia, in quest’epoca il testo dei poemi non era più fluido: era in corso dall’viii sec. a.C. un graduale processo di fissazione della tradizione omerica, che rese la presenza di un testo scritto sempre più indispensabile alla performance dei rapsodi (Nagy 2009). Nelle prime attestazioni di scrittura alfabetica greca fino al periodo classico, la pratica di dividere le parole le une dalle altre per mezzo di spazi bianchi era ben attestata. Questa pratica, tuttavia, fu abbandonata a partire dal v fino ai sec. ix–x d.C., e sostituita dalla cosiddetta scriptio continua, ovvero un modo di scrivere che non prevede né spazi né segni di interpunzione tra una parola e l’altra, imitando così il flusso continuo del parlato (Nagy 2009, 120). La lettura a voce alta (ἀνάγνωσις ‘(lett.) riconoscimento’) era un momento indispensabile per la stesura scritta della corretta edizione di un testo in epoca alessandrina (iv–i sec. a.C.) (Nagy 2009). I filologi alessandrini sono i più importanti editori antichi di Omero: le loro edizioni costituiscono la base delle nostre edizioni moderne. Tuttavia il loro testo poteva già essere incerto: i filologi alessandrini avevano a disposizione varie edizioni dei poemi, precedenti o contemporanee, personali (κατ΄ ἄνδρα ‘secondo un uomo’) o ufficiali (κατὰ πόλεις ‘secondo (le) città’). Inoltre, gli editori alessandrini che stabilizzarono il testo omerico parlavano una varietà di greco notevolmente diversa dalla lingua della tradizione orale, che conserva fasi del greco molto antiche, precedenti all’viii sec. a.C. (Meillet 1963, 149–150). Questa complessa tradizione testuale può tramandare varianti diverse di uno stesso passo. Tali varianti possono riguardare i confini di parola. Nell’esempio (1), vediamo che tre manoscritti riportano il preverbo esterno ἐξ– ‘fuori da’ separato dal composto –αποδίωμαι ‘condurre via’, mentre il resto della tradizione tramanda l’opposto: (1)

Varianti di Il.5.763: a. variante di Codex Venetus Marc. Gr. 454 (822),Rom. Bibl. Nat. Gr. 6,Genav. 44 μάχης ἐξ– | –αποδίωμαι b. variante di tutti gli altri manoscritti μάχης ἐξαποδίωμαι ‘Ho condotto Ares fuori dalla battaglia.’

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3 Il rapporto tra metro e sintassi Nonostante che la pressione dell’esametro possa forzare la sintassi, la maggior parte di tali alterazioni sintattiche devono rientrare nel sistema grammaticale della lingua omerica. In primo luogo, la fruizione dei poemi era aurale: una deviazione troppo accentuata dalla lingua parlata avrebbe reso le performances dell’aedo incomprensibili per l’ascoltatore (Dunkel 1979, 43). Inoltre, il processo compositivo dei poemi era in continuo svolgimento durante una performance: è probabile che l’aedo attingesse il materiale linguistico necessario a costruire e ricostruire i suoi canti sia dal suo repertorio di formule, sia dalla lingua che parlava. Alcune delle deviazioni dovute al metro sono immediatamente riconoscibili, e dunque possono essere facilmente escluse dalla ricostruzione sintattica (Dunkel 1979, 43). Per esempio, in (2) troviamo l’ordine che Watkins (1964) chiama ‘tmesi III’, ovvero #(E). . . VP(. . . ) #:¹ (2)

φῆν κακὰ πολλὰ παθόντ᾿, ὀλέσαντ᾿ ἄπο πάντας ἑταίρους, . . . οἴκαδ᾿ ἐλεύσεσθαι ‘Io ho detto che (lui) sarebbe tornato in patria, sofferti molti mali e persi tutti i compagni.’ (Od.2.174–176)

L’ordine VP è un’innovazione, probabilmente letteraria, del greco omerico: nelle lingue indoeuropee in cui i preverbi possono occorrere separati dal verbo che modificano, tale ordine non è attestato (Watkins 1964). In (2), anche osservazioni di tipo semantico confermano che l’ordine VP è un artificio letterario. Il composto ἀπόλλυμι, che nel greco classico sostituisce in prosa il corrispondente verbo semplice, significa ‘distruggere completamente’. La particella locativa (PL)² ἄπο (con ritrazione dell’accento) accentua il significato telico di ὄλλυμι ‘distruggere’, confermato dall’aoristo e dall’aggettivo πάντας ‘tutti’. Tuttavia, i preverbi greci, quando perdono il loro significato locativo originario e assumono significati azionali, di solito perdono anche autonomia morfologica. In (2), invece, ἄπο ha un significato azionale, ma occorre in posizione avverbiale. Questo potrebbe essere un indizio del fatto che in questo passo l’aedo ha davvero separato (cfr. ‘tmesi’ da τέμνω ‘tagliare’), per motivi poetici, un composto univerbato. De Angelis (2004) ha notato che il metro può essere uno strumento utile per ricostruire la sintassi, e in particolare i confini di parola. Come osservano Sommer (1926, 257–261) e Chantraine (1953, 85 sgg.), è possibile che certe forme composte tramandate dalla tradizione manoscritta si basino sull’alterazione di un gruppo che originariamente non costituiva un’unità morfologica:

1 In Watkins: #=inizio/fine di una sequenza, N=connettivo frasale, E=elemento pronominale, V=forma verbale, P=preverbo. 2 Uso la locuzione particella locativa per indicare un avverbio/preverbo/adposizione senza specificarne la funzione.

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(3)

(῾όπλεσθαι:) τάδε δ᾿ ἀμφὶ | πονησόμεθ᾿ οἷσι μάλιστα κήδεός ἐστι νέκυς ‘E al resto penseremo noi, per i quali il dolore nei confronti del morto è grandissimo.’ (Il.23.159–160)

In (3), secondo Sommer (1926) e Watkins (1964), ἀμφὶ ‘intorno’ e πονέομαι (fut.1pl) ‘provare preoccupazione’ sono divisi da un’incisione.³ In questo modo Watkins (1964) ricostruisce per il greco omerico – così come per ittita, vedico, e irlandese antico – il seguente ordine sintattico: #(E). . . P|V(. . . ) # (tmesi II), in cui il preverbo precede immediatamente il verbo, pur non essendo ancora univerbato. Dato che l’esametro omerico è un verso destinato alla fruizione aurale (cfr. 2), la sua struttura ritmica deve essere monotona. Tale struttura comporta alcune incisioni⁴ regolari in porzioni fisse del verso. Proprio in virtù di tale regolarità, è possibile ipotizzare un gruppo P|V non ancora univerbato, ogni volta che un composto verbale viola (i.e. occorre in corrispondenza di) una di queste incisioni regolari. Analizzare metricamente i passi omerici in cui due o più PL occorrono in posizione preverbale, quindi, può essere utile a capire se tali PL sono realmente univerbate ai verbi che le seguono oppure no, se solo una delle due PL è univerbata, oppure se nessuna delle due lo è.

4 La struttura dell’esametro omerico Per ricostruire i confini di parola sulla base della struttura ritmica dell’esametro, bisogna in primo luogo avere delle certezze riguardo a tale struttura. In figura 1 ho riportato lo schema di un esametro, con la numerazione standard (O’Neill 1942)⁵ delle morae che lo compongono (mora=1 breve, 1 lungo=2 brevi).

Figura 1: La struttura dell’esametro secondo la notazione di O’Neill (1942)

3 Anche gli editori Monro e Allen 1920 adottano la variante con incisione. 4 Per incisione si intende una pausa metrica che occorra internamente a un piede (cesura) oppure alla fine di un piede (dieresi) (Rossi 1965, 202). 5 Per una revisione di tutti i metodi di notazione dell’esametro rimando a Janse (2003).

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4.1 Che cosa è un’incisione? Il termine ‘incisione’ è difficile da definire perché non c’è nessun luogo del verso in cui i confini di parola occorrano senza eccezione, eccetto la fine del verso stesso (Barnes 1986, 130). Tuttavia, l’incisione è stata definita da West (1982, 6) come un luogo del verso in cui il confine di parola occorre più che per caso. Una questione importante è se le incisioni comportino solo pause ritmiche o anche pause di senso. Per alcuni (p.e. Porter 1951 e Rossi 1965), le incisioni sono in primo luogo pause ritmiche: dividono l’esametro in cola, che sono unità ritmiche, ma non necessariamente unità di senso. Di un altro avviso sono invece Fränkel (1955) e Kirk (1985), i quali ritengono che a una pausa ritmica si accompagni anche una pausa semantica. Secondo Kahane (1994) è difficile immaginare che pause ritmiche e pause semantiche occorrano in posizioni diverse. Piuttosto, è probabile che le pause di senso si siano normalizzate in pause ritmiche, e che i cola siano (anche) unità di senso. Per dimostrare la sua tesi, Kahane (1994) costruisce delle tabelle di frequenza (cfr. tabelle 1 e 2), basandosi su lavori precedenti (riportati nella legenda delle tabelle 1 e 2). Tabella 1: Luoghi delle pause metriche in ordine difrequenza (adattata da Kahane 1994)

↑È ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ È

Frequenza

Iliade

Odissea

I II III IV V VI

3 (O), 8 (P) 5½ (O), 3(P) 8 (O), 5½ (P) 9½ (O), 2 (P) 5 (O, P) 7 (O, P)

5½ (O), 8 (P) 3 (O, P) 8(O), 5½ (P) 2 (O, P) 9½ (O), 5 (P) 7 (O, P)

Legenda Tabelle 1 e 2: H = Hartel (citato in Porter 1951) L = Ludwich (citato in Fränkel 1955) IC = Internal Clause boundary (Higbie 1990) IS = Internal Sentence boundary (Higbie 1990) O = O’Neill (1942) P = Porter (1951) W = West (1982) 2 = dopo il I piede 3 = tritemimera 5 = pentemimera 5½ = κατὰ τρίτον τροχαῖον 7 = eftemimera 8 = dieresi bucolica 9½ = dopo il quinto trocheo N.B.: Internal significa interno di verso.

82 | Chiara Zanchi Tabella 2: Luoghi delle pause di senso in ordine di frequenza (adattata da Kahane 1994)

↑È ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ ÈÈ È

Frequenza

Iliade e Odissea

I II III IV V VI

5 (W, H, IS, IC), 8 (L) 8 (W, H, IS, IC), 5 (L) 5½ (tutti) 3 (W, H, L, IS), 2 (IC) 2 (W, H, L, IS), 3 (IC) 7 (tutti)

Kahane mostra in quali sedi dell’esametro è più probabile che ci siano pause ritmiche e pause di senso. Confrontando le due tabelle, si nota che, pur con qualche oscillazione, è molto probabile che nelle sedi 5½ (κατὰ τρίτον τροχαῖον) e 8 (dieresi bucolica) cadano sia una pausa ritmica, sia una pausa di senso. L’incertezza è maggiore per le sedi 3 (tritemimera) e 5 (pentemimera): la prima sarebbe una pausa prevalentemente ritmica, la seconda semantica. Quando le sedi delle pause metriche e quelle delle pause di senso non corrispondono l’aedo va παρὰ προσδοκία ‘contro le aspettative (degli ascoltatori)’.

4.2 Da quante incisioni (e in quanti cola) è diviso l’esametro? Bassett (1919a, 351) scrive che la dottrina antica non individua più di quattro incisioni nell’esametro. Tali incisioni sono la pentemimera (sede 5), la κατὰ τρίτον τροχαῖον (5½), la eftemimera (7), la dieresi bucolica (8) oppure una incisione dopo il quarto trocheo (7½). Dunque, tutte le fonti antiche sono concordi nel citare solo queste incisioni, fatta eccezione per Decimo Magno Ausonio (iv sec.), che cita anche la tritemimera (3). Più recentemente, gli studiosi sono discordi nell’individuare nell’esametro a) tre (figura 2,⁶ cfr. p.e. Fränkel 1955, 111, Barnes 1986, Rossi 1965), b) una (figura 3, cfr. p.e. Kirk 1966, 1985), oppure c) due cesure obbligatorie (figura 4, cfr. p.e. Fränkel 1926, Kahane 1994, Martinelli 2001). Tali cesure cadrebbero in posizioni variabili nelle zone A, B, e C dell’esametro, così come mostrato dalle figure 2, 3 e 4.

Figura 2: La struttura dell’esametro diviso da 3 incisioni in 4 cola

6 Alla numerazione di O’Neill (1942), ho aggiunto le lettere con pedice numerico di Fränkel (1955).

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a. Ci sarebbero incisioni obbligatorie sia nella zona A, sia B, sia C. I sostenitori di questa teoria non sono concordi riguardo alle sedi delle incisioni.⁷ Inoltre, le incisioni possono essere portate avanti di una o due posizioni rispetto alle posizioni normali per ragioni stilistiche: – regola della parola pesante → vi sono parole dotate di un peso morico (ritmico) o semantico tali da spostare l’incisione in avanti (Fränkel 1955); – teoria del colon breve → i cola brevi, ovvero dotati di scarso peso morico, sono di norma pesanti da altri punti di vista, p.e. quello semantico o espressivo (Rossi 1965).

Figura 3: La struttura dell’esametro diviso in 3 cola da una incisione principale (B) più una secondaria (C)

b. Un’incisione primaria nella zona B dividerebbe il verso in due cola, seguita da un’eventuale incisione secondaria nella zona C.

Figura 4: La struttura dell’esametro diviso in 3/4 cola da due incisioni più un’opzionale terza incisione

c. Kahane (1994, 31) considera la struttura ritmica dell’esametro omerico come un sistema di aspettative. Tale sistema, da un lato, prevede uno schema astratto generale, dall’altro permette che tale schema sia applicato in modo flessibile, interagendo con il senso. Per Kahane, il verso potrebbe avere un’incisione centrale forte nella zona B, un’incisione nella zona C più debole, e una della zona A ancora più debole. Kahane individua per le posizioni delle incisioni delle categorie di fre-

7 Porter (1951), Barnes (1986), e Rossi (1965) non accettano un’incisione in A1 e in A2.

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quenza, prive però della rigidità degli schemi colometrici convenzionali: incisione più che casuale (5, 5½, 7, 8, 2, 3 e forse 9½); incisione casuale (1, 1½, 10 e poi 3½, 4, 6, 9); incisione con probabilità molto bassa (7½, 11).

4.3 Come vengono individuate le cesure? Dalla tendenza a evitare confini di parola nelle sedi 3½, 4 (I legge di Meyer) e 7½ (Ponte di Hermann) Fränkel (1955) ricava la tendenza, speculare, a cercarla nelle sedi vicine (Martinelli 2001, 121). Tuttavia, sembrerebbe che la legge di Meyer riguardi strettamente solo l’esametro callimacheo e non quello omerico. Di questo era consapevole il primo Fränkel (1926), il quale sosteneva che l’esametro omerico contenesse solo due cesure ben codificate (zone B e C). La terza, quella della zona A, che è anche la zona di applicazione della legge di Meyer, era invece più incerta: (4)

βῆ δ᾿ ἐπαπειλήσας | ῾Ελένῳ ἥρωϊ ἄνακτι ‘E mosse minaccioso contro Eleno, l’eroe sire.’ (Il.13.582)

In (4) il composto ἐπαπειλήσας occupa le posizioni 1½–5 nell’esametro e impedisce la presenza di una cesura nella zona A. La prima cesura del verso è la pentemimera (zona B). La fissazione delle cesure era un processo in divenire nell’esametro omerico, in cui avremmo solo una prefigurazione della regolamentazione metrica callimachea. Successivamente, Fränkel (1955) aggiunge una cesura fissa nella zona A in virtù di postulati riguardanti il sistema esametrico: organicità, simmetria e completezza (Fränkel 1955). Se l’esametro contiene una cesura codificata a destra (zona C) di quella centrale (zona B), deve contenerne una anche a sinistra (zona A). Le teorie sulla posizione delle incisioni, dunque, si basano principalmente sulla posizione dei confini di parola.⁸ Come è possibile individuare i confini di parola – p.e. quelli tra preverbo e verbo – usando le incisioni, se le posizioni delle incisioni sono individuate usando i confini di parola? E inoltre, quale concetto di parola utilizzavano coloro che si sono occupati di esametro omerico?

5 Il concetto di parola e gli appositivi Il concetto di parola è complesso da definire da un punto di vista linguistico: sono state date molte definizioni di parola, i.e. grafica (a), fonologica (b), lessicale (c), grammaticale (d), e non tutte queste definizioni convergono su elementi linguistici dello stesso 8 Questo non è vero per Porter (1951). Egli infatti non ritiene che un’incisione debba necessariamente collocarsi a fine di parola, ma per esempio possa occorrere anche tra tema nominale e desinenza casuale. Queste conclusioni sono conseguenti al singolare concetto di parola utilizzato da Porter (cfr. par. 4.1).

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tipo.⁹ La parola può essere definita anche dal punto di vista metrico. Maas (1962[1923], 84 sgg., traduzione mia) propone una definizione metrica della parola in greco antico: «una parola non è ogni parte di frase che secondo il nostro sistema di notazione del greco è scritta separatamente, ma l’intero gruppo formato da una parte importante di frase (i.e. nome, verbo, ecc.) insieme ai suoi prepositivi (i.e. articoli, preposizioni, congiunzioni monosillabiche, pronomi, ecc.) e pospositivi (p.e. enclitici monosillabici, congiunzioni, etc.), che si associano a questa [parte di frase]». La definizione metrica di parola produce unità linguistiche simili a quelle prodotte dalla sua definizione fonologica.

5.1 Il trattamento degli appositivi Gli appositivi sono unità linguistiche che, pur essendo dotate di accento grafico, non possono collocarsi liberamente all’interno della frase, ma devono appoggiarsi foneticamente alla parola che le segue (prepositivi) o le precede (pospositivi). Queste restrizioni di collocamento accomunano gli appositivi ai clitici (pro– ed enclitici), che tuttavia a differenza degli appositivi non sono dotati di accento grafico. All’interno della categoria degli appositivi, Dover (1960, 12 sgg.) include prepositivi, pospositivi, proclitici ed enclitici.¹⁰ I clitici e gli appositivi sono una categoria problematica per la definizione di parola: non sono parole dal punto di vista fonologico, ma lo sono per la loro distribuzione e per il fatto che alcuni, come i clitici pronominali, possono essere flessi (Luraghi 2014b). O’Neill (1942) usa una definizione morfologica di parola e, di conseguenza, considera gli appositivi parole indipendenti, visto che possono essere flessi. Porter (1951) usa una definizione semantica di parola, che avvicina la parola al morfema. Porter suppone, infatti, che un’incisione possa separare le desinenze casuali dalle radici a cui tali desinenze si legano. Il senso di una radice, infatti, è indipendente dalle desinenze casuali che la seguono, e viceversa. Fränkel (1955) distingue parole foneticamente indipendenti e clitici (i.e. appositivi); ritiene, tuttavia, che i clitici possano essere trattati metricamente sia come parole indipendenti che come parole dipendenti per motivi stilistici. Anche Devine – Stephens (1978) ritengono che il comportamento dei clitici possa essere ambivalente per motivi di fonostile (cfr. Mojena 1992).

5.2 I preverbi (multipli) In greco le PL possono portare un accento grafico oppure no (cfr. ἀμφί ‘da entrambe le parti’, ἀνά ‘su verso’, ἀντί ‘di fronte’, ἀπό ‘via da’, διά ‘per’, ἐνί ‘in’, ἐπί ‘su’, κατά

9 Per un’introduzione al problema rimando a Dixon – Aikhenvald (2002). 10 Rimando a Dover (1960) per un elenco esaustivo degli appositivi in greco.

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‘giù verso’, μετά ‘tra’, παρά ‘accanto’, περί ‘intorno’, πρό ‘davanti’, πρός/ποτί ‘verso’, σύν ‘con’, ὑπέρ ‘sopra’, ὑπό ‘sotto’ vs. ἐκ ‘fuori da’, ἐν¹¹ ‘in’, εἰς/ἐς ‘verso’). Comunque fossero scritte, ci sono prove che le PL avessero un comportamento simile a quello dei clitici: la vocale finale delle preposizioni bisillabiche è spesso apocopata e assimilata alla consonante della parola che segue (cfr. Il.18.278 ἀμ΄ πύργος ‘sulla cima delle torri’); tale elisione non causa ritrazione dell’accento (Goldstein 2015, 50). In greco omerico, tuttavia, non sempre le PL sono clitici, ma parole fonologicamente indipendenti: possono funzionare anche da avverbi, e come tali, collocarsi liberamente all’interno dell’enunciato (Chantraine 1953, 82). In alcune lingue indoeuropee antiche – ittita, vedico, greco omerico, latino arcaico, antico irlandese arcaico – le PL possono funzionare come avverbi, preverbi, o adposizioni. Per questo loro comportamento, si iniziò a supporre che preverbi e adposizioni avessero origine da avverbi che precisavano il valore di un caso o il significato di un verbo (cfr. p.e. Kuryłowicz 1964, 170 sgg., Watkins 1964, Cuzzolin et al. 2006). Nel greco omerico non sono del tutto sviluppate né la configurazione preverbale né quella adposizionale, che diventano obbligatorie nel greco postomerico (Hewson – Bubenik 2006, 54–80). Le PL possono occorrere a inizio di frase (5), prima (6) e dopo (cfr. [7] con pospositivo) un verbo, prima (8) e dopo (9) un sintagma nominale: (5)

τόφρα δ᾿ ἐπὶ Τρώων στίχες ἤλυθον ἀσπιστάων ‘E intanto le schiere dei Teucri armati di scudo venivano avanti.’ (Il.4.221)

(6)

οὐδέ τί μιν χρεὼ νηῶν ὠκυπόρων ἐπιβαινέμεν ‘E non c’era bisogno che salisse su navi veloci.’ (Od.4.707–8)

(7)

ὦρτο δ᾿ ἐπὶ λιγὺς οὖρος ἀήμεναι ‘Un vento sonoro si alzò a soffiare.’ (Od.3.176)

(8)

ὣς εἰπὼν ἐπὶ νηὸς ἔβη ‘Disse così e salì sulla nave.’ (Od.15.547)

(9)

Ζεφύροιο ἐχεύατο πόντον ἔπι φρὶξ ‘L’onda di Zefiro è versata sul mare.’ (Il.7.63)

Dato che nel greco omerico le PL possono occorrere dopo un sintagma nominale (9), ci si potrebbe chiedere se ἐπι– in (6) governi il caso genitivo del sintagma nominale νηῶν ὠκυπόρων, funzionando morfologicamente da preverbo e sintatticamente da adposizione. Tuttavia, le adposizioni posposte a un sintagma nominale complesso di solito occorrono dopo la prima parola di tale sintagma nominale (Irigoin 1954). Inoltre la PL ἐπί, oltre che con genitivo, può occorrere anche in altre posizioni (8) e in unione con accusativo (p.e. ἐπὶ νῆας in Il.7.381) e dativo (p.e. ἐπὶ ῥηγμῖνι θαλάσσης in Od.9.547). In aggiunta, non è obbligatoria nel contesto di (6): in Od.2.416 e 15.284, per esempio, il

11 La particella ἐν è una variante, più frequente, di ἐνί.

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genitivo νηὸς esprime la direzione in dipendenza del verbo semplice βαίνω.¹² È quindi probabile che ἐπί in (6) non governi il genitivo, ma modifichi il verbo βαίνω oppure il sintagma nominale νηῶν ὠκυπόρων, specificando la relazione spaziale già espressa dal verbo e dal sintagma nominale. Sia la funzione preposizionale e posposizionale sia quella preverbale sono usate nel greco omerico, ma successivamente solo quella preposizionale e preverbale si grammaticalizzarono, probabilmente in virtù della loro maggiore frequenza (p.e. Hewson – Bubenik 2006, Luraghi 2010). Neppure la configurazione preposizionale è completamente sviluppata in Omero. Infatti, il sintagma preposizionale può essere interrotto da pospositivi o parole lessicali. Inoltre, molte preposizioni possono reggere più di un caso (Cuzzolin et al. 2006); spesso il significato della preposizione con ciascun caso è collegato al valore concreto che quel caso aveva in indoeuropeo (Kuryłowicz 1964, 176). Infine, in Omero, i casi spesso preservano il loro uso concreto (Chantraine 1953, 38–81), specialmente se il predicato a cui si legano richiede un argomento che si esprime mediante un certo caso. Tuttavia, talvolta la presenza di una preposizione è obbligatoria: in sua assenza, un sintagma o una frase cambiano di significato. In (10), per esempio, il dativo πρώτοισι, da caso avverbiale, senza la preposizione μετὰ ‘con’ diventerebbe il secondo argomento del verbo μάχομαι (inf.prs.m/p), che assumerebbe il significato di ‘combattere contro [+ a dat.]’ (Luraghi 2014 , 34): (10) ἐπεὶ θοὸς ἔσκε μετὰ πρώτοισι μάχεσθαι ‘Poiché sempre era pronto a lottare tra i primi.’ (Il.5.536) In quest’ottica, ciò che tradizionalmente si chiama tmesi, ovvero quel fenomeno per cui un preverbo può occorrere separato dal verbo che modifica (Watkins 1964), sarebbe solo l’espressione di una fase del processo di grammaticalizzazione delle PL avverbiali in preverbi. In questa fase, la PL ha iniziato a gravitare semanticamente attorno a un verbo, pur non essendosi ancora univerbata con questo (Romagno 2004, De Angelis – Gasbarra 2010). Dover (1960, 14) rimarca che il normale trattamento delle preposizioni come appositivi può subire variazioni per motivazioni diacroniche o stilistiche. In effetti, il loro comportamento, vario dal punto di vista metrico, potrebbe riflettere il loro incerto statuto sintattico e morfologico. I composti con più di un preverbo possono occorrere in corrispondenza di una cesura (11): (11)

ἀλλ᾿ οὔ οἱ χάρις ἀμφι– | –περιστέφεται ἐπέεσσιν ‘Ma la grazia non è posta attorno a lui a corona delle (sue) parole.’ (Od.8.175)

12 Il genitivo di direzione, scrive Chantraine (1953, 53), non si trova solo in dipendenza di composti con ἐπί.

88 | Chiara Zanchi

In (11) ho supposto una cesura κατὰ τρίτον τροχαῖον (5½) tra ἀμφι– e –περιστέφεται.¹³ La separazione è confermata da prove di tipo linguistico: il significato del presunto composto ἀμφιπεριστέφεται, ἅπαξ omerico, è composizionale. Il composto περιστέφω (att.) è attestato altrove (Od.5.303), e l’uso avverbiale e in tmesi di ἀμφί ὲ ricordato anche da Chantraine (1953, 86 sgg.). La posizione di ἀμφί, περί e στέφω sembra essere libera (12) e la loro presenza non obbligatoria ([12] e [13]). In (12) la particella ἀμφὶ è in posizione iniziale, separata per mezzo di un pospositivo dal sintagma nominale a cui probabilmente è legata, mentre la particella περί non occorre:¹⁴ (12) ἀμφὶ δέ οἱ κεφαλῇ νέφος ἔστεφε δῖα θεάων χρύσεον, . . . ‘E attorno a lui a mo’ di corona sulla (sua) testa la dea gloriosa pose una nube dorata.’ (Il.18.205–206) (13) ἀλλὰ θεὸς μορφὴν ἔπεσι στέφει, . . . ‘Ma un dio pone una corona di bellezza sulle (sue) parole.’ (Od. 8.170) I composti possono occorrere anche in corrispondenza di un ponte (14): (14)

. . . οὐδ᾿ ᾿Αγαμέμνων λῆγ᾿ ἔριδος τὴν πρῶτον | ἐπηπείλης᾿ ᾿Αχιλῆϊ, ‘E Agamennone non lasciò perdere il conflitto che prima aveva minacciato ad Achille.’ (Il.1.318–319)

In (14) una κατὰ τρίτον τροχαῖον interrompe l’esametro prima del composto ἐπαπειλέω ‘minacciare’, che invece si trova in corrispondenza del ponte di Hermann. Il significato di ἐπαπειλέω è idiomatico e il composto è attestato nel greco postomerico (Erodoto 6.32, 1.189, ecc.). Inoltre, ἐπαπειλέω non è separabile negli altri passi omerici in cui occorre (Il.13.582, 14.45, Od.13.125–127).¹⁵ Si comporta come ἐπαπειλέω anche il composto ἀπαναίνομαι ‘rifiutare’ (Il.7.185, Od.10.297), che occorre sempre in corrispondenza del ponte di Hermann.¹⁶

13 Si potrebbe ricostruire anche una eftemimera tra –περί– e –στέφεται. In questo modo però, – περί– formerebbe un colon a sé, dato che la κατὰ τρίτον è obbligatoria. La cesura centrale, infatti, è obbligatoria, e in questo verso può occorrere solo nella sede 5½: una pentemimera non è ipotizzabile, e più indietro si sconfinerebbe nella zona A. 14 La particella si lega al sintagma nominale e non al predicato perché il composto *ἀμφιστέφω non è attestato in greco. 15 Per Il.1.319, 14.45 i manoscritti Genavensis 44 e Mediolan. Ambros. p. sup. J 4 tramandano una variante in cui ἐπ΄ sarebbe separato. Tale variante non è accolta dagli editori, e comunque poco probabile dal punto di vista metrico e linguistico. 16 I composti ἐπαπειλέω e ἀπαναίνομαι, che occorrono in corrispondenza di un ponte, non presentano sicura suddivisione morfologica o sicura etimologia (ἐπ–απ–ειλέω con due preverbi, oppure ἐπ–α– πειλέω con α- copulativo e un verbo denominativo da ἀπειλή ‘[pl.] minacce’, cfr. LIV2: 576, nota 2; ἀπ–αν–αίνομαι, secondo Dunkel 1981, conterrebbe l’iterazione del preverbo ανα–).

Metro e confini di parola: il caso dei preverbi multipli in Omero | 89

6 I preverbi multipli: analisi metrica, filologica e linguistica Come mostra la tabella 3, ho analizzato le occorrenze di preverbazione multipla dal punto di vista metrico: per circa il 50% delle occorrenze è possibile ricostruire una incisione. Nella maggior parte dei casi, le sequenze PL–PL–V occorrono nella zona A, violando una tritemimera, oppure nella zona C, violando una eftemimera. Occorrono solo raramente in corrispondenza di una pentemimera o di una κατὰ τρίτον e mai di una dieresi bucolica. Come già osservato (cfr. par. 3.2 e 3.3), individuare i confini di parola sfruttando le incisioni è un metodo che pecca di circolarità; inoltre, l’incisione più frequente è anche quella di più incerta ricostruzione per l’esametro, i.e. la tritemimera. Nella zona A, infatti, la pausa metrica e semantica cade frequentemente anche nella sede 2, e meno frequentemente, anche nella sede 3 (cfr. tabelle 1 e 2). Perciò, ho aggiunto all’analisi metrica, parametri di tipo filologico e linguistico (cfr. tabella 4 in Appendice): a. b. c. d. e. d. e. f.

la sequenza PL2 –PL1 –V viola una incisione?¹⁷ la tradizione manoscritta tramanda varianti filologiche?¹⁸ il composto PL2 –PL1 –V occorre solo in Omero?¹⁹ il composto PL1 –V è attestato in Omero? il significato di PL2 –PL1 –V è idiomatico? gli elementi di PL2 –PL1 –V hanno subito erosione fonetica? sono attestate in Omero costruzioni alternative a PL2 –PL1 –V? PL2 è mobile? PL2 è obbligatoria? Può essere omessa senza alterazioni di significato?

Tutti questi parametri, presi singolarmente, non sono sufficienti per decidere riguardo all’univerbazione di PL2 ; tuttavia, la loro somma può fornire indizi sul comportamento sintattico della particelle preverbali e sulla ricostruzione della tmesi II di Watkins (1964).

17 Se le colonne SI/NO portano entrambe una x, significa che il composto talvolta occorre in corrispondenza di una cesura, talvolta in corrispondenza di un ponte. #

18 Nella colonna (b), x significa che le varianti filologiche attestate non riguardano le particelle preverbali. *

19 Nella colonna (c), x significa che il verbo è attestato anche in prosa.

90 | Chiara Zanchi Tabella 3: Luoghi delle pause di senso in ordine di frequenza (adattata da Kahane 1994). Frequenza (comprensiva di formule)

Percentuale

TOT violazioni

55

50,4%

Tritemimera

37 (Il. 4.508, 6.60, 6.74, 7.21, 7.423, 9.506, 9.565, 9.664, 10.198, 13.352, 14.230, 16.232, 17.320, 17.337, 18.58, 18.68, 18.290, 18.439, 19.351, 21.44, 21.604, 24.97, 24.307, 24.700, Od. 5.372, 5.438, 8.87, 8.125, 8.475, 8. 529, 11.98, 16.449, 19.387, 20.43, 20.357, 22.82, 22.444)

33,9%

Pentemimera

2 (Il.8.348, 20.147)

1,8%

Kατὰ τρίτον τροχαῖον

1 (Od.8.175)

0.9%

Eftemimera

15 (Il. 4.94, 9.520, 10.344, 10.432, 11.628, 13.50, 13.87, 14.316, 15.299, 17.708, 23.314, Od. 12.113, 12.306, 14.26, 22.327)

13,8%

Dieresi bucolica

0

0%

NESSUNA violazione

54 (Il. 1.319, 2.85, 2.267, 2.514, 5.763, 7.21, 7.185, 8.291, 9.582, 13.582, 14.45, 14.219, 14.223, 16.252, 16.442, 18.470, 20.191, 20.212, 20.336, 21.412, 21.535, 22.17, 22.180, 22.221, 23.127, 23.683, Od. 2.172, 2.400, 4.405, 6.88, 8.515, 10.297, 11.614, 12.40, 12.84, 13.127, 13.404, 15.38, 16.228, 17.101, 17.457, 17.525, 18.252, 19.125, 19.594, 20.188, 22.99, 22.112, 22.415, 22.467, 23.66, 23.223, 24.222, 24.394)

49,6%

TOT

109

100%

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6.1 Occorrenze in cui è ricostruita una violazione L’incisione più frequentemente ricostruita è la tritemimera, come in (15): (15) ἡ μὲν ἄρ᾿ εἰσ– | –αναβᾶς᾿ ὑπερώϊα σιγαλόεντα κλαῖεν . . . ᾿Οδυσῆα, ‘Lei dunque salita alle splendide stanze di sopra piangeva Odisseo.’ (Od.16.449–450) In (15) la tritemimera separa εἰσ– dal resto del composto. Eἰσαναβαίνω può occorrere anche in sedi metriche che non implicano la violazione di una cesura (cfr. Od. 19.594– 595, dopo la dieresi bucolica). Dopo Omero, il verbo è attestato solo in Esiodo, ha significato composizionale, non presenta erosione fonetica. Inoltre, sono attestate costruzioni alternative a (15), le quali mostrano che la PL2 εἰς è mobile (16) e non obbligatoria (17): (16)

γρηῢς δ᾿ εἰς ὑπερῷ᾿ ἀνεβήσετο καγχαλόωσα ‘Ma la vecchia salì alle stanze di sopra esultando.’ (Od.23.1)

(17) ἡ μὲν ἔπειτ᾿ ἀνέβαιν᾿ ὑπερώϊα δῖα γυναικῶν ‘Poi lei, gloriosa tra le donne, salì al piano di sopra.’ (Od.18.302) La situazione è simile anche per l’esempio (18) con il verbo ἐξαναδύομαι ‘emergere da’: (18)

κύματος ἐξ– | –αναδύς, τά τ᾿ ἐρεύγεται ἤπειρόνδε, ‘Emerso dall’onda, e le altre ruggivano contro la riva.’ (Od.5.438)

Nell’altra occorrenza in cui è attestato (Od. 4.405), ἐξαναδύομαι non occorre in corrispondenza di una incisione. Il verbo è attestato dopo Omero, anche in prosa (cfr. Pl.R.525b, Plu.Sert.12, Paus.4.12.4), ha significato composizionale, e i suoi elementi sono distinguibili.²⁰ La presenza della PL2 ἐξ non è necessaria: (19)

καρπαλίμως δ᾿ ἀνέδυ πολιῆς ἁλὸς ‘Veloce emerse dal bianco mare.’ (Il.1.359)

Inoltre, il composto ἀναδύομαι ‘emergere’, con lo stesso significato, può reggere anche l’accusativo: (20)

ἀλλ᾿ ἥ γ᾿ ἀνεδύσετο κῦμα θαλάσσης. ‘Ma lei emerse dall’onda del mare.’ (Il.1.496)

Anche ἐγκαταπήγνυμι ‘conficcare fermamente in’ occorre in corrispondenza di una tritemimera:

20 Le abbreviazioni di autori e opere seguono il Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (http://stephanus.tlg.uci. edu/lsj/01-authors_and_works.html).

92 | Chiara Zanchi

(21)

. . . ἐγὼ δ᾿ ἀναχασσάμενος ξίφος ἀργυρόηλον κουλεῷ ἐγ– | –κατέπηξ᾿ [ὁ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ πίεν αἷμα κελαινόν] ‘E io ritirandomi misi nel fodero la spada borchie d’argento.’ (Od.11.97–98)

Il verbo è attestato dopo Omero anche in prosa (cfr. Plu.2.313e). Gli elementi del composto sono distinguibili, e la PL2 ha un significato riconoscibile (‘in’) ed è mobile. In (22) occorre in posizione iniziale, in (23) funziona come preposizione: (22)

καὶ ἤλασε τάφρον ἐπ᾿ αὐτῷ εὐρεῖαν μεγάλην, ἐν δὲ σκόλοπας κατέπηξεν ‘E lungo quel [muro] condusse un grande e largo fossato, e dentro (vi) piantò dei pali.’ (Il.9.349–350)

(23)

ἰὸς ἐν γαίῃ κατέπηκτο ‘La freccia si piantò fermamente a terra.’ (Il.11.377–378)

In (22) la PL ἐν in posizione iniziale ha valore anaforico: richiama una regione di spazio specificata dal sostantivo τάφρον ‘fossato’, contenuto nella frase precedente. Il composto ἐκδιαβαίνω ‘attraversare’ occorre in corrispondenza di una tritemimera e regge l’accusativo in Omero: (24)

τάφρον δ᾿ ἐκ– | –διαβάντες ὀρυκτὴν ἑδριόωντο ἐν καθαρῷ, ‘Avendo oltrepassato il fossato profondo, si sedettero in uno (spazio) aperto.’ (Il.10.198)

Confrontando (24) e (25), si capisce che ἐκ non è sintatticamente obbligatoria, visto che anche il composto διαβαίνω ‘oltrepassare’ regge l’accusativo. A livello semantico, tuttavia, la PL accentua la sfumatura telica di διαβαίνω. Infatti, in (24) il verbo con ἐκ è all’aoristo, mentre in (25), senza ἐκ, al presente: (25)

ὣς ῞Εκτωρ ἀν᾿ ὅμιλον ἰὼν ἐλλίσσεθ᾿ ἑταίρους τάφρον ἐποτρύνων διαβαινέμεν ‘Così, andando tra la folla, Ettore esortava i compagni spingendoli ad attraversare il fossato.’ (Il.12.50)

In (26) il verbo ἀμφιπεριστρωφάω ‘continuare a girare avanti e indietro’ occorre in corrispondenza di una pentemimera (sede 5, zona B). Nel verso in (26) la pentemimera è l’unica cesura mediana ricostruibile, perché una κατὰ τρίτον (5½) dividerebbe il verbo στρωφάω: (26)

῞Εκτωρ δ᾿ ἀμφιπερι– | –στρώφα καλλίτριχας ἵππους ‘Ed Ettore continuava a girare avanti e indietro i cavalli belle criniere.’ (Il.8.348)

Questo è l’unico caso in cui una cesura separa entrambe le particelle locative dal tema verbale: l’analisi metrica trova conferma nel fatto che il verbo *περιστρωφάω non esiste, mentre il verbo στρωφάω ‘girare continuamente’, frequentativo di στρέφω, ὲ attestato in Omero. Inoltre, nel greco postomerico, solo Quinto (Posthomerica 13.11) usa

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il composto ἀμφιπεριστρωφάω. Le PL ἀμφί ‘da entrambe le parti’ e περί ‘attorno’ sono una coppia quasi sinonimica, visto che spesso ἀμφί assume il significato di περί. Le due PL sono frequentemente scambiate per motivi metrici e frequentemente occorrono assieme sia in posizione preposizionale (27) sia avverbiale (28), dato che il significato di περί specifica quello di ἀμφί (Chantraine 1953, 129 sgg.): (27)

ἡμεῖς δ᾿ ἀμφὶ περὶ κρήνην ἱεροὺς κατὰ βωμοὺς ἕρδομεν ἀθανάτοισι τεληέσσας ἑκατόμβας ‘Noi intorno a una fonte, vicino ai sacri altari offrivamo agli immortali ecatombi perfette.’ (Il.2.305–306)

(28)

ὄχθαι δ᾿ ἀμφὶ περὶ μεγάλ᾿ ἴαχον ‘Le sponde rumoreggiavano forte avanti e indietro.’ (Il.21.10)

Supporre un’incisione nella zona C dell’esametro è problematico perché, come già ricordato (cfr. tabelle 1 e 2), pause metriche possono occorrere sia nella sede 7 sia nella sede 9½. Quest’ultima sede, tuttavia, non ospita altrettanto frequentemente anche pause di natura semantica. In tutto i composti con due preverbi violano la eftemimera in 15 occorrenze (cfr. tabella 3): in 13/15 casi c’è un confine di parola in sede 9½, solo in 2/15 casi non c’è (Il.4.94, 14.316). In queste due ultime occorrenze è molto probabile che il confine di parola cadesse in sede 7. Per le altre la situazione è maggiormente complessa. A volte la presenza di una eftemimera è confermata da motivazioni linguistiche (29): (29)

στήσαμεν ἐν λιμένι γλαφυρῷ ἐυεργέα νῆα ἄγχ᾿ ὕδατος γλυκεροῖο, καὶ ἐξ– | –απέβησαν ἑταῖροι νηός, ‘Fermammo la nave ben costruita nel porto profondo vicino a un’acqua dolce, e i compagni scesero dalla nave.’ (Od.12.305–307)

Il verbo ἐξαποβαίνω, nel greco postomerico, è attestato solo in Apollonio Rodio (3.199), e mantiene un significato trasparente. La PL2 ἐξ è mobile (30), e in alcuni casi non obbligatoria (31): (30) ἐξ ἵππων ἀποβάντες ἐπὶ χθόνα πουλυβότειραν ‘Scesi dal carro sulla terra che nutre molti. . . ‘ (Il.3.265) (31)

σπουδῇ δ᾿ ἐς λιμένα προερέσσαμεν, οὐδέ τις ἡμῖν δόρπου μνῆστις ἔην, μάλα περ χατέουσιν ἑλέσθαι, ἀλλ᾿ αὔτως ἀποβάντες ἐκείμεθα νηὸς ἅπαντες. ‘A stento remammo verso il porto, e non ci ricordammo neppure del cibo, sebbene avessimo molto bisogno di prenderne, ma scesi dalla nave, tutti così ci mettemmo a giacere.’ (Od.13.279–281)

94 | Chiara Zanchi

Di solito ἐξ aggiunge valore elativo a una relazione spaziale di allontanamento; tuttavia, esempi come (31) mostrano che il significato elativo può anche essere affidato al solo contesto. In altre occorrenze (32), invece, supporre una eftemimera è più complicato: (32)

. . . οἱ δὲ δὴ ἄλλοι ᾤχοντ᾿ ἄλλυδις ἄλλος ἅμ᾿ ἀγρομένοισι σύεσσιν, οἱ τρεῖς: τὸν δὲ τέταρτον ἀπο– | –προέηκε πόλινδε ‘Per quanto riguarda gli altri, tre erano andati da una parte all’altra con i porci selvaggi: quanto al quarto, via, verso la città l’aveva mandato.’ (Od.14.24–26)

Nella porzione C dell’esametro solo una eftemimera (o una pausa in 9½) è possibile: la dieresi bucolica spezzerebbe προέ|ηκε all’altezza dell’aumento. Le altre pause di Od.14.26 occorrono in sede 2 e 7½ (κατὰ τρίτον): la sola PL ἀπο–, quindi, formerebbe un colon tra la κατὰ τρίτον e l’eftemimera. Secondo la teoria del colon breve di Rossi, possono restare isolate parole con rilevanza semantica particolare. In quest’ottica, ἀπο– accentuerebbe la differenza di trattamento del quarto (pastore): mentre tre sono rimasti nei pressi del palazzo di Odisseo, il quarto fu costretto ad andare via, verso la città. La direzione del movimento del quarto pastore è specificata da πόλινδε, ma anticipata dall’avverbio ἀπο–. Tuttavia, oltre che per le dimensioni del colon, la supposizione di una eftemimera è difficile anche per quanto sostenuto da Chantraine (1953, 92), il quale non ritiene che ἀπό possa funzionare come avverbio, ma solo come preverbo in tmesi.²¹ Argomenti a favore dell’incisione sono invece il fatto che per Od.22.82 e 327, gli altri passi in cui occorre ἀποπροΐημι, sono ipotizzabili rispettivamente una tritemimera e una eftemimera. Inoltre, il verbo ἀποπροΐημι è attestato solo una volta dopo Omero (Argonautiche Orfiche, v sec. d.C.), mentre il verbo προΐημι è frequente in Omero con i significati di ‘mandare avanti, lasciar andare’.

6.2 Occorrenze in cui non è ricostruita una violazione Nelle occorrenze in cui non è ricostruita una violazione, il composto verbale di solito occorre in fine assoluta di verso dopo le pause della zona C (e.g. Od.8.515), oppure a inizio assoluto di verso (e.g. Il.22.221, Od.2.400). In quest’ultimo caso, siamo in presenza di strutture metriche particolari, ovvero versi costituiti da sole 4 parole, in cui la parola pesante iniziale sposta la prima pausa del verso molto avanti, fino alla zona B (i versi tetracoli sono 431 in tutto il corpus omerico, cfr. Basset 1919b). Quando una cesura non è ipotizzabile, non è comunque detto che i composti siano univerbati, salvo in alcuni contesti (De Angelis 2004): a) quando il significato del composto è idiomatico; b) quando il composto senza PL2 oppure il verbo semplice non

21 Sul significato linguistico della tmesi cfr. par. 5.2.

Metro e confini di parola: il caso dei preverbi multipli in Omero | 95

sono attestati in Omero; c) quando gli elementi del composto hanno subito erosione fonetica. Come già osservato in (1), per esempio, la tradizione manoscritta tramanda anche varianti in cui la PL2 è scritta separata dal resto del composto. Per (33), la mobilità della PL2 παρά (πὰρ in [34]) potrebbe indurci a separarla dal resto del composto: (33)

ζῶμα δέ οἱ πρῶτον παρακάββαλεν, (αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα) ‘Per prima cosa gettò accanto a lui una cintura.’ (Il.23.683)

(34)

πὰρ δὲ Διὸς βωμῷ περικαλλέϊ κάββαλε νεβρόν ‘E scagliò il cerbiatto accanto allo splendido altare di Zeus.’ (Il.8.249)

Il dativo semplice, infatti, in dipendenza da verbi di movimento può esprimere la direzione in Omero (Chantraine 1953, 68). In quest’ottica, παρά specificherebbe in quale regione di spazio finisce il percorso dell’entità in movimento, modificando il dativo di direzione.

7 Conclusioni In questo articolo, attraverso l’analisi delle occorrenze omeriche con preverbi multipli, ho evidenziato che la tradizione testuale di Iliade e Odissea può aver alterato la sostanza linguistica dei testi. Ispirandomi a De Angelis (2004), ho mostrato che la monotonia della struttura colometrica può essere sfruttata per ricostruire i confini di parola. Tuttavia, la regolarizzazione delle pause di senso in pause ritmiche è un processo in divenire nell’esametro omerico. Inoltre, gli studi di colometria si basano sulla probabilità che i confini di parola cadano in determinate sedi: individuare i confini di parola attraverso le incisioni, che a loro volta sono state individuate osservando i confini di parola, risulta, dunque, circolare. Inoltre, gli studiosi di metrica utilizzavano per lo più concetti di parola linguisticamente imprecisi: le maggiori incertezze riguardano proprio il trattamento degli appositivi, che venivano considerati ora parole indipendenti, ora morfemi legati, sulla base di ragioni stilistiche. Come mostrato dalla mia analisi filologica e linguistica, è molto probabile che l’ambivalenza metrica degli appositivi rifletta il loro incerto statuto morfologico e sintattico. In molte occorrenze, infatti, le sequenze PL2 –PL1 –V occorrono in corrispondenza di una incisione metrica: in tali casi, la PL2 è spesso attestata anche in posizione adposizionale o avverbiale, e spesso non è obbligatoria per la sintassi dell’enunciato. Anche nelle occorrenze in cui la sequenza PL2 –PL1 –V non occorre in corrispondenza di una incisione, parametri linguistici possono suggerire che lo statuto della PL2 è avverbiale piuttosto che preverbale. In conclusione, né i parametri metrici, né quelli filologici, né quelli linguistici, di per sé, sono sufficienti a far luce sulla natura della PL2 : è la somma di tali parametri che può dirci qualcosa sul comportamento di tali morfemi.

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Bibliografia Barnes, H. R. 1986: The Colometric Structure of the Homeric Hexameter, «Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies», 28, 125–150. Basset, S. E. 1919a: The Theory of Homeric Caesura according to the Ancient Doctrine, «American Journal of Philology», 44, 339–348. Basset, S. E. 1919b: Versus Tetracolos. «Classical Philology», 14, 216–233. Chantraine, P. 1953: Grammaire homérique. Tome 2: Syntaxe, Paris. Conti, L. 2014: Prepositions in Homer, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, eds. G. K. Giannakis et al., 143–144. Leiden – Boston. Cuzzolin, P., I. Putzu & P. Ramat. 2006: The Indo–European Adverb in Diachronic and Typological Perspective, «Indogermanische Forschungen», 111, 1–38. Dale, A. M. 1957: Greek Metric 1936–1957, «Lustrum», 2, 5–51. De Angelis, A. 2004: Forme di “tmesi” nel greco omerico, la legge di Wackernagel, e un caso di rianalisi sintattica, in Dialetti, dialettismi, generi letterari e funzioni sociali. Atti del V Colloquio Internazionale di Linguistica greca, (Milano, 12–13 settembre 2002), ed. G. Rocca, Alessandria, 179–214. De Angelis, A. & Gasbarra, V. 2010: Tra morfologia e sintassi: mic. e–pi–ko–wo/o–pi–ko–wo e le forme omeriche del tipo > eπøhρετμoς, in La morfologia del greco tra tipologia e diacronia, eds. I. Putzu, G. Paulis, G. Nieddu & P. Cuzzolin, Milano, 150–167. Devine, A. M. & Stephens, L. 1978: The Greek Appositives: Towards a Linguistically Adequate Definition of Caesura and Bridge, «Classical Philology», 73, 314–328. Dixon, R. M. W. & Aikhenvald, A. Y. 2002: Word: a typological framework, in Word: A Cross–linguistic Typology, eds. R. M. W. Dixon & A. Y. Aikhenvald, Cambridge, 1–41. Dover, K. J. 1960: Greek Word Order, Cambridge. Dunkel, G. 1979: Preverb repetition, «Münchener Studien zur Sprachwissenschaft», 38, 41–82. ¯ Dunkel, G. 1981: Further traces of preverbal amred . ita in Greek and Latin, «Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung», 95/2, 226–231. Fränkel, H. F. 1926: Der kallimachische und der homerische Hexameter, «Nachrichten von der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Gottingen (NGG)», 197–229. Fränkel, H. F. 1955: Wege und Formen fruhgriechischen Denkens, München, 100–156. Goldstein, D. M. 2010: Wackernagel’s Law in fifth–century Greek. PhD Thesis, University of California at Berkeley. Haug, D. 2014: Tmesis, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, eds. G.K. Giannakis et al., Leiden – Boston, 408–411. Hewson, J. & Bubeník. V. 2006: From Case to Adposition: The development of configurational syntax in Indo–European Languages, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Higbie, C. 1990: Measure and Music: Enjambement and Sentence Structure in the Iliad, Oxford. Imbert, C. 2008: Dynamique des systemes et motivations fonctionnelles dans l’encodage de la trajectoir: Description typologique du grec homérique et du vieil–anglais, Université Lumière Lyon 2. Kahane, A. 1994: The Interpretation of Order: a Study in the Poetics of Homeric Repetition, Oxford. Kirk, G. S. 1966: Studies in Some Technical Aspects of Homeric Style, «Yale Classical Studies», 20, 76–152. Kirk, G. S. 1985: The Structural Elements of Homeric Verse, in The Iliad: a Commentary, ed. G. S. Kirk, Cambridge, 17–37. Kuryłowicz, J. 1964: The Inflectional Categories of Indo–European, Heidelberg. Janse, M. 2003: The Metrical Schemes of the Hexameter, «Mnemosyne», 56/3, 343–348.

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LIV2 = Rix, H. et al. 2001: Lexicon der Indogermanischen Verben. Die Wurzeln und ihre Primärstammbildungen, Wiesbaden. Luraghi, S. 2010: The rise (and possible downfall) of configurationality, in The Continuum Companion to Historical Linguistics, eds. S. Luraghi e V. Bubeník, London – New York, 212–229. Luraghi, S. 2014a: Adpositional phrases, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, eds. G. K. Giannakis et al., Leiden – Boston, 33–40. Luraghi, S. 2014b: Clitics, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, edd. G.K. Giannakis et al., Leiden – Boston, 300–307. Maas, P. 1962: Greek Metre, tradotto da P. H. J. Lloyd–Jones, Oxford. Martinelli, M. C. 2001: Da Fränkel a Kahane. Considerazioni sulla divisione in cola dell’esametro omerico, «Gaia: revue interdisciplinaire sur la Grèce Archaïque», 5, 119–129. McCone, K. 1987: The Early Irish Verb, Maynooth. Meillet, A. 1963: Aperçu d’une histoire de la langue grecque, Paris. Mojena, A. 1992: The Behavior of Prepositives in Theocritus Hexameter, «Glotta», 70/1–2, 55–60. Monro, D. B. & Allen, T. W. 1920: Homeri Opera, Oxford. Nagy, G. 2009: Performance and Text in Ancient Greece, in The Oxford Handbook of Hellenic Studies, eds. G. Boys–Stones, B. Graziosi & P. Vasunia, Oxford, 417–431. O’Neill, E. G. Jr. 1942: The localization of metrical wordtypes in the Greek hexameter, «Yale Classical Studies», 8, 105–178. Papke, J. 2010. Classical Sanskrit preverb ordering: a diachronic study. https://etd.ohiolink.edu/. Porter, H. N. 1951: The Early Greek Hexameter, «Yale Classical Studies», 12, 3–63. Romagno, D. 2004: Ancora su preverbazione e sistemi verbali. Il caso dei preverbi greci, «Archivio Glottologico Italiano», 89/2, 165–180. Rossi, L. E. 1965: Estensione e valore del ‘colon’ nell’esametro omerico, «Studi urbinati», 39, 239– 273. Sommer, F. 1926: Ein eigenartiger Fall von Tmesis bei Homer, in Festschrift für Paul Kretschmer, Wien – Leipzig – New York, 257–261. Watkins, C. 1964: Preliminaries to the reconstruction of Indo–European sentence structure, in Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Linguists, ed. H. G. Lunt, The Hague, 1035–1045. West, M. L. 1982: Greek Metre, Oxford.

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Appendice

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| Parte II: Particles and their functional uses

Rutger J. Allan

The grammaticalization of Greek particles A Functional Discourse Grammar approach Abstract: Particles usually show a wide range of meanings across different contexts, meanings that somehow seem to be connected to one another. This often complex polysemy of particles does not appear out of thin air results from a series of diachronic semantic extensions: a process of grammaticalization in which a particular source meaning developed a number of novel meanings, eventually resulting in a polysemous network or chain of related meanings. The semantic development of particles is not an entirely random process but shows a form of regularity. Following a hypothesis from the theoretical framework of Functional Discourse Grammar, I argue that the semantic development of Greek particles can be analyzed as a process of semantic–functional scope increase; i.e. semantic change proceeds from a lower to a higher semantic– functional layer in the layered organization of grammar. In order to illustrate the process of scope increase, the development of two discourse particles, τοι and νυν, are discussed. The particle τοι evolved successively from a personal pronoun referring to a participant in the state–of–affairs, to a modifier at the layer of the proposition, and to an interpersonal particle operating at the layer of the illocution. Finally, within the particle combination μέντοι, τοι came to mark an adversative relation between discourse acts. The particle νυν originated in a locative adverb modifying the episode, developed into an interpersonal attitudinal particle at the layer of the illocution and into a discourse– structural particle, marking the transition to a new move in the discourse. I further argue that semantic grammaticalization (e.g. semantic bleaching, pragmaticalization, (inter)subjectification, scope increase) and formal grammaticalization (e.g. increased phonological erosion, increased bondedness) may take place independently from one another and advance at different speeds.

1 Introduction: grammaticalization and Functional Discourse Grammar Grammaticalization is «the process whereby lexical items and constructions come in certain linguistic contexts to serve grammatical function, and once grammaticalized, continue to develop new grammatical functions» (Hopper – Traugott 2003, xv). Ancient Greek discourse particles show a number of features which are commonly associated with grammaticalization: (i) from a formal point of view, they show a degree

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-115

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of bondedness: they are clitic¹ in the sense that they are placed before (proclitic, prepositive) or after (enclitic, postpositive) an autonomous word with which they constitute a prosodic unit; (ii) phonologically, they are relatively “light”: they tend to consist of few phonemes and one or two syllables; (ii) particles form a relatively closed set; (iii) from a semantic point of view, particles tend to have a relatively abstract (“bleached”) meaning: they do not refer to entities in the world but tend to express pragmatic, discourse–functional meanings. Well–known examples in Greek of lexical items that have developed into discourse particles are: ἄλλα ‘other things’ (n. pl. of ἄλλος ‘other’) > ἀλλά ‘but’, που ‘somewhere’ (indefinite spatial adverb) > ‘I suppose, perhaps’ (attitudinal discourse particle), and τοι ‘to/for your’ (dative 2nd pers. pronoun) > ‘mind you, note that’ (attitudinal discourse particle). The grammaticalization of discourse markers has attracted a considerable interest over the last two decades.² Important pioneering work in this area has been done by linguists such as Sweetser (1990), Brinton (1996) and Traugott (e.g. Traugott – Dasher 2002, ch. 4). One of the central ideas behind Traugott’s work on grammaticalization is her Invited Inferencing Theory of Semantic Change. In Traugott’s model, semantic change comes about by a process in which inferences evoked by the use of a linguistic item in a particular pragmatic context gradually become generalized and conventionalized as part of the coded meaning of the linguistic item. Tightly connected to the mechanism behind Traugott’s IITSC model is the idea that meanings increasingly become pragmatic, procedural, and based on the speaker’s subjective attitude towards the described situation, a process which Traugott calls subjectification.³ According to Traugott, these diachronic semantic shifts typically involve an increase in semantic scope, from meanings functioning within the proposition, to meanings with scope over the proposition, to meanings with scope over the discourse unit (cf. Traugott – Dasher 2002, 40). According to Traugott, the following, interconnected, paths are typical of semantic change: truth–conditional > non–truth–conditional content > content/procedural > procedural scope within proposition > scope over proposition > scope over discourse nonsubjective > subjective > intersubjective

1 In other words, Greek particles have (partly) moved up the cline of grammaticality as posited by Hopper – Traugott (2003, 7): content item > grammatical word > clitic > inflectional affix. 2 Following Diewald (2011), I consider pragmaticalization (i.e. the emergence of pragmatic, discourse– level meanings, especially in the development of discourse markers and modal particles) as a sub–class of grammaticalization. 3 «Subjectification is the semasiological process whereby SP[eakers]/W[riter]s come over time to develop meanings for L[exeme]s that encode or externalize their perspectives and attitudes as constrained by the communicative world of the speech event, rather than by the so–called ‘real–world’ characteristics of the event or situation referred to» (Traugott – Dasher 2002, 30). In Allan (2013) and Allan (forthc. b), I describe subjectification in the diachronic development of Greek modal and future expressions, respectively.

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Traugott’s observation that semantic change tends to involve an increase in semantic scope has revealed an important form of regularity in the diachronic development of languages. Another theoretical model in which the idea scope increase is seen as a central aspect of grammaticalization is the theory of Functional Discourse Grammar (Hengeveld – Mackenzie 2008, henceforth FGD). As I will argue here, FDG is particularly suitable to serve as a framework for the analysis of the grammaticalization of particles since it provides an elaborate model of the layered structure of grammar, and especially of the component of grammar which pertains to the interaction between speaker and addressee (the ‘Interpersonal Level’). FDG is a typologically–based theory of language that builds on the theory of Functional Grammar (Dik 1997). A central idea in FDG is that linguistic organization shows a hierarchical structure of layers which have scope over one another, comparable to the layers of an onion.⁴ The semantic layers together constitute the Representational Level, which pertains to the descriptions of entities occurring in the non–linguistic, represented world. The pragmatic layers together constitute the Interpersonal Level, which relates to the linguistically coded aspects of speaker–addressee interaction. The Representational Level comprises the following semantic layers. From hierarchically lowest (inner) layer to the (outer) highest, these are: property (the concept expressed by a lexical element); configurational property (the lexical element and its arguments); the state–of–affairs (the real or hypothesized situation, located in place and relative time); episode (the thematically coherent combination of states–of–affairs, characterized by unity or continuity of time, location, participants) and proposition (mental construct entertained about an episode). The Interpersonal Level encompasses the following layers, ordered from lower to higher: the ascriptive and referential subact (evocation of a property or a referent. respectively); communicated content (message transmitted by the utterance, consisting of ascriptive and referential subacts); illocution (specification of the speaker’s intention); discourse act (basic unit of communication) and move (largest autonomous unit of interaction relevant to grammatical analysis, typically corresponding to a turn in conversation).⁵ The hierarchical structure of scope relations is represented graphically in Fig. 1⁶:

4 FDG is not the only grammatical theory which assumes that grammatical categories are organized in layers. A hierarchical layering is also posited by Role and Reference Grammar (Foley – Van Valin 1984), Usage–based Grammar (Bybee 1985) and Generative Grammar (e.g. Cinque – Rizzi 2010). 5 Needless to say, only a highly synoptic overview of the structure of FDG can be provided here. Comprehensive accounts of FDG are Hengeveld – Mackenzie (2008) and Keizer (2015). For a brief introduction, I refer to Hengeveld – Mackenzie (2010). 6 The signs ‘>’ and ‘v’ indicate ‘has scope over’.

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Fig. 1: Scope relations in FDG (cf. Hengeveld, forthc.)

Each of these semantic and pragmatic layers has a basic content that can be further specified by operators (grammatical), modifiers (lexical) and functions (specifying the relation of a layer with another linguistic unit). Table (1) contains an inventory of possible operators, modifiers and functions at every layer: Table 1: Operators, modifiers and functions in FDG (from Hengeveld, forthc.) Interpersonal Level

Discourse act

Operators

illocutionary modification Modifiers style, enumeration Functions motivation, consent, orientation, correction Representational Propositional Level content Operators inference, subjective epistemic modality

Modifiers

Functions

Illocution

Communicated content

Referential subact

Ascriptive subact

basic illocution

reportativity, approximation, mirativity source, attitude informational status

approximation

approximation

source, attitude informational status

source, attitude informational status

State–of– Affairs event quantification, relative tense, event perception, event-oriented modality relative time, location, frequency, reality, casuse, purpose purpose, consequence

Configurational property phasal aspect, (im)perfectivity, participantoriented modality

Property

additional participants, manner, duration

manner, gree

means

—

manner of speech act —

Episode

absolute tense, deduction, objective epistemic modality propositional absolute attitude time

condition, concession reason

cause

directionality, degree

de-

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In FDG, it is assumed that the layered structure is not only relevant to a synchronical but also to a diachronical linguistic analysis. A central claim in FDG regarding grammaticalization is that semantic change will lead to an increase in scope; that is, diachronic semantic developments of grammatical items will travel from lower to higher scope (Hengeveld 1989, Hengeveld 2011, Narrog 2012, 89–103 and Hengeveld, forthc).⁷ Scope increase may occur within the Representational or within the Interpersonal Level from one layer to a hierarchically higher layer, or the scope increase may take place from the Representational Level to the Interpersonal Level (“pragmaticalization”). In the latter case, the grammaticalization process does not have to advance all the way up to the layer of the proposition: the linguistic element may leave the Representational Level at an intermediate layer and cross over to any (i.e. also intermediate) layer within the Interpersonal Level. The possible pathways of semantic change as predicted by FDG are represented in Fig. 2.

Fig. 2: Possible diachronical pathways in FDG

The virtues of the FDG model of grammaticalization is (i) that it predicts in which direction a semantic change will take place, and (ii) that it provides a fine–grained theoretical framework to describe the semantic changes at issue. In the following section (2), I will discuss two examples of grammaticalized discourse particles and I will argue that their semantic development can be described in terms of increase of semantic scope.⁸ The particle τοι will be the topic of section (2.1.); in section (2.2.), the particle νυν will be addressed. In section (2.3.), I will briefly discuss a number of other grammaticalized particles. Section (3) contains my conclusion.

7 The idea that the semantic–functional scope of a linguistic item increases in the process of grammaticalization does not conflict with Lehmann’s parameter that the structural scope of a sign decreases in grammaticalization (Lehmann 2002, 128). Lehmann’s parameter is based on the observation that the structural size of the grammatical construction in which a linguistic sign participates decreases in grammaticalization: for example, a main verb, functioning at the level of the clause, may develop into a morphologically bound aspectual affix which helps to form a verb. 8 Note that Revuelta Puigdollers (2006) presents an analysis of the adverb πάλιν in a theoretical approach that is very similar to mine here (namely Simon Dik’s Functional Grammar, the predecessor of FDG).

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2 Particles: semantic change and scope increase 2.1 The case of τοι A good example of the tendency of scope increase in the process of grammaticalization is provided by the development of the particle τοι. This particle originates in the dative case of the second person pronoun τοι ‘to/for you’. Typical examples are: (1)

a. πῶς γάρ τοι δώσουσι γέρας μεγάθυμοι ᾿Αχαιοί; (Il. 1.123) (‘How will the great–hearted Achaeans give you a prize?’)⁹ b. [. . . ] εἰ δή ποτέ τοι κατὰ πίονα μηρί᾿ ἔκηα, [. . . ] (Il. 1.40) (‘[. . . ] if ever I burnt fat thigh–pieces for you [. . . ].’)

In (1a.), τοι functions as a recipient argument of the three–place verb δίδωμι. In (1b.) τοι is modifier with the function of beneficiary. In both cases, τοι refers to participants in the state–of–affairs. It is usually assumed that an intermediate stage in the development from pronoun towards discourse particle must have been its use as an ethical dative (Denniston 1954, 537). Although this is an attractive idea, it is not so easy to find unambiguous examples of τοι as an ethical dative. A possible example from Homer is: (2)

ἀμφὶ δέ τοι τῇ ἐμῇ κλισίῃ καὶ νηῒ μελαίνῃ ῞Εκτορα καὶ μεμαῶτα μάχης σχήσεσθαι ὀΐω. (Il. 9.654) (‘But at my hut and my black ship I think that Hector will be stopped, however much he lusts for battle’)

As an ethical dative, τοι is used to put the addressee in the position of an experiencer who evaluates (and is supposed to be affected by) the content of the proposition. In other words, τοι functions as a modifier at the layer of the proposition. In Classical Greek, there is no longer any formal ambiguity between the dative pronoun (σοι) and the particle τοι. (3)

a. ᾿Εγώ τοι, μῆτερ, εἰμί, παῖς σέθεν | Πενθεύς, (E. Ba. 1118) (‘It is me, mother, your son, Pentheus.’) b. ᾿Αλλὰ ἀντίθες τοι. (Pl. Grg. 461e) (‘But look at it the other way.’) c. μέλοι δέ τοί σοι τῶνπερ ἂν μέλληις τελεῖν. (A. Ag. 974) (‘May you see to that which you intend to fulfill.’)

The particle τοι is used in various types of speech acts: assertions (3a.), directives (3b.) and wishes (3c.).¹⁰ This shows that the particle functions at the layer of the illocution.

9 The translations from Iliad and Odyssey are taken from Hammond. 10 See Denniston (1954, 545), with more examples of τοι in questions, commands, prayers and wishes.

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It is used to reinforce the impact of the speech act by signaling to the addressee to pay special attention to the speech act (‘note that’, ‘mind you’).¹¹ In the words of Denniston (1954, 537), «[i]ts primary function is to bring home to the comprehension of the person addressed a truth of which he is ignorant, or temporarily oblivious: to establish, in fact a close rapport between the mind of the speaker and the mind of another person.» The process of grammaticalization did not stop here. In the course of the 5th c. bc, τοι combined with other particles came to serve various kinds of discourse–structural functions. For example, (4)

a. ἀλλ’ ἴσθι μέντοι – [. . . ] (E. Hipp. 304) (‘But be sure of this – [. . . ]’) b. [. . . ] τὸ Πέρσας μὲν αὐτοὺς λέληθε, ἡμέας μέντοι οὔ. (Hdt. 1.139) (‘[. . . ] which the Persians have not noted, but we have.’) c. (. . . ) ἐς Οἰνιάδας ἐστράτευσαν καὶ ἐπολιόρκουν, οὐ μέντοι εἷλόν γε, ἀλλ’ ἀπεχώρησαν ἐπ’ οἴκου. (Th. 1.111.3) (‘[The Athenians] marched against and laid siege to Oeniadae. However, they did not take it, but returned home.’)

In (4a.), the compound particle is still used in its original attitudinal sense, a combination of the affirmative meanings of μέν and τοι, serving to reinforce the Illocution.¹² In (4b.) and (4c.), μέντοι has evolved into a connective marker with a contrastive denial– of–expectation meaning: its host clause serves to deny a possible expectation on the part of the addressee.¹³ That μέντοι has indeed evolved into a discourse–structural particle is shown by the creation of a construction in which μέντοι is combined with the preparatory particle μέν (as in 4b.), where μέντοι takes the place of the usual δέ. In its contrastive (denial–of–expectation) meaning, μέντοι marks a relationship between two discourse acts.¹⁴ Summarizing, we have seen that τοι referred to a recipient or beneficiary participant in the state–of–affairs, (possibly) referred to the addressee as an experiencer (ethical dative) evaluating the content of the proposition, functioned as a discourse particle reinforcing the illocution, and finally, in the combination μέντοι, signalled an

11 Cf. Denniston (1954, 537), Wakker (1997, 213). 12 Cf. Denniston (1954, 399), who calls this the «affirmative or emphatic» use of μέντοι. 13 The «denial–of–expectation» meaning of μέντοι is described by Slings (1997). See also Allan (forthc. a) 14 In Allan (forthc. a), I describe μέντοι’s diachronical semantic development in more detail. Also other particle combinations with τοι mark a relationship between two discourse acts or moves. The particle compound καίτοι ‘even though, yet’ expresses an inverted denial–of–expectation (Slings 1997); τοίνυν ‘well’, ‘now’ signals a transition (a POP) to a new, highly relevant, move in the discourse. For the function of τοίνυν, see Wakker 2009.

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adversative (counterexpectative) relation between two discourse acts. Each of these semantic shift constitutes an increase in semantic–functional scope.

Fig. 3: The historical development of τοι as scope increase

2.2 The case of νῦν The second example of the tendency of scope increase in the process of grammaticalization is the particle νυν, which goes back to the temporal adverb νῦν ‘now’.¹⁵ In Classical Greek, the particle νυν appears to have developed two functions. First, it is used in exhortations and commands in order to reinforce the strength of the speech act. Second, it occurs in the particles combination μέν νυν . . . δέ in Herodotus. In this combination, the particular function of νυν is to mark a transition to a new discourse segment (or move). In Homer, νῦν is of course frequently used in its original, etymological meaning (cf. Latin nun–c) as a temporal adverb. For example, (5)

ἀτὰρ ἤν ποτε δασμὸς ἵκηται, σοὶ τὸ γέρας πολὺ μεῖζον, ἐγὼ δ’ ὀλίγον τε φίλον τε ἔρχομ’ ἔχων ἐπὶ νῆας, ἐπεί κε κάμω πολεμίζων. νῦν δ’ εἶμι Φθίην δ’ (Il. 1.166–9) (‘But when the division comes, your prize is by far the larger, and I come back to the ships with something small but precious, when I have worn myself out in the fighting. Now I shall leave for Phthia.’)

In its use as a temporal adverb, νῦν can be analyzed as a modifier of absolute time, functioning on the Representational Level, more specifically, at the layer of the episode. In this example, in which νῦν is used purely in a temporal meaning, we can also sense some of the context–based pragmatic associations attached to νῦν which will become more prominent in the later discourse particle νυν: (i) the utterance containing νῦν is seen as of higher current relevance as the preceding discourse segment, (ii) the utterance

15 See Chantraine, DELG; Schwyzer–Debrunner 1950, 570–1. Amazingly, Denniston does not discuss νυν. The form and function of νῦν (including the length of the vowel and its accent) from Homer to Classical Greek is discussed by Ruijgh (1957, 65–7). The adverb νῦν is undoubtedly somehow related to the particle νυ, which appears to go back to a very early stage of the language since we also find it ˉˊ ) and Hittite (particle nu) (see Chantraine, DELG; Beekes 2010). For the use of the in Sanskrit (nú, nu particle νυ, I refer to Ruijgh (1957, 57–65). In this paper, I will focus on νῦν/νυν and leave νυ aside since the former adverb/particle shows a clear semantic shift within the history of Greek.

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containing νῦν is seen as a consequence of the previous discourse segment, and (iii) the utterance containing νῦν constitutes a transition to a new discourse segment (move). For example, even though νῦν in the Iliad example above is clearly used in a temporal sense ‘now’, (i) Achilles statement that he intends to return to Phthia is obviously of higher relevance to the current situation than his explanation that he always gets a smaller share than Agamemnon; (ii) Achilles’ intention to return home is presented as a consequence of the fact that he always receives a smaller share; (iii) the νῦν–clause constitutes a transition to a new (in this case the concluding) discourse unit. At this stage these pragmatic associations are still only contextually evoked, but they can be seen as a foreshadowing of the later semantic development of the particle. In Homer, we also find many cases in which νῦν is used in combination with an imperative. For example, (6)

a. ἀλλὰ σὺ μὲν νῦν τῆνδε θεῷ πρόες (Il. 1.127) (‘No, you now let the girl go at the god’s will.’) b. ἀλλ’ ἴθι νῦν κατὰ λαὸν ᾿Αχαιῶν χαλκοχιτώνων· (Il. 2.163) (‘So go now and move among the bronze–clad Achaian army.’) c. ῎Εσπετε νῦν μοι Μοῦσαι ᾿Ολύμπια δώματ΄ ἔχουσαι· (Il. 2.484) (‘Tell me now, you Muses who have your homes on Olympus,’) d. κέκλυτε νῦν καὶ ἐμεῖο (Il. 3.97) (‘Listen now to what I say.’)

The combination of νῦν with an imperative is relatively frequent. For example, of the 20 instances of νῦν in the first book of the Iliad, it is combined with the imperative 7 times. Its meaning still seems to be close to a temporal adverb ‘now’ but, again, there also seem to be a number of additional contextually–evoked pragmatic implicatures: the command containing νῦν can be interpreted as being (i) of high current relevance (urgency), (ii) a transition to a new discourse segment (move), as well as (iii) a consequence of the preceding discourse. In Homer, we already find two instances of the cliticized form ν˘υν. (7)

a. οὔ θην ῞Εκτορι πάντα νοήματα μητίετα Ζεὺς ἐκτελέει, ὅσα πού νυν ἐέλπεται· (Il. 10.104–5) (‘Zeus the counsellor will not bring all Hektor’s thoughts to fulfilment, all that he must now be hoping.’) b. δεῦρό νυν ἢ τρίποδος περιδώμεθον ἠὲ λέβητος (Il. 23.485) (‘Here then, let us both bet a tripod or a cauldron.’)

In the first case (7a.), it is used in its original sense as a temporal adverb ‘now’, in the second case (7b.), it is used in an exhortation and the temporal sense ‘now’, ‘at this

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moment in time’ seems to have attenuated. The clitic here serves to strengthen the force of the command by emphasizing its urgency.¹⁶ The fact that the temporal adverb (incidentally) shows phonological reduction (shortening and cliticization), demonstrates that formal grammaticalization need not proceed in a completely parallel fashion to semantic grammaticalization (see also Narrog 2012, 109 and Hengeveld, forthc.). A well–known factor that may give rise to phonological reduction is the frequency of occurrence of the linguistic item. This is called the Reduction Effect of token frequency. ‘The Reduction Effect points to the fact that frequently used forms are eroded at a faster rate than less frequently used forms’ (Hopper – Traugott 2003, 127–8). It goes without saying that the temporal adverb νῦν is a frequently used lexical item in Greek, and it is therefore not very surprising that it shows signs of phonological reduction (erosion). We have to conclude that linguistic items may grammaticalize formally without grammaticalizing semantically (e.g. νῦν > ν˘υν), and vice versa.¹⁷ An example of the latter is the development of τοι, which, as we have seen earlier, shows a shift in meaning from a personal pronoun ‘to/for you’ to an interpersonal discourse particle (‘note that’, ‘mind you’), without any formal grammaticalization (such as phonological reduction). Another example is που, which develops from a lexical spatial adverb ‘somewhere’ to an interpersonal marker ‘I suppose, perhaps’, without undergoing any formal grammaticalization.¹⁸ The particle νυν is used 14 times by Herodotus as a means to reinforce a directive speech act. For example, (8)

᾿ Ω παῖ Καμβύσεω, σὲ γὰρ θεοὶ ἐπορῶσι, οὐ γὰρ ἄν κοτε ἐς τοσοῦτο τύχης ἀπίκεο, σύ νυν ᾿Αστυάγεα τὸν σεωυτοῦ φονέα τεῖσαι. (Hdt. 1.124.1)

16 The occurrence of clitic ν˘υν as a temporal adverb in Homer is not an isolated exception. We also find it in Parmenides, Pindar and Epicharmus. More details are given by Ruijgh (1957, 65). 17 Note that this view goes against the grain of the claim (cf., e.g., the parallel reduction hypothesis presented in Bybee, Perkins – Pagliuca 1994, ch. 4) that there is a direct link between formal grammaticalization (e.g. phonological reduction, increased bondedness) and semantic grammaticalization (e.g. semantic bleaching, generalization). In my conception, the parallel development of formal and semantic grammaticalization should be seen as a (very) strong tendency, rather than as a rule. This tendency can be accounted for via the Reduction Effect: linguistic items that undergo semantic grammaticalization tend to be used more frequently and will therefore tend to show signs of formal grammaticalization (e.g. reduction, bondedness). This means that there is no direct causal connection between semantic and formal grammaticalization. There are various scenarios that may disturb the causal connection: (i) semantic grammaticalization does not necessarily result in increased frequency, (ii) increased frequency does not necessarily result in phonological reduction or bonding, (iii) increased frequency (and therefore phonological reduction) may be caused by other factors than semantic grammaticalization. 18 For που and its diachronic development, see now Koier (2013).

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(‘Son of Cambyses, over you the gods keep guard, for otherwise you would never have come to so much good fortune. Therefore take vengeance on Astyages your murderer.’)¹⁹ In exhortations and commands, the particle νυν reinforces the strength of the directive illocution. More specifically, it emphasizes the urgency of the command.²⁰ In addition, there seems to be a weak consequential force (‘so’, ‘therefore’) attached to the use of the particle.²¹ The particle, in other words, signals to the addressee that the preceding discourse segment served as a preparation justifying the performance of the action expressed by the command. Besides the evolution of νῦν from a temporal adverb into a attitudinal (illocution– reinforcing) particle, it also shows a second development. Especially in Herodotus’ Ionian, the particle νυν is very frequently used with a discourse–structural function in the combination μέν νυν . . . δέ.²² The particular function of νυν within this combination is to signal the transition to a new discourse segment (move).²³ The two following examples are illustrative of its typical use.

19 The translations from Herodotus are from Macaulay. 20 Ruijgh (1957, 65): «(. . . ) νῦν renforce une exhortation.» Note that Ruijgh assumes that the vowel is long in Herodotus and therefore writes the circumflex accent. Ruijgh’s argumentation to support this idea, however, remains somewhat unclear. In Attic, however, there is metrical evidence that the particle νῦν (and also τοίν¯υν) often contains a long vowel, esp. in comedy (see Schwyzer–Debrunner 1950, 570; Ruijgh 1957, 65–6). Even though in Attic the discourse particle νϋν does not show phonological reduction (shortening), it does show another sign of formal grammaticalization in that it developed into a postpositive word (i.e. it prefers the 2nd ‘Wackernagel’ position in the clause). 21 Cf. Kühner – Gerth, II, 118: «In der Regel übernimmt es das Amt einer leise folgernden Konjunktion (. . . ).» 22 There is one possible example in Herodotus in which νυν seems to occur on its own with a discourse– structural function: ᾿Επεί νυν ὁμοτράπεζός τέ μοι καὶ ὁμόσπονδος ἐγένεο, (. . . ) (9.16.2) (‘Since you now have been my table–companion and the sharer of my libation, (. . . )’). Hude and Wilson print νυν, Legrand’s Budé prints νῦν. In Hude’s critical apparatus (Wilson is silent here), we read that some mss. (D E R V) have νυν, while the rest have νῦν. If we read νυν here and interpret it as a discourse particle, it is not so easy to gauge what its function would be since it occurs at the very start of the conversation. I therefore prefer to read νῦν here. Combining the temporal adverb νῦν with an aorist indicative (ἐγένεο) is unproblematic (see Kühner–Gerth, 2, 116). The combination ἐπεί νυν + aor. is also found in E. El. 408. Here a short vowel is guaranteed by the metre. In this case, one might either consider connecting νυν with the imperative ἔλθ’ in the main clause, or interpret it as a discourse–structural particle with which the speaker marks a transition to the new, more relevant, topic in the conversation (i.e. comparable to οὖν). 23 This use may be foreshadowed by the combination μὲν νῦν in Homer, which occurs 24 times. In the Homeric examples, however, νῦν is always used in its original sense as a temporal adverb. That the combination in Homer has not yet grammaticalized into a fixed particle construction is also shown by the fact that it is only followed by δέ in 10 instances. In the remaining instances, it is followed by other particles such as αὐτάρ and ἀλλά, or there is no following particle, at all. In Herodotus, there is still some variation in the use of the following particle. In Attic, the functionally equivalent particle construction is μὲν οὖν . . . δέ (for its function, see Wakker 2009, 70–1).

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a. Περσέων μέν νυν οἱ λόγιοι Φοίνικας αἰτίους φασὶ γενέσθαι τῆς διαφορῆς· (Hdt. 1.1.1) (‘Those of the Persians who have knowledge of their stories declare that the Phenicians first began the quarrel.’) b. Ταῦτα μέν νυν Πέρσαι τε καὶ Φοίνικες λέγουσι. ᾿Εγὼ δὲ περὶ μὲν τούτων οὐκ ἔρχομαι ἐρέων ὡς οὕτως ἢ ἄλλως κως ταῦτα ἐγένετο (. . . ) (Hdt. 1.5.3) (‘These are the tales told by the Persians and the Phenicians severally: and concerning these things I am not going to say that they happened thus or some other way.’)

In 9(a.), νυν marks the transition from the proem of the Histories to the actual narration of the origins of the conflict between the Greeks and the barbarians. The clause containing μέν νυν contains new information. As often in Herodotus, in this case the preparatory particle μέν does not correspond to a subsequent particle (such as δέ, μέντοι or ἀτάρ). The two possible candidates Περὶ δὲ τῆς ᾿Ιοῦς (. . . ) Φοίνικες in (1.5.2) and ᾿Εγὼ δέ (. . . ) in (1.5.3 [ex. 9b.]) are (1) too distant (more than two pages OCT further on), and (2) they correspond to a local, immediately preceding, μέν: Οὕτω μὲν Πέρσαι (. . . ) (1.5.1 [ex. 9b.]) and Ταῦτα μέν νυν (. . . ) (1.5.3 [ex. 9b.]), respectively. That the first μέν in (1.1.1) is not resumed by δέ is a very common phenomenon in Herodotus and in harmony with the general oral character of Herodotus’ style, which allows for an occasional anacoluthon. Even though it is not resumed by δέ, μέν in (1.1.1) does have its usual function: it signals that the current discourse segment is balanced by a following discourse segment. In this case, the account of the Persian λόγιοι is balanced by that of the Phoenicians (1.5.2) and by Herodotus’ own view (1.5.3). In (9b.), the combination μέν νυν. .. δέ shows a discourse–structural function that is very typical of Herodotus. The first clause (μέν νυν) does not contain new information but somehow resumes (summarizes) the content of the preceding discourse segment (move). This resumptive clause, furthermore, has a grounding function with respect to the subsequent narrative episode (marked by δέ). Thus, the μέν νυν–unit functions as a coherence bridge between the preceding move and the subsequent move.²⁴ This discourse constellation can be graphically represented in the following way.²⁵

24 In narrative discourse, a move will typically equivalent with a narrative episode. In argumentative texts, a move typically contains a new argumentative point. See also Hengeveld – Mackenzie (2008, 51). 25 This diagram is based on Givón (2001, 347), who used it to illustrate the function of coherence bridges ocurring at major thematic breaks in the discourse.

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Fig. 4: Μέν νῦν–clause as coherence bridge

Apart from the particle combination μέν νυν . . . δέ, we also find νυν in the compound particle τοίνυν. According to Wakker (2009, 79), νυν contributes a text–structural function (transition to a new discourse unit) to the meaning of τοίνυν, while τοι contributes an attitudinal function. Summing up: we have seen that the temporal adverb νῦν (a modifier of absolute time at the layer of the episode) shows two semantic shifts: (1) it developed into a marker that reinforces the strength of the illocution in directive speech acts; (2) it evolved (esp. in the Herodotean combination μέν νυν . . . δέ) into a discourse–structural marker signaling the transition to a new discourse segment (move) in the discourse. In both cases, the semantic shift involves an increase in semantic scope.

Fig. 5: The historical development of νῦν/νυν as scope increase

2.3 Some other grammaticalized particles In the preceding sections, it was argued that the semantic development of the particles τοι and νυν can be analyzed in terms of scope increase. We may hypothesize that the grammaticalization of other particles (insofar as it can be reconstructed with any certainty) can also be described as processes of scope increase. To name a few examples: ἀλλά originates in the neuter plural ἄλλα ‘other things’ of ἄλλος ‘other, and referred to a participant in the state–of–affairs. As a discourse marker, it is used to mark a functional (adversative) relation between discourse acts or (turn–initially) between

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moves.²⁶ The most plausible etymology of καί is to derive it from an original preposition meaning ‘with’: *kmti > *kati > κασί²⁷ > κάς (Arcado–Cyprian)/ καί (other dialects).²⁸ Καί ˚ functions on the Interpersonal Level, as an additive (inclusive) eventually developed focus particle ‘also, even’ and as a particle connecting two discourse acts or (turn– initially) between moves. The particle που began its life as an indefinite locative adverb ‘somewhere’ used as a locative modifier at the layer of the state–of–affairs, and it evolved into an interpersonal particle (‘I suppose’, ‘perhaps’) operating at the layer of the illocution to mitigate the assertive force of the speech act.²⁹

3 Conclusion Following a hypothesis from the theoretical framework of Functional Discourse Grammar, I argued that the semantic development (grammaticalization) of Greek particles can be analyzed as a semantic–functional scope increase. In order to illustrate the process of scope increase, I discussed the grammaticalization of two discourse particles, τοι and νυν, in more detail. The particle τοι developed from a personal pronoun referring to a participant in the state–of–affairs, to a modifier at the layer of the proposition, to an interpersonal particle operating at the layer of the illocution. Finally, within the particle combination μέντοι, τοι came to mark an adversative relation between discourse acts. The particle νυν started off as a locative adverb modifying the episode and developed into an interpersonal attitudinal particle at the layer of the illocution and into a discourse–structural particle, marking the transition to a new move in the discourse. I further argued that semantic grammaticalization (e.g. semantic bleaching, generalization, scope increase) and formal grammaticalization (e.g. increased phonological erosion, increased bondedness) may take place independently from one another: they do not, as is often assumed, necessarily co–occur in a complete parallel fashion. A further investigation of processes of grammaticalization and scope increase– in the domain of discourse markers as well in other grammatical domains, adverbs

26 The various discourse–structural functions of ἀλλά will be discussed in Allan (forthc. a). Note that also a formal grammaticalization occurred: it became proclitic (i.e. increased bondedness) and it probably lost its accent (i.e. phonological reduction/erosion): the accent written on the final syllable of ἀλλά is probably more a matter of convention than a real accent. An indication is that the accent is lost when elided. 27 Cf. κασί–γνητος ‘brother’. 28 See Ruijgh (1967, 331–2); Beekes (2010). Cross–linguistically, it is very common that coordinating markers develop from comitative markers: ‘A with B’ > ‘A and B’ (see Haspelmath 2004). 29 A more precise characterization of που΄s function is given by Sicking and Van Ophuijsen (1993, 59): «[w]ith που a speaker presents his statement as a surmise whose accuracy he does not vouch for so that disputing it need not impair the basis for an understanding between the two partners in conversation.»

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and (auxiliary) verbs–will undoubtedly contribute to our understanding of the long and complex history of the Greek language.

Bibliography Allan, R. J. 2013: Exploring Modality’s Semantic Space: Grammaticalisation, Subjectification and the Case of ὀφείλω, «Glotta», 89, 1–46. Allan, R. J. (Forthc. a): Confronting Contrasts. Adversative Particles in Ancient Greek, in Pragmatics and the Classical Language, eds. C. Denizot & O. Spevak, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Allan, R. J. (Forthc. b): The History of the Future. Grammaticalization, Subjectification in Ancient Greek Future Expressions, in The Greek Future and its History, eds. R. J. Allan, F. Lambert & T. Markopoulos, Louvain–la–Neuve. Bakker, S. J. & Wakker, G. C. (eds.). 2009: Discourse Cohesion in Ancient Greek, Leiden – Boston. Beekes, R. S. P. 2010: Etymological Dictionary of Greek. With the assistance of Lucien van Beek, Leiden – Boston. Brinton, L. 1996: Pragmatic Markers in English. Grammaticalization and Discourse Functions, Berlin. Bybee, J. L., Pagliuca, W. & Perkins, R. 1994: The Evolution of Grammar. Tense, Aspect and Modality in the Languages of the World, Chicago. Bybee, J. L. 1985: Morphology. A Study of the Relation between Meaning and Form, Amsterdam. Chantraine, P. 1968–1980: Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque: histoire des mots, Paris. Cinque, G. & Rizzi, L. 2010: The Cartography of Syntactic Structures, in Heine & Narrog 2010, 65–78. Denniston, J. D. 19542 : The Greek Particles, Oxford. Diewald, G. 2011: Grammaticalization and Pragmaticalization, in Heine & Narrog 2011, 450–61. Dik, S. C. 19972 : The Theory of Functional Grammar, revised edition. 2 Vols., Berlin. Foley, W. A. & Van Valin, R. D. Jr. 1984: Functional syntax and universal grammar, Cambridge. Givón, T. 2001: Syntax: An Introduction. Vol. II, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Haspelmath, M. 2004: Coordinating Constructions. An Overview, in Coordinating Constructions, ed. M. Haspelmath, Amsterdam, 3–39. Heine, B. & Narrog, H. (eds.). 2010: The Oxford Handbook of Linguistic Analysis, Oxford. Hengeveld, K. & Mackenzie, J. L. 2008: Functional Discourse Grammar. A typologically–based theory of language structure, Oxford. Hengeveld, K. & Mackenzie, J. L 2010: Functional Discourse Grammar, in Heine & Narrog 2010, 367– 400. Hengeveld, K. 1989: Layers and Operators in Functional Grammar, «Journal of Linguistics», 25, 127– 57. Hengeveld, K. 2011: The Grammaticalization of Tense and Aspect, in Narrog & Heine 2011, 580–594. Herodotus. 2004: The Histories. Introduction and notes by D. Lateiner. Translated by G. C. Macaulay and revised throughout by D. Lateiner, New York. Homer. 1987: The Iliad. Translated with an introduction by Martin Hammond, Harmondsworth. Homer. 2000: The Odyssey. Translated by Martin Hammond. With an introduction by J. Griffin, London. Hopper, P. J. & Traugott, E. C. 20032 : Grammaticalization, Cambridge. Keizer, E. 2015: A Functional Discourse Grammar for English, Oxford. Koier, E. 2013: Interpreting Particles in Dead and Living Languages, Utrecht. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 1898–1904: Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Satzlehre. 2 Vols., Hanover. Lehmann, C. 20022 : Thoughts on Grammaticalization, revised edition, Erfurt.

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Narrog, H. & Heine, B. (eds.). 2011: The Oxford Handbook of Grammaticalization, Oxford. Narrog, H. 2012: Modality, Subjectivity, and Semantic Change. A Cross–linguistic Perspective, Oxford. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2006: Word Classes, Functions and Syntactic Level. The Case of πάλιν, in Word Classes and Related Topics, eds. E. Crespo, J. De la Villa & A. R. Revuelta, Louvain–La– Neuve, 455–470. Ruijgh, C. J. 1957: L’élément achéen dans la langue épique, Assen. Ruijgh, C. J. 1967: Études sur la grammaire et le vocabulaire du grec mycénien, Amsterdam. Schwyzer, Ed. & Debrunner, A. 1950: Griechische Grammatik. 2. Band, Munich. Sicking, C. M. J. & Van Ophuijsen, J. M. 1993: Two Studies in Attic Particle Usage, Leiden – New York – Cologne. Slings, S. R. 1997: Adversative Relators between PUSH and POP, in New Approaches to Greek Particles, ed. A. Rijksbaron, Amsterdam, 101–129. Sweetser, E. 1990: From Etymology to Pragmatics. Metaphorical and Cultural Aspects of Semantic Structure, Cambridge. Traugott, E. C. & Dasher, R. B. 2002: Regularity in Semantic Change, Cambridge. Wakker, G. C. 2009: “Well I Will Now Present My Arguments.” Discourse Cohesion Marked by οὖν and τοίνυν in Lysias, in Bakker & Wakker 2009, 63–81.

Luz Conti

On the non–prototypical uses of adverbs in Homer: analysis of ἤδη Abstract: This paper aims to study and classify the non–prototypical uses of ἤδη in Homeric poetry. Data will be analysed with a view to the adverb’s prototypical uses, contrasting them against those of ἔτι when there are significant differences between the two. Given that in Homeric poetry the non–prototypical uses of ἤδη, which differ significantly from those of ἔτι, are little–documented and seem to be still in the development stage, consideration will be given to whether the phenomena observed in this corpus find continuity in the works of the three tragedians and Aristophanes.

1 Introduction In Homeric poetry, some adverbs frequently documented as prototypical have already developed non–prototypical uses. Nevertheless, as one would expect, this use of is much less frequent –and less consolidated– than that seen in later authors¹. This paper aims to analyse and classify the uses of ἤδη as a discourse marker in Homer. Given that the non–prototypical uses of adverbs generally derive from their prototypical ones², we will begin by analysing examples in which ἤδη is employed as Phase and temporal adverb, focusing in particular on the values and characteristics that define ἤδη as opposed to ἔτι. We will attempt to pinpoint the semantic and syntactic factors present in the use of ἤδη as Phase adverb that encourage its development as discourse marker. Finally, we will assess whether instances of ἤδη used as a discourse marker in Homer, which were still in the development stage, coincide with those found in the works of Aristophanes and the three tragedians. As we know, tragedies are poetic works with an elevated register which often emulate the Homeric style. Aristophanes’ comedies, for their part, not seldom imitate the tragic style in an attempt at ridicule.

Note: This paper has been written with the financial support of the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness (Research Projects FFI2012–36944–C03–01 and FFI2015–65541–C3–1–P) and in the framework of the international research project Rappresentazioni linguistiche dell’identità (PRIN 2010HXPFF2). 1 See Conti (2015a) and (2015b). 2 See, among others, Crespo (2009) and (2011) and Conti (2017).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-131

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2 Use of ἤδη as Phase and as temporal adverb In Homer, ἤδη is documented in one hundred seventy–two passages. Roughly eighty per cent of these reveal a clear use of ἤδη as a Phase adverb. In these contexts, ἤδη expresses the phase in which a previously non–existent state of affairs arises. ἤδη thus implies that the state of affairs described in the clause that contains it was not the case in the relatively recent past³. Therefore, a change occurs in the time between the phase referred to by the ἤδη clause and the phase that preceded it. As the following examples show, ἤδη is used in combination with present (1), past (2), (3) and future tenses (4). The combination with future forms is very frequent: (1)

νῦν δ΄ ἤδη τούτων ἐπιδεύομαι. . . (Od. 15.371) ‘But now I already feel the absence of these things’

(2)

ἤδη γάρ τοι χθιζὸς ἐμυθεόμην ἐνὶ οἴκῳ | σοί τε καὶ ἰφθίμῃ ἀλόχῳ. . . (Od. 12.451– 452) ‘For I already told you and your impetuous wife about it yesterday in the palace’

(3)

ἢ ἔτι πὰρ νήεσσιν ἐμὸς πάϊς͵ ἦέ μιν ἤδη | ᾖσι κυσὶν μελεϊστὶ ταμὼν προύθηκεν ᾿Αχιλλεύς (Il. 24.408–409) ‘Is my son still at the ships, or has Achilles already offered him to his hounds, after having torn him limb from limb?’

(4)

ἤδη γάρ . . . ἀποπέμψω (Od. 5.161) ‘For I am going to send you away right now’

In regard to aspect, ἤδη is compatible with both the present stem (cf. ἤδη ἐμυθεόμην) and the aorist stem (cf. ἤδη προύθηκεν). It is thus used both in descriptions of durative and punctual states of affairs. ἤδη is also compatible with perfect forms that convey a resultative meaning⁴: (5)

. . . βόες δ΄ ἀποτέθνασαν ἤδη (Od. 12.393) ‘The cows were already dead’

When combined with future tenses, ἤδη can often be interpreted not only as expressing Phase but also as expressing Time. This is an immediate future that is very near to the speaker’s present, as seen in the passage of (4) and also in the following one: (6)

ὦ πάτερ͵ ἤδη τοι σάκος οἴσω καὶ δύο δοῦρε (Od. 22.101) ‘Father, I’ll bring you a shield and two spears right now’

The semantic differences between ἤδη and ἔτι when used as Phase adverbs are clearly evident in a few passages. As we can observe (cf. also the example in 3), ἔτι expresses

3 In a sentence such as My father has already arrived at the airport, an assumption is made by both the speaker and the listener that until very recently the father had not arrived at the airport. 4 In positive polarity clauses, ἔτι is only combined with the resultative perfect in one passage. As we can observe, the action is set within a future tense:. . . ἦ τ΄ ἔτι πολλὰ τετεύξεται ἄλγε΄ ἐπ΄ αὐτῇ (Il. 21.585).

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the Phase in which a process that has already begun unfolds. ἔτι presupposes the existence not only of a prior state of affairs, but also a subsequent one⁵: (7) εἴ που ἔτι ζώει καὶ ὁρᾷ φάος ἠελίοιο. | εἰ δ΄ ἤδη τέθνηκε καὶ εἰν ᾿Αΐδαο δόμοισιν (Od. 20.207–208) ‘If he is still alive and is seeing the light of day; but if he is already dead and in the house of Hades. . . ’

2.1 Polarity In Homer, ἤδη is not found in negative polarity clauses. This is significant in view of the fact that the adverb is documented in one hundred and seventy–two passages, as mentioned above. Analysis of the complete works of the three tragedians and Aristophanes offers similar results, as out of a total of four hundred and fifteen passages, only two document the use of ἤδη in negative polarity clauses⁶. The following example is one of them: (8)

ἄλλο τι δῆτ΄ οὐ νομιεῖς ἤδη θεὸν οὐδένα πλὴν ἅπερ ἡμεῖς; (Ar. Nu. 423) ‘Will you no longer believe in gods other than our own?’

The data thus enable a clear positive polarity to be attributed to ἤδη, at least in the authors studied in this paper⁷. In fact, ἤδη often expresses the positive counterpart of a negative clause. In some instances, such as in the following example, the negative clause refers to the cessation of a given situation, while the positive polarity clause containing ἤδη denotes a new situation that invalidates the previous one: (9)

οὐ γὰρ ἔτι Τρώων καὶ ᾿Αχαιῶν φύλοπις αἰνή ἀλλ΄ ἤδη Δαναοί γε καὶ ἀθανάτοισι μάχονται (Il. 5.379–380) ‘For the dreadful battle is no longer between the Trojans and the Achaeans; rather, at least the Danaans now fight even with the gods’

In contrast to ἤδη, ἔτι is used very frequently in negative clauses⁸. In most cases the clause containing ἔτι describes a state of affairs that is no longer identical to that which existed at some earlier time⁹. These are thus clauses that are equivalent to those of οὐκ . . . ἤδη, which as we have seen is not documented in Homer and is seen only sporadically in the tragedians and Aristophanes:

5 This explains the use of ἔτι in descriptions of durative but not permanent states of affairs cf. Conti (2015b, 212). 6 The material selected offers a third example of ἤδη in a negative clause. This is a directive clause in which the adverb can be interpreted as a discourse marker (cf. § 3.2.1.). 7 On the polarity of ἤδη, see also Wakker (2002). 8 In Homer ἔτι is used in negative clauses in nearly 30% of all instances. 9 On this value of ἔτι, cf. Crespo (2008, 33–34). On other states of affairs described when ἔτι is used in negative polarity clauses, cf. Conti (2015b, 213–214).

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(10)

. . . οὐδ΄ ἔτι κεῖτο͵ νέον δ΄ ἐσαγείρετο θυμόν (Il. 15.240) ‘And he lay still no longer, as he was regaining consciousness’

This frequent usage in negative polarity clauses allows for interpretation of ἔτι as a negation–sensitive element, that is, a positive polarity element with a clear tendency to be used in combination with negation¹⁰.

2.2 Syntactic scope of ἤδη ἤδη generally functions as a predicate complement, and only occasionally as a complement of a syntagm or one of its components. When it functions in a syntagm, ἤδη complements elements that denote fractions of time, quantities, states and properties¹¹ , that is, concepts that can be interpreted as points on a temporal scale: (11)

ἤδη γὰρ τρίτον ἐστὶν ἔτος͵ τάχα δ΄ εἶσι τέταρτον͵ | ἐξ οὗ ἀτέμβει θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ᾿Αχαιῶν (Od. 2.89–90) ‘For it is now the third year, and the fourth is fast approaching, since she (scil. Penelope) has been deceiving the hearts of the Achaeans in their breasts’

(12)

ἤδη μὲν μάλα πολλὰ μάχας εἰσήλυθον ἀνδρῶν (Il. 2.798) ‘I have already been in many a battle’

(13) . . . ὃ δ’ ἐξέκλεψεν ῎Αρηα | ἤδη τειρόμενον . . . (Il. 5.390–391) ‘He (scil. Hermes) stole Ares away, when he was already distressed’ As we will see in the following section, in these contexts ἤδη can be interpreted as a focus adverb.

3 Non–prototypical uses of ἤδη As we know, in their non–prototypical uses adverbs display a procedural meaning that enables the speaker to structure his discourse, making it understandable and effective. In fact, in their non–prototypical uses adverbs facilitate not only correct understanding of a message’s content for the receiver, but also enable him to discern

10 Frequent use in negative polarity clauses is also seen in adverbs with a similar semantic content from other Indo–European languages; consider, for example, the Spanish todavía (cf. RAE 2010: 2333). On the tendency of some elements to be combined with negation in natural languages, see Jakobs (1991, 566 ff.), amongst others. 11 States and properties can be transitional or permanent.

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the speaker’s attitude and possible goals in transmitting the message¹². Adverbs also enable the receiver of the message to detect the communicative importance assigned by the speaker to certain elements, as opposed to other possible elements¹³.

3.1 Use of ἤδη as a focus adverb When it functions within a syntagm as an expression of Phase, it is possible to interpret ἤδη as a focus adverb, that is, as an adverb that highlights the communicative importance of the term they complement, contrasting it –generally in an implicit way– with other possible alternatives¹⁴. ἤδη ranks the focused element higher than the evoked alternatives. This does not mean, however, that the element brought into focus necessarily occupies the highest position on the imaginary temporal scale on which it is located. Most commonly, in fact, it does not, as is clearly shown by example (15): (14)

τῷ δ΄ ἤδη δύο μὲν γενεαὶ μερόπων ἀνθρώπων | ἐφθίαθ΄ . . . (Il. 1.250–251) ‘Already two generations of wretched men have left him’

(15) τῷ δ΄ ἤδη δεκάτη ἢ ἑνδεκάτη πέλεν ἠὼς | οἰχομένῳ σὺν νηυσὶ κορωνίσιν ῎Ιλιον εἴσω (Od. 19.192–193) ‘Ten or eleven dawns had already passed since he set sail in his concave ships for Troy’ Notice that ἔτι, in contrast to ἤδη, ranks the focused element lower than the evoked alternatives: (16)

τήν ποτε Λαέρτης πρίατο κτεάτεσσιν ἑοῖσι͵ | πρωθήβην ἔτ΄ ἐοῦσαν . . . (Od. 1.430–431) ‘Who (scil. Euriclea) Laertes had bought with his own wealth some time ago, when she was still an adolescent’

In these contexts, the speaker uses ἤδη and ἔτι to indicate that the duration of the state of affairs described in the clause is not as he would expect. In the case of ἤδη, the state of affairs described in the clause is of shorter duration than expected¹⁵; in the case of ἔτι it is longer.

12 Since the late 20th century much attention has been paid to discourse markers and how they function in Indo–European languages, particularly modern languages. Notable examples include the works of Schiffrin (1987), Kroon (1995), Fraser (2006) and Bonifazi et al. (2016), amongst many others. 13 On focus adverbs and their functions, see, amongst others, Hoeksema – Zwarts (1991), König (1991a), Rooth (1992), Roberts (1998) and Sudhoff (2010). 14 This concept of focusing essentially stems from Rooth (1992). Although it seems that focus adverbs can also be used with larger syntagmatic units, in Indo–European languages their use in the syntagm is clearer as well as the most frequent. Debate as to the syntactic scope of focus adverbs remains ongoing. Readers will find differing views in authors such as Quirk et al. (1985, 604), König (1991a, 17 ff.) and Sudhoff (2010, 73 ff.). 15 See also Wakker (2002, 4).

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In addition to this focusing use in which ἔτι still retains its meaning of Phase, Homer’s work also offers examples in which the adverb is already functioning with a non–temporal scalar meaning¹⁶. In contrast to its focusing use as an expression of Phase, in its use as a non–temporal scalar adverb ἔτι ranks the focused element higher than the evoked alternatives¹⁷ . Moreover, the focused element is usually, counter to what the speaker would expect, located at the highest position on this scale¹⁸: (17) καί νύ κ΄ ἔτι προτέρους¹⁹ ἴδον ἀνέρας. . . (Od. 11.630) ‘And I would have seen even older men’ (18)

εἰ δέ κε λίσσηαι ἑτάρους λῦσαί τε κελεύῃς͵ | οἱ δέ σ΄ ἔτι πλεόνεσσι τότ΄ ἐν δεσμοῖσι διδέντων (Od. 12.53–54) ‘If you ask your men to untie you, they must bind you still tighter’

As a non–temporal scalar adverb, ἔτι can complement elements denoting abstract as well as specific entities: (19)

Τερπιάδης δ΄ ἔτ΄ ἀοιδὸς ἀλύσκανε κῆρα μέλαιναν (Od. 22.330) ‘Even the aiodos Terpiades attempted to evade black death’

(20)

. . . οἶοι σύ τ΄ ἐγώ τε γυναικῶν γνώομεν ἰθύν. | καί κέ τεο δμώων ἀνδρῶν ἔτι πειρηθεῖμεν (Od. 16.304–305) ‘Let only you and me discover the women’s attitude and put even the servants to the test’

In this aspect ἔτι clearly differs from ἤδη, as ἤδη is not used in Homeric poetry as a non–temporal scalar adverb²⁰. As we see, ἔτι may be more developed than ἤδη in its use as a focus adverb.

3.2 Uses of ἤδη as discourse marker In Homeric poetry, only a few passages are conducive to interpretation of the adverb as a discourse marker. These passages display one or occasionally both of the following features: firstly, minimal temporal distance (or even simultaneousness) between the

16 On this use of ἔτι in Homer, cf. Conti (2015b, 215–223). 17 On the meaning of scalar focus adverbs, cf. König (1991a, 45) and (1991b), Krifka (1999) and Sudhoff (2010, 53). 18 Bear in mind that the focused element is assigned the highest position on the same scale on which the alternatives contrasted with it are also ranked. This is not to say, however, that other elements, which neither the speaker nor the listener take into account at the time, may not occupy a higher position on this same scale. 19 In its use as a scalar focus adverb, ἔτι is very frequently combined with comparative forms (cf. Conti 2015b, 218–219). 20 The situation differs in the case of the three tragedians and Aristophanes, and also in the case of Xenophon (cf. Wakker 2002, 7–8).

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state of affairs described in the ἤδη clause and the states of affairs described –or presupposed– in previous clauses; secondly, absence of any change, or at least of a substantial change, between the earlier states of affairs and the state described in the ἤδη clause. As we will see below, in directive clauses the value of ἤδη as a discourse marker clearly derives from its use as an expression of Time. In declarative clauses, in contrast, the value of ἤδη as a discourse marker seems to derive from its use as an expression of Phase.

3.2.1 Use of ἤδη in directive clauses Homeric poetry offers one example of ἤδη in a directive clause. In this example, the adverb admits interpretation as an expression of the immediate future. It is also possible, however, to interpret it as a discourse marker, more specifically, as a device used by the speaker to highlight the deontic modality of the message and to communicate impatience to the interlocutor²¹. Let us study the particular passage in question. Alkinoos, uncomfortable upon seeing Odysseus cry when Demodokus sings the fall of Troy, orders the aiodos to stop singing. Alkinoos clearly wishes his order to be carried out immediately, which justifies interpretation of ἤδη as an expression of Time. However, it could also be argued that the adverb underscores the directive nature of the message and enables its receivers to understand how impatient he speaker is for his order to be carried out²². Finally, neither can we rule out the possibility that the adverb is developing values seen in discourse markers while still retaining part of its original notional meaning²³: (21)

Δημόδοκος δ΄ ἤδη σχεθέτω φόρμιγγα λίγειαν· | οὐ γάρ πως πάντεσσι χαριζόμενος τάδ΄ ἀείδει (Od. 8.537) ‘Let Demodokus cease his musical tale right now, as not everybody is pleased by what he is singing’

This possible use of ἤδη is also documented in the complete works of the three tragedians and the comedies of Aristophanes. In these authors the context does not generally rule out interpretation of ἤδη as an expression of an immediate future, but in my view

21 Other adverbs in Homer, such as οὕτω(ς) and ἀνά, have also developed a use as deontic modality markers. In their interactional function, such adverbs can express either impatience or displeasure towards an interlocutor, or a cooperative attitude. On this, see Conti (2014, 34–44) and Conti (2015a, 39–41). 22 This use as a discourse marker is also seen in Phase adverbs with a meaning similar to that of ἤδη in other Indo–European languages. One example of this is the German schon. On this aspect, see Gornik Gerhardt (1981, 99 ff.), amongst others. 23 Development of a procedural meaning that coexists, in many contexts, with the original notional meaning is very typical of the evolution of adverbs in Homer. This is observed, for instance, in the case of οὕτω(ς) (cf. Conti 2014) and ἀνά (cf. Conti 2015a).

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it is more natural to interpret the adverb as a discourse marker. This is the case, for example, with the following dialogue between Philocleon and Bdelycleon. As we will see, Bdelycleon is impatient to reveal the information he possesses and begs the attention of his listeners: (22)

Φι. τίς ἆρ΄ ὁ φεύγων οὗτος; . . . | Bδ. ἀκούετ΄ ἤδη τῆς γραφῆς. ἐγράψατο | Κύων Κυδαθηναιεὺς Λάβητ΄ Αἰξωνέα (Ar. V. 893–895) Phi. –‘Who, then, is the accused?’– Bd. ‘–Hear the accusation! The Watchdog of Cydathenaea accuses Labes of Aexonia–’

In another example from Aristophanes, the Chorus Leader in The Birds closes the Chorus’ speech, furious with Euelpides and Pisthetaerus and ready to do away with them. The Chorus Leader’s speech occurs immediately after that of the Chorus, precluding the interpretation that there has been any sort of delay that the Chorus Leader intends to cut short. In my view, it is thus more convenient to interpret ἤδη as a discourse marker: (23)

᾿Αλλὰ μὴ μέλλωμεν ἤδη τώδε τίλλειν καὶ δάκνειν (Ar. Av. 352) ‘Come! Let us not delay in pecking and tearing these two to shreds’

3.2.2 Use of ἤδη in declarative clauses Several examples in Homer document the use of ἤδη in positive polarity declarative clauses, encouraging interpretation of the adverb as an evidential discourse marker²⁴. Evidential markers express the speaker’s attitude in regard to the epistemic status of the information. They are elements that point to the source of the information and present it as incredible, credible or certain. The information may originate, for example, from indirect sources of varying reliability (cf. reportedly, supposedly), from inferences made by the speaker using the data he possesses (cf. apparently) or from the speaker’s direct experience (cf. actually). Obviously, the speaker uses markers that present the information in the light of his own experience –whether sensory or intellectual– as a mode of expressing –and emphasizing– how certain he is of the truth of his words²⁵. They are therefore generally used in declarative clauses. ἤδη seems to be one of these evidential markers.

24 The definition of evidentiality slightly varies from author to author. The works of Anderson (1986), Dendale – Tasmowski (2001) and Aikhenvald (2003) and (2004) exemplify the ways in which the term is used. Neither does there seem to be any unanimity as to the features of evidentiality as an interlinguistic phenomenon. 25 Some authors, such as Chafe – Nichols (1986) and Palmer (2001), include evidentiality in epistemic modality. This hypothesis is based on the close relationship between source of knowledge and degree of commitment. This paper adopts this theoretical supposition.

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There are two sets of examples in which ἤδη admits an analysis as an evidential marker²⁶. The first one, which we are now concentrating on, shows ἤδη in a positive polarity clause used in replacive adversative coordination with a negative polarity clause. As described earlier on (cf. § 2.1.), in its prototypical use the adverb ἤδη is quite often employed in such structures. In the contexts that we will now go on to analyse, however, the semantic and temporal relationship between the two coordinated clauses is very different from that seen when the adverb is used with a notional meaning. In the example provided by Homeric poetry, a desperate Penelope goes to Artemis and asks her to take her life to free her from constant suffering. She has no reprieve at night from the sorrow she feels during the day, as the gods send her nightmares. In her last nightmare she felt Odysseus lying next to her. She then says: (24)

αὐτὰρ ἐμὸν κῆρ χαῖρ΄͵ | ἐπεὶ οὐκ ἐφάμην ὄναρ ἔμμεναι͵ ἀλλ΄ ὕπαρ ἤδη (Od. 20.90) ‘My heart rejoiced, then I thought I wasn’t a dream, but rather, in truth, a real image’

As we can see, the negative clause does not describe the cessation of a transitional situation, but rather inverts the truth value of a durative situation²⁷. The ἤδη clause does not, therefore, entail any change with respect to the preceding clause. Rather, it describes a situation simultaneous to that described therein. We can thus suppose that ἤδη functions here as a discourse marker that reinforces the opposition between both clauses and expresses the speaker’s certainty of the truth of the propositional content of the second one. In the three tragedians and in Aristophanes, the use of ἤδη is also documented in adversative clauses where it can be interpreted as a discourse marker. In these examples, the negative clause does describe the cessation of a transitional situation. The peculiarity of ἤδη in this usage lies in the fact that the clause in which it is found does not describe a situation that differs in part from that described previously, that is, a situation that invalidates the earlier one but adds information about the outcome of the change that has taken place²⁸. Rather, ἤδη is found in a clause that describes a situation with a complementary antonymic relationship to the preceding clause²⁹. For example, being dead is the only change possible when one ceases to be alive. As an expression of Phase, ἤδη would thus be redundant, as being dead coincides in time

26 Bonifazi et al. (2016), whose book was published after I wrote the first version of this paper, do not recognize the functioning of ἤδη as a discourse marker in Homer. In fact, De Kreij (II. 3, § 33-43) proposes the reanalysis of some instances of ἤδη γάρ as ἦ δὴ γάρ. However, Bonizafi (IV. 4 §§ 151-155) considers that ἤδη marks «somebody’s firsthand experience of something» both in Herodotus and Thucydides. In my opinion, ἤδη was developing into an evidential marker already in Homer. 27 Of the durative situation described in the completive structure. 28 This is typically the case when the adverb is used with a notional meaning. 29 On the various types of antonyms, cf. Ziegler (2012, s.u.), which provides a very comprehensive updated bibliography.

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with ceasing to be alive and is, moreover, the only possible outcome of said change. There would be no redundancy, however, if ἤδη were to function as an evidential marker. Let us consider the following passage. In these verses, Agamemnon reproaches Teucer for his ardent defence of Ajax. This defence is irrelevant since it is obvious, as he declares below, that Ajax is dead: (25)

ὃς ἀνδρὸς οὐκέτ΄ ὄντος͵ ἀλλ΄ ἤδη σκιᾶς (S. Aj. 1257) ‘He (scil. Ajax) is no longer a man, but rather, unquestionably, a shade’

We will now go on to assess the second set of examples. These are independent declarative clauses in which the speaker also expresses his certainty of the truth of his words. We should bear in mind, however, that the context does not rule out interpretation of ἤδη as an expression of Phase. Consider one of the examples provided in Homer. The scene takes place on the battlefield and describes a sudden change in the Trojans’ luck, as they have received the assistance of Zeus. Ajax and Menelaus have witnessed the overwhelming success of the Trojans; Ajax then expresses to the king his conviction that Zeus is directly responsible for this turn of events. To support his argument, he describes what he sees with his own eyes to his interlocutor: (26)

ὢ πόποι ἤδη μέν κε καὶ ὃς μάλα νήπιός ἐστι | γνοίη ὅτι Τρώεσσι πατὴρ Ζεὺς αὐτὸς ἀρήγει | τῶν μὲν γὰρ πάντων βέλε΄ ἅπτεται ὅς τις ἀφήῃ | ἢ κακὸς ἢ ἀγαθός· Ζεὺς δ΄ ἔμπης πάντ΄ ἰθύνει· | ἡμῖν δ΄ αὔτως πᾶσιν ἐτώσια πίπτει ἔραζε (Il. 17.629–633) ‘Alas! Certainly, even a fool could see that Zeus himself is helping the Trojans. All of their darts strike their target, regardless of whether the man throwing them is middling or brave: Zeus makes them fly true. In contrast, all of ours fall to the ground in vain’

Let’s look at another example, this one from Sophocles. Orestes explains his revenge strategy to the pedagogue: everyone must be made to believe that Agamemnon’s heir has died. Orestes does not fear that his lie may bode ill, as his experience convinces him that this farce will lead him to eventual honour: (27)

δοκῶ μὲν οὐδὲν ῥῆμα σὺν κέρδει κακόν· | ἤδη γὰρ εἶδον πολλάκις καὶ τοὺς σοφοὺς | λόγῳ μάτην θνῄσκοντας· εἶθ΄͵ ὅταν δόμους | ἔλθωσιν αὖθις͵ ἐκτετίμηνται πλέον (S. El. 62–62) ‘No word is an ill omen if it reaps benefits, For I know, certainly, that many others have faked their deaths and then, when they have returned home, they have met with plenty of honour’

In this example we see a clear semantic connection between the expression of the temporal phase in which the situation has unfolded, de facto, and has been made unquestionable, and the expression of certainty in regard to the truth of said situation.

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This may be the origin of the use of ἤδη as an evidential marker highlighting the truth value of the propositional content of the adverb’s clause³⁰.

4 Conclusions The following conclusions may be drawn from this study: 1. In its prototypical uses, ἤδη is employed in Homeric poetry as an expression of Phase and only occasionally as an expression of Time, more specifically, of the immediate future. As Phase adverb, ἤδη implies that the state of affairs described in the clause that contains it was not the case in the relatively recent past. Therefore, a change occurs in the time between the phase referred to by the ἤδη clause and the phase that preceded it. The adverb, with a positive polarity, is used as a predicate complement. Its use as a complement of a syntagma or of one of its components seems to be linked to performance of a focus adverb function. 2. In its non–prototypical uses, ἤδη is employed in Homeric poetry as a focus adverb and possibly also as a discourse marker, specifically as a deontic modality marker and an evidential marker. It is plausible to consider that the adverb is developing non–prototypical values while still retaining part of its original notional meaning. 3. As a focus adverb, ἤδη complements elements that denote fractions of time, quantities, states and properties, but not elements that denote entities and can’t be interpreted as points on a temporal scale. In this aspect ἤδη differs clearly from ἔτι, which has developed a use as a non–temporal scalar adverb and complements elements that denote both specific and abstract entities. As a focus adverb, ἤδη ranks the element it complements at a higher position than the suggested alternatives and presents the state of affairs described in the clause as having a shorter duration than would be expected by the speaker. 4. As a possible discourse marker, ἤδη is used in contexts wherein the semantic and temporal relationship between the state of affairs described in the ἤδη clause and the state of affairs described –or presumed– in preceding clauses differs from that observed when the adverb is used prototypically. However, the analysis of ἤδη as a temporal or as a Phase adverb is normally not excluded. 5. In directive clauses, ἤδη admits an analysis as a deontic modality marker. In such contexts, the adverb underscores the directive nature of the message and also

30 In Spanish, some uses of ya (‘already’) in clauses like Ya es tonto ese niño or in grammaticalised expressions such as Ya ves also reflect the evolution from Phase adverb to evidential marker (cf. Fuentes 2009, s.u.). Another example of this evolution is seen in the German schon (‘already’), in uses like Peter ist schon ein guter Mensch (cf., amongst others, Gornik Gerhardt 1981, 89).

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expresses impatience on the part of the speaker. This use of ἤδη derives from its function as an expression of the immediate future. 6. In positive polarity declarative clauses, ἤδη admits an analysis as an evidential marker. In such contexts, ἤδη highlights the truth value of the propositional content of its clause. This use of ἤδη derives from its function as an adverbial expression of Phase; originally used as an expression of the temporal phase in which the situation unfolds, de facto, and becomes unquestionable, ἤδη develops a use as an expression of certainty in regard to the truth of the situation. 7. The non–prototypical uses of ἤδη found in Homeric poetry are also observed in the three tragedians and in Aristophanes. In contrast to what might be expected, these uses are not much less developed in Homer than they are in the four later authors.

Bibliography Aikhenvald, A.Y. 2003: Evidentiality in typological perspective, in Studies in Evidentiality, eds. A. Y. Aikhenvald & R. M. W. Dixon, Amsterdam, 1–32. Aikhenvald, A.Y. 2004: Evidentiality, Oxford. Anderson, L. B. 1986: Evidentials, paths of change, and mental maps: Typologically regular asymmetries, in Evidentiality: The linguistic coding of epistemology, eds. W. Chafe & J. Nichols, Norwood, 273–312. Auwera, J. van der 1997: Phasal adverbials in the languages of Europe, in Adverbial constructions in the languages of Europe, eds. J. van der Auwera & D. P. O. Baoill, Berlin, 25–145. Bonifazi, A. et al. 2016: Particles in Ancient Greek Discourse: Five Volumes exploring Particle Use across Genres. Hellenic Studies Series 74. Washington DC: Center for Helllenic Studies (On line). URL: http://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/display/6391. Chafe, W. & Nichols, J. (eds.) 1986: Evidentiality: The Linguistic Coding of Epistemology, Norwood. Conti, L. 2014: El espectro funcional de οὕτω( ς) en los poemas homéricos, «Emerita», 82/1, 25–49. Conti, L. 2015a: Zum adverbialen Gebrauch von ἀνά bei Homer, «Glotta», 91, 27–45. Conti, L. 2015b: Zu den Fokus Adverbien bei Homer: Analyse von ἔτι, «Historische Sprachforschung», 127, 208–227. Conti, L. 2017: Sobre la expresión del esfuerzo y la aproximación: análisis de μόγις y μόλις en Griego Antiguo, «Emerita», 85/1, 1–25. Crespo, E. 2008: L’ adverbe ἔτι dans les dialectes grecs, in L’aspect dans les dialectes grecs, eds. R. Hodot & G. Vottéro, Nancy, 29–38. Crespo, E. 2009: Conjunctive Adverbs in Ancient Greek, in Early European Languages in the eyes of modern Linguistics, eds. K. Loudová & M. Žáková, Brno, 111–120. Crespo, E. 2011: Conjunctive Adverbs: A neglected Chapter to Greek Grammar, in A Greek man in the Iberian Street, eds. E. Luján & J. L. García Alonso, Innsbruck, 35–44. Dendale, P. & Tasmowski, L. 2001: Introduction: Evidentiality and related Notions, «Journal of Pragmatics», 33, 339–348. Fraser, B. 2006: Towards a theory of discourse markers, in Approaches to Discourse Particles, ed. K. Fischer, Amsterdam, 189–204. Fuentes, C. 2009: Diccionario de conectores y operadores del español, Madrid.

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Gornik Gerhardt, H. 1981: Zu den Funktionen der Modalpartikel „schon“ und einiger ihrer Substituentia, Tübingen. Hoeksema, J. & Zwarts, F. 1991: Some remarks on focus adverbs, «Journal of Semantics», 8, 51–57. Jacobs, J. 1991: Negation, in Semantik. Ein internationales Handbuch der zeitgenössichen Forschung, eds. A. Von Stechow & D. Wunderlich, Berlin, 560–596. König, E. 1977: Temporal and non–temporal uses of noch and schon, «Linguistics and Philosophy», 1, 173–198. König, E. 1991a: The Meaning of Focus Particles: A Comparative Perspective, London – New York. König, E. 1991b: Gradpartikeln, in Semantik/Semantics. Ein internationales Handbuch der zeitgenössischen Forschung. An international Handbook of Contemporary Research, eds. A. von Stechow & D. Wunderlich, Berlin, 786–803. Krifka, M. 1999: Additive particles under stress, in Proceedings of Semantics and Linguistic Theory VIII, eds. Ch. Nishida & C. Russi, New York, 111–128. Krifka, M. 2000: Alternatives for Aspectual Particles: Semantics of still and already, in Proceedings of the Twenty–Sixth Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society, ed. A. K. Simpson, Berkeley, 401–412. Kroon, C. 1995: Discourse Particles in Latin: A Study of nam, enim, autem, vero and at, «Amsterdam Studies in Classical Philology 4», Amsterdam. Kroon, C.– Risselada, R. 2002: Phasality, polarity, focality: A feature analysis of the Latin particle iam, «Belgian journal of linguistics», 16, 63–78. Liddell, H. y Scott, R. 19409 : Greek–English Lexicon, Oxford. Palmer, F. R. 2001²: Mood and Modality. Cambridge. Quirk, R. et al. 1985: A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language, London – New York. RAE (Real Academia Española) 2010: Nueva gramática de la lengua española, Sintaxis II, Madrid. Roberts, C. 1998: Focus, the Flow of Information, and Universal Grammar, in The Limits of Syntax, eds. P. Culicover & L. McNally, Leiden, 109–160. Rooth, M. 1992: A theory of focus interpretation, «Natural Language Semantics», 1, 75–116. Schiffrin, D. 1987: Discourse markers, Cambridge. Sudhoff, S. 2010: Focus Particles in German, Philadelphia. Wakker, G. C. 2001: Le problème d’ ἔτι avec aorist, «Syntaktika», 22, 1–14. Wakker, G. C. 2002: Une première description de ἤδη chez Xénophon, «Syntaktika», 23, 1–13. Ziegler, S. 2012: Antonymie, in Deutsche Wortfeldetymologie in europäischem Kontext, Bd.1: Der Mensch in Natur und Kultur, ed. R. Lühr, Wiesbaden, s.u.

Emilio Crespo

Focus adverbs in Classical Greek Abstract: This article aims to provide a preliminary overview of καί ‘also, even’, μόνον ‘only’ and other focus adverbs in Classical Greek, drawing attention to a framework that can account for at least several focusing uses of the particles περ, δή and γε.

1 Introduction The expressions “focus adverbs”, “focus particles” and “focusing modifiers” are found in various recent publications dealing with modern languages, in reference to the modifying function performed by adverbs like the English also and only, the Spanish también ‘also’ and solo ‘only’, and the German auch ‘also’ and nur ‘only’ (see, e.g. Hudddleston–Pullum 2002, 586–595; RAE 2009, 2990–3020; Sudhoff 2010).¹ The name alludes to the elements or segments modified by these adverbs or particles, known as their “focus” –hence the terms focus adverb, focus particle and focusing modifier. One feature common to focus adverbs in these and other modern languages is that identifying the syntactic head they modify is not enough to enable understanding of their meaning contribution. Rather, we must know which element or segment of the modified syntactic head they apply to semantically. As these adverbs and particles have positional variability within their host clause and can modify a wide range of words, phrases and constructions, it is often unclear which element the focus adverb is bound to. As a result, many utterances containing a focus adverb are ambiguous because the adverb gives rise to several possible interpretations depending on which segment it applies to semantically. Let us consider (1): (1)

John had also attended the Classics seminar a. The things that John did included attending the Classics seminar b. The events that John attended included the Classics seminar c. The seminars John attended included the one on Classics as well as others d. Those attending the Classics seminar included John as well as others

The adverb also allows for several interpretations of utterance (1), depending on the element to which it is semantically bound. In the absence of context and of marking of

1 This article was written with the financial support of the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness (Research Project FFI2012–36944–C03–01) and in the framework of the research project “Rappresentazioni linguistiche dell’identità”, funded by the Italian Ministry of Education, Universities and Research (PRIN 2010HXPFF2). The English translations cited are taken from the Loeb Classical Series, in some cases slightly modified.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-145

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eventual pauses and stress, the utterance admits different interpretations, as indicated in (1a–d), and is therefore ambiguous. Note that the central position of also in (1), which is its preferred position (see Huddleston–Pullum 2002, 593), leads us to understand the adverb as dependent on the whole verb phrase attended the Classics seminar or on a segment of it (interpretations (1a–c)), but interpretation (1d), in which also syntactically depends on John, is also possible. In most instances, a particular inflection of the voice, the main stress of the utterance on the focus of the focusing adverb (König 1991b: 787), an eventual pause, the context or the setting prompts the addressee to select the appropriate interpretation for a given utterance. To account for the interpretational variability displayed by these adverbs, linguistic studies normally assert that only, also and focus particles in general can take a variable scope.² Since focus adverbs are characterised by positional variability within their clause and can modify a wide range of words (e.g. adjectives, adverbs, nouns and pronouns) and syntactic constructions (noun phrases, verb phrases, infinitives, subordinate and main clauses) as well as longer and shorter segments, they give rise to different interpretations depending on their position in the host clause and on the segment to which they apply semantically.

2 Purpose This article aims to provide a preliminary overview of καί ‘also, even’, μόνον ‘only’ and other focus adverbs in Classical Greek, drawing attention to what I believe constitutes a general framework that can account for at least several focusing uses of the particles περ, δή and γε. To this end, I will transfer to Classical Greek views that are widely accepted for some modern languages, drawing on the thorough philological scrutiny provided by the extensive literature on Classical Greek. The first part of the paper (§§ 3–5) will look at various properties that are common to focus adverbs, attempting to demonstrate that these adverbs also take a variable scope in Classical Greek (§ 3) and that they put their focus in relation to one or more stated or tacit alternatives (§ 4). In § 5, we will see that the segment modified by a focus adverb is brought to the foreground and fulfils the pragmatic function of contrastive focus in its clause. The contrastive focus differs from the informative focus in that the former puts the adverb’s focus in relation to one or more alternatives while the latter necessarily introduces new information. The rest of the paper will explore syntactic and semantic differences among groups of focus adverbs, looking first at the semantic values conveyed by common focus adverbs

2 Other expressions, such as negations and questions, can apply semantically to two or more focuses. This is why utterances such as I do not like travelling by car in winter and Did you see John at home yesterday? admit two interpretations depending on the scope of the negation and of the question over one or the two adjuncts, respectively.

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(§ 6). § 7 will look at the syntactic functions they can perform before going on to study some transformational processes that enable focus adverbs performing the syntactic function of adjuncts to be distinguished from other adjuncts. It will also examine the impact of focus adverbs on the truth conditions of their host proposition (§ 8). Finally, § 9 will summarise the conclusions drawn in the preceding sections. A full account of focus adverbs would represent, in itself, an advance in the grammatical description of Greek adverbs, but it would also be of great help towards providing a linguistically satisfactory account of the emphatic value conveyed by Greek particles.³

3 Variable scope As in modern languages, one distinctive feature of καί and of focus adverbs generally in Classical Greek is that they trigger different interpretations depending on the segment to which they apply semantically. In other words, they can take a variable scope, like the corresponding adverbs and particles in some modern languages. In most instances, only one of the possible interpretations will fit into the active discourse, and the focus adverb’s position in the host clause, the context and the setting will lead the addressee to select the speaker’s intended interpretation (König 1991a, 46–53). Thus, the underlined καί in (2) allows at least the two interpretations given in (2a) and (2b): (2)

ΣΩ. Καὶ γὰρ ἄν, ὦ Κρίτων, πλημμελὲς εἴη ἀγανακτεῖν τηλικοῦτον ὄντα εἰ δεῖ ἤδη τελευτᾶν. ΚΡ. Καὶ ἄλλοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, τηλικοῦτοι ἐν τοιαύταις συμφοραῖς ἁλίσκονται, ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν αὐτοὺς ἐπιλύεται ἡ ἡλικία τὸ μὴ οὐχὶ ἀγανακτεῖν τῇ παρούσῃ τύχῃ. (Pl., Cri. 43b–c) ‘Socrates. Well, Crito, it would be absurd if at my age I were disturbed because I must die now. a. Crito. Other men at this age, Socrates, also become involved in similar misfortunes, but their age does not in the least prevent them from being disturbed by their fate. b. Crito. Also other men at this age, Socrates, become involved in similar misfortunes. . . ’

Aside from the possibility that the underlined καί with which Crito begins his reply to Socrates is a coordinating conjunction linking its host sentence with the preceding

3 Similarly, an account of the conjunctive usages of adverbs being in itself an advance, provides in addition a pattern for describing the connective usages of particles and for reconstructing the historical rise of a number of coordinating conjunctions (Crespo 2011).

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sentence in Socrates’ turn of speech –an interpretation that the dialogical context does not favour because asyndeton is the rule between two turns of speech in dialogue and the coordinator καί at the beginning of a turn of speech is restricted to contexts other than the present one (see Denniston 1954, LXXII)–, καί allows two interpretations depending on the scope taken by the focus adverb. The translation given in (2a) understands καί as an adjunct or satellite that applies to the whole clause or at least to its verb phrase, and the translation given in (2b) suggests that καί is a modifier that only applies to ἄλλοι. . . τηλικοῦτοι, a noun phrase contrasting Socrates with other men of his age. All three interpretations are possible, but the last is more pregnant and fits better into the context pragmatically because it contrasts Socrates’ behaviour with that of other persons of the same age at the hour of their death, which is exactly what the argument demands. Socrates has just said it would be absurd “if at my age I were disturbed if I have to die already” and now Crito compares his attitude to that of other people the same age (τηλικοῦτοι) when they are at the end of their lives.

4 Focus adverbs contrast the focused segment with one or more alternatives A second feature of καί ‘also, even’ and other focus adverbs is that they express that the relevant segment relates the value of the focused expression to a set of alternatives (König 1991a, 32–37). Depending on the focus adverb employed, its focus may be added to one or more alternatives in the discourse or it may exclude other alternatives that are explicit or tacit in the context or setting. In other words, a number of focus adverbs in Classical Greek denote addition or inclusion of their focus in a set of contextually defined elements, and presuppose that the segment to which they apply semantically contrasts with one or more alternatives that are stated in the same clause (4) or sentence (3), are found in a different (normally preceding) sentence (5) of the active discourse, or are merely assumed by the setting in which the discourse takes place (6):⁴ (3)

Νῦν δὲ ἐπειδὴ οὐκέτι ἐναντιοῦται (scil. δαιμόνιόν τι ἐναντίωμα), οὕτω προσελήλυθα˙ εὔελπις δὲ εἰμὶ καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν μὴ ἐναντιώσεσθαι αὐτό (Pl., Alc. I 103b) ‘However, since it (scil. a certain spiritual opposition) now opposes me no longer, I have accordingly come to you; and I am in good hopes that it will not oppose me again in the future too’.

(4)

τότε δὲ πρὸς τῷ κάλλει καὶ παμπλήθη ταῦτα ἔφερεν (Pl., Criti. 111a).

4 There are other procedures for comparing and contrasting alternatives, such as I like this, (but) not that.

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‘And at that period, in addition to their fine quality, it also produced these things in vast quantity’. (5)

SO. . . . οἱ ἐπιεικέστατοι. . . ἡγήσονται. . . CR. ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ τῆς τῶν πολλῶν δόξης μέλειν (Pl., Cri. 44c–d) ‘SO. . . . the most reasonable men. . . will think. . . CR. It is necessary, Socrates, to care also for the opinion of the public’.

(6) Καὶ σὺ τέκνον· (DC 44, 19, 5) ‘You too, my son?’⁵ In (3), καί specifies the particular value of the time variable τὸ λοιπόν ‘in the future’, bringing it to the foreground and contrasting it with the preceding νῦν ‘now’. From a semantic standpoint, the focus of a focus adverb or particle specifies the value of a variable contrasted with one or more explicit or tacit alternatives. Thus, τὸ λοιπόν ‘in the future, henceforth’ expresses the temporal value of x in the segment “it will not oppose me again x too” and puts it against the alternative present, rendered by νῦν. In (4), Critias asserts that in ancient times (before the war against Atlantis) Attica produced fruits that were also copious, in addition to being of good quality. The focus of καί is παμπλήθη ‘abundant’, which adds the abundance of the harvest to its beauty (πρὸς τῷ κάλλει). The adverb καί highlights the adjective that points to the high quantity (παμπλήθη) of the crops Attica yielded in the past and adds it to the quality expressed by πρὸς τῷ κάλλει. However, since these two proprieties of past Attic goods are rendered by a prepositional phrase and an adjective respectively, the expressions do not coordinate. In (5), the underlined καί highlights the notion of caring for public opinion, which is added to consideration of what the most reasonable men will think. In (6), the adverb καί brings Brutus, referred to with the personal pronoun, to the foreground and expresses that Julius Caesar is adding Brutus to Cassius, Casca and the other plotters who have already stabbed his body with their daggers, as well as the fact that he had presupposed Brutus not to be among them. The pronoun contrasts with other alternatives, which are tacit in (6) but are readily inferred from the setting. Thus, focus adverbs bring the modified unit to the foreground and contrast it with one or more alternatives that remain in the background or are tacit and merely presupposed.

5 Contrastive focus A third feature common to focus adverbs is their interaction with the focus structure of a sentence (Bertrand 2014). As described above, they bring the segment they modify to the foreground and relate the value of the focused expression to a set of alternatives that are

5 In (6) the added segment can be understood as purely neutral (‘you too?’) or as the most unexpected on an imaginary scale (‘even you?’).

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explicit or merely tacit and presupposed. Focus adverbs contribute towards identifying the focus of a clause and presuppose that the expression they modify performs the pragmatic function of focus, indicating that it has been added to an explicit or tacit set or that it excludes any other explicit or tacit alternative. In any case, what is crucial is that the focused expression contrasts with one or more alternatives, irrespective of whether they convey information that is new or already known (König 1991a, 32): (7)

ἆρά γε μὴ ἐμοῦ προμηθῇ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδείων μή, ἐὰν σὺ ἐνθένδε ἐξέλθῃς, οἱ συκοφάνται ἡμῖν πράγματα παρέχωσιν ὡς σὲ ἐνθένδε ἐκκλέψασιν, καὶ ἀναγκασθῶμεν ἢ καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν οὐσίαν ἀποβαλεῖν ἢ συχνὰ χρήματα, ἢ καὶ ἄλλο τι πρὸς τούτοις παθεῖν; (Pl., Cri. 44e) ‘you are not considering me and your other friends, are you, fearing that, if you escape, the informers will make trouble for us by saying that we stole you away, and we shall be forced to lose either all our property or a good deal of money, or even be punished in some other way besides?’

In (7) the alternatives contrasted with the modified phrase ἄλλο τι are not informatively new, as they have just been mentioned and are repeated again by means of the underlined prepositional phrase πρὸς τούτοις. Whereas other focused elements necessarily refer to new information, the segment modified by a focus adverb is contrastive but not informatively new, and need not be. Consider (8): (8)

a. Κατέβην χθὲς. . . προσευξόμενός τε τῇ θεῷ καὶ ἅμα τὴν ἑορτὴν βουλόμενος θεάσασθαι [. . . ]. καλὴ μὲν οὖν μοι καὶ ἡ τῶν ἐπιχωρίων πομπὴ ἔδοξεν εἶναι (Pl., R. 327 a). ‘I went down yesterday. . . to pay my devotions to the Goddess, and also because I wished to see how they would conduct the festival [. . . ] . I thought that also the procession of citizens was very fine’. b. καὶ πῶς ἄν, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, ὁμολογοῖτο μέγας θεὸς εἶναι παρὰ τούτων, οἵ φασιν αὐτὸν οὐδὲ θεὸν εἶναι; (Pl., Smp. 202b–c) ‘And how, Socrates, –she said– can those agree that he is a great god who say he is no god at all?’ c. ἔδοξέ μοι οὗτος ὁ ἀνὴρ δοκεῖν μὲν εἶναι σοφὸς ἄλλοις τε πολλοῖς ἀνθρώποις καὶ μάλιστα ἑαυτῷ (Pl. Ap. 21c). ‘This man seemed to me to seem to be wise to many other people and most of all to himself’.

Ιn (8a) the adverb καί foregrounds the noun phrase ἡ τῶν ἐπιχωρίων πομπή, which refers to a hyponymous concept already indirectly introduced by ‘the festival’. This is implied by the article, which expresses that the speaker believes the entity denoted by the noun phrase is known to the addressee. In (8b) the adverb foregrounds the noun– phrase θεόν, which contrasts with μέγας θεός. In (8c), μάλιστα highlights the reflexive

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pronoun ἑαυτῷ, which refers to an individual who seems wise to many people, most of all himself. Note that the pronoun ἑαυτῷ used to refer to this individual does not introduce a new piece of information; he has already been mentioned and is referred to again in this same sentence with οὗτος ὁ ἀνήρ. The explicit alternatives to himself are the people who consider him to be wise, and perhaps Socrates, who presupposes the others to attribute a higher degree of knowledge to him than he does himself.⁶ By virtue of performing such a contrastive pragmatic function, focus adverbs emphatically foreground their focuses with respect to one or more alternatives that are tacit or lie in the background. This emphasis and foregrounding could be construed as the additional time spent by the addressee in contemplating the segment foregrounded by the focus adverb and scanning the context and setting to find the set of alternatives that contrast with its focus. Thus, the emphasis or foregrounding performed by focus adverbs can be characterised and theoretically measured in terms of the additional time spent applying cognitive skills to discover the alternative(s) to the segment highlighted or underscored by a focus adverb.

6 Semantic values Focus adverbs perform various semantic roles that can be conveniently classed according to the type of relationship established between their focus and the alternatives they evoke. The three main semantic roles are addition or inclusion, partial restriction and exclusion or total restriction.

6.1 Inclusion or addition Adverbs and other expressions of addition signal that the segment they modify is a variable from an explicit or tacit set. Focus expressions of addition include καί ‘also, even’; οὐδέ ‘not. . . either, not. . . even’; adverbial πρός, προσέτι and ἔτι ‘besides, furthermore’; and πρὸς τούτοις ‘in addition to that’. As we know, καί and its negative version οὐδέ ‘not. . . either, not. . . even’ immediately precede the modified element “except where that word is preceded by an article or preposition” (cf. Denniston 1954, 325–327):⁷ (9)

᾿Αλλ’, ὦ Τίμαιε, δέχομαι μέν, ᾧ δὲ καὶ σὺ κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἐχρήσω, συγγνώμην αἰτούμενος ὡς περὶ μεγάλων μέλλων λέγειν, ταὐτὸν καὶ νῦν ἐγὼ τοῦτο παραιτοῦμαι (Pl., Criti. 106b–c). ‘And I accept the task, Timaeus; but the request which also you yourself made at the beginning, when you asked for indulgence on the ground of the magnitude

6 Foregrounding may be marked by an accentual peak, word order or by means of a focus particle. 7 For καί see Wakker (1994, 329–342), Jiménez Delgado (2016; 2017) and Crespo (2017a).

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of the theme you were about to expound, that same request I also make now on my own behalf’. (10)

οὐ γάρ που καὶ σοί γε δίκη τις οὖσα τυγχάνει πρὸς τὸν βασιλέα ὥσπερ ἐμοί. (Pl., Euthphr. 2a) ‘For it cannot be that you also have an action before the king, as I have’.

(11)

ΣΩ. Εἶτα πῶς οὐκ εὐθὺς ἐπήγειράς με, ἀλλὰ σιγῇ παρακάθησαι; ΚΡ. Οὐ μὰ τὸν Δία, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐδ’ ἂν αὐτὸς ἤθελον ἐν τοσαύτῃ τε ἀγρυπνίᾳ καὶ λύπῃ εἶναι (Pl., Cri. 43b) ‘SO. Then why did you not wake me at once, instead of sitting by me in silence? CR. No, no, by Zeus, Socrates, neither I would like myself to be so sleepless and sorrowful’.

Of the two instances of καί underlined in (9), the former contrasts σύ with the following ἐγώ, and the latter confronts νῦν with κατ’ ἀρχάς. In (10), Euthyphro says that he is convinced that Socrates’ presence outside the ‘royal court’ is not because he has a lawsuit before the court of the archon basileús. The adverb καί ‘also’ modifies and highlights the personal pronoun σοί, which is also foregrounded by the particle γε, and rejects the inclusion of Socrates in the group to which Euthyphro himself belongs, as indicated by ὥσπερ ἐμοί ‘like me’. In (11), Crito says that neither would he like to be as sleepless and sorrowful as he supposes Socrates to be. As seen in § 3 above, adverbs of addition can take a variable scope depending on the segment they apply to semantically, and give rise to various possible interpretations that make the utterance ambiguous, in particular when dealing with written texts and in the absence of context and setting. In any event, focus adverbs contrast their focus with one or more alternatives that are either stated in the same or in another sentence of the active discourse or are tacit and can be gleaned from the context or the setting. Thus, the translations of (12) by different scholars differ depending on the segment to which the adverb is bound: (12)

τί κυνηγεσίων καί σοι μελέτη; (E. Hipp. 224) ‘Thy hunting and thy fountain brink?’ (Murray: καί modifies σοι)⁸ ‘Why concern yourself with hunting?’ (Kovacs: καί modifies κυνηγεσίων) ‘Why do you concern yourself with hunting?’ (Barrett: καί modifies μελέτη)

Unlike most modern European languages, Classical Greek lacks a lexical distinction between adverbs of addition with a neutral expectation (‘also’, ‘not. . . either. . . ’) and adverbs of inclusion contrary to expectation (‘even’, ‘not. . . even’), which are also called scalar additive adverbs as they denote that the speaker adds a segment and places it at the lowest degree along a scale of expectation. As a result, περ in Homeric poetry,

8 According to Denniston (1954, 326), «the sense surely is ‘as well as Hyppolytus’, and Murray’s καί σοί is again right».

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καί and ἔτι, for instance, can correspond to ‘also’ and to ‘even’,⁹ and οὐδέ to ‘not. . . either. . . ’ or as ‘not. . . even. . . ’ depending on the context (see Denniston 1954, 293): (13)

ξένοι οὗτοι ἐνθάδε ἕτοιμοι ἀναλίσκειν· εἷς δὲ καὶ κεκόμικεν ἐπ’ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἀργύριον ἱκανόν (Pl. Cri. 45b) ‘there are foreigners here willing to spend theirs; and one of them, Simmias of Thebes, has even brought for this special purpose sufficient funds’.

(14) τότε μὲν εὖ ζῶντες, νῦν δὲ οὐδὲ ζῶντες (Pl., R. 329a), ‘(in the belief that) then they lived well and now they do not live even’. In (13), the fact that a foreigner has brought money to free Socrates from prison confounds Crito’s expectations and surprises him. In (14), elderly people who used to live well believe, contrary to what one would have expected, that their present situation is no life at all. Similarly, a comparative of superiority modified by a focus adverb of addition indicates that the degree of the quality expressed by the comparative is contrasted with one or more related alternatives that have the same quality, and is judged to be superior or more surprising (15, 16): (15) ῥεῖα θεός γ’ ἐθέλων καὶ ἀμείνονας ἠέ περ οἷδε | ἵππους δωρήσαιτ’, (H., Il. 10.556) ‘a god that willed it easily might bestow even better horses than these’ (16)

μειζόνως δὲ αὐτοῦ τυχεῖν ἔτι μᾶλλον ἀξιῶ περὶ τῶν μελλόντων ῥηθήσεσθαι (Pl., Criti. 106c) ‘and I claim indeed to be granted a still larger measure of indulgence on what is about to be put forward’.

In (15), the horses that a god could bestow are confronted with Rhesus’ horses, which Odysseus is bringing with him when he returns from his night raid. In (16), Critias demands more indulgence for what he is about to say than that enjoyed by the preceding speaker. In both cases the alternative is explicit in the context, though not in the same sentence.

6.2 Partial restriction A number of adverbs and focusing particles express partial restriction. These include the second καί in the combination καὶ δὴ καί ‘and in particular’, generally after a heavier stop (Denniston 1954, XLVIII; 255);¹⁰ γε ‘at least, particularly’; καὶ δή, a combination

9 For ἔτι and ἤδη denoting denial of expectation and phasal scalarity, see Wakker (2001; 2002); Maquieira (2015; 2016); Conti (2014). 10 «These combinations signify that the addition made by καί is an important one». (Denniston 1954, 253).

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which generally is not connective, and καὶ. . . δή, generally after a light stop;¹¹ as well as relative (also called elative) superlative adverbs expressing extreme quantity or degree (μάλιστα ‘most of all, above all’, ἥκιστα ‘least’, etc.). All of them indicate that the segment to which they apply semantically is given particular or special consideration, and that nothing else is considered to the same extent. At the same time, they bring the segment they modify to the foreground in relation to other alternatives and denote the entity, quality or event upon which they fall as being more special, particular, accurate, precise, or straightforward than other possible alternatives, whether expressed or tacit: (17) Καὶ μήν, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, πολλὰ μὲν καὶ ἄλλα περὶ αὐτῆς ἐννοῶ, ὡς παντὸς ἄρα μᾶλλον ὀρθῶς ᾠκίζομεν τὴν πόλιν, οὐχ ἥκιστα δὲ ἐνθυμηθεὶς περὶ ποιήσεως λέγω. (Pl., R. 595a) ‘And truly – I said – many other considerations assure me that we were entirely right in our organisation of the state, and not the least (= especially), I think, in the matter of poetry’. Like καί and other adverbs of addition, adverbs and particles of partial restriction take a variable scope and can trigger various possible interpretations depending on the segment to which they apply. The main stress of the utterance, the context and the setting generally make only one value appropriate. The interpretation of some examples, however, is controversial. Thus, μάλιστα may be an adjunct of στεργόμεθα or a modifier of its subject in (18), as shown by the translations quoted:¹² (18)

αἱ γοῦν ἄλλαι ἀποικίαι τιμῶσιν ἡμᾶς, καὶ μάλιστα ὑπὸ ἀποίκων στεργόμεθα (Th. 1.38.3) a. ‘For our other colonies both honour and love us much’ (Hobbes). b. ‘At any rate, our other colonies honor us, and we are very much beloved by our colonists’ (Crowley).¹³ c. ‘Our other colonies at any rate honour us; no city is more beloved by her colonies than Corinth’ (Jowett).

Furthermore, like adverbs of addition, focus adverbs expressing a common extreme relative quantity or degree evoke one or more explicit (19) or tacit (20) alternatives: (19)

ΚΡ. καὶ πολλάκις μὲν δή σε καὶ πρότερον ἐν παντὶ τῷ βίῳ ηὐδαιμόνισα τοῦ τρόπου, πολὺ δὲ μάλιστα ἐν τῇ νῦν παρεστώσῃ συμφορᾷ (Pl., Cri. 43b)

11 A similar value is conveyed by καί when used as a coordinating conjunction in contexts such as ἄλλως τε καί ‘both otherwise and. . . ’ i.e. ‘especially, above all’). 12 Degree is a type of quantification applicable to gradable properties, as evidenced by the fact that how much? refers not only to quantity but also to degree. Quantification merges with manner (I like it very much ~ especially), frequency (he travels much ~ often) or duration (it lasted much ~ years). 13 Cf. Classen (1862): «aus dem nachdrücklich ans Ende gestellten ἡμᾶς ergänzt sich auch zu μάλιστα leicht ἡμεῖς».

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‘CR. I have often thought throughout your life hitherto that you were of a happy disposition, and I think so more than ever in this recent misfortune’ (20)

παιδία τε αὑτοῦ ἀναβιβασάμενος ἵνα ὅτι μάλιστα ἐλεηθείη (Pl., Ap. 34c) ‘bringing forward his children to arouse compassion as much as possible’

The expression πολὺ. . . μάλιστα in (19) contrasts the degree of Socrates’ happiness on many other occasions in his life (πολλάκις μὲν δή σε καὶ πρότερον ἐν παντὶ τῷ βίῳ) and in his present misfortune (ἐν τῇ νῦν παρεστώσῃ συμφορᾷ). In (20), Socrates places “bringing forward his children” at the highest degree (ὅτι μάλιστα) on the scale of what can be done to arouse compassion before a court, without evoking any other degrees in particular. The degrees of partial restriction expressed by focus adverbs and particles can be arranged roughly along a scale. The relative maximal degree is rendered by μάλιστα, which in (21), for example, indicates that most prayers were directed at the Atreus’ two sons, who represent the focus of the adverb (᾿Ατρεΐδα δύω) and contrast with the alternative, πάντας ᾿Αχαιούς (Martínez 2016). A relatively lower degree is expressed by the adverb καί in combinations where it has the sense of ‘particularly’. In such circumstances, καί denotes that its focus lies at a degree located higher along the same scale than the other explicit or tacit alternatives, such as in (22), the beginning of the passage in which Socrates recounts Theuth’s invention of script. The particle γε, denoting a lower rank, can signal that its focus lies on a level that meets the minimum quantity or degree required for it to qualify as a member of a given set or as having a certain property, but without excluding a higher quantity or degree, as in (23). Adverbs of approximation (σχεδόν, μόνον οὐ, ὀλίγου and ὀλίγου δεῖν ‘almost’, μόγις and μόλις ‘hardly, scarcely’)¹⁴ and of rounding (ὡς, οἷον ‘about’) express that the segment they modify does not succeed in reaching a certain degree of a particular property, but misses it by a narrow margin (in the case of adverbs meaning ‘almost’) (24) or that it does succeed, but by a narrow margin (in the case of adverbs with the value of ‘barely’), or that it is close to succeeding along the same scale (in the case of adverbs of rounding).¹⁵ The relative minimum or negative degree is marked by adverbs such as ἥκιστα ‘least’, ἁπλῶς and ἀτεχνῶς ‘simply’, which in (25) denotes that the mere fact of Socrates defending himself would be the lowest degree required to demonstrate his lack of belief in the gods: (21)

λίσσετο πάντας ᾿Αχαιούς | ᾿Ατρεΐδα δὲ μάλιστα δύω (H., Il. 1.15–6) ‘and he implored all the Achaeans, and most of all the two sons of Atreus’.

(22) τοῦτον δὴ πρῶτον ἀριθμόν τε καὶ λογισμὸν εὑρεῖν καὶ γεωμετρίαν καὶ ἀστρονομίαν, ἔτι δὲ πεττείας τε καὶ κυβείας, καὶ δὴ καὶ γράμματα. (Pl., Phdr. 274c–d)

14 Conti (2017); Redondo (2015; 2016; this volume). 15 Like focus adverbs (see example (10) above), approximating adverbs can be modified by focus adverbs as shown by (24).

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‘He (Theuth) was who invented numbers and arithmetic and geometry and astronomy, also draughts and dice, and, most important of all, letters’. (23)

ἐγὼ οὖν σοφώτερος ἐκείνων γενήσομαι κατ’ αὐτό γε τοῦτο (Pl., Phdr. 243b) ‘Now I will be wiser than them at least in this respect’.¹⁶

(24)

χαλεπώτερον, ἴσως δὲ καὶ σχεδὸν ἀδύνατον. (Pl., Sph. 246c–d) ‘more difficult and perhaps even almost impossible’.

(25) σαφῶς γὰρ ἄν, εἰ πείθοιμι ὑμᾶς καὶ τῷ δεῖσθαι βιαζοίμην ὀμωμοκότας, θεοὺς ἂν διδάσκοιμι μὴ ἡγεῖσθαι ὑμᾶς εἶναι, καὶ ἀτεχνῶς ἀπολογούμενος κατηγοροίην ἂν ἐμαυτοῦ ὡς θεοὺς οὐ νομίζω. (Pl. Ap. 35d). ‘For it is plain that if by persuasion and supplication I forced you to break your oaths I should teach you to disbelieve in the existence of the gods and, simply in making my defence, should accuse myself of not believing in them’. In (25) Socrates contends that if he forced the members of the jury to break their oaths, his very defence would turn into an accusation of impiety against himself. In other words, ἀτεχνῶς expresses that in case that Socrates defends himself this mere fact would be the minimal alternative required to condemn him as guilty of the accusation of not believing in the gods. The adverb expresses a value close to that of focus adverbs of exclusion or total restriction. It differs from the preceding examples in that ἀτεχνῶς modifies the host clause whereas the other adverbs modify an adjective or a noun phrase.

6.3 Exclusion or total restriction Adverbs and particles such as μόνον ‘only’, ἀκριβῶς ‘exactly’, ἀτεχνῶς ‘simply’, κομιδῇ ‘exactly, just’ and περ ‘precisely’ (cf. Denniston 1954, 481–490; Bakker 1988; Wakker 1994, 315–329) also take a variable scope and can trigger two or more possible interpretations, depending on which segment of its clause the adverb is attached to. Consider (26) and (27): (26)

καὶ οἱ μὲν Λακεδαιμόνιοι . . . ἡγοῦντο, κατ’ ὀλιγαρχίαν δὲ σφίσιν αὐτοῖς μόνον ἐπιτηδείως ὅπως πολιτεύσουσι θεραπεύοντες (Th. 1.19.1) a. ‘The policy of Lacedaemon was not to exact tribute from her allies, but merely to secure their subservience to her interests by establishing oligarchies among them’ b. ‘. . . but to secure their subservience merely to her interests. . . ’

(27)

καὶ δοκεῖς μοι ἀτεχνῶς πάντας ἀθλίους ἡγεῖσθαι πλὴν Σωκράτους (Pl., Smp. 173d)

14

16 See Denniston (1954, 114–115, 140–141); Wakker (1994, 308 ).

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a. ‘and it seems to me that you consider simply everybody hapless except Socrates’. b. ‘and it seems to me that you simply consider everybody hapless except Socrates’. c. ‘and it seems to me that you consider everybody simply hapless except Socrates’. Example (26) admits at least the two interpretations given in (26a) and (26b). The latter has the advantage that μόνον in most examples immediately follows the segment it modifies (cf. Martínez 2014a: 24–26). As for (27), ἀτεχνῶς allows three readings depending on whether it applies to πάντας (27a), ἡγεῖσθαι (27b) or ἀθλίους (27c). Unlike adverbs of addition and of partial restriction, which presuppose the existence of one or more alternatives to the segment modified, adverbs of exclusion denote total restriction and the lack of any alternative to the segment modified. Another alternative is explicitly ruled out in some examples: (28)

οὐκοῦν χρῆν τὰ πρὸς ἡμᾶς μόνον ὑμᾶς ἐπάγεσθαι αὐτοὺς καὶ μὴ ξυνεπιέναι μετ’ αὐτῶν ἄλλοις (Th. 3.63.2). ‘If so, you ought only to have called in the Athenians against us, instead of joining them in attacking others’.

However, the notions of exclusion and addition are related. This is demonstrated by the fact that negation of exclusion is a common way to express addition, and οὐ μόνον ‘not only’ is commonly correlated with ἀλλὰ (καί) ‘but (also)’ with the value of addition; οὐ μόνον makes the alternative introduced by ἀλλὰ (καί) explicit: (29)

εἰ ἦν ὑμῖν νόμος, ὥσπερ καὶ ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις, περὶ θανάτου μὴ μίαν ἡμέραν μόνον κρίνειν ἀλλὰ πολλάς, ἐπείσθητε ἄν· (Pl., Ap. 37a–b) ‘If you had a law, as some other people have, that capital cases should not be decided in only one day, but after several days, you would be convinced’.

(30) οὐ μόνον τὴν σὴν γυναῖκα διέφθαρκεν ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλας πολλάς (Lys. 1.16) ‘He has corrupted not only your wife but also many other women’. In (29) Socrates asserts that if the members of the jury had more than one single day to issue the verdict, they would be convinced. The expression μὴ. . . μίαν ἡμέραν μόνον correlates with its alternative . . . ἀλλὰ πολλάς. Example (30) is similar, with the sole difference that the alternative is introduced by ἀλλὰ καί. Furthermore, adverbs of exclusion are also related to those of partial restriction, as the former group completely restricts one or more alternatives, whereas adverbs of partial restriction and of relative degree restrict their alternatives only partially.¹⁷

17 Similarly, μόνον οὐ establishes a relation between μόνον and adverbs of approximation such as σχεδόν by means of negation: οἶμαι μόνον οὐκ ἐν μακάρων νήσοις οἰκεῖν (Pl., Men. 235c) ‘I almost imagine myself to be living in the Islands of the Blessed’.

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7 Focus adverbs as a special subtype of adjuncts From a syntactic point of view, focus adverbs are either modifiers¹⁸ of a wide range of words and phrases (nouns and noun phrases (31a), adjectives and adjective phrases, adverbs, pronouns, verb phrases (31b) or lower segments) or, more rarely, they are adjuncts¹⁹ to a subordinate (31c) or main verb phrase (31d). It is controversial whether or not focus adverbs can modify a clause (Ramat – Rica 1998; Martínez 2015). In any case, when focus adverbs modify a larger segment as in (31c) and (31d), the relation of the modified segment with one or more alternatives becomes less apparent and only its additive or restrictive character is underlined:²⁰ (31)

a. Σαῦλος ὁ καὶ Παῦλος (Acts 13.9) ‘Saulus, the one also named Paulus’. b. οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι δι’ ὄχλου ἐγένοντό σοι διαλεγόμενοι, ἐγὼ δὲ τοσούτων ἐτῶν οὐδὲ προσεῖπον. (Pl., Alc. I 103a) ‘whereas they have all pestered you with their conversation I have not even addressed one word to you for so many years’. c. προσθήσω δὲ καὶ ὅτι. . . (Pl., Alc. I 104c) ‘I will also add that. . . ’ d. συγχωρησόμεθα ἤδη–τί γὰρ καὶ ἐροῦμεν; (Pl., R. 434d) ‘we will then concede the point–for what else will there be to say?’

The adverbs καί and οὐδέ always precede their focus, sometimes immediately and sometimes not, while μόνον follows its focus. Adjuncts in modern languages behave differently and can be divided into two groups depending on whether or not the constituents that perform this function can undergo a number of transformational processes (Quirk et al. 1985, 504–505). A number of semantic classes of adjuncts (including adjuncts of position in time, which will be used to illustrate the distinctions that can be made) along with arguments (subject, object, indirect object and obligatory complements) –but not other adjuncts, including focus adverbs– can be the focus of a cleft–sentence (32a), can be contrasted in alternative interrogation (32b) and can be elicited by question forms (32c): (32)

a. Arguments and a number of adjuncts can be the focus of a cleft sentence He also sang that song yesterday

18 According to Quirk et al. (1985, 604–612), focus adverbs are a type of subjuncts which «draw attention to a part of a sentence as wide as the predication or as narrow as a single constituent of an element». 19 Modifiers of verb phrases and of clauses are called adjuncts or satellites. 20 Adverbs of place, time (οἱ μὲν πάλαι. . . φῶτες, Pi., Isth. 2.1 ‘the men of old’), manner (συλλαβή, ὡσαύτως δὲ στοιχεῖον, Pl., Theaet. 205e ‘syllable and likewise letter’) and degree (μάλα συμφορά, X., Cyr. 4.2.5 ‘a great misfortune’) can also be modifiers in noun phrase structures (Crespo 2017b).

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→ It was he who also sang that song yesterday → It was that song that he also sang yesterday → It was yesterday that he also sang that song → It was also that he sang that song yesterday The last sentence is grammatical but is not a cleft clause in the same sense as the preceding ones, because the complement of was is not also, but the content clause as shown by its rewording into it (e.g. the reason) was that he sang that song yesterday. b. Arguments and adjuncts can be contrasted in alternative interrogation ΣΩ. ῎Αρτι δὲ ἥκεις ἢ πάλαι; ΚΡ. ᾿Επιεικῶς πάλαι. (Pl. Crit. 43a) ‘SO. Have you just come, or some time ago? CR. Some little time ago’ In (32b) the temporal adjuncts ‘just. . . or some time ago’ are contrasted in an alternative interrogation. Similar examples such as did you give it to him or to her? are trivial with complements and arguments. c. Arguments and a number of adjuncts can be elicited by question forms: He only gave it to John yesterday → Who only gave it to John yesterday? → What did he only give to John yesterday? → Who(m) did he only give it to yesterday? → When did he only give it to John? There is no question form for only. It is interesting to note that focus adverbs in modern languages do not undergo these transformational processes, which is an indication that focus adverbs do not go along with arguments and with adjuncts that, like those indicating position in time, can undergo such transformational processes, but with other adjuncts that cannot undergo them. In other words, focus adverbs cannot be the informational focus in constructions such as interrogatives expressing alternative questions, contrastive negation, and cleft sentences. Instances of such transformational processes, trivial in live languages, are rarely attested in the Ancient Greek texts that have come down to us, but their absence is probably due to mere chance. From a semantic standpoint, arguments and adjuncts that can undergo such transformational processes have in common the fact that they refer to constituents that play a semantic role in the state of affairs represented by the predication, whereas adjuncts that cannot undergo such transformational processes fulfill a semantic role, not in the state of affairs represented by the predication but at the interpersonal level, pointing to the evaluation made by the speaker of the represented state of affairs or to the interaction between speaker and addressee. This semantic interpretation of the distinction between

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arguments and adjuncts that can undergo the transformational processes illustrated above, on the one hand, and adjuncts that cannot undergo them as well as focus adverbs, on the other, is consistent with the description of the semantic roles expressed by focus adverbs put forward in section 6 above: the notions of addition and partial or total restriction expressed by focus adverbs do not belong to the same semantic domains as spatial or temporal location, duration, manner, instrument and the remaining semantic roles conveyed by adjuncts which denote circumstances under which the state of affairs represented by the predication unfolds (cf. Hengeveld – MacKenzie 2008, 107–124). Thus, focus adverbs performing a function as adjuncts have in common with some semantic subtypes of adjuncts the fact that they cannot undergo the transformational processes illustrated above (being the focus of a cleft sentence, being contrasted in alternative interrogation and being elicited by question forms). At the same time, focus adverbs differ from arguments and from adjuncts of time position and others which refer to a constituent that plays a role in the state of affairs represented by the predication. Focus adverbs in the function of an adjunct do not refer to constituents that play a role in the state of affairs as represented by the predication.

8 Focus adverbs and propositional value It is well known that adjuncts that refer to the representation of a state of affairs such as time position and manner (like the adverbs underlined in (33)) and adjuncts that refer to the degree of the speaker’s commitment regarding the truth of an utterance (34) restrict the propositional value of their host sentence: (33) ΣΩ. ῎Αρτι δὲ ἥκεις ἢ πάλαι? ΚΡ. ᾿Επιεικῶς πάλαι (Pl., Cri. 43a–b). ‘SOCRATES. Have you just come, or some time ago? CRITO. Some little time ago’. (34)

ἴσως γὰρ ἂν εὖ λέγοις (Pl., Men. 78c). ‘For you perhaps may be right’.

The temporal adverbs in (33) restrict the truth conditions of the clause to which they apply. Thus, the question formulated by Socrates in (33) has truth conditions that differ with or without the temporal adverbs, and Crito’s reply is only true if he came to the prison to visit Socrates some little time ago. Similarly, modal adverbs modify the truth conditions of the proposition to which they apply. Thus, ἴσως in (34), irrespective of the mood of its predicate, points to a possible event and expresses that the speaker makes no commitment as to the veracity of the proposition. Unlike modal adverbs, adverbs expressing an emotional evaluation (35a) (‘fortunately’, ‘sadly’; ἄρα ‘interestingly’, ‘surprisingly’), an evaluation of the legal norms or ethical principles that apply to the event designated (35b) (δικαίως ‘justly’; ἀναγκαίως

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‘necessarily’) or the speaker’s approval or disproval (35c–e) (‘rightly’, ‘correctly’; εἰκότως ‘reasonably’) do not restrict the truth value of their utterances: (35)

a. τοῦτ’ ἔστιν ὅ μοι ἐναντιοῦται τὰ πολιτικὰ πράττειν, καὶ παγκάλως γέ μοι δοκεῖ ἐναντιοῦσθαι (Pl., Ap. 31d). ‘This it is which opposes my engaging in politics, and it seems to me that it does well by opposing it’. b. δικαίως ἐπαινοῖντ΄ ἂν αὐτῶν εἰς διδασκαλίαν. (Pl. Alc. I 111a) ‘they can justly be praised for their teaching of such subjects’. c. ἴσως ἂν εἰκότως αὐτῷ συγγνώμην εἴχετε· (Lys.12.29) ‘reasonably, you might perhaps have some reason for pardoning him’. d. καὶ ἔτυχεν ἡμῶν ἡ φυλὴ ᾿Αντιοχὶς πρυτανεύουσα ὅτε ὑμεῖς τοὺς δέκα στρατηγοὺς τοὺς οὐκ ἀνελομένους τοὺς ἐκ τῆς ναυμαχίας ἐβουλεύσασθε ἁθρόους κρίνειν, παρανόμως, ὡς ἐν τῷ ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ πᾶσιν ὑμῖν ἔδοξεν. (Pl., Ap.32b) ‘and it happened that my tribe, the Antiochis, held the presidency when you wished to judge collectively, not severally, the ten generals who had failed to gather up the slain after the naval battle; illegally, as you all agreed afterwards’. e. οὔτε ἀπεικότως ἔχομεν ἃ κεκτήμεθα (Thuc. 1.73.1) ‘And it is not unreasonably that we keep what we possess’.

The proposition asserted by (35d) is true if the Athenians judged the ten generals collectively, irrespective of whether the judicial action and the trial were illegal. If a member of the audience stands up and says this is not true, he is denying that the generals were judged, not evaluating the event as illegal. Similar arguments can be applied to the other examples in (35).²¹ The behaviour of focus adverbs with respect to their restriction of the propositional value is varied. Whereas adverbs of exclusion or total restriction restrict the propositional value of their host sentences, adverbs of addition and of partial restriction do not modify the propositional value of their host sentences. One widespread view (Huddleston – Pullum 2002, 592–593; Sudhof 2010, 48–52) considers focus adverbs of exclusion to restrict the propositional value of the utterance they are attached to. Consider (36): (36)

a. ποίησις γὰρ τοῦτο μόνον καλεῖται (Pl., Smp. 205c) ‘For only this is called poetry’. b. Assertion: ‘Nothing other than this is called poetry’ c. Presupposition: ‘This is called poetry’.

21 Cuzzolin (1995); Ramat – Rica (1998); Kroon (1998).

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In (36a) the speaker asserts (36b) and presupposes (36c). The standard tests for presuppositions confirm such an analysis; neither negation nor transformation of a proposition into a question changes its presuppositions. The second meaning component is invariant and retains its truth condition if the proposition is negated or transformed into a question. As a result, (36c) follows from both (37a) and (37b), while (36b) does not follow from either:²² (37)

a. It is not the case that only this is called poetry b. Is only this called poetry?

Focus adverbs of exclusion assert that there is no alternative to the segment they modify (36b). The propositional value of the sentence without the focus adverb is a presupposition (36c). In contrast, additive and particularisation adverbs do not alter the propositional value of the sentence they attach to. Rather, sentences with a focus adverb of addition (38a) or of particularisation assert the relevant proposition without the focus adverb (38b) and background the sentence that can be understood as a presupposition or as a conventional implicature that there are one or more tacit or explicit alternatives to the modified element (38c):²³ (38)

a. καὶ Σωκράτη γε ἔνια ἤδη ἀνηρόμην (Pl. Smp. 173b) ‘I already asked some details also to Socrates’. b. Assertion: ‘I already asked Socrates some details’. c. Presupposition or conventional implicature: ‘I already asked someone other than Socrates some details’.

(38a) asserts (38b) and adds the sentence (38c), which has been understood either as a presupposition or as a conventional implicature (see Sudhof 2010, 52). The logical reading of the sentence (38a) is controversial, and it has been argued both that sentence (38c) is a presupposition and that it is a conventional implicature. It would be a presupposition if it requires the truth of (38c), but a conventional implicature if it

22 Two sentences are in a relationship of entailment when the truth of one (A) requires the truth of the other (B). For example, the sentence (A) The president was assassinated. entails (B) The president is dead. Entailments are not cancellable. Entailment differs from presupposition in that in presupposition, the truth of what one is presupposing is taken for granted. A simple test to differentiate presupposition from entailment is negation. For example, both The king of France is ill and The king of France is not ill presuppose that there is a king of France. However The president was not assassinated no longer entails The president is dead (nor its opposite, as the president could have died in another way). In this case, presupposition remains under negation, but entailment does not. 23 Entailment differs from implicature (in their definitions for pragmatics), where the truth of one (A) suggests the truth of the other (B) but does not require it. For example, the sentence (A) Mary had a baby and (B) got married implicates that (A) she had a baby before (B) the wedding, but this is cancellable by adding – not necessarily in that order.

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suggests the truth of (38c), but does not require it. It has been argued that sentence (38c) is not a presupposition, as the second meaning component can be false if the original sentence (38b) is negated (39a) or transformed into a question (39b):²⁴ (39)

a. I have not asked Socrates any details. b. Have I asked Socrates any details?

Even if we suppose that Apollodorus, the speaker who pronounces (38a) in Plato’s Symposium, had not asked Aristodemus (who had attended the symposium and told him what happened there) but had asked Socrates, then it is clear that Apollodorus’ affirmation will be judged to have turned out to be true, not false.²⁵ Finally, scalar adverbs add the component of the meaning that the highlighted segment is more unlikely than other alternatives, or the most unlikely of all: (40)

a. τάχα κεν καὶ ἀναίτιον αἰτιόῳτο (H., Il. 11.654) ‘He (scil. Achilles) might get angry even with the innocent’. b. Assertion: ‘He might get angry with the innocent’. c. Presupposition or conventional implicature: ‘He might get angry with someone other than the innocent’. d. Component of unlikelihood: ‘He is unlikely to get angry with the innocent’.

(40a) asserts (40b), adds sentence (40c), which has been understood either as a presupposition or as a conventional implicature, and includes the component of unlikelihood (i.e. a strong suggestion not strictly implied or entailed by the utterance), i.e. that he is unlikely to get angry with the innocent (40d). This component of unlikelihood is based on the arbitrary meaning assigned to even. In conclusion, with regard to their impact on the truth condition of their proposition, adverbs of addition and of partial restriction more closely resemble evaluative and illocutionary adverbs insofar as such subtypes of adverbs do not modify the propositional value of their host clause. However, adverbs of exclusion are more similar to modal adverbs and to adjuncts that refer to the representation of a state of affairs, as these subtypes modify the propositional value and the truth condition of their clause.

24 Grice contrasted a conversational implicature with a conventional implicature, by which he meant one that is part of the meaning of the sentence used. For example, in John is poor but happy the meaning of but introduces the implicature that there is an opposition between being poor and being happy. 25 «To see more easily that this is so, consider a situation in the future. You say Pat will sign the cheque and I respond Kim too will sign it. And suppose that in fact Pat does not sign, and only Kim does so: it is clear that the prediction I made will be judged to have turned out to be true, not false». (Huddleston – Pullum 2002, 593).

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9 Concluding remarks The conclusions drawn can be summarised as follows: – Focus adverbs can be dependent on a wide range of constructions and can take a variable scope, giving rise in many instances to various possible interpretations. The ambiguity is generally eliminated by the main stress on a particular position, by the discourse context or by the setting. – Focus adverbs signal that the focused expression is contrasted with a set of alternatives or that it lacks any alternative. The focused expression performs the function of contrastive focus in its clause.²⁶ – Focus adverbs express inclusion (καί, οὐδέ, ἔτι), exclusion (μόνον, ἀτεχνῶς, ἁπλῶς, περ) or partial exclusion (μάλιστα, ἥκιστα, γε, δή). – Focus adverbs of addition and partial restriction foreground a segment and confront it with other explicit or tacit alternatives that are part of the informational background. Focus adverbs of exclusion foreground a segment and express that there is no alternative to the focused segment. When negated (οὐ μόνον. . . ἀλλὰ καί. . . ), focus adverbs of exclusion express that the restriction is not total and generally introduce an addition that is at the same time the alternative to the latter member. – Focus adverbs generally act as modifiers of a constituent or as adjuncts to a predicate or, more rarely, to a clause. – In modern languages, focus adverbs differ from prototypical adjuncts in a number of ways. Whereas prototypical adjuncts can be the focus of a cleft sentence, can be elicited by a question form, and display further transformational changes, focus adverbs cannot be the focus of a cleft sentence or elicited by a question form. Although the absence of such examples in Classical Greek does not demonstrate such transformational changes to be ungrammatical, as it may simply be due to a lack of sufficient documentation, there is no reason to assume that Classical Greek differed from other modern European languages in this respect. – Whereas focus adverbs of exclusion restrict the propositional value of the utterance they are bound to, additive and particularisation adverbs do not alter the propositional value of the proposition they are tied to. In this respect, focus adverbs of addition and of particularisation behave exactly like evaluative and illocutionary adverbs and differ from prototypical adjuncts. – Focus adverbs of addition and of partial restriction modify the presuppositions or conventional implicatures of their propositions and therefore contribute to their contents.

26 The informational focus presents a new piece of information, is marked by stress and word order, is not liable to ellipsis and cannot be expressed by an unstressed form.

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Bibliography Bakker, E. J. (1988): Linguistics and formulas in Homer. Scalarity and the description of the particle ‘per’, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Bertrand, N. (2014): Focus in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Leiden – Boston, I 595–599. Conti, L. (2014): Zu den Fokusadverbien bei Homer: Analyse von ἔτι, «Historische Sprachforschung», 127, 208–227. Conti, L. (2017): Sobre la expresión del esfuerzo y de la aproximación. Análisis de μόγις y μόλις en griego antiguo, «Emerita», 85, 1–25. Crespo, E. (2011): Conjunctive Adverbs: A Neglected Chapter of Greek Grammar, in A Greek Man in the Iberian Street. Papers in Linguistics and Epigraphy in Honour of Javier de Hoz, eds. E. R. Luján & J. L. García Alonso, Innsbruck, 35–43. Crespo, E. (2017a): A Unitary Account of the Meaning of kaí, in Pragmatic Approaches to Latin and Ancient Greek, eds. C. Denizot & O. Spevak, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 257-272. Cuzzolin, P. (1995): Preliminari per una descrizione dell’avverbio di frase in greco antico, in Studi di linguistica greca, ed. Pierluigi Cuzzolin, Milano, 137–164. Denniston, J. D. (19542 ): The Greek Particles, Oxford. Hengeveld, K. & MacKenzie, J. L. (2008): Functional Discourse Grammar. A typologically–based theory of language structure, Oxford. Huddleston, R. & Pullum, G. K. (2002): The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language, Cambridge. Jiménez Delgado, J. M. (2016): Categorías tradicionales y pragmática: kaí estructural, «Synthesis», 23, 1–10. Jiménez Delgado, J. M. (2017): Ancient Greek κα΄ı: marginal adverbial uses, in Ancient Greek Linguistics: New Approaches, Insights, Perspectives (Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Ancient Greek Linguistics - Rome 2015, March 23–27), eds. F. Logozzo and P. Poccetti, Berlin, 171–180. König, E. (1991a): The Meaning of Focus Particles: a Comparative Perspective. London. König, E. (1991b): Gradpartikeln, in Semantik. Ein internationales Handbuch der zeitgenössischen Forschung, Berlin, 786–803. Kroon, C. H. M. (1998): A Framework for the Study of Latin Discourse Markers, «Journal of Pragmatics» 30, 205–223. Maquieira, H. (2015): Algunos adverbios de inclusión y de “escala” en los oradores clásicos, in Miscellania Indogermanica. Festschrift für José Luis García Ramón zum 65. Geburtstag, eds. I. Hajnal, D. Kölligan & K. Zipser, Innsbruck, 329–338. Maquieira, H. (2015): Caracterización funcional del adverbio ἔτι en oradores y Platón, «Myrtia», 30, 39–60. Martínez, R. (2014 a): Adverbios de foco en griego antiguo: μόνον frente a μόνος en la prosa historiográfica clásica y helenística, «Cuadernos de Filología Clásica. Estudios griegos e indoeuropeos», 24, 17–37. Martínez, R. (2014 b): Adverbios aditivos conjuntivos y adverbios aditivos de foco. El uso de ὁμοίως en la prosa griega clásica y postclásica, «Revista Española de Lingüística», 44, 65–82. Martínez, R. (2015): Adverbios de foco en griego clásico: μάλιστα, «Minerva», 29, 193–214. Quirk, R. et al. (1985): A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language, London – New York. Ramat, P. & Ricca, D. (1998): Sentence adverbs in the languages of Europe, in Adverbial constructions in the Languages of Europe, ed. Johan van der Auwera, Berlin, 187–277. RAE (= Real Academia Española, Asociación de Academias de la lengua española), (2009): Nueva gramática de la lengua española, Madrid

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Redondo, E. (2015): Adverbios de foco y marcadores discursivos: σχεδόν en la novela griega antigua, «Minerva», 28, 163–183. Redondo Moyano, E. (2016): Focos aproximativos con ὀλίγος/μικρός (Estudio en el corpus de la novela griega antigua), in Nuevas interpretaciones del mundo antiguo. Papers in Honor of Professor José Luis Melena on the Occassion of his Retirement, eds. E. Redondo Moyano & M. J. García Soler, Vitoria, 287–305. Redondo Moyano, E. (2017): Defective Approximative Adverbs in Late Greek, in Ancient Greek Linguistics: New Approaches, Insights, Perspectives (Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Ancient Greek Linguistics – Rome 2015, March 23-27), eds. F. Logozzo & P. Poccetti, Berlin, pp. 243–257. Sudhoff, S. (2010): Focus Particles in German. Syntax, Prosody and Information Structure, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Wakker, G. C. (1994): Conditions and Conditionals. An Investigation of Ancient Greek, Amsterdam. Wakker, G. C. (2001): Le problème d’ἔτι μέν avec aoriste, «Syntaktika», 22, 1–14. Wakker, G. C. (2002): Une première description de ἤδη chez Xénophon, «Syntaktika», 23, 1–13.

Guglielmo Inglese

Connettivi e marcatori discorsivi in greco antico: il caso di ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ in Omero Abstract: Questo lavoro è dedicato alle particelle ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ in greco omerico.¹ Nonostante le due forme siano spesso discusse nell’ambito di lavori dedicati alla sintassi e, in particolare, alle particelle del greco antico, il problema del loro rapporto è stato di rado approfondito. In questo lavoro propongo una nuova descrizione delle due forme, basata sull’analisi di un numero rappresentativo di occorrenze estratte dal corpus omerico, e fondata sull’applicazione di nozioni teoriche elaborate nell’ambito di studi recenti sui meccanismi di connessione interfrasale in prospettiva tipologica e pragmatica.

Introduzione Già i grammatici antichi interpretavano ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ come varianti di una stessa particella, con una funzione simile a δέ (Ruijgh 1957, 43). In epoca più recente, questa linea interpretativa ha trovato ulteriore supporto nella ricostruzione etimologica delle due forme. Riassumendo, la maggior parte degli studiosi ha riconosciuto in entrambe le forme una combinazione di elementi diversi, rispettivamente una particella corradicale del latino at da un lato e l’avverbio αὖτε dall’altro, con la particella ἄρα, e ha attribuito a entrambe le forme una funzione di connessione interfrasale avversativa o combinativa, a seconda dei casi (cfr. Schwyzer – Debrunner 1950, 559; Denniston 1954, 51–55; Chantraine 1968, 132; Humbert 1960, 584; Ruijgh 1971, 197; Crespo – Conti – Maquiera 2003, 349). In molti casi, proprio questa comune etimologia è stata utilizzata come ulteriore prova dell’equivalenza funzionale tra le due forme. Tuttavia, in tempi recenti, la ricostruzione etimologica tradizionale è stata messa in discussione (Watkins 1995; Katz 2007; Beekes 2010). Secondo Katz (2007, 70), la segmentazione di αὐτάρ in *αὖτε–ἄρα è poco plausibile, perché in questo caso bisognerebbe ammettere che in formule come αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ΄ ci sia una ripetizione della particella ἄρα, fatto che è rigidamente evitato in Omero. Katz interpreta piuttosto la forma come esito della combinazione di *αὖ–ταρ. Quest’ultimo elemento sarebbe una particella clitica identificata da Watkins (1995, 150–151) in alcune occorrenze dell’Iliade, che trova un suo parallelo nel clitico luvio geroglifico tar, come testimonia il coinvolgimento di entrambi gli elementi in particolari

1 Sul problema delle “particelle” come classe lessicale e sui criteri per identificarle, si vedano, tra gli altri, Denniston (1954) e Ruijgh (1971). Per una critica alla terminologia “particella” si veda Duhoux (2003). In questo lavoro utilizzo il termine “particella” in modo neutro per riferirmi a ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-167

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contesti formulari (Katz 2007, 77–79). Questa ricostruzione etimologica alternativa è stata accolta da Beekes (2010, 162), che presenta ἀτάρ come combinazione greca della particella PIE *h2 et (es. lat. at) con ἄρα, a sua volta esito di *h2 (e)r (es. lit. i˜r), e αὐτάρ come combinazione di *h2 eu (es. gr. αὖ, lat. au–, aut) e *tar. Sulla base di quanto discusso, è dunque probabile che le forme ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ abbiano avuto origine da processi diacronici diversi. A questo punto, è lecito chiedersi se in una prima fase le due forme svolgessero funzioni distinte, e se tracce di questa distinzione si trovino ancora in Omero.

1 Analisi del corpus omerico 1.1 Analisi quantitativa: distribuzione, frequenza e posizione In questa sezione discuto alcuni dati quantitativi sulla frequenza, la distribuzione e la posizione metrica e sintattica di ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ in Omero, che costituisce il corpus più antico in cui le due forme coesistono. Nei due poemi si conta un totale di 131 occorrenze di ἀτάρ e 769 di αὐτάρ, con un rapporto complessivo di 1/5.² Inoltre, la distribuzione delle due particelle è uniforme nei due poemi e nei singoli libri di ciascuno di essi (cfr. Ruijgh 1957). Dal punto di vista metrico, ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ costituiscono per molti studiosi varianti metricamente complementari di una stessa forma di base, in modo simile a ἄρα e le sue varianti ῥα e ῥ΄ (cfr. Humbert 1960, 583). In realtà, per quanto riguarda i poemi omerici il quadro è ben più complesso, come discusso nel dettaglio da Ruijgh (1957). Basandosi su un’analisi completa delle occorrenze delle due forme, Ruijgh ha dimostrato che αὐτάρ occupa soltanto un quinto delle posizioni metriche teoricamente possibile, di cui due coprono ben il 75% delle occorrenze totali. Invece, ἀτάρ occupa quasi tutte le posizioni metricamente possibili, con una maggiore variabilità nella preferenza accordata alle diverse posizioni. Ne consegue che le due forme non possono essere semplicemente varianti metricamente condizionate, dal momento che presentano una forte asimmetria distribuzionale. Ruijgh (1957) interpreta questa distribuzione come il risultato di un fatto dialettale legato alla storia interna dei poemi. Riprendendo un’ipotesi già di Parry (1930), Ruijgh argomenta che αὐτάρ è un residuo della prima composizione in dialetto arcado–cipriota dei poemi, perciò conservatosi nelle redazioni più recenti soltanto in espressioni formulari. La forma ἀτάρ, invece, appartiene alla lingua parlata dagli aedi ionici, ed è conseguentemente usata con maggiore libertà, come dimostra anche la sua relativa frequenza in iato con la parola immediatamente precedente. Inoltre, la formularità di αὐτάρ è evidente anche nel suo impiego in un numero relativamente

2 I dati sono stati estratti dall’Ancient Greek Dependency Treebank (https://perseusdl.github.io/ treebank_data/).

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esiguo di formule (Ruijgh 1957, 32). Quest’ultima osservazione è confermata dai dati estratti dal corpus: in totale, ἀτάρ combina sul piano sintagmatico con 77 lemmi diversi, di cui 54 casi su 131 (41%) costituiscono combinazioni uniche; αὐτάρ, invece, su un totale di 769 occorrenze, correla sul piano sintagmatico con soltanto 85 lemmi diversi, di cui 50 (6%) costituiscono combinazioni con una sola occorrenza. Per quando riguarda la posizione sintattica, Dover (1960) classifica ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ come prepositivi, dal momento che occorrono sempre in prima posizione di frase. I rari casi in cui ἀτάρ occorre in seconda posizione (es. Il. 6.86) costituiscono eccezioni soltanto apparenti, perché la prima posizione è in realtà occupata da un nome in vocativo sintatticamente extraposto (Chantraine 1953, 63). Riassumendo, l’unico risultato rilevante dell’analisi della distribuzione metrica e sintattica è che αὐτάρ mostra una maggiore rigidità nel suo impiego metrico, ed è relegato per lo più a espressioni formulari fisse, al contrario di ἀτάρ che mostra un utilizzo più vario.

1.2 Analisi funzionale 1.2.1 Premesse teoriche In questa sezione espongo brevemente il quadro teorico a cui faccio riferimento in questo lavoro. In particolare, propongo di studiare il comportamento di ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ applicando le nozioni di connettivo e di marcatore discorsivo (da ora MD), e tenendo conto nella mia descrizione degli aspetti pragmatici della struttura informativa degli enunciati e della coerenza testuale, come già suggerito da Julia (2001) e Bonifazi (2012). Secondo Mauri (2008) si possono definire connettivi quegli elementi che stabiliscono una relazione di coordinazione, cioè «a relation established between functionally equivalent States of Affairs (SoAs), that is, SoAs which have the same semantic function, autonomous cognitive profiles, and are both coded by utterances characterized by the presence of some illocutionary force» (Mauri 2008, 41). I principali tipi semantici di coordinazione identificati da Mauri sono tre: combinazione, contrasto e alternativa. In particolare, secondo Mauri, le lingue codificano tre tipi di contrasto, che è il rapporto rilevante nell’analisi di ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ: il contrasto oppositivo, in cui due stati di cose sono messi in relazione per virtù del loro codificare stati di cose diversi (es. 1a); il contrasto correttivo, in cui il contenuto proposizionale del primo enunciato viene negato e sostituito con il contenuto del secondo (es. 1b); infine il contrasto controaspettativo, in cui il secondo stato di cose ha la funzione di negare un’inferenza attivata dal primo (es. 1c). (1)

a. Oppositivo Luca mangia una pizza mentre Marco mangia un panino b. Correttivo I bambini non stanno studiando ma stanno giocando in giardino c. Controaspettativo Giovanni è alto ma non gioca a basket

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Questi tre tipi di contrasto possono essere organizzati nel seguente spazio concettuale (Mauri 2008, 150): contrasto oppositivo > contrasto correttivo > contrasto controaspettattivo In base al principio di strutturazione delle mappe semantiche, un connettivo può codificare simultaneamente soltanto significati che siano contigui nello spazio concettuale. Ad esempio, ma codifica in italiano contrasto correttivo e controaspettativo, ma non contrasto oppositivo, come in (1). In particolare, lo spazio concettuale definito da Mauri permette di prevedere che un connettivo non può codificare il contrasto oppositivo e quello controaspettativo, a meno che non codifichi anche quello correttivo, che occupa la posizione centrale nello schema. Per quanto riguarda invece la nozione di MD, si tratta di un’elaborazione relativamente recente nel campo della pragmatica, come testimonia la varietà della terminologia impiegata (es. discourse markers, Schiffrin 2003; discourse connectives, Blakemore 2006). Considerata la notevole letteratura sul tema, mi limito qui a riportare i punti fondamentali, e rimando Schiffrin (2003), Blakemore (2006), e Diewald (2011) per ulteriori approfondimenti. Formalmente, i MD costituiscono una classe di elementi eterogenei, che comprende avverbi (es. ovviamente), sintagmi preposizionali (es. dopo tutto) e anche sintagmi verbali (es. voglio dire). Inoltre, non è raro che i connettivi stessi (es. e, ma, o) sviluppino funzioni da MD in alcuni contesti. In genere, si tratta di elementi essenzialmente polifunzionali: i MD agiscono sull’aspetto espressivo e sociale del discorso, contribuendo all’istituzione dell’identità individuale dei parlanti e alla loro interazione; agiscono al livello dell’espressione di concetti e stati mentali tramite il linguaggio e, soprattutto, al livello della gestione della coerenza testuale (Schiffrin 2003, 71). Riassumendo, tra connettivi e MD è possibile delineare una precisa distinzione funzionale. I connettivi istituiscono un rapporto di tipo semantico tra stati di cose codificati da enunciati con precise caratteristiche formali e funzionali, mentre i MD svolgono funzioni che vanno di là dalla semplice connessione semantica tra enunciati, operando ad esempio sulla coerenza locale e globale del testo. Nelle prossime sezioni, sulla base di un’analisi di cento occorrenze campionate in modo casuale di ciascuna particella, mostro come l’applicazione di queste due nozioni teoriche consenta di definire con maggiore chiarezza la funzione di ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ nel testo omerico.³

3 Nonostante l’asimmetria nella frequenza delle due particelle, l’occorrenza di αὐτάρ in contesti formulari rende la campionatura di sole 100 occorrenze sufficientemente rappresentativa dei suoi contesti d’uso.

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1.2.2 Analisi di ἀτάρ Sulla base dell’analisi delle sue occorrenze in Omero, ritengo che ἀτάρ possa essere descritto come un connettivo. Infatti, nella maggioranza dei casi, ἀτάρ coordina paratatticamente due enunciati che rispettano il criterio di parallelismo funzionale di Mauri (2008, 48), che hanno cioè profili cognitivi autonomi e condividono la stessa forza illocutiva. Lo statuto di connettivo è ulteriormente confermato da due fattori. In primo luogo, oltre che connettere interi enunciati, in alcuni casi ἀτάρ connette tra loro parti di uno stesso enunciato, ad esempio due sintagmi nominali (es. Od. 8.320), e inoltre risponde positivamente al test suggerito da Dik (1968), poiché non occorre mai con altre congiunzioni coordinanti come καί. Quanto al suo valore semantico, secondo Denniston (1954, 51) ἀτάρ codifica una relazione avversativa o progressiva, cioè, nei termini di Mauri (2008), una relazione di contrasto oppositivo, come in (2), o controaspettativo, come in (3): (2)

ὢ πόποι ἦ ῥά τίς ἐστι καὶ εἰν ᾿Αΐδαο δόμοισι ψυχὴ καὶ εἴδωλον, ἀτὰρ φρένες οὐκ ἔνι πάμπαν ‘Ahimè, resta dunque nella casa dell’Ade l’anima e il simulacro, ma dentro non c’è più la vita.’ (Il. 23.104–105)

(3)

οἳ δ᾿ ὅτε δή ῥ᾿ ἐς χῶρον ἕνα ξυνιόντες ἵκοντο, σύν ῥ᾿ ἔβαλον ῥινούς, σὺν δ᾿ ἔγχεα καὶ μένε᾿ ἀνδρῶν χαλκεοθωρήκων: ἀτὰρ ἀσπίδες ὀμφαλόεσσαι ἔπληντ᾿ ἀλλήλῃσι ‘Allora quelli (gli Achei e i Troiani) s’incontrarono nella piana, avanzando gli uni verso gli altri, facevano risuonare gli scudi, le lance e il furore dei soldati vestiti di bronzo: gli scudi ricurvi cozzavano tra loro.’ (Il. 4.442–445)

Questo tipo di polisemia tra (2) e (3) è però tipologicamente poco plausibile, perché non rispetta lo spazio concettuale del contrasto sopra discusso. Infatti, poiché nel corpus ἀτάρ non codifica mai il contrasto correttivo, che occupa il posto centrale nello spazio concettuale del contrasto, ne consegue che il connettivo non può codificare soltanto entrambi i significati periferici. Piuttosto, ritengo che ἀτάρ codifichi semanticamente soltanto il contrasto oppositivo, mentre il contrasto controaspettativo è contestualmente inferito per ambiguità pragmatica in specifici contesti (Sweetser 1990). La componente oppositiva può essere considerata più basica per le seguenti ragioni. In primo luogo, si tratta del contrasto codificato nella maggior parte delle occorrenze; inoltre, il contrasto oppositivo sembra essere cognitivamente più basico del contrasto controaspettativo, dal momento che il secondo è facilmente inferibile dal primo, ma non viceversa (Humbert 1960, 584). Questa componente semantica di ἀτάρ si traduce sul piano del discorso in una funzione di segmentazione tematica, in modo affine a δέ (Bakker 1993). La possibilità che i connettivi oppositivi interagiscano indirettamente con la segmentazione tematica

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del discorso è discussa anche da Mauri (2008, 89) a proposito del connettivo a delle lingue slave. In virtù di questa funzione secondaria di marcatore di discontinuità, ἀτάρ interagisce con la struttura informativa degli enunciati, e in particolare correla spesso con l’introduzione di topic di frase contrastivi. Seguo Lambrecht (1994) nel definire genericamente il topic di frase come l’elemento su cui si basa la predicazione, in focus, di un dato enunciato, e che viene presentato dal parlante come presupposto, accessibile e noto.⁴ Per quanto riguarda il greco antico, gli ultimi decenni hanno visto lo sviluppo di una serie di modelli sempre più raffinati per descrivere la struttura informativa in rapporto all’ordine delle parole (Dik 1995; 2007; Matić 2003; Bertrand 2010; Allan 2014), cosicché l’operazione di individuare i topic può essere svolta con un certo grado di precisione. Si consideri ora il caso (4): (4)

καὶ τότε μέν μιν1 Λῆμνον ἐϋκτιμένην ἐπέρασσε νηυσὶν ἄγων, ἀτὰρ υἱὸς ᾿Ιήσονος2 ὦνον ἔδωκε: κεῖθεν δὲ ξεῖνός μιν1 ἐλύσατο πολλὰ δ᾿ ἔδωκεν ‘E allora (Achille), portatolo in nave a Lemno ben costruita, lo [Licaone] vendette, e [il figlio di Giasone]TOP lo comprò. Di là lo liberò un ospite a caro prezzo.’ (Il. 23.870–873)

Il ruolo di ἀτάρ in occorrenze come (4) può essere schematizzato come segue. All’interno di un segmento del discorso che comprenda una coppia di referenti con proprietà topicali, ἀτάρ articola il passaggio dall’enunciato che contiene il primo referente all’enunciato seguente, in cui il secondo referente è un topic contrastivo preverbale (Matić 2003, 589; Allan 2014, 189). In altri termini, all’interno di un segmento con un unico discourse topic, ἀτάρ segnala l’apertura di un segmento contenente un sub–topic (Dik 1989). Questo passaggio a un nuovo topic contrastivo si configura soltanto come un caso di switch–reference locale all’interno di un segmento tematico, rimanendo al livello della topic/participants continuity (Givón 1983). Infatti, nella maggior parte dei casi il nuovo topic contrastivo in questione non viene continuato nel discorso seguente, mostrando quindi una scarsa persistenza (Givón 1983). Questo fatto è particolarmente evidente in (4), dove nonostante l’enunciato introdotto da ἀτάρ introduca un nuovo topic, υἱὸς ᾿Ιήσονος ‘il figlio di Giasone’, questo non istituisce una nuova catena anaforica, come conferma il fatto che il successivo pronome anaforico μιν non si riferisce a quest’ultimo, ma riprende il topic del discorso precedente, cioè Licaone. Esempi come (4), in cui gli enunciati connessi da ἀτάρ mostrano soggetti diversi, sono piuttosto comuni, e si spiegano con la correlazione tra il ruolo di topic e la funzione sintattica di soggetto (Allan 2014, 183). Talvolta, il topic contrastivo preverbale non coincide con il soggetto, come in (5):

4 Per una panoramica recente sulla nozione di topic rimando Gundel – Fretheim (2006), tra gli altri. Sulla distinzione tra sentence topic e discourse topic rimando a Trévisiol, Watorec – Lenart (2010).

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Αὐτομέδων δ’ἄρα σῖτον ἑλὼν ἐπένειμε τραπέζῃ καλοῖς ἐν κανέοισιν· ἀτὰρ κρέα νεῖμεν ᾿Αχιλλεύς ‘Automedonte, preso il pane, lo distribuiva sulla mensa in bei canestri, [la carne]TOP invece la distribuiva Achille.’ (Il. 24.625–626)

In (5) ἀτάρ istituisce un rapporto oppositivo tra due enunciati che descrivono parti diverse di una stessa scena, e correla con l’introduzione del topic contrastivo κρέα ‘carne’ nel secondo enunciato. Quest’ultimo, nonostante sia un referente appena introdotto, può essere topicalizzato perché accessibile all’interno del frame del pasto evocato da σῖτον ‘pane’. Nel caso in cui i due enunciati connessi da ἀτάρ condividano lo stesso soggetto, esso costituisce il discourse topic dell’intero segmento tematico, come in (6): (6)

[. . . ]κρητῆρι δὲ οἶνον μίσγον, ἀτὰρ βασιλεῦσιν ὕδωρ ἐπὶ χεῖρας ἔχευαν. ‘(Gli araldi) [Nel cratere]TOP mescolavano il vino, [ai principi]TOP invece versarono l’acqua sulle mani.’ (Il.3.269–270)

In (6), la discontinuità tra gli enunciati è costituita dall’opposizione tra lo stato in luogo codificato dal dativo κρητῆρι ‘nel cratere’ in posizione topicale, e il topic contrastivo in dativo βασιλεῦσιν ‘ai principi’, che codifica il beneficiario. In casi come (6), ἀτάρ si arricchisce pragmaticamente anche di un valore sequenziale. Infine, un caso particolare di discontinuità tra enunciati con soggetto coreferente è costituito da coppie di enunciati con verbi di diversa valenza. Ad esempio, in (7), ἀτάρ connette un enunciato che presenta il verbo monovalente ἠὲ ‘era’ con un enunciato in cui figura il verbo bivalente φυτεύει ‘semina’. Come negli altri casi, il secondo enunciato presenta un topic contrastivo preverbale μνηστῆρσι ‘i predententi’, il cui status topicale è confermato dalla sua dislocazione rispetto all’attributo πάντεσσι ‘tutti’: (7)

ἠὲ καὶ ἤδη οἴκοι, ἀτὰρ μνηστῆρσι κακὸν πάντεσσι φυτεύει. ‘(Odisseo) forse poi è già nella sua casa; invece [ai pretendenti]TOP , a loro tutti semina morte.’ (Od. 15.177–178)

In alcune occorrenze, invece che correlare con l’introduzione di topic contrastivi, ἀτάρ connette enunciati che differiscono per setting spazio–temporale, come in (8). Questo fatto si spiega con l’affinità tra topic e setting: nonostante differiscano per aboutness, entrambi codificano informazione presupposta e accessibile, e forniscono la premessa per l’aggiunta di informazione focale (Allan 2014, 183). (8)

ὅς ῥ᾿ ἐν Βουδείῳ εὖ ναιομένῳ ἤνασσε τὸ πρίν: ἀτὰρ τότε γ᾿ ἐσθλὸν ἀνεψιὸν ἐξεναρίξας ἐς Πηλῆ᾿ ἱκέτευσε καὶ ἐς Θέτιν ἀργυρόπεζαν

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‘Il quale regnava su Budeo popolosa, [prima]SET ; [poi, dopo aver ucciso un nobile cugino]SET , andò supplice presso Peleo e Teti dai piedi d’argento.’ (Il. 16.572–574) In (8) ἀτάρ connette sul piano del contrasto oppositivo due enunciati che differiscono per setting temporale, codificati rispettivamente dall’avverbio πρίν ‘prima’ e dal participio aoristo ἐξεναρίξας ‘avendo ucciso’, e assume contestualmente anche un valore sequenziale. Inoltre, come già notava Denniston (1954, 54), ἀτάρ, al pari di δέ, è coinvolto in strutture correlative con μέν, pur mantenendo il suo originario valore di connettivo oppositivo, come in (9). (9)

εἰ μέν κ᾿ αὖθι μένων Τρώων πόλιν ἀμφιμάχωμαι, ὤλετο μέν μοι νόστος, ἀτὰρ κλέος ἄφθιτον ἔσται: ‘Se rimanendo distruggeremo la città dei Troiani, mi sarà negato il ritorno, ma [la gloria]TOP sarà imperitura.’ (Il. 9.412–413)

Seguendo Bakker (1993, 298), definisco queste strutture come strutture correlative completive, in cui cioè la presenza di μέν segnala che il primo enunciato è semanticamente incompleto e necessita di un secondo enunciato, introdotto da ἀτάρ, per essere completato. In questi casi, la struttura correlativa stabilisce un rapporto più stretto tra i due enunciati, e favorisce l’inferenza di una relazione controaspettativa. Infine, altre due categorie di occorrenze supportano la descrizione di ἀτάρ come connettivo dedicato alla codifica del contrasto oppositivo. La prima comprende occorrenze come (10): (10)

ἐκ δ᾿ ἄγον αἶψα γυναῖκας ἀμύμονα ἔργα ἰδυίας ἕπτ᾿, ἀτὰρ ὀγδοάτην Βρισηΐδα καλλιπάρῃον. ‘Subito condussero fuori donne esperte di lavori impeccabili, sette, e per ottava Briseide dal bel viso.’ (Il. 19.245–246)

In (10), e in casi simili, ἀτάρ introduce l’ultimo membro di una lista di elementi, a cui per motivi contestuali viene dato risalto separandolo dal resto del gruppo. In questo tipo di occorrenze la componente controaspettativa è del tutto assente. La seconda categoria è costituita dalla collocazione di ἀτάρ con una negazione, come in (11): (11)

οὕνεκά οἱ καλὴ θυγάτηρ, ἀτὰρ οὐκ ἐχέθυμος. ‘Perché lui ha una figlia bella, ma che non sa controllarsi.’ (Od. 8.320)

In (11), il rapporto tra gli enunciati codificato da ἀτάρ sembra essere di tipo controaspettativo. Tuttavia, anche in questo caso si tratta di un’inferenza contestuale, come dimostra la lettura oppositiva di esempi simile, come (12):

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(12) ὃς ἔπεα φρεσὶν ᾖσιν ἄκοσμά τε πολλά τε ᾔδη μάψ, ἀτὰρ οὐ κατὰ κόσμον ‘(Tersite) il quale sapeva molte parole disordinate, alla rinfusa, e non con ordine.’ (Il. 2.213–214) In (12), una lettura controaspettativa è poco plausibile, perché le espressioni connesse da ἀτὰρ, μάψ ‘alla rinfusa’ e οὐ κατὰ κόσμον ‘non in ordine’, sono sinonimi. Si osservi poi come queste ultime due categorie di occorrenze, esemplificate in (10) e (12), differiscano da quanto discusso finora, in quanto ἀτάρ non connette interi enunciati e non correla con l’introduzione di materiale topicale ma con materiale focale postverbale in frasi a broad focus (Matić 2003).

1.2.3 Analisi di αὐτάρ Nel corpus, αὐτάρ agisce prevalentemente al livello dell’organizzazione delle sequenze tematiche del testo, e per questo motivo preferisco descriverlo come MD. In particolare, la sua funzione principale è di marcare la discontinuità tra interi segmenti tematici del discorso, correlando con l’introduzione, o la riattivazione, di topic discorsivi (disocurse topic). In altre parole, αὐτάρ interagisce con la gestione della thematic continuity (Givón 1983), introducendo referenti che stabiliscono nuove catene anaforiche nel testo. Questa funzione di αὐτάρ è ben esemplificata in (13): (13)

πάντων δὲ προπάροιθε δύ᾿ ἀνέρε θωρήσσοντο Πάτροκλός τε καὶ Αὐτομέδων ἕνα θυμὸν ἔχοντες πρόσθεν Μυρμιδόνων πολεμιζέμεν. αὐτὰρ ᾿Αχιλλεὺς βῆ ῥ᾿ ἴμεν ἐς κλισίην [. . . ] ‘Davanti a tutti due guerrieri si armavano, Patroclo e Automedonte, entrambi con un solo pensiero nel cuore: combattere in testa ai Mirmidoni. Invece [Achille]TOP andò verso la tenda [. . . ].’ (Il. 16.218–221)

In (13), αὐτάρ indica la netta discontinuità tematica nei partecipanti, rispettivamente Patroclo e Automendonte, e Achille, e nel tipo di evento codificato tra due segmenti della narrazione. In termini narrativi, αὐτάρ segna l’articolazione di due scene distinte del discorso, chiudendo un segmento tematico, i cui partecipanti vengono disattivati, e aprendone uno nuovo, in cui nuovo referente viene stabilito come nuovo topic discorsivo. Inoltre, αὐτάρ è utilizzato per introdurre frasi che riattivano topic discorsivi temporaneamente disattivati, come in (14): (14)

τὸν δ᾿ αὖτε προσέειπεν ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν ᾿Αγαμέμνων1 : [. . . ] ὣς εἰπὼν ἀπέπεμπεν ἀδελφεὸν εὖ ἐπιτείλας: αὐτὰρ ὃ1 βῆ1 ῥ᾿ ἰέναι μετὰ Νέστορα ποιμένα λαῶν:

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τὸν δ᾿ εὗρεν1 παρά τε κλισίῃ καὶ νηῒ μελαίνῃ ‘A questo a sua volta rispose Agamennone signore di uomini: [segue il discorso diretto]. Così dicendo mandò suo fratello dopo averlo ben comandato. Invece [lui]TOP andò a cercare Nestore pastore di popoli; lo trovò presso la tenda e la scura nave.’ (Il. 10.64–75) In (14), il dimostrativo anaforico ὃ costituisce un topic anaforico non stabilito (Bertrand 2010, 162), la cui funzione è riattivare il topic Agamennone temporaneamente disattivato dal discorso diretto. Il nuovo topic stabilisce una catena anaforica, ed è quindi continuato nel discorso successivo, come mostra l’accordo sul verbo. Si noti che questa funzione di riattivazione è condivisa anche da αὖ (Revuelta 2009), a ulteriore supporto dell’etimologia di αὐτάρ sopra discussa. In questi casi, αὐτάρ svolge la funzione di POP–device (Slings 1997). Un discorso a parte merita la frequente collocazione di αὐτάρ con il pronome di prima persona singolare, per lo più al caso nominativo.⁵ Consideriamo l’esempio (15): (15)

ἀλλ᾿ ἄγε νῦν ἱππεῦσιν ἐπότρυνον πολέεσσι νηυσὶν ἔπι γλαφυρῇσιν ἐλαυνέμεν ὠκέας ἵππους: αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ προπάροιθε κιὼν ἵπποισι κέλευθον πᾶσαν λειανέω, τρέψω δ᾿ ἥρωας ᾿Αχαιούς. ‘Ma dunque ora esorta i numerosi cavalieri a guidare verso le concave navi i cavalli veloci. [Io]TOP , invece, andando avanti, spianerò tutta la strada ai cavalli, volgerò in fuga i guerrieri Achei.’ (Il. 15.258–261)

In (15) e in occorrenze simili, la sequenza αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ si trova all’interno di sezioni di discorso diretto, di cui introduce spesso l’ultimo segmento. In questo caso, il pronome personale tonico è in posizione topicale e indica una marcata discontinuità non solo tematica, ma anche deittica, favorendo una lettura controaspettattiva. Inoltre, come ha mostrato Bonifazi (2012), la formula αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ svolge un fondamentale ruolo attentivo. Dal punto di vista delle dinamiche della conversazione riporta l’attenzione dell’ascoltatore sul parlante, mentre dal punto di vista della performance del testo sottolinea per il pubblico il cambio di personaggio parlante. Infine, αὐτάρ talvolta precede subordinate temporali introdotte da ἐπεί e ὅτε, come in (16): (16)

αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ᾿ εὔξαντο καὶ οὐλοχύτας προβάλοντο, αὐέρυσαν μὲν πρῶτα καὶ ἔσφαξαν καὶ ἔδειραν [. . . ] αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ κατὰ μῆρε κάη καὶ σπλάγχνα πάσαντο, μίστυλλόν τ᾿ ἄρα τἆλλα καὶ ἀμφ᾿ ὀβελοῖσιν ἔπειραν [. . . ]

5 Nell’Iliade si contano 32 occorrenze di questa costruzione, contro 126 nell’Odissea. La maggiore frequenza nell’Odissea è dovuta alla presenza di lunghe sezioni narrative in prima persona.

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‘Dopo aver pregato e gettato i chicchi d’orzo, tirarono indietro le teste delle vittime, le sgozzarono e le scuoiarono [. . . ] . Quando ebbero arso le cosce e mangiato le viscere, fecero a pezzi le parti restanti e le misero sugli spiedi [. . . ]’. (Il. 1.457–471) Come si nota in (16), la collocazione αὐτὰρ ἐπεί costituisce una formula epica sfruttata come strumento narrativo di cambio di scena (Parry 1930, 85; Katz 2007). Anche in questi casi, la funzione di αὐτάρ è di segnalare la chiusura della sezione tematica precedente e l’inizio di un nuovo segmento, per il quale la subordinata introdotta da ἐπεὶ stabilisce il setting temporale. La correlazione tra marcatori di discontinuità e subordinate avverbiali preposte non è sorprendente, dal momento che la natura di background di queste ultime le porta a occorrere spesso in corrispondenza di forti discontinuità tematiche (Thompson – Longacre 1985). Anche in questo caso, la funzione di αὐτάρ non è di stabilire rapporti semantici tra enunciati, ma di contribuire alla gestione della coerenza globale del discorso. Per concludere, discuto i casi in cui αὐτάρ dà luogo a strutture correlative con μέν (Denniston 1954, 55). La relazione che la coppia μέν – αὐτάρ stabilisce tra i due enunciati è di tipo transitivo (transitional, Bakker 1993, 302), serve cioè ad articolare la transizione tra due segmenti discorsivi tematicamente indipendenti, come in (17): (17)

ὣς οἳ μὲν κατὰ ἄστυ πεφυζότες ἠΰτε νεβροὶ ἱδρῶ ἀπεψύχοντο πίον τ᾿ ἀκέοντό τε δίψαν κεκλιμένοι καλῇσιν ἐπάλξεσιν: αὐτὰρ ᾿Αχαιοὶ τείχεος ἆσσον ἴσαν σάκε᾿ ὤμοισι κλίναντες. ‘Così quelli (i Troiani) in città, spaventati come cerbiatti, asciugavano il sudore e bevevano, placando la sete, appoggiati ai bei parapetti. Invece, gli Achei si fecero vicini alle mura, gli scudi appoggiati alle spalle.’ (Il. 22.1–4)

In (17) αὐτάρ segnala l’apertura di un nuovo segmento tematico, di cui il referente ᾿Αχαιοὶ costituisce il nuovo topic. Questa transizione è anticipata dalla presenza di μὲν nel segmento immediatamente precedente, che segnala l’approssimarsi della chiusura della sezione tematica. Ovviamente, questa struttura correlativa stabilisce una stretta connessione tra gli enunciati, favorendo una lettura avversativa laddove in realtà si trova soltanto una discontinuità discorsiva.

1.2.4 Il rapporto tra ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ L’analisi fin qui condotta sulla funzione di ἀτάρ e di αὐτάρ consente di delineare un quadro abbastanza preciso circa il loro rapporto nel testo omerico. Partiamo dall’esempio (18): (18)

αὐτὰρ ὃ μειλίχιον μῦθον φέρε Καδμείοισι κεῖσ᾿: ἀτὰρ ἂψ ἀπιὼν μάλα μέρμερα μήσατο ἔργα

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σὺν σοὶ δῖα θεά, ὅτε οἱ πρόφρασσα παρέστης ‘Quanto a lui, portò ai Tebani parole di pace mentre era lì, ma sulla via del ritorno ordì imprese terribili insieme a te, divina, dal momento che gli stavi accanto, propizia.’ (Il. 10.288–290) In (18), αὐτὰρ è un MD la cui funzione sul piano testuale è di introdurre un nuovo segmento tematico, correlando con l’introduzione di un topic anaforico (Bertrand 2010, 162); all’interno di questa unità tematica, ἀτάρ funziona come connettivo e stabilisce un rapporto semantico di contrasto oppositivo tra enunciati, e inoltre si trova in corrispondenza di una discontinuità locale tra setting temporali. Occorrenze come (18) confermano l’ipotesi che i due elementi funzionino su livelli gerarchicamente ordinati del discorso, e che ἀτάρ agisca all’interno del dominio di αὐτάρ, in una struttura testuale illustrata in Fig. 1, dove TD indica il topic discorsivo e TF il topic di frase: Testo

TD1

TD2

αὐτάρ

TF2.1

ἀτάρ

TF2.2

Figura 1: Rapporto di ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ con la struttura del discorso

La distinzione tra le due forme è confermata da diversi fattori. In primo luogo, l’analisi distribuzionale mostra come alcuni contesti richiedano espressamente l’uso di una delle due forme, che non sono quindi in variazione libera. Ad esempio, αὐτάρ non connette sintagmi nominali e non è di norma seguito dalla negazione, mentre ἀτάρ non correla con l’introduzione di frasi subordinate preposte e non è utilizzato per reintrodurre un topic temporaneamente disattivato. Un’ulteriore differenza sta nel fatto che αὐτάρ, in quanto MD, può essere utilizzato in funzione apodottica (Denniston 1954, 55), mentre ἀτάρ no. In secondo luogo, le due forme svolgono funzioni testuali diverse. La funzione di connettivo oppositivo di ἀτάρ lo rende talvolta utilizzabile come complementation device (Bakker 1993, 299), dal momento che correla con l’introduzione di una discontinuità tematica locale con lo scopo di completare l’informazione del segmento precedente, senza modificare l’orientamento generale del testo. Invece, αὐτάρ agisce principalmente come un MD con il valore di additive device (Bakker 1993, 302), cioè indica una forte discontinuità tematica, che comporta un nuovo orientamento del testo e l’instaurarsi di un nuovo centro di interesse. Infine, le due forme differiscono per il loro rapporto con la struttura informativa. In particolare, ἀτάρ correla con l’introduzione di topic di frase e di setting contrastivi

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(Lambrecht 1994, Matić 2003), mentre αὐτάρ introduce o riattiva topic del discorso (Givón 1983). In altri termini, le due forme indicano una discontinuità rispettivamente al livello della participants/topics continuity e della thematic continuity (Givón 1983). Tuttavia, al contrario di Julia (2001), ritengo non sia del tutto corretto attribuire ad ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ una funzione primaria di particelle topicalizzanti. In primo luogo, lo statuto topicale degli elementi con cui ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ interagiscono è indipendente dall’uso delle due forme ed è determinato da altri fattori, come la posizione nella frase. In secondo luogo, una descrizione del genere ha lo svantaggio di non rendere conto di quei casi in cui le due forme non interagiscono con l’introduzione di materiale topicale (cfr. sez. 1.2.2 e 1.2.3). Nella mia analisi ho descritto i contesti d’uso in cui la differenza funzionale tra ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ è maggiormente evidente. Il corpus presenta anche occorrenze in cui la distinzione tra le due forme è più opaca, e in particolare in cui αὐτάρ si comporta in modo simile a quanto fin qui descritto per ἀτάρ. Questi casi non mi sembrano tuttavia problematici per l’analisi condotta, e possono essere spiegati come l’esito di un progressivo processo di influenza analogica tra le due forme durante il periodo di composizione dei poemi omerici, a causa dell’affinità formale e funzionale, e della complementarietà metrica (Katz 2007, 69). A questo proposito bisogna sottolineare che le occorrenze in cui αὐτάρ sembra agire ἀτάρ sono limitate per lo più ai casi di uso non formulare, e quindi più tarde. Perciò, accettando la proposta dialettologica di Ruijgh (1957), è lecito ipotizzare che gli aedi ionici che introdussero l’uso di ἀτάρ iniziarono ad usare occasionalmente come forma equivalente anche αὐτάρ, in sedi metriche complementari e in modo non formulare, alterando la distribuzione originaria e portando ad una graduale fusione tra le due forme.

2 Conclusioni In questo lavoro ho fornito una nuova descrizione delle particelle ἀτάρ e αὐτάρ, con lo scopo di chiarirne il rapporto nel testo omerico. Diversamente dalla letteratura tradizionale sull’argomento, ho proposto di considerare le due forme come elementi funzionalmente distinti, anche sulla base delle più recenti proposte etimologiche (Katz 2007). Ho poi mostrato alcuni dati circa la distribuzione di entrambe le particelle nel corpus e la loro posizione metrica e sintattica: il dato più rilevante è che αὐτάρ ha un uso marcatamente formulare, al contrario di ἀτάρ, come già osservava Ruijgh (1957). Infine, ho analizzato la funzione di entrambi gli elementi in prospettiva pragmatica. In particolare, ho proposto di classificare ἀτάρ come connettivo dedicato alla codifica del contrasto oppositivo e αὐτάρ come marcatore discorsivo, e ho mostrato in che modo entrambi cooperino nella gestione della coerenza testuale. Dal corpus è emersa un’accentuata tendenza di ἀτάρ a correlare con l’introduzione di topic e di setting contrastivi preverbali (Matić 2003), e di αὐτάρ con l’introduzione e la riattivazione di

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topic discorsivi in nuove sequenze tematiche. Inoltre, le due forme creano strutture correlative con μὲν di tipo diverso (cfr. Bakker 1993): strutture completive nel caso di ἀτάρ, e strutture transitive nel caso di αὐτάρ. In conclusione, i dati estratti dal corpus suggeriscono che si tratta di due forme indipendenti, che agiscono a livelli distinti e gerarchicamente ordinati del discorso.

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José Miguel Jiménez Delgado

Ancient Greek καί: marginal adverbial uses Abstract: Καί is a polyfunctional word in Ancient Greek that can function both as a copulative conjunction and as an additive adverb. When it is used as an adverb, καί is similar to the English additive focus particles “also” and “even”. However, this similarity does not apply to all the contexts in which καί serves an adverbial function. The objective of this paper is to examine the cases in which καί is interpreted as equivalent to ‘actually’ vel sim. in the History of Herodotus in order to explain the semantics and pragmatics of this type of adverbial καί.

1 Introduction Καί is a polyfunctional word in Ancient Greek that can function both as a copulative conjunction and as an additive adverb. On the one hand, it is one of the most important copulative conjunctions in Ancient Greek (see, for instance, Bonifazi 2016, IV.2.4). On the other hand, the usage of καί as an adverb is similar to that of the English additive focus particles ‘also’ and ‘even’ (Jiménez 2014). Nevertheless, this similarity does not apply to all the contexts in which καί serves an adverbial function, as has already been noted in the specific literature (Baümlein 1861, 149–153; Kühner–Gerth 1904, 253–257; Smyth 1920, §§2881–2891; Denniston 1954, 294–325; Cooper 1998, 1342–1356). The aim of this paper is to examine the cases in which καί is interpreted as equivalent to ‘actually’ vel sim. in the nine books of the History of Herodotus in order to explain the semantics and pragmatics of this type of καί. According to Powell (1964, s. u. B.4), at least 32 instances can be perceived.¹ See the following example: (1)

8.87.2 καὶ ἣ [sc. ᾿Αρτεμισίη] οὐκ ἔχουσα διαφυγεῖν (. . . ) , ἔδοξέ οἱ τόδε ποιῆσαι, τὸ καὶ συνήνεικε ποιησάσῃ·. . . ‘She could not escape. . . So she resolved to do something which did in fact benefit her:. . . ’.²

The additive sense does not obtain in these instances, which comprise a homogeneous group from both a semantic and a pragmatic perspective, although the grammarians

1 1.22.2, 1.73.6, 1.74.2, 1.75.5, 1.78.1, 1.80.5, 1.147.1, 2.2.3, 2.65.2, 3.15.2, 3.16.1, 3.77.2, 3.134.3, 5.86.2, 5.92d.1, 6.78.2, 7.107.1, 7.168.3, 7.168.4, 7.173.4, 7.181.1, 7.239.4, 8.60c, 8.87.2, 8.109.5, 8.136.3, 9.18.1, 9.45.1, 9.56.1, 9.58.3, 9.90.2, 9.113.2. 2 The English translations are those by Godley as available in the Perseus Digital Library (). Greek texts are those compiled in the TLG ().

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-183

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and translators do not always capture their nuance.³ Denniston (1954, 316–317) observes the semantic proximity of this type of adverbial καί to the additive one, but he does not explain this development. In the next section of the paper, the cases are classified according to the element that follows καί, due to the fact that adverbial καί tends to modify the following element. This classification shows the frequent association of this type of καί with verb forms. Regardless, what determines the interpretation of καί is the context in which it appears, and some examples will be given to illustrate this point. As will be discussed in the last section before the conclusions, that particular context allows a pragmatic interpretation of καί that explains how the instances under study are differentiated from the more common ones.

2 Contexts of appearance and interpretation Given that καί normally modifies the subsequent element, it follows that the analysed instances can initially be classified accordingly. In these instances, καί mostly precedes a verb form in the passages under study (1.75.5, 1.78.1, 1.80.5, 2.65.2, 3.15.2, 3.16.1, 3.77.2, 3.134.3, 5.86.2, 7.173.4, 7.168.4, 7.239.4, 8.87.2, 8.136.3, 9.18.1, 9.45.1, 9.58.3, 9.90.2): (2)

5.86.2 Οὐκ ἔχουσι δὲ τοῦτο διασημῆναι ἀτρεκέως, οὔτε εἰ ἥσσονες συγγινωσκόμενοι εἶναι τῇ ναυμαχίῃ κατὰ τοῦτο εἶξαν, οὔτε εἰ βουλόμενοι ποιῆσαι οἷόν τι καὶ ἐποίησαν. ‘They are not able to determine clearly whether it was because they admitted to being weaker at sea–fighting that they yielded, or because they were planning what they then actually did.’

In this example, the particle modifies the verb form ἐποίησαν, which is not “added” to anything. The particle rather confirms the fulfilment of what the Athenians were planning. A subgroup is composed of the examples in which καί precedes a form of the verb γίγνομαι (1.22.2, 1.73.6, 1.74.2, 2.2.3, 5.92d.1, 6.78.2, 7.168.3, 8.109.5, 9.56.1, 9.113.2) in sentences that confirm the occurrence of events previously stated: (3)

8.109.5 Ταῦτα ἔλεγε ἀποθήκην μέλλων ποιήσεσθαι ἐς τὸν Πέρσην, ἵνα, ἢν ἄρα τί μιν καταλαμβάνῃ πρὸς ᾿Αθηναίων πάθος, ἔχῃ ἀποστροφήν· τά περ ὦν καὶ ἐγένετο. ‘This he said with intent to have something to his credit with the Persian, so that he might have a place of refuge if ever (as might chance) he should suffer anything at the hands of the Athenians – and just that did in fact happen.’

3 It is hardly surprising that some instances are not found in all the manuscripts: 7.168.3, 8.60c, 9.56.1, 9.58.3. Καί was probably omitted by some copyists where they were unable to understand the word.

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In this passage, καί modifies ἐγένετο, the verb form of a sentence that confirms what has been said (that he, Themistocles, might have a place of refuge if ever he should suffer anything at the hands of the Athenians): the anaphoric pronoun τά refers to the previous statement; the particles περ and ὦν insist on that reference; ἐγένετο denotes the event and καί corroborates it.⁴ Seldom does καί precede a noun or an adjective (1.147.1, 7.107.1, 7.181.1, 8.60c⁵): (4)

7.107.1 Τῶν δὲ ἐξαιρεθέντων ὑπὸ ῾Ελλήνων οὐδένα βασιλεὺς Ξέρξης ἐνόμισε εἶναι ἄνδρα ἀγαθὸν εἰ μὴ Βόγην μοῦνον τὸν ἐξ ᾿Ηιόνος. Τοῦτον δὲ αἰνέων οὐκ ἐπαύετο καὶ τοὺς περιεόντας αὐτοῦ ἐν Πέρσῃσι παῖδας ἐτίμα μάλιστα, ἐπεὶ καὶ ἄξιος ἐπαίνου μεγάλου ἐγένετο Βόγης· ‘The only one of those who were driven out by the Greeks whom king Xerxes considered a valiant man was Boges, from whom they took Eion. He never ceased praising this man, and gave very great honor to his sons who were left alive in Persia; indeed Boges proved himself worthy of all praise’.

In this example, καί is translated into ‘indeed’ at the beginning of the sentence as though it were functioning as a sentence adverb (for the translations see n. 2). However, καί does not have scope over the whole sentence but only over the adjective ἄξιος ‘worthy’ complemented by ἐπαίνου μεγάλου ‘of all praise’. This is in accordance with word order: καί is a focus adverb and, in Ancient Greek, the constituent in focus usually precedes the verb (Matić 2003b; Bertrand 2010).⁶ Denniston’s explanation of this type of καί is unsatisfactory: «by an easy transition, the sense of addition sometimes recedes into the background, while the sense of climax predominates, a ladder of which only the top rung is clearly seen. ‘Even’ then passes into ‘actually’, and καί is little more than a particle of emphasis, like δή» (Denniston 1954, 316–317).⁷ Before trying to explain how this type of καί emerges, it is worth considering why the interpretation as ‘also’ or ‘even’ is clearly infelicitous and generally avoided in the passages in which it appears. In some cases, this interpretation could be acceptable, but the general sense would be different. This is the case in the following examples:

4 This is an example of καί of balanced contrast (Smyth 1920, §2886). According to Smyth, «καί of balanced contrast occurs frequently when the subordinate clause sets forth something corresponding to, or deducible from, the main clause». Cf. Denniston (1954, 294). 5 In this passage καί precedes a relative clause without antecedent: ἢν δέ γε καὶ τὰ ἐγὼ ἐλπίζω γένηται ‘if what I expect happens’. 6 In (5) the focus of καί can be the adjective ἄξιος or the whole phrase ἄξιος ἐπαίνου μεγάλου. It is worth noting that both ἄξιος and ἐπαίνου μεγάλου are presupposed from the previous context. However, the accent is put on ἄξιος, which is accommodated as the focus of its proposition. 7 Denniston distinguishes the cases in which this type of καί «precedes, and emphasizes, various parts of speech» from those in which «contrasts the objective reality of an idea with the subjective reality or with the unreality of something else» (p. 321). The distinction is not made in this paper as it is not made by Powell.

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(5) 9.45.1 ἄνδρες ᾿Αθηναῖοι, παραθήκην ὑμῖν τὰ ἔπεα τάδε τίθεμαι, ἀπόρρητα ποιεύμενος πρὸς μηδένα λέγειν ὑμέας ἄλλον ἢ Παυσανίην, μή με καὶ διαφθείρητε· ‘Men of Athens, I give you this message in trust as a secret which you must reveal to no one but Pausanias, or else you will be responsible for my undoing’. In example (5) καί is translated by ‘else’. The interpretation of καί as ‘also’ or ‘even’ would imply that διαφθείρητε ‘you may destroy [me]’ adds to another event: one might understand that this action adds to the revelation of the secret and all its consequences.⁸ However, the character whose words are reproduced, Alexander the First, King of Macedonia, takes for granted that the Athenian generals will not reveal that secret, for they have no reason to do so and thus cause his destruction (he has come from the Persian camp to give them useful information). (6)

1.147.1 Βασιλέας δὲ ἐστήσαντο οἱ μὲν αὐτῶν Λυκίους ἀπὸ Γλαύκου τοῦ ῾Ιππολόχου γεγονότας, οἱ δὲ Καύκωνας Πυλίους ἀπὸ Κόδρου τοῦ Μελάνθου, οἱ δὲ καὶ συναμφοτέρους. ᾿Αλλὰ γὰρ περιέχονται τοῦ οὐνόματος μᾶλλόν τι τῶν ἄλλων ᾿Ιώνων, ἔστωσαν δὴ καὶ οἱ καθαρῶς γεγονότες ῎Ιωνες. ‘And as kings, some of them chose Lycian descendants of Glaucus son of Hippolochus, and some Caucones of Pylus, descendants of Codrus son of Melanthus, and some both. Yet since they set more store by the name than the rest of the Ionians, let it be granted that those of pure birth are Ionians’.

In this example, καί remains untranslated in Godley’s version. It modifies the noun phrase οἱ καθαρῶς γεγονότες ῎Ιωνες ‘the Ionians of pure birth’ in a passage that is part of the description of the foundation of the Ionian cities in Asia (1.142–148). The Ionians from those cities suffered from so much admixture that they chose foreign kings to rule over them. Thus, in this passage, καί can be interpreted as ‘even’ in order to indicate that, as opposed to other possibilities, the element it modifies is unexpected.⁹ However, Herodotus considers them the purest Ionians (1.143.3), purer than the Athenians and others, hence the translation ‘actually’ proposed by Powell (‘let them actually be the Ionians of pure birth’).¹⁰ In general, the additive interpretation would be acceptable as long as the adverb included a potential instance of the modified element as a possible value: (7)

2.65.2 Τῶν δὲ εἵνεκεν ἀνεῖται [τὰ] ἱρὰ εἰ λέγοιμι, καταβαίην ἂν τῷ λόγῳ ἐς τὰ θεῖα πρήγματα, τὰ ἐγὼ φεύγω μάλιστα ἀπηγέεσθαι· τὰ δὲ καὶ εἴρηκα αὐτῶν ἐπιφαύσας, ἀναγκαίῃ καταλαμβανόμενος εἶπον. ‘(. . . ) but if I were to say why

8 This is implied in Schrader’s translation: ‘. . . para evitar que, de paso, me ocasionéis la ruina’. Alexander wants to prevent the Greek troops from making noise (once known his information) in order to return to the Persian camp safely. 9 This is the scalar nuance of adverbial καί which is comparable to the scalarity characteristic of ‘even’. 10 Godley’s translation is a little bit confusing; what is meant is that Ionians from the Ionian cities in Asia are the purest Ionians.

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they are left alone as sacred, I should end up talking of matters of divinity, which I am especially averse to treating; I have never touched upon such except where necessity has compelled me’. The interpretation of καί as ‘also, even’ in this passage cannot imply that the action of speaking about divine matters adds to another one. Still, this interpretation would be understandable if καί presupposed a potential instance of that action: Herodotus might speak of such matters (I should end up talking of them) as he has also done before (I have touched upon matters of divinity). In this case, the potential instance is cancelled (I am especially averse to treating them), but in other cases, it is not (see example (14)). The reason that καί is not equivalent to ‘also’ or ‘even’ in the passages being analysed is related to the nature of additive particles. Additive particles entail the existence of alternatives to the element they associate with (Greenbaum 1969, 49–51; König 1991a, 62–97; Portolés 2009, 62–64). Nevertheless, in the cases under consideration, there is no retrievable alternative to that element. Instead, the adverb emphasises the fact that the element under its scope somewhat satisfies something previously stated: (8)

3.16.1 Καμβύσης δὲ ἐκ Μέμφιος ἀπίκετο ἐς Σάϊν πόλιν, βουλόμενος ποιῆσαι τὰ δὴ καὶ ἐποίησε. ‘From Memphis Cambyses went to the city Sais, anxious to do exactly what he did do’.

In this example, it is clear that Cambises did what he intended to. Therefore, no alternatives are possible. In those circumstances, the adverb is usually interpreted as an emphasiser (Quirk et al. 1985, §8.99) that underlines the fulfilment of the state of affairs denoted by the verb (ἐποίησε) in compliance with the previous statement (βουλόμενος ποιῆσαι).¹¹ See Stein’s definition of this usage (ad 1.75.5): «So tritt mit καί die Wirklichkeit, die Ausführung zu dem nur erst Beabsichtigten oder Gewünschten als Ergänzung hinzu».¹² Finally, it is worth noting that the identification of the element modified by καί is not necessarily explicit in the previous context: (9)

7.181.1 ῾Η δὲ Αἰγιναίη, τῆς ἐτριηράρχεε ᾿Ασωνίδης, καὶ τινά σφι θόρυβον παρέσχε Πυθέω τοῦ ᾿Ισχενόου ἐπιβατεύοντος, ἀνδρὸς ἀρίστου γενομένου ταύτην τὴν ἡμέρην· ‘The Aeginetan trireme, of which Asonides was captain, did however give them some trouble. On board this ship was Pytheas son of Ischenous, who acted heroically on that day. . . ’.

11 Fuentes (2009, 381) calls them operadores informativos: «Un mecanismo para resaltar un segmento dentro del enunciado como el más relevante, o bien aquel cuyo contenido el hablante muestra de forma más ostensible, es utilizar un operador informativo». 12 It must be stressed that Stein compares the usage of καί in this passage to other instances that are not included in Powell’s list: «c. 80 24. V. 86 9. VI 23 14. VIII [sic: read VII] 239 19. VIII 4 1, und zu VII 128 10».

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In this case, καί modifies the noun phrase τινὰ θόρυβον (σφι, a Continuous Topic, is a clitic word)¹³ as a means to confirm the fulfilment of an implicit expectation: in Sciathus, the Persian ships encountered three Greek vessels posted as an advance guard, a Troezenian, an Aeginetan and an Attic (7.179). It is expected that the Greek ships gave some trouble to the Persian ones, as the Aeginetan actually did. Notwithstanding, the effortless capture of the Troezenian is narrated in the previous chapter (7.180), which explains Godley’s translation of καί into ‘however’.

3 A pragmatic account The most important feature of additive particles is to presuppose the existence of alternatives to the element they associate with. These alternatives are included by the particle as possible values. In König’s terms: «All sentences with simple additive particles entail the corresponding sentences without particle and presuppose furthermore that at least one of the alternative values under consideration in a context satisfies the complex predicate [the particle is combined with]» (König 1991a, 62). Adverbial καί can function either as a simple or as a scalar additive particle. See the following Greek example: (10)

1.1.1 οἰκήσαντας τοῦτον τὸν χῶρον τὸν καὶ νῦν οἰκέουσι ‘having settled in the country which they still occupy’.

In this passage, καί functions as an additive particle associated with νῦν: this constituent is the focus of its sentence and καί presupposes the existence of less relevant alternatives (they have occupied that country before). Scalar additive particles include a nuance of unlikelihood: «The defining criterion for scalar focus particles is that they arrange the alternatives of the focus on a scale and assign the value of the focus an extreme position on that scale» (Sudhoff 2010, 53). See the following example: (11)

2.148.3 ὁ δὲ δὴ λαβύρινθος καὶ τὰς πυραμίδας ὑπερβάλλει. ‘This maze surpasses even the pyramids’.

καί is scalar in this example: the pyramids are so big that they are not expected to be surpassed; however, the labyrinth does surpass them (and other monuments smaller than the pyramids). In the cases under study, this feature, i.e. the existence of alternatives to the element in focus, is absent. The particle continues to highlight the following element as

13 A Continuous Topic is an element whose referent is active, since it has already been mentioned in previous sentences, cf. Matić (2003b, 591). On the position of postpositive pronouns see Bertrand (2009).

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informatively relevant, yet there are no retrievable alternatives in the context. Instead, it is the referent of the modified element that is retrieved and identified: (12) 7.173.4 Δοκέειν δέ μοι, ἀρρωδίη ἦν τὸ πεῖθον, ὡς ἐπύθοντο καὶ ἄλλην ἐοῦσαν ἐσβολὴν ἐς Θεσσαλοὺς κατὰ τὴν ἄνω Μακεδονίην διὰ Περραιβῶν κατὰ Γόννον πόλιν, τῇ περ δὴ καὶ ἐσέβαλε ἡ στρατιὴ ἡ Ξέρξεω. ‘To my thinking, however, what persuaded them was fear, since they had found out that there was another pass leading into Thessaly by the hill country of Macedonia through the country of the Perrhaebi, near the town of Gonnus; this was indeed the way by which Xerxes’ army descended on Thessaly’. Καί insists on the fact that the Persians attacked through the only pass that was not blocked by the Greeks (ἐσβολήν = ἐσέβαλε). (13)

3.134.(2–)3 Οἰκὸς δέ ἐστι ἄνδρα καὶ νέον καὶ χρημάτων μεγάλων δεσπότην φαίνεσθαί τι ἀποδεικνύμενον, ἵνα καὶ Πέρσαι ἐκμάθωσι ὅτι ὑπ᾿ ἀνδρὸς ἄρχονται . . . Νῦν γὰρ ἄν τι καὶ ἀποδέξαιο ἔργον, ἕως νέος εἶς ἡλικίην· ‘The right thing for a man who is both young and the master of great wealth is to be seen aggrandizing himself, so that the Persians know too that they are ruled by a man . . . You should show some industry now, while you are still young’.

Atosa reproaches Darius that he is not undertaking any military campaign in spite of the fact that it is customary of young men to engage in such undertakings. Therefore, she advises him to do so while he is still young: τι ἀποδεικνύμενον = ἀποδέξαιο ἔργον. In other words, the function of καί in these contexts reflects an identificational variant of the additive particle. König (1991b) has studied the use of identificational focus particles in German. He states that «the basic function of these elements is to emphatically assert the identity of two values in two different propositional schemata» (pp. 12–13). Similar particles exist in Spanish, cf. Fuentes (2009) and DPDE s. uu. ‘justamente’, ‘precisamente’. According to DPDE, the function of ‘precisamente’ is as follows: «It marks the following element as coinciding either with another element previously stated or with an element present in the communicative situation. The particle entails that the speaker considers it significant that a certain element among all possible elements coincides with another previously mentioned, whether this coincidence is surprising or intended».¹⁴ This development of καί from an additive to an identificational focus particle can be explained as an instance of Traugott & Dasher’s Invited Inferencing Theory of Semantic Change (2002, 34–35). According to the IITSC, the speaker can invite the

14 «Indica que el elemento discursivo que introduce coincide con otro elemento anterior del discurso o bien con un elemento de la situación comunicativa. La partícula señala que el emisor considera que la aparición, de entre todos los elementos posibles, de un elemento coincidente con otro previo es significativa, ya sea por el carácter sorprendente de tal coincidencia o porque esta ha sido especialmente buscada».

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hearer to infer new meanings similar or in some way related to the encoded meanings of a linguistic expression. These inferences can spread to other linguistic contexts, and when this occurs they speak of generalised invited inference. Ultimately, the inference can become reanalysed as a semantic meaning. It has been stressed that the IITSC has contact points with conceptual metonymy (Traugott – König 1991), because invited inferencing entails semantic selection through contiguity. In Traugott’s words, «it is primarily associative in character, being derived from the uses to which interlocutors put linear sequences of utterances and associations in context» (Traugott 2003, 634). This semantic selection has an important role in the development from additive to identificational καί: adverbial καί is a focus particle that marks the following element as informatively relevant in relation to other possible values. In the cases at issue, the element is informatively relevant, but possible alternatives are not retrievable. Instead, what is retrieved and identified is the referent of the modified element. Thus, no addition is involved, simply the identification of the focus of καί with the previous context.¹⁵ Intermediate examples, in which retrievable alternatives can be identified with the element modified by καί, illustrate how the inference emerges: (14)

9.18.1 οἱ δὲ ἱππέες ἐπείτε σφέας ἐκυκλώσαντο, ἐπήλαυνον ὡς ἀπολέοντες, καὶ δὴ διετείνοντο τὰ βέλεα ὡς ἀπήσοντες, καί κού τις καὶ ἀπῆκε· ‘But when the horsemen had encircled the Phocians, they rode at them as if to slay them, and drew their bows to shoot; it is likely too that some of them did in fact shoot’.

In this example, καί modifies ἀπῆκε ‘[some of them] shot’. This passage is a fragment of the description of the battle of Plataea. The Persian horsemen encircled the Phocians threatening them with their bows. Thus, no shooting was necessarily implied, although it did in fact happen. The adverb underlines that actual shooting added to the menace, but the reader is invited to infer that καί is at the same time confirming the shooting through the identification of ἀπῆκε with ὡς ἀπήσοντες. Even if the occurrences are not numerous, the additive sense becomes bleached in some of the examples: (15)

1.75.(4–)5 λέγεται παρεόντα τὸν Θαλῆν ἐν τῷ στρατοπέδῳ ποιῆσαι αὐτῷ τὸν ποταμὸν ἐξ ἀριστερῆς χειρὸς ῥέοντα τοῦ στρατοῦ καὶ ἐκ δεξιῆς ῥέειν, ποιῆσαι δὲ ὧδε . . . ὥστε, ἐπείτε καὶ ἐσχίσθη τάχιστα ὁ ποταμός, ἀμφοτέρῃ διαβατὸς ἐγένετο. ‘The story is that . . . Thales, who was in the encampment, made the river, which flowed on the left of the army, also flow on the right, in the following way . . . with the result that as soon as the river was thus divided into two, both channels could be forded.’

15 Or the following context, see 1.78.1 ᾿Ιδόντι δὲ τοῦτο Κροίσῳ, ὥσπερ καὶ ἦν, ἔδοξε τέρας εἶναι. ‘When Croesus saw this he thought it a portent, and so it was’, where καὶ ἦν refers to τέρας.

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A final matter is the high proportion of instances in which this type of καί modifies verb forms. This must be related to polarity focus:¹⁶ καί is used to assert the positive polarity of the whole proposition. Additive καί has positive polarity –οὐδέ is the negative counterpart– and, in the cases at issue, it does affect the entire proposition. This is especially perceptible when the particle identifies an actual instance of the event denoted by the verb with a potential instance,¹⁷ but it can also be extrapolated to most of the cases in which the modified element is not a verb form.¹⁸ This nuance is captured in the translations via sentence adverbs and adverbials¹⁹ like ‘actually’, ‘indeed’ or ‘in fact’, whose semantics indicate the transition from possible to real.²⁰

4 Conclusions Καί is an additive particle that can function as a copulative conjunction and as an additive focus adverb. In the studied cases, the additive sense is blocked or at least left in the background, due to the fact that there are no retrievable alternatives to the element it modifies. Instead, καί underlines its identification with something previously stated or expected. This function is due to a pragmatic invited inference triggered in contexts in which the referent of the alternatives can be identified with the referent of the term modified by καί. The usual translations into ‘actually’ vel sim. in the relevant passages capture the positive polarity of this type of καί which tends to be associated with the truth value of the proposition. According to its frequency, this is a marginal use.

16 Polarity focus is the focus associated with the truth value of the proposition, cf. Matić (2003a, 183–184) and Dik et al. (1981, 52–53). According to Dik et al. (1981: 53), «[it] is the positive counterpart of what is usually called sentence negation». 17 «In polarity focus contexts, verbs are often ‘given’ or ‘derivable’ from the scene, or negated, or ‘weak’ (especially as verbs of existence and appearance). This has to do with the assertional structure of polarity focus: for the descriptive content of focused predicate to be unworthy of asserting, so that the hearer has to look for the assertion in the polarity of the proposition, in its TAM [= Tense, Aspect, Mood] features, or similar, the predicate must be either extremely general in meaning, or already asserted (‘old’)». (Matić 2003a, 212). Most of the cases under study involve narrow focus on the verb, but there are also some involving broad focus on the verb and one of its arguments, cf. 3.77.2 (παρῆλθον ἐς τὴν αὐλήν), 3.134.3 (ἀποδέξαιο ἔργον), 6.78.2 (ἐγένετο ἐπιτελέα). 18 In fact, in two out of the four cases considered by Powell (1.147.1, 7.107.1), the element is a predicative construed with a form of εἰμί/γίγνομαι and καί confirms that the quality referred to by that element does apply. I owe this observation to Coulter George. 19 Also called disjuncts (Greenbaum 1969; Quirk et alii 1985, 612–631; Ramat–Ricca 1998). These are adverbials that modify a whole clause or sentence expressing comments on its propositional content or the speech act associated with it. 20 See Quirk et al.’s (1985, §8.99) definition of emphasisers: «[they] have a reinforcing effect on the truth value of the clause or the part of the clause to which they apply».

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Bibliography Bäumlein, W. 1861: Untersuchungen über griechische Partikeln, Stuttgart. Bertrand, N. 2009: Les proms postpositifs dans l’ordre de mots en grec: domaines syntaxiques, domaines pragmatiques, «Lalies», 29, 227–257. Bertrand, N. 2010:L’ordre des mots chez Homère: structure informationelle, localisation et progression du récit, Dissertation of the Université de Paris–Sorbonne. Bonifazi, A. 2016: Multifunctionality of δέ, τε, and καί, in Particles in Ancient Greek discourse, eds. A. Bonifazi, A. Drummen & M. de Kreij, online . Cooper, G. L. 1998: Attic Greek prose syntax, Ann Arbor. Denniston, J. D. 19542 : The Greek particles, Oxford. Dik, S. 1981: On the typology of focus phenomena, in Perspectives on functional grammar, eds. T. Hoekstra et al., Dordrecht, 41–74. DPDE = Briz, A., Pons, S. and Portolés, J. (coords.) 2008: Diccionario de partículas discursivas del español, online Fuentes Rodríguez, C. 2009: Diccionario de conectores y operadores del español, Madrid. Greenbaum, S. 1969: Studies in English adverbial usage, London. Jiménez Delgado, J. M. 2014: Locuciones aditivas y focalización: πρὸς δὲ καί, «AGI», 98/2, 150–174. König, E. 1991a: The meaning of focus particles: a comparative perspective, London. König, E. 1991b: Identical values in conflicting roles. The use of German ausgerechnet, eben, genau and gerade as focus particles, in Descriptive and theoretical investigations on the logical, syntactic and pragmatic properties of discourse particles in German, ed. W. Abraham, Amsterdam– Philadelphia, 11–36. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 1898–19043 : Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Zweiter Teil: Satzlehre, Hannover–Leipzig. Matić, D. 2003a: Topics, presupposition, and theticity: an empirical study of verb-subject clauses in Albanian, Greek, and Serbo-Croat, Dissertation of the Universität zu Köln. Matić, D. 2003b: Topic, focus, and discourse structure. Ancient Greek word order, «Studies in Language», 27/3, 573–633. Portolés Lázaro, J. 2009: Alternativas convocadas por partículas discursivas, «Español Actual», 29, 47–68. Powell, J. E. 1938: A lexicon to Herodotus, Cambridge. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. and Svartvik, J. 1985: A comprehensive grammar of the English language, London – New York. Ramat, P. & Ricca, D. 1998: Sentence adverbs in the languages of Europe, in Adverbial constructions in the languages of Europe, eds. J. van der Auwera and D. P. Ó Baoill, Berlin–New York, 187–273. Schrader, C. 1989: Heródoto. Historia. Volumen V: libros VIII–IX, Madrid. Smyth, H. W. 19202 : A Greek grammar for colleges, New York. Stein, H. 18835 : Herodotos erklärt. Erster Band, Berlin. Sudhoff, S. 2010: Focus particles in German: syntax, prosody, and information structure, Amsterdam– Philadelphia. Traugott, E. C. 2003: Constructions in grammaticalization, in The handbook of historical linguistics, eds. B. Joseph and R. Janda, Oxford, 624–647. Traugott, E. C. & Dasher, R. B. 2002: Regularity in semantic change, New York. Traugott, E. C. & König E. 1991: The semantics–pragmatics of grammaticalization revisited, in Approaches to grammaticalization, eds. E. C. Traugott and B. Heine, Amsterdam, 189–218.

María José García Soler

Usos de καί y ἔτι como adverbios de foco aditivos en las declamaciones etopoéticas de Libanio Abstract: The purpose of this paper is to study the uses of two additive focus adverbs, καί and ἔτι, very common in ancient Greek, in the ethopoietic declamations by Libanius of Antioch. We will consider their properties from various points of view: semantic, as adverbs that mean addition; syntactic, paying attention to the typology of the elements which can be focalized, as well as to their position relative to them; and pragmatic, attending to the presuppositions they imply.

1 Introduction El propósito de esta comunicación es estudiar la utilización de καί y ἔτι como adverbios de foco aditivos en el corpus constituido por las declamaciones etopoéticas de Libanio de Antioquía, uno de los maestros de retórica más destacados del siglo IV d. C. Se trata de una colección de 25 discursos de tema inventado que se enmarcan dentro de su producción destinada al ámbito escolar. En ellos el autor hace un ejercicio retórico de descripción de caracteres (misántropos, parásitos, envidiosos, avaros, etc.), usando un ático puro que imita el de los autores de la época clásica. La función principal de καί en griego antiguo es la de conjunción coordinante copulativa, uniendo oraciones o partes de la oración que se encuentran en un mismo nivel sintáctico. Por su parte, ἔτι tiene como uso principal la función de adverbio temporal de fase, para evocar un intervalo que puede ser anterior o posterior a la situación expresada por el predicado verbal al que modifica¹. Puede ser utilizado para expresar que una situación anterior continúa más allá de su duración prevista, con un sentido equivalente a ‘todavía’, ‘aún’; la negación (οὐκέτι/μηκέτι) cancela la continuidad o, con un aoristo, sirve para indicar que ese estado de cosas no se reproducirá, contrariamente a lo que se podría esperar². Como modificador de un adjetivo denota una característica que en un momento posterior va a cambiar, y con

Nota: Este trabajo forma parte de las actividades realizadas en el marco del Proyecto de Investigación titulado «Adverbios de foco en la prosa tardía y medieval griega» (FFI2012–36944–C03–02), financiado por el Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad. 1 Sobre los usos temporales y no temporales de ἔτι, véase Crespo (2008). 2 Wakker (2001, 4).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-193

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adverbios, como en la expresión ἔτι καὶ νῦν, intensifica la idea de la continuidad del proceso anterior³.

2 Concepto de foco Junto a estos usos, tanto καί como ἔτι pueden tener un valor focal, siendo utilizados para resaltar algún constituyente de una oración o una oración entera. Dado que no hay unanimidad en cuanto al concepto de foco⁴, quisiera señalar que, dentro de la línea del proyecto de investigación en el que se enmarca esta comunicación, consideraré foco un segmento lingüístico que se destaca dentro de un enunciado porque en opinión del hablante contiene información nueva para el interlocutor y es particularmente relevante dentro del contexto comunicativo⁵. Este elemento forma parte además de un conjunto de valores, las alternativas, que podrían ocupar su mismo lugar y con los que se establece una relación paradigmática⁶. La alternativa puede estar explícita o no, pero el contexto comunicativo hace que resulte convocada en la mente de los participantes. Las lenguas utilizan diversos procedimientos de focalización⁷. Uno de ellos consiste en la utilización de adverbios que desde el punto de vista pragmático convierten la unidad a la que complementan en foco contrastivo del enunciado en el que aparecen, porque la comparan, oponen o contrastan con sus alternativas⁸. Al mismo tiempo expresan valores semánticos que varían según el tipo de relación que se establece entre el foco y las alternativas, de manera que se habla de adverbios de foco inclusivos o aditivos, exclusivos, restrictivos o particularizadores, aproximativos y escalares, que pueden considerarse un subtipo de los inclusivos⁹.

3 Wakker (2001, 11). 4 A este respecto, puede encontrarse un panorama general en König (1991, 32) y Redondo (2015, 164–165). 5 Crespo (2015a, 210, 230). 6 König (1991); Gutiérrez Ordóñez (2008, 444); Portolés (2010, 294–295, 301–302). 7 Sobre los procedimientos empleados en griego antiguo, véase Crespo (2015a, 212–213) y Crespo (2015b, 140–143). 8 Gutiérrez Bravo (2008, 376–377, 380); Crespo (2015a, 216); Crespo (2015b). Como señala Redondo (2015, 165, n. 10), algunos investigadores prefieren hablar de foco exhaustivo (Dubrig 2003; Beaudrie 2005, 22–23) o de foco identificativo (Kiss 1998; Kenesei 2005). 9 Martínez (2014, 19); Crespo (2015a, 216–221) y (2015b, 145–147). Por su parte König (1991, 33–34) distingue solo dos tipos: aditivos o inclusivos y restrictivos o exclusivos.

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3 καί y ἔτι como adverbios de foco aditivos Los adverbios sobre los que se centra este estudio, καί y ἔτι, pertenecen a la categoría de los adverbios de foco aditivos o de inclusión, que indican que el segmento del discurso sobre el que inciden se añade al conjunto que forman las posibles alternativas a las que la proposición sería igualmente aplicable¹⁰. Se presupone que la información anterior es correcta y a ella se añade la que expresa el elemento focalizado. Con valor focal, καί equivale de forma aproximada a ‘también’, en una adición neutra, o ‘incluso’, cuando se crea implícitamente una escala en la que lo focalizado se interpreta como un valor superior, identificándose como el elemento menos esperable o que va directamente en contra de las expectativas del hablante¹¹. Estas diferencias no se marcan en griego de forma explícita, por lo que pueden darse casos de ambigüedad, que debe ser resuelta por el contexto comunicativo. Por su parte, ἔτι se corresponde con ‘además’, añadiendo una nueva alternativa a lo ya expresado, y ‘todavía’, ‘aún’ en expresiones del tipo «todavía más alto», «aún más lejos», donde introduce una noción de escala en la que el elemento focalizado ocupa una posición superior con respecto a sus posibles alternativas, sin llegar a ocupar necesariamente el grado extremo¹².

4 Elementos focalizados por καί y ἔτι Los tipos de elementos del discurso que pueden ser focalizados por medio de adverbios son variados –sustantivos, adjetivos, pronombres, otros adverbios, formas verbales personales y no personales e incluso oraciones completas¹³–, aunque los ejemplos que ofrece Libanio muestran diferencias en el comportamiento de καί y ἔτι.

4.1 καί y ἔτι con sustantivos Cuando el foco es un sustantivo, el más frecuente de los dos adverbios es καί, que se sitúa inmediatamente delante del sintagma del que aquel es núcleo. Así puede apreciarse en (1), donde un misántropo muestra su rechazo total hacia la compañía, llegando a decir que no soporta ni siquiera su sombra, porque va pegada siempre a él. El elemento focalizado, la sombra, va en contra de lo esperable y la afirmación resulta absurda, ya que está producida por su propio cuerpo y es algo inmaterial.

10 Quirk et al. (1985, 604); Martínez (2014, 22). 11 Portolés (2010, 309); Crespo (2015a, 222–223). 12 Sobre ἔτι como adverbio de foco, véase Maquieira (2015, 190–193) y Conti (2015). 13 Kovacci (1999, 772); Crespo (2015a, 224).

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(1)

27.4: καὶ γὰρ πρὸς τὴν σκιὰν τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ πολλάκις ἄχθομαι πανταχῆ μοι συνεπομένην καὶ δι΄ αὐτὴν πρὸς τὸν ἥλιον καὶ τὴν σελήνην, ὅτι ποιοῦσιν αὐτήν. ‘Pues incluso con mi propia sombra muchas veces me irrito porque me sigue a todas partes, y por ella con el sol y la luna, porque la hacen.’

Con respecto a ἔτι, aunque en otros autores puede aparecer como focalizador con sustantivos, en Libanio los ejemplos son muy escasos y además dudosos, por lo que resultan difíciles de interpretar, tanto por lo que se refiere a su propia naturaleza como posible adverbio de foco como a su alcance.

4.2 καί y ἔτι con pronombres También los pronombres pueden ser realzados por medio de un adverbio de foco, aunque de nuevo los ejemplos se limitan únicamente a καί. En este caso se refieren a información conocida, pero que el hablante quiere poner de relieve frente a sus posibles alternativas, en general explícitas o fácilmente deducibles del contexto comunicativo. Así sucede con los pronombres personales, que en Libanio aparecen en cinco ocasiones precedidos por un adverbio de foco. En (2) un misántropo que odia la risa quiere desheredar a su hijo por haberse reído al verlo caído en el suelo. Se establecería aquí un contraste entre la risa del hijo y la suya propia, negada por el misántropo: (2)

27.21: τοιγαροῦν ἀπαλλάττου μέν, στένων δὲ καὶ οἰμώζων καὶ μηδενὸς ὢν κύριος, ἵνα κἀγὼ τότε γελάσω μὲν οὔ, παύσωμαι δὲ ἐφ’ οἷς μου κατεγέλασας ἀνιώμενος. ‘Por cierto que te vas a librar, pero gimiendo, lamentándote y siendo dueño de nada, no para que yo también me ría entonces, sino para dejar de afligirme por eso de lo que tú te reíste de mí.’

El valor enfático se acentúa cuando el pronombre personal referido al sujeto es sustituido por αὐτός, particularmente cuando se trata de la segunda persona en contraposición con la primera, como en (3), donde el mismo misántropo del ejemplo anterior echa en cara a su hijo su comportamiento cuando lo vio en el suelo. (3)

27.20: οὐδὲ γὰρ κινεῖσθαι χρῆν ὅλως, ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ λίθον ἑστάναι ἢ μηδὲ ὅλως ἰδεῖν πεπτωκότα ἢ ἰδόντα πεσεῖν καὶ αὐτόν. . . ‘Pues ni siquiera tenías que moverte en absoluto, sino, igual que una piedra, quedarte de pie o ni siquiera en absoluto ver que me había caído o, viéndome, caerte tú mismo también . . . ’

Con más frecuencia (con 14 ejemplos en total) aparecen focalizados los demostrativos οὗτος y ἐκεῖνος. Aunque su referente se encuentra en el contexto anterior, el hablante los focaliza por medio de un adverbio, porque considera relevante la información que añade sobre ellos, como se aprecia en (4), donde un misántropo que no soporta los ruidos, pero se ha casado con una charlatana, se queja de que ni siquiera en su casa puede encontrar la paz:

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(4)

26.37: Μίαν εἶχον καταφυγήν, μίαν ἀποστροφήν, ἕνα λιμένα, τὴν οἰκίαν. ἀλλὰ καὶ ταύτην ἐνέπλησέ μοι χειμῶνος ἡ γλῶττα τῆς γυναικός, καὶ τόπον ἔχοντα γαλήνην εὑρεῖν οὐκ ἔχω. ‘Un solo refugio tenía, un solo recurso, un solo puerto, mi casa. Pero también esta me la llenó de agitación la lengua de mi mujer y no puedo encontrar un lugar con tranquilidad.’

En el contexto anterior hacía una enumeración de los lugares que rehúye por el exceso de ruidos, echando abajo incluso el tópico de la paz del campo, que describe como una fuente continua de molestias por los sonidos que emiten los animales.

4.3 καί y ἔτι con adjetivos Al contrario de lo que sucede con los sustantivos y los pronombres, en el caso de los adjetivos en Libanio es ἔτι el adverbio de foco que predomina. Puede aparecer con cuantificadores, como en (5), donde figura en una construcción negativa entre un numeral y el sustantivo al que acompaña. La declamación a la que pertenece este ejemplo es la defensa de un padre que ha dado muerte a su hijo porque un tirano se había encaprichado de él y para conseguirlo había asediado su ciudad. Combinado con la negación, el adverbio enfatiza el contraste con los sintagmas siguientes introducidos con πολλούς/πολλάς, reforzando la idea de la amplitud de los crímenes del tirano, que afectan no a una sola víctima sino a muchas. (5)

42.39: οὐκοῦν πᾶσα ἦν ἀνάγκη τέλος τῆς πολιορκίας γενέσθαι τὴν ἅλωσιν καὶ ἔχειν αὐτὸν οὐχ ἓν ἔτι μειράκιον, ἀλλὰ πολλοὺς μὲν ἡλικιώτας τοὐμοῦ, πολλοὺς δὲ νεωτέρους, πολλὰς δὲ γυναῖκας καὶ κόρας, ὧν τὰς μὲν αὐτὸς ἂν ὕβριζε, τὰς δὲ τοῖς δορυφόροις ἐδίδου. ‘Pues bien, era del todo inevitable que el final del asedio fuera la toma de la ciudad y que él tuviera no ya a un solo muchacho, sino a muchos de la misma edad del mío, y a muchos más jóvenes, y a muchas mujeres y muchachas, de las que a unas las ultrajaría él mismo y a otras las entregaría a su guardia personal.’

En la declamación 33, que muestra las cuitas de un avaro enamorado de una hetera, aparecen dos ejemplos de ἔτι con interrogativos de cantidad, en los que, como en el ejemplo que acabamos de ver con el numeral, el adverbio aparece entre el cuantificador y el sustantivo, como se aprecia en (6), que muestra las preocupaciones que antaño quitaban el sueño al avaro, que daba vueltas en la cama haciéndose preguntas: (6)

32.48: πόσων ἔτι μηνῶν χρεωστεῖ; ‘¿Cuántos meses más debe?’

Libanio ofrece varios ejemplos de adjetivos calificativos focalizados, pero solo en uno de ellos aparece en grado positivo, con el adverbio situado inmediatamente delante, al contrario de lo que sucede en el caso de los cuantificadores. En (7) recoge las quejas de un parásito que por un error de cálculo ha perdido un magnífico festín y teme que no

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volverá a ser invitado por su anfitrión. En una escala que reflejaría los motivos por los que una persona puede fallar en un compromiso, el de hacerlo aposta aparece como más grave que cuando es por simple mala suerte. (7)

28.19: κἂν ὀμόσωσι, κἂν δακρύσωσι παρεστῶτες, οὐ δυστυχεῖς, ἀλλ’ ἔτι πονηροὶ νομίζονται. ‘Y ya juren, ya lloren en su presencia, no se les considera desgraciados, sino, más aún, malvados.’

Es más frecuente encontrar ἔτι con formas comparativas, tanto adjetivos como adverbios, donde la alternativa puede aparecer expresa como una enumeración que precede al término focalizado o a través del segundo término de la comparación. Al primer caso pertenece el ejemplo (8): (8)

33.32: ἀπέπνιξα ἂν καθεύδοντα, νὴ τὸν Δία τὸν ἄνακτα, οὐ λέγω μνᾶν ἢ ἀλεύρων ἡμιμέδιμνον ἢ ἁπλοΐδα, ἀλλ’ ὀρόβους ὀλίγους, τάριχος, κρόμμυα, τῶν ἔτι φαυλοτέρων τι διαπεφορηκότα λαβών. ‘Te hubiera estrangulado mientras dormías, por Zeus soberano, si te hubiera cogido llevándote no digo una mina o medio medimno de harina o un manto sencillo, sino unas pocas arvejas, salazón, cebollas o algo todavía más barato.’

Estas palabras forman parte de los reproches que un avaro dirige a su hijo. El término focalizado se sitúa al final de una enumeración en la que no queda de relieve una jerarquía clara; se indica simplemente que eso todavía más barato cumple esa cualidad en un grado mayor que el resto de las alternativas explícitas. No puede excluirse, sin embargo, que en estos casos ἔτι funcione como intensificador, ya que los adjetivos comparativos convocan alternativas por su propia naturaleza.

4.4 καί y ἔτι con adverbios También pueden ser objeto de focalización los adverbios, precedidos tanto por ἔτι como por καί, aunque de nuevo observamos diferencias notables en su comportamiento. En el caso de καί, en Libanio los ejemplos se limitan casi exclusivamente al adverbio ἐκεῖ y en todos ellos muestra un carácter marcadamente contrastivo entre dos lugares que en principio se oponen, como son en el ejemplo (9) el mundo de los muertos y el de los vivos: (9)

26.54: λέγουσι κἀκεῖ θορύβους εἶναι καὶ πράγματα καὶ δικαστὰς καὶ δίκας τῶν οἰχομένων καὶ βοὴν νεκρῶν καὶ διαλόγους. ‘Dicen que también allí hay alborotos y negocios y jueces y juicios de los que llegan y gritos de los muertos y discusiones.’

El misántropo que odia el ruido teme que, contra lo esperado (de hecho, también sería admisible la traducción ‘incluso allí’), cuando muera pueda encontrarse tanto ajetreo entre los muertos como entre los vivos.

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Por su parte, ἔτι focaliza únicamente adverbios en grado comparativo, como podemos ver en (10), donde un misántropo muestra el proceso por el que tomó conciencia de su grave error al contraer matrimonio con una charlatana: (10) 26.14: πείθομαι πάλιν καὶ μεθ’ ἡμέραν μᾶλλον ἐμάνθανον τὴν ἐμαυτοῦ συμφορὰν καὶ τῆς ὑστεραίας ἔτι μειζόνως. ‘Me dejé convencer de nuevo y por el día comprendí mejor mi propia desgracia, y al siguiente todavía más.’

4.5 καί y ἔτι con verbos Los adverbios de foco objeto de estudio pueden incidir además sobre diversas formas verbales, afectando solo al predicado o a la predicación. También en este caso el comportamiento de los dos adverbios es diferente, ya que los usos de καί son más amplios, pudiendo aparecer con infinitivos y participios, de lo que no hay ejemplos en el caso de ἔτι. Con un infinitivo tenemos el ejemplo (11), donde habla de nuevo el misántropo que quiere desheredar a su hijo porque se ha reído al verlo caído en el suelo. El texto pertenece al comienzo de la declamación y es el contexto posterior, cuando el misántropo empieza a exponer su caso, el que explicita la alternativa que contrasta con el infinitivo focalizado. (11)

27.1: . . . ἥκω τὸ πολύγελων τουτὶ μειράκιον καὶ κλαῦσαί ποτε καταναγκάσων. ‘. . . vengo para obligar a este mocito risueño a que también llore alguna vez.’

En (12) el elemento focalizado es el participio τυφλωθείς –con valor concesivo–, que se incluye en el conjunto de las posibles alternativas que representan las desgracias que estaría dispuesto a soportar un envidioso para impedir la felicidad ajena, más allá de lo esperable. (12) 30.34: ἔδειξα ἂν ἀνδρίαν καὶ τυφλωθεὶς ἐν πενίᾳ κατεχομένου τοῦ γείτονος. ‘Habría mostrado entereza incluso si me quedara ciego, con tal de que mi vecino estuviera retenido en la pobreza.’ Con verbos en forma personal en oraciones principales los usos son escasos, tanto por lo que se refiere a καί, del que no encontramos más que cuatro ejemplos, como a ἔτι, del que Libanio ofrece solo uno. En (13) parece incidir sobre προσεδεῖτο, aunque resulta ambiguo, puesto que dada su posición, también podría ser aquí el adverbio de fase. En este pasaje un avaro se queja de lo que come su hijo, que dedica su vida al servicio militar y al ejercicio físico. (13)

33.17: ὅσα γὰρ ἐν τῷ πρόσθεν ἅπαντας ἔβοσκε, ταῦτα ἂν μόνος καταφαγὼν ἔτι προσεδεῖτο. ‘Aún cuando devorara él solo todo cuanto consumían todos los animales, todavía necesitaría más.’

También hay algún caso en que ἔτι se utiliza para focalizar una oración entera, como sucede en (14). Allí lo encontramos junto con καί (combinación que solo se repite una

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vez más, en 43.21), que funciona a su vez como adverbio de foco aditivo, con el sentido de ‘también’, mientras que ἔτι podría tener un valor escalar. (14) 29.23: ἐκεῖνοι τὸν τρόφιμον λαβόντες κατεγοήτευσαν πολλοῖς ῥήμασι παθόντες μὲν οὐδὲν δυσχερές, ὅτι δ’ εὐδαιμονεῖ φθονήσαντες καὶ σπεύδοντες αὐτοὶ μὴ μόνον ζῆν ἐλεεινῶς, ἀλλ’ ἔτι καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ὁρᾶν ἐν τοῖς ἴσοις. ‘Aquellos tomando a mi patrón le embaucaron con muchas palabras, sin ninguna dificultad, viendo con malos ojos que él fuera feliz y afanándose ellos mismos no sólo en vivir miserablemente, sino además también en ver a los demás en las mismas.’ Con estas palabras un parásito muestra su opinión sobre los filósofos que han apartado de su vida anterior al joven rico que lo mantenía, provocando con ello su ruina más absoluta. En este caso aparece reflejada además la correlación οὐ (μὴ) μόνον . . . ἀλλὰ καί, de la que estas declamaciones ofrecen muy pocos ejemplos (29.12 y 29.23, con οὐ, y 29.23 y 30.5, con μή). En ellos la alternativa a la que se añade el elemento focalizado se muestra claramente explícita: es el primer miembro de la correlación. El segundo, introducido por la adversativa y focalizado por καί, amplía la información aportada por el primero. En realidad los dos polos de la correlación serían focos en contraste¹⁴.

4.6 καί y ἔτι con oraciones subordinadas Mientras que con ἔτι no he encontrado ejemplos en los que focalice una oración subordinada, en el caso de καί contamos con dos en los que incide sobre oraciones temporales, pero son más numerosos y más claros los de concesivas (introducidas con εἰ καί) y en particular los de concesivas–condicionales (introducidas con κἄν), que suman en total 16. Las concesivas apuntan al hecho de que el efecto expresado en la apódosis es contrario o al menos no esperado con respecto a lo que hace suponer la prótasis. Así se aprecia en (15), donde un parásito que se ha quedado sin comer pone ejemplos mitológicos oponiéndolos a su caso: incluso en las peores condiciones, otros tuvieron la posibilidad de comer, mientras que él se muere de hambre. (15)

28.16: τὰ Κίρκης ἄντρα μυθεύουσιν, ἀλλ’ εἰ καὶ μετέβαλλεν εἰς σύας καὶ ποικίλων θηρίων ὄψεις, ἤδη καὶ τροφὴν ἐχορήγει τὴν ἑκάστῳ πρόσφορον. ‘De las cuevas de Circe cuentan historias, pero si bien convertía a los hombres en cerdos y en apariencias de fieras moteadas, ya había suministrado antes también un alimento conveniente a cada uno.’

14 Martínez (2014, 22).

Usos de καί y ἔτι como adverbios de foco aditivos en Libanio | 189

Hay que señalar, sin embargo, que puede darse el caso de que καί incida únicamente con el elemento que le sigue como puede verse en (16)¹⁵: (16)

26.52: εἰ δὲ καὶ πολλά μοι τέκοι καὶ ταῦτα αὑτῇ παραπλήσια καὶ δεικνύντα ἧς ἐστι, πῶς βιώσομαι μέσος εἰλημμένος τοιούτου χοροῦ· ‘Y si me da además mucha prole y esa semejante a ella y que demuestren de quién son hijos, ¿cómo viviré cogido en medio de tal coro?’

En este ejemplo el misántropo que odia el ruido tiembla pensando en lo que podría suceder cuando su mujer charlatana sea madre, lo que expresa en la oración inmediatamente anterior, y sobre todo si además resulta que tiene muchos hijos. El segmento focalizado es aquí solo πολλά. En las concesivas–condicionales de nuevo el contenido de la apódosis es contrario a la expectativa que suscita la prótasis, pero las posibilidades de su cumplimiento o su veracidad parecen más cercanas. En (17) habla de nuevo el mismo parásito de (15), lamentando la actitud de los anfitriones, que no aceptan ninguna excusa cuando reciben un desaire. (17)

28.18: οἶδα πηλίκαι τοῖς καλοῦσιν ὀργαὶ προσιζάνουσιν, ἐπειδὰν τῶν κεκλημένων τις ἐκλίπῃ τὴν σύνοδον, οἶδα πηλίκον βρενθύεσθαι σύνηθες αὐτοῖς, κἂν ἀνάγκην, κἂν συμφορὰν οἱ κεκλημένοι προβάλωνται. ‘Yo sé qué grandes enojos se aposentan en los que invitan, cuando alguno de los invitados abandona la reunión, yo sé qué acostumbrados están a ser arrogantes, incluso si los invitados alegan alguna urgencia, o una desgracia.’

5 Conclusiones El análisis que he presentado aquí a partir de una selección de los ejemplos que ofrecen las declamaciones etopoéticas de Libanio muestra la función que pueden tener ἔτι y καί como adverbios de foco, mostrando las diferencias que existen entre ellos. Desde el punto de vista semántico, los dos expresan un valor aditivo, ya que añaden el elemento focalizado a un conjunto de alternativas, explícitas o implicadas en el contexto comunicativo, a las que la proposición es igualmente aplicable. A diferencia de lo que sucede en otras lenguas, que utilizan adverbios diferentes para marcar la adición simple y la adición escalar, el griego antiguo no establece esta distinción, de modo que ambos adverbios pueden presentar los dos usos, que son identificables únicamente por el contexto en el que se encuentran insertos y no siempre

15 Denniston (1954, 303–304) hace referencia también a la posibilidad de que καί pueda asociarse a la conjunción condicional o a lo que le sigue y considera que probablemente la pronunciación ayudaba a aclarar la distinción.

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de forma segura. En el caso de καί, cuando marca la adición simple se refleja en la traducción como ‘también’, mientras que equivale a ‘incluso’ cuando el elemento focalizado ocupa la posición extrema de una escala o es el menos esperable. Por su parte, ἔτι en el primer uso equivale a ‘además’ y, aunque también puede tener un valor escalar, generalmente no sitúa al elemento focalizado en el extremo de la escala, sino que indica que ocupa una posición más elevada respecto a sus alternativas, sin excluir que puedan existir otras que lo superen. Este uso se da principalmente con adverbios y adjetivos comparativos, acentuando el hecho de que el elemento focalizado posee una determinada propiedad en un grado más elevado (lo que, en realidad, estaría implicado ya en el propio uso del comparativo); equivale en estos casos a ‘todavía más’, ‘aún más’. Desde el punto de vista sintáctico, el alcance de los dos adverbios es muy variado. Pueden ejercer su influencia sobre palabras sueltas (sustantivos, adjetivos, pronombres, otros adverbios, verbos) o segmentos más amplios de la oración, aunque con diferencias entre ellos, siendo el alcance de καί más amplio que el de ἔτι. καί aparece con frecuencia focalizando sustantivos, pronombres, verbos en forma personal y no personal y oraciones enteras, tanto principales como subordinadas. Por su parte, ἔτι raramente aparece con sustantivos y con oraciones enteras y Libanio no ofrece ningún ejemplo en el que aparezca con pronombres, formas no personales ni con oraciones subordinadas; en cambio, es relativamente frecuente con adjetivos y adverbios, principalmente en grado comparativo, a diferencia de καί, que no aparece con adjetivos y solo focaliza al adverbio ἐκεῖ. También se producen diferencias en lo que se refiere a la posición respecto al elemento focalizado. Mientras καί siempre aparece inmediatamente delante de él, ἔτι también lo precede cuando se trata de adjetivos y adverbios, así como en los raros ejemplos en los que focaliza una oración, pero va detrás cuando el elemento focalizado es un sustantivo o un cuantificador. Por último, desde el punto de vista pragmático, como muestran los ejemplos presentados, la presencia del adverbio (καί o ἔτι) convierte el elemento focalizado en foco contrastivo del enunciado del que forma parte, que convoca un conjunto de alternativas a las que se añade y sobre las que resulta destacado.

Bibliography Beaudrie, S. 2005: Refinando la noción de foco en español: cuestiones semánticas y sintácticas, «Arizona Working Papers in SLAT», 12, 21–30. Bertrand, N. 2014: Focus, in Encyclopaedia of Greek Language and Linguistics, ed. G. Giannakis, Leiden, 595–599. Conti, L. 2015: Zu den Fokusadverbien bei Homer: Analyse von ἔτι, «Historische Sprachforschung (HS)», 127, 208–227.

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Crespo, E. 2008: L’adverbe ἔτι dans les dialectes grecs, in Dialectes grecs et aspect verbal: actes de la table ronde de Saint–Étienne, 17–18 juin 2004, eds. R. Hodot & G. Vottéro, Nancy, 29–38. Crespo, E. 2014: De adverbio a conjunción coordinante, in Ágalma. Ofrenda desde la Filología Clásica a Manuel García Teijeiro, eds. Á. Martínez Fernández, B. Ortega Villaro, H. Velasco López & H. Zamora Salamanca, Valladolid, 135–141. Crespo, E. 2015a: Adverbios de foco en griego clásico, in STUDIA Classica Caesaraugustana: vigencia y presencia del mundo clásico hoy: XXV años de Estudios Clásicos en la Universidad de Zaragoza, eds. J. Vela Tejada, J. F. Fraile Vicente & C. Sánchez Mañas, Zaragoza, 207–233. Crespo, E. 2015b: Foco informativo y foco contrastivo en griego clásico, in ῾Υγίεια καὶ γέλως. Homenaje a Ignacio Rodríguez Alfageme, eds. J. Ángel y Espinós, J. M. Floristán, F. García Romero & M. López Salvá, Zaragoza, 139–150. Crespo, E. 2015c: Non–prototypical adverbs in Classical Greek, «Studies in Greek Linguistics», 35, 15–34. Denniston, J. D. 19342 : The Greek Particles, Oxford, 289–327. Dik, H. 1995: Ancient Greek Word Order: A Pragmatic Account of Word Order Variation in Herodotus, Amsterdam. Dik, S. et al. 1981: On the Typology of Focus Phenomena, in Perspectives on Functional Grammar, eds. T. Hoekstra, T. van der Hulst & M. Moorgtgat, Dordrecht, 41–74. Drubig, H. B. 2003: Towards a Typology of Focus and Focus Constructions, «Linguistics», 41/1, 1–50. [diss. Tübingen, 2000] Gutiérrez Bravo, R. 2008: La identificación de los tópicos y los focos, «Nueva Revista de Filología Hispánica», 56, 363–401. Gutiérrez Ordóñez, S. 1997: Temas, remas, focos, tópicos y comentarios, Madrid. Gutiérrez Ordóñez, S. 2008: Información y funciones informativas en lingüística, in ¿Qué es información?: Actas del primer Encuentro Internacional de expertos en teorías de la información: un enfoque interdisciplinar, León, Sierra Pambley, 6–8 de noviembre de 2008, eds. J. M. Díaz Nafría & F. Salto Alemany, León, 437–453. Kenesei, I. 2005: Focus and identification, in The architecture of focus, eds. V. Molnár & S. Winkler, Berlin, 137–168. Kiss, É. K. 1998: Identificational focus versus information focus, «Language», 74/2, 245–273. König, E. 1991: The Meaning of Focus Particles: A Comparative Perspective, London – New York. Kovacci, O. 1999: El adverbio, in Gramática descriptiva de la lengua española, vol. 1, eds. I. Bosque & V. Demonte, Madrid, 705–786. Maquieira, H. 2015: Caracterización funcional del adverbio ἔτι en los oradores y Platón, «Myrtia», 30, 185–206. Martín Zorraquino, M. A. & Portolés, J. 1999: Los marcadores del discurso, in Gramática descriptiva de la lengua española, vol. 3, eds. I. Bosque & V. Demonte, Madrid, 4051–4213. Martínez, R. 2014: Adverbios de foco en griego antiguo: μόνον frente a μόνος en la prosa historiográfica clásica y helenística, «CFC(g): Estudios griegos e indoeuropeos», 24, 17–37. Matič, D. 2003: Topic, Focus, and Discourse Structure. Ancient Greek Word Order, «Studies in Language», 27/3, 573–633. Nueva gramática de la lengua española 2009: Madrid. Portolés, J. 2007: Escalas informativas aditivas. Pruebas del español, «Spanish in Context», 4/2, 135– 157. Portolés, J. 2010: Los marcadores del discurso y la estructura informativa, in Los estudios sobre marcadores del discurso en español, hoy, eds. Ó. Loureda & E. Acín, Madrid, 281–325. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. & Svartvik, J. 1985: A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language, London – New York.

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Redondo, E. 2015: Adverbios de foco y marcadores discursivos: σχεδόν en la novela griega antigua, «Minerva», 28, 163–183. Rooth, M. 1992: A Theory of Focus Interpretation, «Natural Language Semantics», 1, 75–116. Wakker, G. 1994: Conditions and conditionals: an investigation of ancient Greek, Amsterdam. Wakker, G. 2001: Le probleme de ἔτι μέν avec aoriste, «Syntaktika», 22, 1–14.

Frédéric Lambert

Les emplois de καί initial en grec ancien Abstract: This paper presents the results of a study of connective uses of καί (‘and’) in classical Greek, particularly at the beginning of a sentence. Firstly, καί integrates the sentence it introduces into an argumentative series, from a de dicto perspective. Secondly, this function marks a status of “hyperconnection”, meaning that initial καί points to the main informational core of the text, thereby contributing to textual coherence. Thirdly, this status, which can be called rhematic, allows the marker to be given a focalizing value, which occasionally indicates gradations and/or conclusions. Of course all these values are perfectly consistent with each other.

1 Introduction Le grec ancien dispose d’un riche système de coordonnants copulatifs, non seulement simples comme καί, mais corrélatifs, comme τε. . . καί, ou μέν. . . δέ¹. L’étude de la coordination a ceci de décourageant que ce procédé semble pauvre à la fois sémantiquement et syntaxiquement. Une fois qu’on a énuméré les différentes variations de la condition d’identité entre les membres conjoints, les questions d’ordre des mots et le traitement procédural de l’extrême diversité interprétative des mots coordonnants, il semble que les études soient condamnées à se répéter dans une certaine monotonie. En réalité, malgré d’incontestables traits très généraux, l’emploi des coordonnants dans les langues du monde révèle beaucoup plus de variété qu’il n’y paraît. C’est particulièrement vrai pour les conjonctions équivalant à καί ou et en français, et évidemment dans toutes les langues, car il n’y en a pas qui n’aient une forme de coordination copulative. Un fait révélateur de cette diversité, c’est que, malgré la grande souplesse interprétative d’un mot comme καί, il n’est absolument pas traduisible systématiquement par l’équivalent dans une autre langue, par exemple et en français, and en anglais, ou e(d) en italien. Une deuxième hétérogénéité concerne la faculté du coordonnant de fonctionner au niveau intraphrastique et au niveau interphrastique. M.Haspelmath (2007) a montré, en s’appuyant sur un très grand nombre de langues, que toutes ne partagent pas cette propriété mais seulement une majorité, dont fait partie le grec.

1 Voir notamment Lambert (2003, 2005) et Lambert – De Carvalho (2005).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-205

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Dans le cas du grec, constatant un décalage plus que fréquent entre la présence d’un καί interphrastique, donc en tête de phrase, et les traductions proposées, notamment en français, où le et initial rend finalement rarement un καί initial, d’autant que, parfois, cette traduction par et ne semble guère convaincante, j’ai souhaité regarder de près certains de ces emplois. Même s’ils ne sont pas forcément si différents, j’ai éliminé les cas où καί est suivi d’une particule comme dans καὶ μήν, καί τοι, καί . . . δέ, καὶ δὴ (καί), notamment. Je me suis donc concentré sur les cas où καί est seul en tête de phrase, sans autre particule, pour faire une sorte d’analyse de laboratoire où le coordonnant est présent à l’état pur. Avant de présenter mes analyses et mes résultats, je vais présenter ma méthode de travail. Καί est évidemment un mot d’une extrême fréquence, y compris à l’initial d’une phrase. J’ai donc fait des sondages chez différents auteurs, dont j’ai exploré les textes à partir du corpus du TLG. J’ai cherché pour chaque texte ou auteur les occurrences de la séquence “. καί”, ce qui donne déjà un très, un trop grand nombre d’occurrences. J’ai donc dû faire plutôt des sondages en restreignant fortement le corpus. En ce qui concerne l’analyse des données, j’ai été attentif aux propriétés distributionnelles éventuelles et bien sûr à un contexte assez large, aussi bien avant qu’après, puisqu’il s’agit d’un niveau discursif. Cela m’a conduit à définir trois zones de fonctionnement pour καί: la première zone est dans la portée de καί et correspond à l’énoncé dont καί est le premier mot; la deuxième zone est la partie du texte qui est articulée par καί avec la première zone; enfin la troisième zone, plus indirectement touchée en général, est la section du texte qui suit l’énoncé introduit par καί. Le (petit) corpus comporte les textes suivants, de genres différents, même si, à l’exception d’Homère, ils sont de l’époque classique: – – – – – –

Homère, Iliade, chant 1 à 4 Hérodote, Histoires, Livre 3 Lysias, Sur le meurtre d’Eratosthène, Contre Simon Sophocle, Ajax Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1 Platon, Euthyphron

Quatre propriétés m’ont paru caractériser ces emplois de καί, et nous les parcourrons dans cet ordre: l’insertion dans une série, la fonction hyperconnective, la cohérence avec le contexte et les valeurs de focalisation et de gradation. A travers ces différents aspects, nous nous demanderons si dans ces emplois on peut dégager une valeur focale de καί?

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2 Insertion dans une série Certains emplois correspondent à l’idée quón peut se faire d’une extension au niveau interphrastique de la coordination intraphrastique, quand καί semble avoir une valeur additive. (1)

Homère, Iliade, II, 421–429 αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ΄ εὔξαντο καὶ οὐλοχύτας προβάλοντο, αὐέρυσαν μὲν πρῶτα καὶ ἔσφαξαν καὶ ἔδειραν, μηρούς τ΄ ἐξέταμον κατά τε κνίσῃ ἐκάλυψαν δίπτυχα ποιήσαντες, ἐπ΄ αὐτῶν δ΄ ὠμοθέτησαν. καὶ τὰ μὲν ἂρ σχίζῃσιν ἀφύλλοισιν κατέκαιον, σπλάγχνα δ΄ ἄρ΄ ἀμπείραντες ὑπείρεχον ῾Ηφαίστοιο. αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ κατὰ μῆρε κάη καὶ σπλάγχνα πάσαντο, μίστυλλόν τ΄ ἄρα τἆλλα καὶ ἀμφ΄ ὀβελοῖσιν ἔπειραν, ὤπτησάν τε περιφραδέως, ἐρύσαντό τε πάντα. ‘Quand la prière fut finie et l’orge répandue, On releva les mufles, on égorgea, on dépeça, On trancha les cuisseaux, on les couvrit sur chaque face De graisse et l’on mit par dessus les morceaux de chair crue. Ensuite on les brûla sur des éclats de bois sans feuilles Et l’on tint au–dessus du feu la fressure embrochée. Les cuisseaux une fois brûlés, on mangea la fressure; Le reste fut coupé menu, enfilé sur les broches, Et dès que tout fut bien rôti, on l’enleva du feu.’

La proposition introduite par καὶ se situe au milieu d’une énumération des différentes phases d’un sacrifice. On peut dire que l’addition est ainsi réinterprétée de façon iconique comme temporelle. En fait diverses particules alternent dans cette énumération: τε, αὐτὰρ, μέν. . . δέ. . .: on ne peut pas considérer que καί a l’exclusivité de la valeur énumérative ou additive. Mais il y a tout de même chez Homère de nombreux exemples de ce type d’emploi. Par exemple, après avoir évoqué l’histoire de la fabrication d’un arc, le καί marque le retour au récit de l’action: (2)

Homère, Iliade, IV, 112 καὶ τὸ μὲν εὖ κατέθηκε τανυσσάμενος ποτὶ γαίῃ ἀγκλίνας· πρόσθεν δὲ σάκεα σχέθον ἐσθλοὶ ἑταῖροι ‘Pandare tendit l’arc et le ploya, d’un geste sûr, Contre le sol. Ses amis le couvraient de leurs écus. . .²’

2 On notera que le καί n’est pas traduit. La fonction discursive de retour au récit suffit.

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On peut dire ici aussi que le καί introduit une nouvelle étape du combat, un peu comme “alors donc” en français. Voici un exemple d’une succession d’actions: (3)

Hérodote, Histoires, III, 78, 13–18 Les sept Perses s’apprêtent à attaquer les mages. ᾿Ενθαῦτα δὴ συνέμισγον ἀλλήλοισι. Τῷ μὲν δὴ τὰ τόξα ἀναλαβόντι αὐτῶν, ἐόντων τε ἀγχοῦ τῶν πολεμίων καὶ προσκειμένων, ἦν χρηστὰ οὐδέν· ὁ δ΄ ἕτερος τῇ αἰχμῇ ἠμύνετο καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ᾿Ασπαθίνην παίει ἐς τὸν μηρόν, τοῦτο δὲ ᾿Ινταφρένεα ἐς τὸν ὀφθαλμόν· παίει ἐς τὸν μηρόν, τοῦτο δὲ ᾿Ινταφρένεα ἐς τὸν ὀφθαλμόν· καὶ ἐστερήθη μὲν τοῦ ὀφθαλμοῦ ἐκ τοῦ τρώματος ὁ ᾿Ινταφρένης, οὐ μέντοι ἀπέθανέ γε. ‘Et les deux partis alors en vinrent aux mains. Celui des mages qui avait pris son arc, contre des ennemis qui étaient tout proches et le pressaient, ne pouvait s’en servir; l’autre se défendait avec sa lance; il frappa Aspathinès à la cuisse, Intaphernès à l’œil; à la suite de cette blessure, Intaphernès perdit l’œil, mais du moins il n’en mourut pas.’

Là encore, on peut admettre que la phrase introduite par καί s’insère dans une série, même si elle en est présentée comme la conséquence. On peut citer enfin un exemple de Platon: (4)

Platon, Euthyphron, 13b13 οὐ γάρ που λέγεις γε, οἷαίπερ καὶ αἱ περὶ τὰ ἄλλα θεραπεῖαί εἰσιν, τοιαύτην καὶ περὶ θεούς– λέγομεν γάρ που–οἷόν φαμεν ἵππους οὐ πᾶς ἐπίσταται θεραπεύειν ἀλλὰ ὁ ἱππικός· ἦ γάρ· ΕΥΘ. Πάνυ γε. (. . .) ὁρᾷς δὴ ὅτι οἱ ἵπποι ὑπὸ τῆς ἱππικῆς θεραπευόμενοι ὠφελοῦνται καὶ βελτίους γίγνονται (. . .) Καὶ οἱ κύνες γέ που ὑπὸ τῆς κυνηγετικῆς, καὶ οἱ (c) βόες ὑπὸ τῆς βοηλατικῆς, καὶ τἆλλα πάντα ὡσαύτως· ‘nous disons par exemple: “tout le monde ne s’entend pas à soigner les chevaux; c’est l’affaire du palefrenier.”, N’est–ce pas vrai? – Assurément. (Même chose pour les chiens, les bœufs, les dieux.) (. . . ) Tu vois, par exemple, que les chevaux, soignés par l’art du palefrenier s’en trouvent bien et qu’ils en profitent (. . . ) De même les chiens soignés par celui dont c’est le métier, de même encore les bœufs, de même tout ce quón pourrait énumérer en ce genre.’

Le contexte est très explicitement énumératif. Et donc là aussi la valeur additive semble s’imposer. Il n’en reste pas moins que plusieurs faits laissent planer un doute sur cette interprétation, ici comme dans les exemples précédents. Il y a d’abord le caractère maladroit d’une traduction par et, ensuite la concurrence avec d’autres marqueurs coordinatifs, précisément dans des cas d’énumération où on pourrait attendre un καί. Enfin, mais nous y reviendrons, les effets de sens, comme par exemple, la conséquence, ne sont pas en eux–mêmes énumératifs.

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On retiendra tout de même que, sans forcément avoir une valeur énumérative, καί s’appuie volontiers sur des structures énumératives.

3 Hyperconnexion Trois parmi les quatre exemples précédents ont une propriété qui, à ma connaissance n’a jamais été observée. Le καί est suivi d’un diptyque en μέν . . . δέ. C’est loin d’être un hasard ou une exception. Il est difficile de faire des staistiques sur un mot aussi fréquent que καί, mais cette configuration est courante chez tous les auteurs étudiés. En voici un échantillon: (5)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 19, 1 καὶ οἱ μὲν Λακεδαιμόνιοι οὐχ ὑποτελεῖς ἔχοντες φόρου τοὺς ξυμμάχους ἡγοῦντο, κατ΄ ὀλιγαρχίαν δὲ σφίσιν αὐτοῖς μόνον ἐπιτηδείως ὅπως πολιτεύσουσι θεραπεύοντες, ᾿Αθηναῖοι δὲ ναῦς τε τῶν πόλεων τῷ χρόνῳ παραλαβόντες πλὴν Χίων καὶ Λεσβίων, καὶ χρήματα τοῖς πᾶσι τάξαντες φέρειν. ‘Sparte avait sous son hégémonie des alliés qui ne payaient pas de tribut, mais chez qui elle prenait soin de faire régner une oligarchie répondant à sa seule commodité; Athènes, elle, s’était fait remettre avec le temps les navires des cités – sauf Chios et Lesbos – et elle avait fixé pour toutes un tribut à verser.’

(6)

Lysias, Contre Simon, 11, 5 καὶ οὗτοι μὲν ἠρίστων καὶ ἔπινον, φύλακας δὲ κατέστησαν ἐπὶ τοῦ τέγους, ἵν΄, ὁπότε ἐξέλθοι τὸ μειράκιον, εἰσαρπάσειαν αὐτόν. ‘(Il invita des amis); on dîna, on but, on plaça des sentinelles sur le toit: quand le garçon sortirait, on l’empoignerait.’

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Sophocle, Ajax, 295–300 καὶ τὰς ἐκεῖ μὲν οὐκ ἔχω λέγειν πάθας· εἴσω δ΄ ἐσῆλθε συνδέτους ἄγων ὁμοῦ ταύρους, κύνας βοτῆρας, εὔερόν τ΄ ἄγραν. καὶ τοὺς μὲν ηὐχένιζε, τοὺς δ΄ ἄνω τρέπων ἔσφαζε κἀρράχιζε, τοὺς δὲ δεσμίους ᾐκίζεθ΄ ὥστε φῶτας ἐν ποίμναις πίτνων. ‘Ce qu’il (sc. Ajax) fit dehors, je ne puis pas le dire, mais quand il revint, il amenait avec lui attachés ensemble des taureaux, des chiens de berger, tout un butin d’animaux encornés. Les uns, il les frappait à la nuque, les autres, il leur renversait la tête en l’air, il les égorgeait, il leur coupait les reins. Tous ces êtres chargés de liens, il les massacrait comme des hommes, et c’était sur des troupeaux qu’il se ruait.’

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Platon, Euthyphron, 11 c 1 ΕΥΘ. ᾿Αλλ΄, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἔχω ἔγωγε ὅπως σοι εἴπω ὃ νοῶ· περιέρχεται γάρ πως ἡμῖν ἀεὶ ὃ ἂν προθώμεθα καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλει μένειν ὅπου ἂν ἱδρυσώμεθα αὐτό. ΣΩ. Τοῦ ἡμετέρου προγόνου, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, ἔοικεν εἶναι Δαιδάλου τὰ ὑπὸ σοῦ λεγόμενα. καὶ εἰ μὲν αὐτὰ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον καὶ ἐτιθέμην, ἴσως ἄν με ἐπέσκωπτες ὡς ἄρα καὶ ἐμοὶ κατὰ τὴν ἐκείνου συγγένειαν τὰ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις ἔργα ἀποδιδράσκει καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλει μένειν ὅπου ἄν τις αὐτὰ θῇ· νῦν δὲ σαὶ γὰρ αἱ ὑποθέσεις εἰσίν. ἄλλου δή τινος δεῖ σκώμματος· οὐ γὰρ ἐθέλουσι σοὶ μένειν, ὡς καὶ αὐτῷ σοι δοκεῖ. ‘EUTH. En vérité, Socrate, je ne sais plus te dire ce que je pense. Toutes nos propositions semblent tourner autour de nous et pas une ne veut rester en place. SO. C’est–à–dire, Eutyphron, que tes affirmations semblent être autant d’œuvres de Dédale, notre ancêtre. Si elles étaient miennes et si, moi, je les avais mises sur pied, tu aurais pu dire, en te moquant, qu’étant de sa lignée, les effigies que je fabrique en paroles doivent s’enfuir sans vouloir rester où on les place. Mais, comme les hypothèses sont de toi, il nous faut chercher une autre plaisanterie. Car le fait est qu’elles ne veulent pas rester en place; tu le reconnais toi–même.’

En somme la tournure se trouve bien représentée chez tous les auteurs du corpus. Reste à savoir comment l’interpréter. Dans la mesure où le diptyque, ou en tout cas son premier terme, suit immédiatement le καί, il semble logique de considérer qu’il est dans une relation de dépendance par rapport au connecteur. On peut alors considérer que καί est ce qu’on pourrait appeler un hyperconnecteur dont la portée englobe au moins les deux membres du diptyque. D’autre part, il serait peu pertinent de limiter la propriété d’hyperconnexion de καί ὰ l’introduction de diptyque en μέν . . . δέ, pour plusieurs raisons. La première est que le diptyque a beau encadrer visiblement un groupe de propositions, la portée de καί en tant qu’hyperconnecteur déborde au–delà. Par exemple, dans la citation 8, la dernière proposition explicative introduite par γάρ ne peut pas être séparée, sur le plan de l’interprétation, de ce qui précède. La seconde raison est tout simplement que le diptyque en μέν . . . δέ n’est qu’une forme visible et révélatrice de la longue portée de καί: il existe d’autres types de séquences, parfois assez longues, qui ne comportent pas le diptyque. C’est le cas par exemple de phrases complexes à subordonnées, comme ici, où deux phrases commençant par καί s’enchaînent: (9)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 37, 3, 1 καὶ ἡ πόλις αὐτῶν ἅμα αὐτάρκη θέσιν κειμένη παρέχει αὐτοὺς δικαστὰς ὧν βλάπτουσί τινα μᾶλλον ἢ κατὰ ξυνθήκας γίγνεσθαι, διὰ τὸ ἥκιστα ἐπὶ τοὺς πέλας ἐκπλέοντας μάλιστα τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνάγκῃ καταίροντας δέχεσθαι. κἀν τούτῳ τὸ εὐπρεπὲς ἄσπονδον οὐχ ἵνα μὴ ξυναδικῶσιν ἑτέροις προβέβληνται, ἀλλ΄ ὅπως κατὰ μόνας ἀδικῶσι καὶ ὅπως ἐν ᾧ μὲν ἂν κρατῶσι βιάζωνται, οὗ δ΄ ἂν λάθωσι πλέον ἔχωσιν, ἢν δέ πού τι προσλάβωσιν ἀναισχυντῶσιν·

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‘Leur ville (sc. les Corcyréens), avec cela, est, par sa situation, indépendante et fait d’eux les arbitres du tort qu’ils causent, mieux que s’ils observaient des conventions; car, sortant très peu de leur île pour aller chez leurs voisins, ils y accueillent très souvent les autres, qui sont forcés d’y relâcher. Et, dans ces conditions, ce beau mépris des pactes, derrière lequel ils se retranchent, n’est point dû à la crainte de se voir associés aux injustices d’un autre: ils veulent commettre les leurs sans personne; ils veulent, quand ils sont les plus forts, agir par la violence, quand on ne les voit pas, prendre leur avantage, et, s’ils s’assurent jamais un profit, ne pas se gêner.’ Il y a aussi quelques variantes comme τε. . . καί ou μέν. . . ἔπειτα: (10)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 18, 2, 2 καὶ μεγάλου κινδύνου ἐπικρεμασθέντος οἵ τε Λακεδαιμόνιοι τῶν ξυμπολεμησάντων ῾Ελλήνων ἡγήσαντο δυνάμει προύχοντες, καὶ οἱ ᾿Αθηναῖοι ἐπιόντων τῶν Μήδων διανοηθέντες ἐκλιπεῖν τὴν πόλιν καὶ ἀνασκευασάμενοι ἐς τὰς ναῦς ἐσβάντες ναυτικοὶ ἐγένοντο. ‘Sous la menace d’un grave danger, tandis que les Lacédémoniens, dont les forces dominaient, prenaient le commandement des Grecs coalisés, les Athéniens, eux, devant l’avance mède, décidaient d’abandonner leur ville et montaient avec leurs affaires à bord des navires, devenant alors des marins.’

(11)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 18, 3, 1 καὶ ὀλίγον μὲν χρόνον ξυνέμεινεν ἡ ὁμαιχμία, ἔπειτα διενεχθέντες οἱ Λακεδαιμόνιοι καὶ ᾿Αθηναῖοι ἐπολέμησαν μετὰ τῶν ξυμμάχων πρὸς ἀλλήλους· ‘L’entente dura un temps, puis les Lacédémoniens et les Athéniens, entrant en conflit, se firent la guerre avec l’aide de leurs alliés.’

Evidemment cette propriété d’avoir dans sa portée d’autres connecteurs n’est pas en soi très surprenante, puisqu’on voit aussi, par exemple dans la citation 9, une relation apparemment du même type entre le subordonnant ὅπως et deux constituants corrélés par μέν . . . δέ. Mais justement un subordonnant n’est précisément pas un coordonnant et il est donc normal de trouver dans sa dépendance une coordination corrélative comme μέν . . . δέ. Dans le cas de καί, deux niveaux de coordinations se superposent: on doit donc s’attendre à ce qu’ils aient des fonctions distinctes. C’est ce que nous allons voir maintenant.

4 Cohérence Un phénomène récurrent dans les emplois du καί initial concerne le rapport avec le contexte et permet à mon avis d’expliquer les propriétés précédentes. Nous avons vu que les occurrences de καί initial supposaient une série d’événements ou d’autres

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éléments. Mais si on en reste au plan énumératif, on ne peut pas trouver de justification satisfaisante à l’emploi de καί. C’est en prenant en compte la dimension argumentative que le statut de καί prend tout son sens. Autrement dit, c’est en passant du statut de re au statut de dicto que l’on peut comprendre la fonction du connecteur. Voici quelques exemples: (12)

Homère, Iliade, chant 1, 169–173 καὶ μὲν τοῖσιν ἐγὼ μεθομίλεον ἐκ Πύλου ἐλθὼν τηλόθεν ἐξ ἀπίης γαίης· καλέσαντο γὰρ αὐτοί· καὶ μαχόμην κατ΄ ἔμ΄ αὐτὸν ἐγώ· κείνοισι δ΄ ἂν οὔ τις τῶν οἳ νῦν βροτοί εἰσιν ἐπιχθόνιοι μαχέοιτο· καὶ μέν μευ βουλέων ξύνιεν πείθοντό τε μύθῳ· ‘J’étais venu me joindre à eux, laissant derrière moi Pylos et sa terre lointaine. Ils m’avaient appelé, Et je me battais pour mon propre compte. Ah! nul mortel Ne pourrait aujourd’hui lutter contre eux en ce bas monde. Eh bien, ils m’écoutaient toujours et suivaient mes conseils.’

Le contexte est le suivant: Nestor essaie de calmer Agamemnon et Achille. Ses arguments sont évoqués au début de son discours: (13)

(ibidem, 259–261) ἀλλὰ πίθεσθ΄· ἄμφω δὲ νεωτέρω ἐστὸν ἐμεῖο· ἤδη γάρ ποτ΄ ἐγὼ καὶ ἀρείοσιν ἠέ περ ὑμῖν ἀνδράσιν ὡμίλησα, καὶ οὔ ποτέ μ΄ οἵ γ΄ ἀθέριζον. ‘Ecoutez–moi tous les deux; aussi bien je suis votre aîné En d’autres temps déjà j’ai eu pour compagnon des hommes Bien plus braves que vous; jamais ils n’ont fait fi de moi.’

Il est question alors des combats avec des héros comme Thésée contre les “monstres des hauteurs” (φηρὲς ὀρεσκῷοι) eux–mêmes très forts. Mon hypothèse est que les trois καί qui se suivent, régulièrement appuyés par la reprise du pronom de première personne soulignent une totale cohérence argumentative: il s’agit dóbtenir que les deux rivaux finissent par écouter Nestor. C’est ce qui est encadré par la répétition du verbe πείθεσθαι. On notera qu’ici la traduction n’est pas très explicite: ‘et je me battais. . .’ signifie que ‘moi aussi je me battais à égalité avec les autres, sans chef et non dans mon intérêt.’ Autre exemple, le discours des Corinthiens aux Lacédémoniens, leur reprochant leur inaction: (14)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 68, 3–69, 1 Καὶ εἰ μὲν ἀφανεῖς που ὄντες ἠδίκουν τὴν ῾Ελλάδα, διδασκαλίας ἂν ὡς οὐκ εἰδόσι προσέδει· νῦν δὲ τί δεῖ μακρηγορεῖν, ὧν τοὺς μὲν δεδουλωμένους ὁρᾶτε,

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τοῖς δὲ ἐπιβουλεύοντας αὐτούς, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα τοῖς ἡμετέροις ξυμμάχοις, καὶ ἐκ πολλοῦ προπαρεσκευασμένους, εἴ ποτε ἄρα πολεμήσονται·῀οὐ γὰρ ἂν Κέρκυράν τε ὑπολαβόντες βίᾳ ἡμῶν εἶχον καὶ Ποτείδαιαν ἐπολιόρκουν, ὧν τὸ μὲν ἐπικαιρότατον χωρίον πρὸς τὰ ἐπὶ Θρᾴκης ἀποχρῆσθαι, ἡ δὲ ναυτικὸν ἂν μέγιστον παρέσχε Πελοποννησίοις. καὶ τῶνδε ὑμεῖς αἴτιοι, τό τε πρῶτον ἐάσαντες αὐτοὺς τὴν πόλιν μετὰ τὰ Μηδικὰ κρατῦναι καὶ ὕστερον τὰ μακρὰ στῆσαι τείχη, ἐς τόδε τε αἰεὶ ἀποστεροῦντες οὐ μόνον τοὺς ὑπ΄ ἐκείνων δεδουλωμένους ἐλευθερίας, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ὑμετέρους ἤδη ξυμμάχους· οὐ γὰρ ὁ δουλωσάμενος, ἀλλ΄ ὁ δυνάμενος μὲν παῦσαι περιορῶν δὲ ἀληθέστερον αὐτὸ δρᾷ, εἴπερ καὶ τὴν ἀξίωσιν τῆς ἀρετῆς ὡς ἐλευθερῶν τὴν ῾Ελλάδα φέρεται. ‘Si encore ils (sc. les Athéniens) violaient les droits de la Grèce sans qu’il y parût ouvertement, vous auriez besoin d’être instruits, comme gens non avertis. Mais ici, à quoi bon les longs discours: vous voyez bien les uns asservis, les autres en butte à leurs menées – nos alliés plus que d’autres – et les préparatifs qu’ils ont faits depuis longtemps pour le cas d’une guerre à soutenir. Auraient–ils, autrement, occupé, puis gardé Corcyre, malgré et contre nous? Auraient–ils mis le siège devant Potidée? Celle–ci est la place la plus indiquée à utiliser pour les régions en bordure de la Thrace; celle–là aurait fourni aux Péloponnésiens la flotte la plus importante. Et c’est votre faute à vous: vous les avez laissé, après les guerres médiques, renforcer d’abord leur ville, construire ensuite les Longs Murs, et vous avez sans cesse jusqu’à maintenant frustré de leur liberté non seulement les sujets qu’ils ont asservis, mais à présent vos propres alliés. Car le vrai responsable, ce n’est pas l’auteur de l’asservissement: c’est celui qui peut y mettre un terme et n’en a pas souci – même s’il porte une réputation de vertu comme libérateur de la Grèce.’ L’objectif argumentatif est clair: il s’agit bien de dénoncer l’inaction des Lacédémoniens, jusqu’à leur donner plus tort qu’aux Athéniens, comme le montre la dernière phrase. Les différents καί qui se suivent dans ce passage marquent ainsi la continuité argumentative. On notera que cela oblige à se situer très haut dans l’architecture du texte, et c’est ce qui justifie la longueur de la citation, longueur encore insuffisante sans doute pour rendre compte de la cohérence complète du passage. Cette position “très haute” dans l’architecture discursive se retrouve à plusieurs niveaux. D’abord, pour comprendre le fonctionnement du καί initial, on est contraint de s’assurer du thème discursif dominant: on doit en quelque sorte retrouver le cœur même du texte. Ensuite, cette position supérieure permet peut–être d’expliquer le statut de καί initial que nous avons vu tout à l’heure et que j’ai qualifié d’hyperconnecteur. On en a des traces dans ce passage avec les corrélations en μέν. . . δέ et τε. . . καί. Enfin on verra une dernière conséquence de ce statut dans la hiérarchisation des arguments. D’autres exemples peuvent illustrer cette fonction hyperconnective:

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Lysias, Contre Simon, 7, 5 οὗτος τοίνυν εἰς τοῦτο ἦλθεν ὕβρεως ὥστ΄ οὐ πρότερον ἠθέλησεν ἀπελθεῖν, πρὶν αὐτὸν ἡγούμενοι δεινὰ ποιεῖν οἱ παραγενόμενοι καὶ οἱ μετ΄ αὐτοῦ ἐλθόντες, ἐπὶ παῖδας κόρας καὶ ὀρφανὰς εἰσιόντα, ἐξήλασαν βίᾳ. καὶ τοσούτου ἐδέησεν αὐτῷ μεταμελῆσαι τῶν ὑβρισμένων, ὥστε ἐξευρὼν οὗ ἐδειπνοῦμεν ἀτοπώτατον πρᾶγμα καὶ ἀπιστότατον ἐποίησεν, εἰ μή τις εἰδείη τὴν τούτου μανίαν. ‘Et voyez jusqu’où notre homme poussa la violence: il ne voulut pas s’éloigner; il fallut que les gens qui se trouvaient là et ceux qui étaient venus avec lui, indignés de sa conduite en le voyant entrer chez des jeunes filles, des orpheline, l’entrainassent de force. Bien loin de regretter ses violences, ayant découvert l’endroit où nous dinions, il se livra à l’acte le plus étrange, le plus invraisemblable, pour qui ne connaîtrait pas ce fou furieux.’

Tout le discours a pour objectif de convaincre les juges de la folie violente de Simon, comme l’indique le début du passage. Un usage fréquent correspond aux appels à témoignages, lectures de pièces à conviction etc. La présence de καί indique le lien de confirmation avec la thèse principale. Un exemple: (16)

Lysias, Sur le meurtre d’Eratosthène, 29, 7 Καί μοι ἀνάβητε τούτων μάρτυρες. ‘Témoins, venez à la tribune déposer là–dessus.’

Plus indirectement: (17)

Lysias, Contre Simon, 37, 5 οὗτοι δὲ ἐκεῖνόν τε ἦγον βίᾳ καὶ ἐμὲ ἔτυπτον. καὶ ταῦθ΄ ὑμῖν ὑπὸ τῶν παραγενομένων μεμαρτύρηται. ‘eux au contraire cherchent à l’entraîner brutalement et me frappent moi–même; les témoins de la scène l’ont attesté.’

Au début d’Ajax, Athéna rassure Ulysse, qui se demande où est Ajax, sur ses intuitions. La recommandation de ne plus s’en inquiéter en est la suite logique: (18)

Sophocle, Ajax, 7–13 . . . εἴτ΄ ἔνδον εἴτ΄ οὐκ ἔνδον. εὖ δέ σ΄ ἐκφέρει κυνὸς Λακαίνης ὥς τις εὔρινος βάσις. ἔνδον γὰρ ἁνὴρ ἄρτι τυγχάνει, κάρα στάζων ἱδρῶτι καὶ χέρας ξιφοκτόνους. καί σ΄ οὐδὲν εἴσω τῆσδε παπταίνειν πύλης ἔτ΄ ἔργον ἐστίν, ἐννέπειν δ΄ ὅτου χάριν σπουδὴν ἔθου τήνδ΄, ὡς παρ΄ εἰδυίας μάθῃς. ‘(tu veux voir) s’il est à l’intérieur ou dehors. Tu es sur la bonne voie: la chienne de Laconie ne sait pas mieux éventer la bête.

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Ajax vient de rentrer; sa tête dégoutte de sueur, ses mains de sang. Tu n’as plus besoin de regarder avec précaution derrière cette porte, mais il faut me dire pourquoi tu prends cette peine. Instruite je pourrai te renseigner.’ On notera la différence avec le δέ, qui implique une certaine rupture déductive. Chez Platon, dans les dialogues, les confirmations de l’interlocuteur sont souvent introduites par καί: (19)

Platon, Euthyphron, 6 d 1– οὐ γάρ με, ὦ ἑταῖρε, τὸ πρότερον ἱκανῶς ἐδίδαξας ἐρωτήσαντα τὸ ὅσιον ὅτι ποτ΄ εἴη, ἀλλά μοι εἶπες ὅτι τοῦτο τυγχάνει ὅσιον ὂν ὃ σὺ νῦν ποιεῖς, φόνου ἐπεξιὼν τῷ πατρί. ΕΥΘ. Καὶ ἀληθῆ γε ἔλεγον, ὦ Σώκρατες. ΣΩ. ῎Ισως. ἀλλὰ γάρ, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ φῂς εἶναι ὅσια. ΕΥΘ. Καὶ γὰρ ἔστιν. ‘Tout à l’heure, quand je t’ai demandé quel est prcisément la piété, tu ne me l’as pas suffisamment expliqué. Tu t’es contenté de me dire que, en accusant ton père d’homicide, il se trouve que tu as fait un acte pieux. – Je l’ai dit, Socrate, et c’est la vérité. – Il se peut. Mais il y a beaucoup d’autres choses, Euthyphron, dont tu dis aussi qu’elles sont pieuses. – Elles le sont en effet.’

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Hérodote, Histoires, 3, 2–3 Αἰγύπτιοι δὲ οἰκηιοῦνται Καμβύσην, φάμενοί μιν ἐκ ταύτης δὴ τῆς ᾿Απρίεω θυγατρὸς γενέσθαι· Κῦρον γὰρ εἶναι τὸν πέμψαντα παρὰ ῎Αμασιν ἐπὶ τὴν θυγατέρα, ἀλλ΄ οὐ Καμβύσην. Λέγοντες δὲ ταῦτα οὐκ ὀρθῶς λέγουσι· οὐ μὲν οὐδὲ λέληθε αὐτοὺς (εἰ γάρ τινες καὶ ἄλλοι, τὰ Περσέων νόμιμα [ὀρθῶς] ἐπιστέαται καὶ Αἰγύπτιοι) ὅτι πρῶτα μὲν νόθον οὔ σφι νόμος ἐστὶ βασιλεῦσαι γνησίου παρεόντος, αὖτις δὲ ὅτι Κασσανδάνης τῆς Φαρνάσπεω θυγατρὸς ἦν παῖς Καμβύσης, ἀνδρὸς ᾿Αχαιμενίδεω, ἀλλ΄ οὐκ ἐκ τῆς Αἰγυπτίης. ᾿Αλλὰ παρατρέπουσι τὸν λόγον προσποιεύμενοι τῇ Κύρου οἰκίῃ συγγενέες εἶναι. Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν ὧδε ἔχει. Λέγεται δὲ καὶ ὅδε λόγος, ἐμοὶ μὲν οὐ πιθανός, ὡς. . . ‘Pour les Egyptiens, ils considèrent Cambyse comme un des leurs, prétendant qu’il naquit précisément de cette fille d’Apriès; car ce serait Cyrus, et non Cambyse, qui aurait envoyé auprès d’Amasis pour demander sa fille. Mais en disant cela, ils ne disent pas vrai; et ils n’ignorent point (car s’il y a des gens qui connaissent les coutumes des Perses, les Egyptiens en sont), d’abord que chez les Perses ce n’est pas l’usage qu’un bâtard devienne roi lorsqu’il existe un fils légitime, en second lieu que Cambyse était fils de Cassandane fille de Pharnaspe, de la famille des Achéménides, et qu’il n’était pas né de l’Egyptienne.

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Mais ils altèrent la vérité, en affectant d’avoir une parenté avec la maison de Cyrus, Sur ce point voilà ce qu’il en est. On raconte aussi l’histoire suivante, qui pour moi n’est pas croyable. . .’ La formule Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν ὧδε ἔχει (‘sur ce point voilà ce qu’il en est’) est cohérente mais elle repose précisément sur le mensonge, qui est le fil rouge du texte. La formule Καὶ ταῦτα μὲν ὧδε ἔχει (‘sur ce point voilà ce qu’il en est’) est cohérente mais elle repose précisément sur le mensonge, qui est le fil rouge du texte. On peut revenir aussi à l’exemple 4 de Platon, où l’énumération des chiens, des bœufs, etc. n’est pas une simple énumération mais correspond à la vérification du même processus. Reste que la phrase introduite par καί n’a pas le même statut que ce qui précède. C’est ce qui nous reste à voir.

5 Focalisation et gradation En effet la valeur continuative de καί initial se combine souvent avec une fonction focalisante: le contenu de la phrase qui suit est bien dans la continuité et la cohérence par rapport au contexte précédent, mais il se concentre alors sur un détail ou une particularité révélatrice. En voici exemple chez Thucydide: (21)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 2, 6 τὴν γοῦν ᾿Αττικὴν ἐκ τοῦ ἐπὶ πλεῖστον διὰ τὸ λεπτόγεων ἀστασίαστον οὖσαν ἄνθρωποι ᾤκουν οἱ αὐτοὶ αἰεί. καὶ παράδειγμα τόδε τοῦ λόγου οὐκ ἐλάχιστόν ἐστι διὰ τὰς μετοικίας ἐς τὰ ἄλλα μὴ ὁμοίως αὐξηθῆναι· ἐκ γὰρ τῆς ἄλλης ῾Ελλάδος. . . ‘En tout cas, l’Attique, aussi loin que l’on remonte, dut à son aridité d’ignorer les rivalités internes, et ses habitants restaient toujours les mêmes. Un fait illustre particulièrement cette idée que les migrations ont empêché les autres pays de connaître un égal développement: quand on était chassé d’un autre pays grec. . .’

Le mot παράδειγμα est évidemment intéressant ici dans la mesure où la notion à laquelle il renvoie combine trois idées: un fait singulier et concret, une série d’éléments équivalents, et une valeur d’illustration argumentative. C’est exactement la triple valeur que nous pouvons attribuer au καί initial. Deux autres passages vont dans le même sens un peu plus loin: (22)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 5, 3, 2 ἐλῄζοντο δὲ καὶ κατ΄ ἤπειρον ἀλλήλους. καὶ μέχρι τοῦδε πολλὰ τῆς ῾Ελλάδος τῷ παλαιῷ τρόπῳ νέμεται περί τε Λοκροὺς τοὺς ᾿Οζόλας καὶ Αἰτωλοὺς καὶ

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᾿Ακαρνᾶνας καὶ τὴν ταύτῃ ἤπειρον. τό τε σιδηροφορεῖσθαι τούτοις τοῖς ἠπειρώταις ἀπὸ τῆς παλαιᾶς λῃστείας ἐμμεμέ νηκεν· ‘Ils pratiquaient aussi le pillage sur terre; et, jusqu’à nos jours, une grande partie de la Grèce vit à la manière ancienne, du coté des Locriens Ozoles, de l’Etolie, de l’Acarnanie et des pays continentaux situés dans la région. L’usage de porter les armes qu’ont ces peuples continentaux est une survivance des anciennes habitudes de pillage.’ (23)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 8, 1, 1 καὶ οὐχ ἧσσον λῃσταὶ ἦσαν οἱ νησιῶται, Κᾶρές τε ὄντες καὶ Φοίνικες· οὗτοι γὰρ δὴ τὰς πλείστας τῶν νήσων ᾤκησαν. ‘Plus spécialement, la piraterie était le fait des insulaires, Cariens et Phéniciens; telle était en effet la population de la plupart des îles.’

Dans 21, la phrase introduite par καί ajoute à la continuité thématique l’exemplarité rendue plus accessible par la proximité temporelle et la valeur argumentative soulignée par la phrase qui suit. Dans 22, le thème de la piraterie se trouve prolongé, tout en étant diversifié et exemplifié. Là aussi on notera la présence d’une reprise de la valeur argumentative en cause. Mais la focalisation a un autre effet: en combinant une concentration sur un point particulier et une forte valeur argumentative, elle conduit à une gradation. C’est également un fait assez courant dans l’usage du καί initial. Toujours chez Thucydide dans le célèbre texte qui clôt le chapitre 22 sur la méthode historique: (24)

Thucydide, Guerre du Péloponnèse, livre 1, 22, 2, 4 (1) Καὶ ὅσα μὲν λόγῳ εἶπον ἕκαστοι . . . . τὰ δ΄ ἔργα . . . καὶ ἐς μὲν ἀκρόασιν ἴσως τὸ μὴ μυθῶδες αὐτῶν ἀτερπέστερον φανεῖται· ὅσοι δὲ βουλήσονται τῶν τε γενομένων τὸ σαφὲς σκοπεῖν καὶ τῶν μελλόντων ποτὲ αὖθις κατὰ τὸ ἀνθρώπινον τοιούτων καὶ παραπλησίων ἔσεσθαι, ὠφέλιμα κρίνειν αὐτὰ ἀρκούντως ἕξει. κτῆμά τε ἐς αἰεὶ μᾶλλον ἢ ἀγώνισμα ἐς τὸ παραχρῆμα ἀκούειν ξύγκειται. ‘J’ajoute qu’en ce qui concerne les discours prononcés par les uns et les autres . . .. D’autre part, en ce qui concerne les actes . . .. A l’audition, l’absence de merveilleux dans les faits rapportés paraîtra sans doute en diminuer le charme; mais, si lón veut voir clair dans les événements passés et dans ceux qui, à l’avenir, en vertu du caractère humain qui est le leur, présenteront des similitudes ou des analogies, qu’alors on les juge utiles, et cela suffira: ils constituent un trésor pour toujours, plutôt qu’une production d’apparat pour un auditoire du moment.’

Ce passage mériterait une analyse détaillée, mais il réunit un certain nombre des propriétés évoquées jusqu’ici. Il y a bien sûr le phénomène d’hyperconnexion qui annonce et débouche à la fin d’un long paragraphe sur une thèse majeure de l’historien. Il se construit ainsi un espace discursif bidirectionnel: en amont, de façon pourrait–on

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dire anaphorique, la question de la véracité des propos et des actes, en aval, de façon cataphorique, la focalisation sur ce qui fait la valeur du travail de l’historien, et en l’occurrence de Thucydide. On notera aussi que l’hyperconnexion prend en charge une certaine dissymétrie entre les les membres de phrase reliés par la corrélation μέν. . . δέ. Le membre introduit par δέ se trouvant souvent rhématisé, ou mis en relief, c’est lui qui s’accorde plus nettement au niveau hyperconnectionnel plus élevé. Ici on sait bien que les actes sont plus valorisés que les paroles et ceux qui veulent voir clair sont mieux considérés que ceux qui se contentent d’écouter de belles histoires. En somme, on remarque à nouveau que le niveau pris en charge par le connecteur coïncide avec le cœur même du texte. Le caractère focalisant des phrases commençant par καί conduit à un autre effet: ces phrases, du fait de leur intégration dans une série, expriment souvent une gradation, quand ce n’est pas une conclusion. En voici quelques exemples: (25)

Homère, Iliade, Chant 4, 169–173: (Agamemnon craint que Ménélas ne meure et qu’il doive renoncer au combat) ἀλλά μοι αἰνὸν ἄχος σέθεν ἔσσεται ὦ Μενέλαε αἴ κε θάνῃς καὶ πότμον ἀναπλήσῃς βιότοιο. καί κεν ἐλέγχιστος πολυδίψιον ῎Αργος ἱκοίμην· ‘Mais quel tourment amer tu me réserves, Ménélas, Si tu meurs et remplis les jours qui te sont mesurés! Je rentrerai la honte au front dans la sèche Argolide.’

(26)

Platon, Euthyphron, 11, d, 6 (Socrate compare Euthyphron à Dédale, sculpteur réputé donner le mouvement) Κινδυνεύω ἄρα, ὦ ἑταῖρε, ἐκείνου τοῦ ἀνδρὸς δεινότερος γεγονέναι τὴν τέχνην τοσούτῳ, ὅσῳ ὁ μὲν τὰ αὑτοῦv μόνα ἐποίει οὐ μένοντα, ἐγὼ δὲ πρὸς τοῖς ἐμαυτοῦ, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ τὰ ἀλλότρια. καὶ δῆτα τοῦτό μοι τῆς τέχνης ἐστὶ κομψότατον, ὅτι ἄκων εἰμὶ σοφός· ‘En ce cas mon ami, je suis bien plus habile encore que ce personnage (= Dédale) dans son art: lui ne rendait capables de s’enfuir que ses propres œuvres; moi je donne la même faculté, non seulement aux miennes, mais encore à celle des autres. Et ce qu’il y a de plus remarquable dans mon talent, c’est que je l’exerce malgré moi.’

Dans 24 et 25, le superlatif rend compte de la gradation. Mais on a aussi bien sûr le comparatif, comme dans ce passage: (27)

Platon, Euthyphron, 6, b, 5 ἀλλά μοι εἰπὲ πρὸς Φιλίου, σὺ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἡγῇ ταῦτα οὕτως γεγονέναι· ΕΥΘ. Καὶ ἔτι γε τούτων θαυμασιώτερα, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ οὐκ ἴσασιν. ‘Mais dis–moi, au nom du dieu de l’amitié, toi, Euthyphron, crois–tu vraiment à ces récits?

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– Assurément, Socrate, et même à des choses plus étonnantes encore, que la foule ne connaît pas.’ La gradation s’associe à la conséquence dans le passage suivant: (28)

Hérodote, Histoires, 3, 134, 18 (Darius parle avec Atossa) ῀ γύναι, πάντα ὅσα περ αὐτὸς ἐπινοέω ποιήσειν εἴρηκας. ᾿Εγὼ γὰρ βεβούλευ«᾿Ω μαι ζεύξας γέφυραν ἐκ τῆσδε τῆς ἠπείρου ἐς τὴν ἑτέρην ἤπειρον ἐπὶ Σκύθας στρατεύεσθαι. Καὶ ταῦτα ὀλίγου χρόνου ἔσται τελεόμενα.» ‘O femme, tu viens d’exprimer tout ce que moi–même j’ai dans l’esprit de faire. Je suis en effet résolu à jeter un pont de ce continent à l’autre continent, et à faire campagne contre les Scythes. Et cela sera sous peu en voie d’accomplissement.’

On sait que la formule καὶ ταῦτα a souvent cette fonction de renchérissement. Un exemple intéressant est le suivant: (29)

Platon, Euthypron, 8, 7 ΣΩ. Ταὔτ΄ ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικεν, μισεῖταί τε ὑπὸ τῶν θεῶν καὶ φιλεῖται, καὶ θεομισῆ τε καὶ θεοφιλῆ ταὔτ΄ ἂν εἴη. ΕΥΘ. ῎Εοικεν. ΣΩ. Καὶ ὅσια ἄρα καὶ ἀνόσια τὰ αὐτὰ ἂν εἴη, ὦ Εὐθύφρων, τούτῳ τῷ λόγῳ. ΕΥΘ. Κινδυνεύει. ‘Concluons que les mêmes choses sont aimées et détestées des dieux, que les mêmes choses agréent et déplaisent aux dieux. – Il y a lieu de le croire – Autrement dit, certaines choses seraient à la fois pieuses et impies, Euthyphron, d’après ce raisonnement. – Cela se pourrait bien.’

Ici c’est la particule ἄρα qui vient renforcer la valeur conclusive. La traduction par ‘autrement dit’ rend compte à la fois du caractère conclusif et du lien d’identité et de conséquence logique avec ce qui précède, la formule française exprimant en fait (peut–être paradoxalement) la relation d’identité, associée à la fonction d’explicitation. Ce qui est ‘autrement dit’ dit la même chose autrement et plus clairement, ce qui permet d’en tirer toutes les conséquences. Pour revenir à l’exemple 26, on peut constater que la focalisation, qui est, comme on l’a vu, liée à la fonction rhématique, se tourne dans ce cas en validation, et sans doute aussi dans les autres emplois évoqués tout à l’heure où un interlocuteur confirme une assertion. Le connecteur devient ainsi un marqueur de validation. C’est à ce titre qu’il peut paraître conclusif, dans la mesure où cette validation s’associe à une mise en rapport avec une série argumentative.

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6 Conclusion Résumons notre parcours. Nous avons vu que le καί en position initiale – situe la phrase qu’il introduit dans une série argumentative, donc dans une perspective de dicto. – Cette fonction place le connecteur dans un statut d’hyperconnexion, qui en fait un indicateur de ce qui constitue le noyau informationnel principal du texte, que j’ai appelé le cœur du texte, et il contribue ainsi à la cohérence textuelle. – Ce statut, qu’on peut appeler rhématique, permet de lui donner une valeur focalisante, qui peut s’associer à une gradation et/ou à une valeur conclusive. – Il est apparu enfin que toutes ces valeurs étaient tout à fait cohérentes entre elles. Trois questions restent en suspens, en dehors du fait qu’il reste un grand nombre de textes à analyser pour confirmer ces propositions. 1. La traduction par et ou un équivalent dans d’autres langues fonctionnant très rarement finalement, il faudrait proposer une autre interprétation. On sait en particulier qu’un coordonnant corrélatif comme δέ se trouve aussi légitimement traduit de cette manière, sans doute parce que, dans une langue comme le français, le et sert régulièrement d’opérateur de changement de thème, ce qui n’est pas vrai à mon avis de καί. Ma proposition serait d’utiliser la notion d’identité telle qu’elle est exprimée par un mot comme même en français, qui peut aller soit vers l’idée d’une similarité, soit vers l’idée d’une extension de la similarité posée à un autre terme, comme dans le français aussi. 2. Comment relier les emplois connectifs de καί et les emplois comme coordonnants? Sur ce plan, une des pistes correspond à ce qui est souvent reconnu comme une carcatéristique des coordonnants, qui tend à être masquée par la structure syntaxique des groupes coordonnés, qui, comme on sait, relient des éléments marqués par une forme d’identité, morphologique ou fonctionnelle. Il s’agit du fait que l’élément introduit par le coordonnant, qu’il y ait corrélation ou non, a un statut rhématique. C’est précisément ce que nous avons pu mettre en évidence dans le cas du καί initial. 3. Une dernière question concerne le rapport entre le καί connecteur et le καί adverbial, qui justement se traduit régulièrement par aussi ou même. Ce qui est une autre façon de poser la question de la syntaxe de καί: je ne suis pas sûr que la position initiale soit une propriété radicale des emplois examinés dans ce travail. N’y aurait–il pas des raisons de penser que la position de καί έtait plus libre que dans des langues à ordre fixe comme le français ou l’anglais modernes?

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Bibliographie Denniston, J. D. 1954: The Greek particles, Oxford, 289–327. Haspelmath, M. (ed.) 2004: Coordinating Constructions, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Haspelmath, M. 2007: Coordination, in Language Typology and Syntactic Description, vol. II: Complex Constructions, ed. T. Shopen, Cambridge, 1–51. Lambert, F. 2003: Le “balancement” en men. . . de. . . en grec classique, in Ordre et distinction dans la langue et le discours, eds. B. Combettes, C. Schnedecker & A. Theissen, Paris, 269–285. Lambert, F. 2005: Un cas de coordination corrélative: te. . . kai en grec ancien, in Structures parallèles et corrélatives en grec et en latin, Saint–Etienne. Lambert, F. & De Carvalho P. (eds.) 2005: Structures parallèles et corrélatives en grec et en latin, Saint– Etienne. Rijksbaron, A. (ed.) 1997: New approaches to greek particles, Amsterdam. Serbat, G. 1990: Et «jonctif» de propositions: une énonciation à double détente, «L’Information Grammaticale», 46, 26–28. Smyth, H. W. 1920: A greek grammar for colleges, New York.

Dagmar Muchnová

Homeric use of the particle οὖν in subordinate clauses Abstract: The occurrence of οὖν in Homeric poems is surprisingly low (84 occ.). This particle mostly occurs in preposed subordinate temporal ὡς / ἐπεί clauses within the pattern Pronoun/Noun Phrase + δ᾿+ ἐπεί / ὡς + οὖν, which is quasi inexistent in other authors. The inferential or consequential value, common in Classical Greek, seems to be as yet undeveloped in Homer. It appears that despite this specific quality, the Homeric οὖν corresponds to the definition given by modern scholars, pointing out its function in the backward and forward discourse orientation of the hearer’s attention. The ὡς subclauses include – contrary to the ἐπεὶ subclauses – a verb of perception, which changes the perspective of the narrative and contributes in οὖν’ s orienting the hearer’s expectancy towards the next action of the SUBJ. Some examples, where the POP function of οὖν is strongly marked, exemplify the return to the main narrative line after a chronologically spaced stretch of the narrative (especially in the Iliad), while others show the integration of a subsidiary line of varying extent into the main line, or even display a linear, ongoing narrative line where οὖν does not perform any POP function.

1 Introduction The occurrences of the particle οὖν in Homer are not very frequent: there are only 84 occurrences of οὖν altogether, of which 48 in the Iliad and 36 in the Odyssey. The majority of οὖν are found in narrative text, in subordinate ἐπεί (33 occ.) and ὡς clauses (26 occurences), preceding their matrix clauses. In this article, I do not take into consideration the particle οὖν occurring in main clauses, either after the negation οὔτε or μήτε (13 occurences), or after another particle (especially γάρ and μέν). To have an idea of the problem, let us consider the following example from Iliad, book XI: Aias fends off the Trojans attacking him (τὸν δ᾿) brutally during his retreat towards the ships; Eurypulos comes to his assistance. (1)

Hom. Il. 11. 575 ὡς οὖν 570 αὐτὸς (sc. Aias) δὲ Τρώων καὶ ᾿Αχαιῶν θῦνε μεσηγὺ ἱστάμενος·τὰ δὲ δοῦρα (sc. of Trojans) θρασειάων ἀπὸ χειρῶν ἄλλα μὲν ἐν σάκεϊ μεγάλῳ πάγεν ὄρμενα πρόσσω, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ μεσσηγύ, πάρος χρόα λευκὸν ἐπαυρεῖν, ἐν γαίῃ ἵσταντο λιλαιόμενα χροὸς ἆσαι.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-223

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575 Τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησ᾿ Εὐαίμονος ἀγλαὸς υἱὸς Εὐρύπυλος πυκινοῖσι βιαζόμενον βελέεσσι, στῆ ῥα παρ᾿ αὐτὸν ἰών, καὶ ἀκόντισε δουρὶ φαεινῷ, ‘[570] . . . and himself (sc. Aias) stood between Trojans and Achaeans, battling furiously. And the spears hurled by bold hands (sc. of Trojans) were some of them lodged in his great shield, as they sped onward, and many, ere ever they reached his white body, stood fixed midway in the earth, fain to glut themselves with flesh. [575] But when Euaemon’s glorious son, Eurypylus, saw him oppressed by thick–flying missiles, he came and stood by his side and hurled with his shining spear¹,’ After the verse line 570, where Aias reappears on the stage, four lines (571–574) follow with a detailed description of the horrible attack of the spears on Aias. The utterance with ὡς οὖν in the verse lines 575–576 resumes briefly the preceding situation from the perspective of his comrade Eurypylus (Τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησ᾿. . . Εὐρύπυλος)· then the episode goes on with the Eurypylus’ action. I will return to this example in more detail in 3.2. The second example comes from the book II of the Iliad, from the Catalogue of Ships. Among the contingents, there is the Rhodian contingent led by Tleptolemus (lines 653–670). (2)

Hom. Il. 2.661 ἐπεὶ οὖν 657 τῶν μὲν Τληπόλεμος δουρὶ κλυτὸς ἡγεμόνευεν, level A ὃν τέκεν ᾿Αστυόχεια βίῃ ῾Ηρακληείῃ, level B τὴν ἄγετ᾿ ἐξ ᾿Εφύρης ποταμοῦ ἄπο Σελλήεντος level C πέρσας ἄστεα πολλὰ διοτρεφέων αἰζηῶν. 661 Τληπόλεμος δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν τράφ᾿ ἐνὶ μεγάρῳ εὐπήκτῳ, level B αὐτίκα πατρὸς ἑοῖο φίλον μήτρωα κατέκτα ‘[657] These (sc. Rhodian ships) were led by Tlepolemus, famed for his spear, level A he that was born to mighty Heracles by Astyocheia, level B whom he had led forth out of Ephyre from the river Selleïs, level C [660] when he had laid waste many cities of warriors fostered of Zeus. But when Tlepolemus had grown to manhood in the well–fenced palace, level B forthwith he slew his own father’s dear uncle,’

1 The translation in English is that of Murray (1924) published at the Perseus website. I tried to adjust his prosaic translation to the corresponding verse–lines. I consulted also other translation, especially that at the internet (there is nearly each second year a new translation, especially of the Odyssey), but for my purpose, the literal translation seems to be the best.

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Line 657, τῶν μὲν Τληπόλεμος δουρὶ κλυτὸς ἡγεμόνευεν (level A), paraphrases the introductory lines of the sequence on Rhodian ships (653–654). Line 658 is followed by background information on Theptolemus’ birth (level B), and then by secondary background information on the origin of Tleptomus’ mother (level C). Then comes line 661 with ἐπεὶ οὖν, which returns to the B level narration concerning information on Tleptolemus’ youth. I will return to this example in 4.1. The use of οὖν in both examples is at first sight somewhat unusual because one would expect to find οὖν rather connecting clauses on the same syntactic level, in paratactic main clauses. It is clear that οὖν does not function here either as a coordinator or as a connector, but rather as a discourse particle. And, as most scholars agree, the Homeric οὖν has not yet the connective or conclusive function (Denniston 2002, 416; Kühner – Gerth 1904, 159) which can be found later, in classical authors, although ἐπεὶ οὖν/ὡς οὖν clauses can sometimes be used in the same way as in Homer. Note that both examples have a left dislocated constituent (a pronoun or a noun) preceding ἐπεὶ οὖν/ὡς οὖν, with the syntactic function SUBJ or OBJ; the verb of the subclause mostly occurs in the aorist.

2 Status quaestionis Specific usage of οὖν in Homeric poems has already been reflected in standard reference books, e.g. Kühner – Gerth (1904, 155–159), Humbert (1972, 424–425) and Liddell – Scott – Jones (s.v. οὖν). More detailed and systematic description of the Homeric usage of οὖν can be found in Denniston (2002, 417–425). All of these works stipulate that οὖν confirms the realization of an event, thus denoting a “backward reference”. The proposed translation is ‘really, truly, actually’, with different connotations. For instance, according to Kühner – Gerth (1904, 159), the particle οὖν in Homeric ἐπεὶ οὖν and ὡς οὖν subclauses: – highlights the idea of the subclause²; or – confirms that a previously signalled state of affairs is actually realized; or – indicates the transition from one idea to another. Similarly, according to Liddell – Scott – Jones (s.v. οὖν), οὖν serves to «indicate that something foreshadowed has actually occurred», or to «continue a narrative» in the sense of ‘so, then’, or sometimes «has . . . no force» at all. According to Denniston (2002, 416–417), the temporal subordinate clause «refers to something previously described or implied» and οὖν serves to confirm that the event mentioned in the previous segment

2 It should be noted that Kühner – Gerth quote only examples with ἐπεί in the first and second groups, while the third group contains ἐπεί examples from the Odyssey and ὡς examples from the Iliad.

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of the discourse did actually happen. He agrees with the translation suggested by German scholars, ‘in der Tat, in Wahrheit, in Wirklichkeit’, pointing to something foregoing. The idea of ἐπεὶ οὖν, ὡς οὖν as «confirming the truth of a statement or of a word» is validated by Bočková Loudová in the EAGLL (2014, 29); she describes this Homeric use of οὖν as “commentary pragmatic marker”. It should be noted that neither of the authors of Homeric Grammars, Monro (2000, 350), or Chantraine (1953), paid any attention to this particular topic. Although some studies on οὖν by present–day scholars do exist, they are all concerned with the use of οὖν in classical authors (Wakker 2009 discusses Lysias, as does Sicking 1993; Ophuijsen 1993 writes on Plato, and so does Des Place 1929; Bakker 2009 analyses γὰρ οὖν in Classical Greek). The only special study on the Homeric use of οὖν is – as far as I know – the dissertation by Hans Reynen Die Partikel οὖν bei Homer. It was published in the form of three studies in Glotta (1957 and 1958). Reynen makes a detailed and thorough analysis of almost all occurrences of οὖν in Homer, but he concentrates excessively on details. He does not propose any conclusion, summary or general characteristics summing up the different uses, which diminishes the relevance of his findings. However, his arguments on the functional rather than semantic meaning of οὖν, or on οὖν pointing forward (Reynen 1957, 9; 39), appear to the point.

3 ‘Ως οὖν clauses Apart from the general features common to all preposed temporal clauses listed above, there are certain features shared only by the majority of subordinate ὡς subclauses.

3.1 Verbs of perception The most striking difference between ὡς οὖν and ἐπεὶ οὖν clauses is that ὡς οὖν clauses almost always contain a semantically specified verb, namely, a verb of perception³ (19 occ. in the Iliad and 7 in the Odyssey). The inventory of verbs is very restricted: only νοέω, ὁράω, πυνθάνομαι, ἀίω in the Iliad; plus ἀκούω in the Odyssey (2x). The most frequent verb is νοέω with 13 occurrences, and ὁράω and its compounds with 7 occurrences). Almost all verbs occur in the aorist, with the exception of the imperfect ἄϊον (Il. 18.222).

3 This has been already briefly mentioned by Denniston (2002, 417) and Reynen (1958, 67).

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3.2 Analysis of prototypical examples A typical example was already introduced in the section 1.: (1) Il. 11.575 Τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησ᾿ . . . Εὐρύπυλος

This can be analysed as follows: – There is an L–dislocated constituent (τὸν δέ in acc., with the syntactic function OBJ), followed by a perception verb. The left dislocated element is thematic and has a cohesive function: τὸν δέ refers to Aias, who is mentioned in line 570 in the nominative form of αὐτός. – The particle δέ in 575 serves for identifying τὸν as an anaphoric pronoun and for referential tracking, but it also signals a discourse boundary within the same episode (cf. also Bakker 1993, 293). The lines in between (571–574) describe the fierce assault with spears on Aias (a passage that is more descriptive than narrative), which, however, proves fruitless. There is no adversative relation with respect to the previous discourse segment and the translation of δέ as but is not adequate. – Τὸν δέ is developed by the participial construction βιαζόμενον (sc. Αἴαντα) πυκινοῖσι βελέεσσι. Forming the second part of the subordinate ως clause (575–576), it constitutes a content clause depending on the verb ἐνόησε. These words (πυκινοῖσι βιαζόμενον βελέεσσι) bring back the situation depicted in lines 571–574. The recapitulation is not verbatim, but is done very briefly (in just three words). – Thus, a part of the information contained in the ὡς clause is – by the beginning of line 575 – already known to the hearer, whereas the other part is new to him: Εὐρύπυλος ἐνόησε. The verb of perception allows the hearer to perceive Aias’ situation through the eyes of the story’s direct participant (Eurypulos), but at the same time it heightens the hearer’s expectations regarding the further development of the episode: what happens next? – The whole episode of Aias fending off the Trojans during his retreat towards the ships (544–596) is divided into several segments: Τὸν (sc. Αἴαντα) δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησ᾿. . . Εὐρύπυλος . . . βιαζόμενον marks the beginning of a new segment, centered around Eurypylos. . . The ὡς οὖν utterance, as a whole, opens a frame of reference for the upcoming discourse segment and, with its partly recapitulating character, sets up a launch pad for the next step in the same episode, which is the reaction of the subject (Eurypylos) to what he has seen. – We have to do here with an ongoing narration. The context preceding the ὡς οὖν clause follows the same narrative line, giving only some almost parallelly occurring and backgrounded details concerning the same event. There is no shift in place and

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a nearly imperceptible progression in time. Nevertheless, the particle οὖν signals a shift from the details to the main story–line and functions as a POP particle⁴. – While the particle δέ in 575 serves, as was noted above, for detecting τὸν as an anaphoric pronoun with identifying function, the particle οὖν helps to reactivate the person referred to by τὸν δέ⁵, in the hearer’s mind, as an important participant in the preceding discourse, and recapitulates his preceding activities resumed by a participial construction. At the same time, the placement of οὖν in the utterance segment conveying information which is not familiar to the hearer (Eurypylus saw), signals its forward orientation and raises the hearer’s expectations concerning Eurypylus: the upcoming segment of the episode will be developed as a reaction to Eurypylus’ learning about Aias’ difficult situation. The particle οὖν thus serves cohesive purposes. Many of the features I have presented here are common to almost all ὡς οὖν clauses. However, certain differences can also be found; for instance, the anaphoric cannot be developed by a participial construction, as in the following example: (3)

Od. 15.59 τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησεν⁶ Context: Telemachus prepares to leave Sparta and Menelaus. 57 ἀγχίμολον δέ σφ᾿ ἦλθε βοὴν ἀγαθὸς Μενέλαος, ἀνστὰς ἐξ εὐνῆς, ῾Ελένης πάρα καλλικόμοιο. 59 τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησεν ᾿Οδυσσῆος φίλος υἱός, σπερχόμενός ῥα χιτῶνα περὶ χροῒ σιγαλόεντα δῦνεν καὶ μέγα φᾶρος ἐπὶ στιβαροῖς βάλετ᾿ ὤμοις ‘[57] Up to them then came Menelaus, good at the war–cry, rising from his couch from beside fair–tressed Helen. [59] And when the prince, the dear son of Odysseus, saw him, he made haste to put about him his bright tunic, and to fling over his mighty shoulders a great cloak,’

The left–dislocated anaphoric τὸν δ᾿ refers to Menelaus, mentioned already in line 57. Without a participle developing τὸν δ᾿, the subordinate clause is limited to ὡς οὖν

4 Slings 1997; Bakker 2009, 41. 5 Examples with the same structure, i.e. an anaphoric pronoun and a participle in the accusative, generally with the verb ἐνόησεν, can also be found in Il. 3.21 Τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησεν Μενέλαος . . . ἐρχόμενον. . . μακρὰ βιβάντα; Il. 3.30 Τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησεν . . . ᾿Αλέξανδρος. . . φανέντα; Il. 5.95 Τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησε . . . ἀγλαὸς υἱὸς θύνοντ᾿ ἂμ πεδίον . . . · Il. 5.711 Τοὺς δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησε . . . ῞Ηρη ᾿Αργείους ὀλέκοντας; Il. 7.17 Τοὺς δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησε. . . ᾿Αθήνη ᾿Αργείους ὀλέκοντας; Il. 11.581τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησεν ᾿Αλέξανδρος. . . τεύχε᾿ ἀπαινύμενον; Il. 17.198 Τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἀπάνευθεν ἴδεν νεφεληγερέτα Ζεὺς . . . κορυσσόμενον; and one time also in Od. 24.232 τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησε πολύτλας δῖος ᾿Οδυσσεὺς γήραϊ τειρόμενον. 6 Besides Od. 15.59, cf. also Il. 11.248; 21.49 and 21.418. There are also examples with an L–dislocated nominative, like Il. 18. 222; 18.530 and Od. 3.34; 8.272; 22.407 and 24.391.

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ἐνόησεν and the subject ᾿Οδυσσῆος υἱός. In fact, there is no previous state of affairs which could be summed up in a participial construction; rather, we have to do here with two almost parallel events, of which the first one, having for topic Telemachus, is part of an episode starting at the beginning of book XV and referring to Athena’s ordering Telemachus to leave Sparta. The second event, namely, Menelaus’ appearance, takes only two lines (57–58) and merges with the first event just in the ὡς οὖν clause. Thus the ὡς οὖν clause marks a new step in the development of the episode, awakening the hearer’s curiosity and setting the frame for the upcoming stretch of the episode. The particle οὖν has the same cohesive function as in the previous example, but its POP function is fairly weak. The structure τὸν /τὴν /τοὺς δ᾿ ὡς οὖν, that is, an anaphoric pronoun in the accusative and an L–dislocated segment in the thematic position, is frequent (much more so in the Iliad than in the Odyssey); the verb is mostly ἐνόησε. Another structure, less frequent, has the L–dislocated pronoun in the nominative: (4)

Il.18.530 οἳ δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐπύθοντο. . . Context: A part of the description of Achilleus’ shield: the city at war (509–540). 527 οἳ μὲν τὰ προϊδόντες ἐπέδραμον, ὦκαδ᾿ ἔπειτα τάμνοντ᾿ ἀμφὶ βοῶν ἀγέλας καὶ πώεα καλὰ ἀργεννέων οἰῶν, κτεῖνον δ᾿ ἐπὶ μηλοβοτῆρας. 530 οἳ δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐπύθοντο πολὺν κέλαδον παρὰ βουσὶν εἰράων προπάροιθε καθήμενοι, αὐτίκ᾿ ἐφ᾿ ἵππων βάντες ἀερσιπόδων μετεκίαθον, αἶψα δ᾿ ἵκοντο. ‘[527] But the liers–in–wait, when they saw these coming on, rushed forth against them and speedily cut off the herds of cattle and fair flocks of white–fleeced sheep, and slew the herdsmen withal. [530] But the besiegers, as they sat before the places of gathering and heard much tumult among the kine, mounted forthwith behind their high– stepping horses, and set out thitherward, and speedily came upon them.’

The besieged citizens (οἳ μέν in line 527) rushed forth with a view to getting hold of cattle and sheep grazing beyond the walls; their action is the topic of the episode’s first part (513–529). On the other hand, the anaphoric οἳ δέ in line 530, signalling switch of participants, refers to the besiegers who were already introduced at the very beginning of the episode (line 509). In this example, the L–dislocated constituent is not the syntactic OBJ as in the previous examples, but the SUBJ of the verb of perception. The particle οὖν seems to draw the hearer’s attention to the fact that the utterance concerns something mentioned before, and that is summed up a few words later by means of πολὺν κέλαδον παρὰ βουσὶν. These words reflect in fact the consequence of the citizens’ activities (i.e., their moving the cattle away and killing the herdsmen).

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Thus what we have here is a situation similar to ex. (1):⁷ The second part of the ὡς οὖν clause contains information which is implied by the previous discourse, while the information which is not familiar to the hearer concerns the fact that it was the besiegers who heard the noise. Thus, οὖν also helps to orient the hearer’s attention forward, to the reaction of the besiegers: they rush in the direction of the noise. The ὡς οὖν clause, while referring back, creates a starting point for the upcoming reaction of the besiegers and marks a new step in the narrative.

3.3 Concluding remarks The specific character of the ὡς οὖν clauses is due to the obligatory presence⁸ of a perception verb. There are two patterns involved here: (1) The OBJ of the verb (an anaphoric pronoun like τὸν δέ) is often shifted to the very beginning of the utterance as an L–dislocated constituent which is often developed by a participle construction briefly referring to a previous event. In this case, the SUBJ is generally placed behind the verb, in the rhematic position. (2) The L–dislocated constituent is in the nominative (an anaphoric pronoun like οἳ δέ or proper noun + δέ), and eo ipso has the function of SUBJ. There, the OBJ concerning a previous event comes after the verb, sometimes developed by a participle. The particle οὖν is placed immediately after the conjunction, obtaining the pattern Pronoun/Noun + δ᾿+ ὡς + οὖν + verb of perception. Oὖν appears to recall, in the hearer’s mind, the person identified by the L–dislocated τὸν δέ, whose activities may be recapitulated by means of a participle construction or in some other way, or to recall the person identified by the L–dislocated οἳ δέ, while reference to some preceding item is provided by the OBJ. That notwithstanding, the position of οὖν in the segment conveying information not previously known to the hearer (‘someone getting informed’), signals its forward orientation and awakens the hearer’s expectancy about the reaction of this ‘someone’: the upcoming stretch of the episode will be developed in terms of a reaction of this person. The particle οὖν thus has a cohesive function. Note that οὖν mostly goes untranslated in modern languages and certainly does not correspond to the later inferential/conclusive interpretation, or the ‘really, actually, in der Tat, wirklich’ interpretation⁹ sometimes suggested in traditional reference books. Although there are only two formulaic lines (Il. 3.30 = Il. 11.581), all examples with τὸν δ᾿ ὡς οὖν ἐνόησε (with alternating pronoun form: 10x) and οἳ δ᾿ ὡς οὖν εἴδοντο (2x) display a formulaic first half–line. While this fact might perhaps somewhat distort the

7 Note nevertheless that ex. (1) features a participial construction and an L–dislocated constituent in the accusative. 8 There is only one exception (Il. 2.321) in Homer which is considered an interpolation. For more detail cf. Reynen (1958, 80–82). Denniston (2002, 425) regards this οὖν as nearly connecting. 9 Reynen (1957, 9) already pointed out that οὖν has a functional (rather than a lexical) meaning.

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results of our analysis, at the same time, it attests to the popularity of these formulaic expressions which are specific for Homer.

4 ᾿Επεὶ οὖν clauses ᾿Επεὶ οὖν clauses are rather different. They do not include any verb of perception or other semantically specified verbs. There is not a person there from whose perspective a state of affairs could be viewed. Otherwise however, their structure is similar to that of ὡς οὖν clauses: Pronoun/ Noun Phrase + δ᾿+ ἐπεὶ + οὖν. In Homer, ἐπεὶ οὖν clauses are more frequent than ὡς οὖν clauses (33 ἐπεὶ οὖν clauses vs. 26 ὡς οὖν clauses). While the use of ὡς οὖν clauses is more or less unified in both epics, the use of ἐπεὶ οὖν clauses shows certain differences.

4.1 In the Iliad Of these 33 ἐπεὶ οὖν clauses, 18 clauses are found in the Iliad.¹⁰ (5)

Il. 10.272 Τὼ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν Context: Diomedes and Odysseus arm themselves for their mission of spying on the Trojans. 254 beginning of the episode of taking up armour level A ῝Ως εἰπόνθ᾿ ὅπλοισιν ἔνι δεινοῖσιν ἐδύτην. ‘So saying the twain clothed them in their dread armour.’ 255–259 Diomedes taking up armour level Ba 260–265 Odysseus taking up armour and the description of his helmet level Bb 266–270 history of the helmet level C 271 switch back to the Odysseus’ arming: level B δὴ τότ᾿ ᾿Οδυσσῆος πύκασεν κάρη ἀμφιτεθεῖσα. ‘and now, being set thereon, it covered the head of Odysseus.’ 272 switch back to the main story–line level A Τὼ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν ὅπλοισιν ἔνι δεινοῖσιν ἐδύτην, βάν ῥ᾿ ἰέναι, λιπέτην δὲ κατ᾿ αὐτόθι πάντας ἀρίστους. ‘So when the twain had clothed them in their dread armour, they went their way and left there all the chieftains.’

After the introductory line (254) of the armour scene ῝Ως εἰπόνθ᾿ ὅπλοισιν ἔνι δεινοῖσιν ἐδύτην, the following lines 255–259 describe Diomedes’ taking up armour, 260–265 deal 10 There are three similes featuring the particle τε instead of δέ, and one incidence of a formulaic verse (Il. 23.813 = Il. 3.340).

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with Odysseus’ taking up armour, a passage which is rounded off by the description of the latter´s borrowed helmet. Thereafter, in lines 266–270, the poet presents the history of the helmet that Merion has lent to Odysseus: the story goes back in time to Autolycus who stole it at the house of Amyntor. Finally, line 271 presents a return to narrative level of Odysseus’ taking up armour: δὴ τότ᾿ ᾿Οδυσσῆος πύκασεν κάρη ἀμφιτεθεῖσα.The following line (272), features an ἐπεὶ οὖν clause which points back to the very beginning of this segment (line 254) where the act of Odysseus and Diomedes taking up arms is announced; its part, ὅπλοισιν ἔνι δεινοῖσιν ἐδύτην, is then repeated in the second part of line 272 (half–line formula)¹¹. The lines in between, i.e. 255–271, bring a description that does not advance the story. The main story–line is thus not resumed until line 272: τὼ δ᾿ refers to both heroes in 254 (in the form of a non–expressed subject), while οὖν together with repeated words from 254 evoke the act of taking up armour and thus mark the return to the main story–line: οὖν functions as the POP particle. The ἐπεὶ οὖν clause thereby reverts to the narrative line interrupted in the line 255, with a digression describing the two heroes taking up armour simultaneously, digression which is at the background of the main narrative line. By summing up the already known facts, the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause creates – at the same time – a setting for the upcoming phase of the plot (beginning of the two heroes’ expedition), thus awakening the hearer’s expectancy. Οὖν, together with other elements, thus also signals a new step in the narrated episode. From my perspective, it seems inappropriate to follow Kühner – Gerth’s argument that οὖν strengthens the idea in the subordinate clause¹². Comparing the example at issue with the ὡς οὖν example (1), it can be maintained that both examples contain several lines preceding the οὖν clause, which are somehow backgrounded with respect to the main story–line. In ex. (1) (ὡς οὖν), these lines concern the same narrative line: the narrative has a continuative, ongoing structure and the lines preceding the ὡς οὖν clause give only some details relevant to the described situation. On the other hand, in the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause in ex. (5), the preceding lines contain two secondary passages (Diomedes and Odysseus’ taking up armour), and moreover, a sequence that goes back in time, concerning the origin of the helmet. It is the chronological digression in particular that makes the POP function of οὖν more pronounced. The following example is somewhat different: (6)

Il. 1. 57 οἳ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν ἤγερθεν Context: After Apollo had sent a plague upon the Achaean army, Achilles summoned the assembly.

11 Analyzing this example, Reynen (1957, 38) points out that there is not a real repetition (Wiederaufnahme) because ἐδύτην in 254 denotes the beginning of the act of taking up armour, while ἐδύτην in 272, being backgrounded with respect to the content of the main clause, denotes the end of the same process. 12 Kühner – Gerth (1904, 157): «. . . οὖν dazu dient, den Gedanken des Nebensatzes zu bekräftigen».

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53 ᾿Εννῆμαρ μὲν ἀνὰ στρατὸν ᾤχετο κῆλα θεοῖο, τῇ δεκάτῃ δ᾿ ἀγορὴν δὲ καλέσσατο λαὸν ᾿Αχιλλεύς· τῷ γὰρ ἐπὶ φρεσὶ θῆκε θεὰ λευκώλενος ῞Ηρη· κήδετο γὰρ Δαναῶν, ὅτι ῥα θνήσκοντας ὁρᾶτο. 57 οἳ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν ἤγερθεν ὁμηγερέες τε γένοντο, τοῖσι δ᾿ ἀνιστάμενος μετέφη πόδας ὠκὺς ᾿Αχιλλεύς· ᾿Ατρεΐδη νῦν ἄμμε παλιμπλαγχθέντας ὀΐω ἂψ ἀπονοστήσειν, . . . ‘[53] For nine days the missiles of the god ranged among the host, but on the tenth Achilles called the people to assembly, for the goddess, white–armed Hera, had put it in his heart, since she pitied the Danaans, when she saw them dying. [57] When they were assembled and gathered together, among them arose and spoke swift–footed Achilles: “Son of Atreus, now I think we shall return home, beaten back again, . . . ’

level A level B level A

The first two lines (53–54), placed at the main narrative level, are followed by two lines (55–56), both marked by γάρ as less relevant. They relate past events that led Achilles to call the assembly (on Hera’s impulse). Line 57 then marks the return to a higher level than that which precedes, thus creating a starting point for the next step in the narrative. Unlike in the previous example (5), which involved the repetition of almost a whole line, the situation in example (6) is rather different. Here the narrative is not set up at the moment when the main story–line was interrupted (by a digression about Hera). Although οὖν refers to a previous stretch (line 54), no word is repeated. The story–line in line 57 follows up a step forward, one could say a logical step forward that is due to the reciprocal actions expressed by καλέσσατο λαὸν ᾿Αχιλλεύς (line 54) vs. ἤγερθεν ὁμηγερέες τε γένοντο (line 57)¹³ (reciprocal coupling, cf. Buijs 2005, 139 and 145); one can say that ἤγερθεν is contextually evoked by καλέσσατο. Despite differences from the previous example (5), the particle οὖν is functioning here as a POP particle. Notwithstanding the reciprocal coupling and the surrounding context, it would not seem adequate – in my view – to adopt Liddell – Scott – Jones’s suggestion that οὖν (s.v.) indicates «that something foreshadowed has actually occurred», or for that matter that of Kühner – Gerth (1904, 159), that «wenn von einer vorher erwähnten Handlung ausgesagt wird, dass sie nun wirklich eingetreten ist», both giving the Il. 1.57 as example. The following example has already been quoted at the beginning of this article, in the section 1: (2) Il. 2.661 Τληπόλεμος δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν

13 This half–line formula ἤγερθεν ὁμηγερέες τε γένοντο occurs 2x in the Iliad and 3x in the Odyssey.

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One can similarly identify the POP function of οὖν in ex. (2). The particle οὖν denotes the return to a higher (albeit not the main) narrative line, following up to the line on Tleptolemus’ birth (658), after a short digression that goes back in the time¹⁴ and gives some information on the origin of Tleptolemus’ mother Astyocheia (659–660). Like in ex. (6), the narrative in ex. (2) follows up a (bigger) step forward, leaving out Tleptolemus’ childhood. The back reference to 658 is provided by the L–dislocated constituent Tleptolemus, while the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause opens a referential frame for the upcoming discourse segment.

4.2 In the Odyssey In the Odyssey, the use of ἐπεὶ οὖν clauses is more varied. The Odyssey is very rich in formulaic lines, containing nine different and four formulaic lines. Although these formulaic lines have the same or nearly the same linguistic context (containing more formulaic lines), the situational context can be fairly diverse, as in Od. 19.251 and 19.213. However, the most striking difference is the lack of a chronological switch preceding the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause.¹⁵ The POP function of οὖν is not so obvious as in the Iliad and can only be detected after a short development of a parallel story–line. (7)

Od. 24.384 (= 16.478) οἱ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν παύσαντο πόνου Context: Odysseus and Laertes arrive at Laertes’ house where in the meantime Telemachus and herdsmen are preparing the meal. ὣς οἱ μὲν τοιαῦτα πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἀγόρευον. 384 οἱ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν παύσαντο πόνου τετύκοντό τε δαῖτα, ἑξείης ἕζοντο κατὰ κλισμούς τε θρόνους τε. ἔνθ᾿ οἱ μὲν δείπνῳ ἐπεχείρεον· ἀγχίμολον δὲ ἦλθ᾿ ὁ γέρων Δολίος, . . . ‘[383] So they (οἱ μὲν, sc. Odysseus and Laertes) spoke to one another. But when the others (οἱ δ᾿, sc. Telemachus and herdsmen) had ceased from their labour, and had made ready the meal, [385] they (sc. all the five men, cf. οἱ μὲν in 386) sat down in order on the chairs and high seats. Then they were about to set hands to their food, when the old man Dolius drew near,. . . ’

The examined lines 383–384 describe a situation similar to that of lines 361–4¹⁶, where Odysseus and Laertes come home while a meal is being prepared. As the meal is not 14 For other lines with chronologically distant facts, cf. Il. 16.394; 24.349; 24.587. 15 The only chronological switch, albeit a very short one (three lines), occurs only in Od. 8.454. 16 An earlier mention of the situation is already signalled in lines 359–360, in Odysseus’ call on Telemachus to prepare the meal.

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yet ready, the poet has time to relate a short episode on Laertes’ bath and the dialogue between Laertes and Odysseus, set within the same chronological dimension as the main narrative line and rounded off in verse–line 383. This “intermezzo” (lines 365–383) appears to represent an autonomous action parallel to the preparation of the meal, which could be skipped without compensation. Line 384, οἱ δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν παύσαντο πόνου, refers to 364, ταμνομένους κρέα πολλὰ κερῶντάς τ᾿ αἴθοπα οἶνον, but the main story–line is picked up a moment after this action because the meal is now ready. At the same time, the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause forms a starting point for a new stretch of the episode and directs the hearer’s attention to what will follow. In this case, οὖν also functions as a POP particle which signals the joining of a subsidiary story–line into the main line, in order to create a starting point for the next step of the episode. A more frequent situation is that of the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause referring to the immediately preceding line(s); in this case, there is one story–line displaying a continuous and linear development. (8)

Od. 4.49 (= 17.88) τοὺς δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν ¹⁷ Context: Telemachus and Nestor’s son Peisistratus arrive in Sparta to meet Menelaus. 47 αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ τάρπησαν ὁρώμενοι ὀφθαλμοῖσιν, ἔς ῥ᾿ ἀσαμίνθους βάντες ἐϋξέστας λούσαντο. 49 τοὺς δ᾿ ἐπεὶ οὖν δμῳαὶ λοῦσαν καὶ χρῖσαν ἐλαίῳ, ἀμφὶ δ᾿ ἄρα χλαίνας οὔλας βάλον ἠδὲ χιτῶνας, ἔς ῥα θρόνους ἕζοντο παρ᾿ ᾿Ατρεΐδην Μενέλαον. ‘[47] But when they had satisfied their eyes with gazing they went into the polished baths and bathed. And when the maids had bathed them and anointed them with oil, [50] and had cast about them fleecy cloaks and tunics, they sat down on chairs beside Menelaus, son of Atreus.’

There is only one narrative line here¹⁸, monitoring the entrance of both heroes in Menelaus’ palace and their reception. The ἐπεὶ οὖν clause is marked by a switch of subject (the heroes ––> the maids), the L–dislocated element (τοὺς δε) referring to the subject of the previous clause. Unlike in the previous instance, there is no break, and no jump forward in the plot; on the contrary, the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause brings about a minor overlap rendered notably by λοῦσαν (line 49) and λούσαντο (48). Notwithstanding this, the ἐπεὶ οὖν clause, sets a frame for the following stretch of the episode, describing the dinner at Menelaus’. The POP function of οὖν is suppressed.

17 There is verbatim correspondence between Od.4.48–56 and 17.87–95. 18 Similar examples are Od. 8.372; 17.88; 19.251; 21.57; 21.273.

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5 Conclusion The pattern of Pronoun/ Noun Phrase + δ᾿ + ἐπεὶ/ὡς + οὖν, which reflects the structure of the majority of temporal ἐπεὶ οὖν and ὡς οὖν subclauses, is typically Homeric; in later poetry, this structure is scarce and, without any doubt, it is largely limited to imitations or quotations of Homer¹⁹. The capacity of the double orientation of οὖν (backward and forward), partly suggested already by Reynen (1957, 7), and explicitly formulated by Wakker²⁰, Bakker²¹ and others, has proved to be valid – despite its specifics – also for the Homeric epic. Beyond the common characteristics of the particle οὖν shown above, there are also certain differences. A striking feature of ὡς οὖν clauses is the presence therein of a verb of perception. The particle οὖν (together with other elements) briefly evokes in the hearer’s mind a person and/or his activities mentioned in not immediately preceding lines (cf. ex. (1), ex. (3), ex. (4)). Apart from that, the position of οὖν in segments introducing new information (‘someone gets informed’) signals its forward orientation and raises the hearer’s interest in the reaction of the SUBJ. The action/person in the ὡς οὖν clause is referred to from the perspective of the SUBJ of this subclause. The ἐπεὶ οὖν clauses in the Iliad are generally preceded by a text segment that points back in time (ex. (5),ex. (6), ex. (2)).Thus the POP function of οὖν, signalling the return to the main story–line, is more distinct than in the Odyssey where chronological distance is restricted and the POP function is limited only to the joining of the parallel subsidiary line in the main story line (ex. (7)). The POP function is completely absent (from ex. (8)), there where the narrative has a continuative, ongoing structure and the ἐπεὶ οὖν subclause follows up to the immediately preceding line. The repertory of translation equivalents proposed in standard reference books, including certainly, in fact, really (e.g. LSJ, s.v.), or essentiellement, effectivement (Humbert 1972, 424), or jedenfalls, unter allen Umständen, in der That, wirklich (Kühner – Gerth 1904, 155), appears to be inadequate.

Bibliography Bakker, S. J. 2009: On the curious combination of the particles [gar] and [oun], in: Discourse cohesion in ancient Greek, eds. S. Bakker & G. C. Wakker, Leiden – Boston, 41–63.

19 Apollonius Rhodius, the most “prolific” author, has only three examples. 20 Οὖν is a particle «marking a new, relevant step (that is in some way related to the previous one) in a narrative or argumentative context» Wakker (2009, 66). 21 Οὖν «indicates a new relevant step, one that marks the preceding utterances as subsidiary» Bakker (2009, 41).

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Baker, E. J. 1993: Boundaries topics and the structure of discourse: an investigation of the Ancient Greek particle δε, «Studies in language», 17, 275–311. Bočková Loudová, K. 2014: Particles (Formal Features), in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, vol. 3, eds. G. K. Giannakis et al., Leiden – Boston, 24–31. Buijs, M. 2005: Clause Combining in Ancient Greek Narrative Discourse. The Distribution of Subclauses and Participial Clauses in Xenophon’s Hellenica and Anabasis, Leiden – Boston. Chantraine, P. 1953: Grammaire homérique. Tome 2 – Syntaxe, Paris. Denniston, J. D. 2002 [1950]: The Greek Particles. Revised by K. J. Dover, Bristol. Places, É. des, 1929: Études sur quelques particules de liaison chez Platon: οὖν et ses composés, ἄρα, τοίνυν, Paris. Humbert, J. 1972 [1945]: Syntaxe grecque, Paris. Kühner, R. & Gerth B. 1904: Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. II, 2, Hannover. Monro, D. B. 2000 [1891]: Homeric Grammar, Bristol. Van Ophuijsen, J. M. 1993: Οὖν, ἄρα, δή, τοινῦν. The linguistic articulation of arguments in Plato’s Phaedo, in Two studies in Attic particle usage, Lysias and Plato, eds. C. M. J. Sicking & J. M. Van Ophuijsen, Leiden, 69–164. Reynen, H. 1957: Die Partikel οὖν bei Homer, «Glotta», 36, 1– 47. Reynen, H. 1958: Die Partikel οὖν bei Homer. «Glotta», 37, 67– 102. Sicking, C. M. J. 1993: Devices for text articulation in Lysias I and XII, in Two studies in Attic particle usage, Lysias and Plato, eds. C. M. J. Sicking & J. M. Van Ophuijsen, Leiden, 3–66. Slings, S. R. 1997: Adversative relators between PUSH and POP, in New Approaches to Greek Particles, ed. A. Rijksbaron, Amsterdam, 101–129. Wakker, G. C. 2009: ‘Well I will now present my arguments’. Discourse cohesion marked by OYN and TOINYN in Lysias, in: Discourse cohesion in ancient Greek, eds. S. Bakker & G. C. Wakker, Leiden – Boston, 63–81.

Anna Novokhatko

Discourse markers in a comic fragmentary dialogue Abstract: Discourse markers contribute to determining and interpreting the fragmentary text whilst discerning character attitudes and relationships. This paper analyses the forms and functions of discourse markers in five dialogue fragments of Sicilian and Old Attic comedy of the 5th c. BCE: Epicharmus fr. 147 PCG and four fragments from Aristophanes’ comedy Daital¯es, frs. 205, 206, 232, 233 PCG. I argue that the cooccurrence of specific characteristics of speech-like text-type, such as structures of spoken face-to-face interaction, lexical markers of communicative tension, lexical repeats, grammatical indicators, pragmatic and sociolinguistic markers, helps shape the dialogical type of discourse and increase the cohesion of interaction on morphological, syntactical and semantical levels. Further, elliptical sentences, speaker interruption, and answering questions with a question all contribute to the tension and suspence of the dialogue. Although a pragmatically oriented approach is of primary importance for the study of dramatic fragments, it has been to a considerable extent been neglected in the analysis of the fragmentary corpus.¹ In most fragmentary texts the lexical and syntactic value of an utterance is not sufficient to comprehend its broken meaning, which is inevitably understood out of context. The primary meaning has to then be conveyed through further linguistic and extra–linguistic parameters such as discourse indicators, the generic peculiarities of stage performance, the social and cultural context, and the quotation context (provided by the cover–text). The focus here will be on the period and genre of Sicilian and Old Attic comedy these allow for a linguistic impression of every day face–to–face interaction in colloquial situations in two major educational centres, Athens and Sicily, during the 5th c. BCE. I will analyse the forms and functions of linguistic elements in the text which help towards determining/defining the fragment and lead us to suppose that the surviving text represents a communicative situation.² Thus a hypothesis can be made concerning the status of spoken face–to–face language contact on stage from (1) a historical sociolinguistical viewpoint (the sociological characteristics of speakers, variation in phonetic phaenomena etc.), (2) a pragmatical viewpoint (focused on the utterance, the speaker’s intentions, the hearer’s interpretation of the speaker’s utterance and of the

1 Willi (2014, 181–182); cf. Kloss (2001, 16–33). 2 On the interactional level of discourse, see Kroon (1995, 89–95). On the notion of discourse markers, see Fraser (1999).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-239

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intentions behind it, the social interaction between the speaker and the hearer), and (3) a stylistical viewpoint (colloquial, judicial, medical, military, elevated etc. recordings of speech; discourse analysis, conversation analysis – analyzing the meanings of utterances in dialogue).³ The dialogues mirror the language of various spoken genres such as trial proceedings, market scenes, a school or gymnasium setting etc. Further, I am particularly interested in the possibilities of intensification/tension identifiers within the communicative situation and their characterization.⁴ I focus in this paper on reading and interpreting five fragments of Sicilian and Old Attic comedy of the 5th c. BCE through analyzing indicators of intensification of dialogue: Epicharmus fr. 147 PCG (four–verses fragment) and four fragments from Aristophanes’ comedy Daital¯es, frs. 205 (nine verses), 206 (two verses), 232 (two verses), 233 (six verses) PCG.⁵ All these fragments can be discussed together, because they maintain a thematic unity, as they seem to reflect contemporary debates on language, rhetoric and the educational paradigm in Sicily and Athens. The first fragment under consideration comes from an unknown comedy of the Sicilian playwright Epicharmus (before 460 BCE). (1)

Epicharmus fr. 147 A. τί δὲ τόδ΄ ἐστί; B. δηλαδὴ τρίπους. A. τί μὰν ἔχει πόδας τέτορας· οὔκ ἐστιν τρίπους, ἀλλ΄ οἶμαι τετράπους. B. ἔστιν ᾿όνυμ΄ αὐτῶι τρίπους, τέτοράς γα μὰν ἔχει πόδας. A. εἰ δίπους τοίνυν ποκ΄ ἦς αἴνίγματ΄ Οἰ νοεῖς ‘(A) What is this here? (B) a tripod, plainly. (A) But why does it have four feet? It is not a tripod, but seems like a tetrapod to me. (B) It bears the name tripod, but it has really got four feet. (A) Well, if it once had two feet, you can think of the riddle of Oe’

The cover–text of this fragment is Athenaeus’ Deipnosophists, and the quotation context represents the framework in which Athenaeus transmits his information on the dialogue. The fragment is quoted in a longer discussion of tripods (Athen. Epit. 2, 49c). The interchange of questions and answers and the relevant particles in each speaking turn suggest that the fragment represents a unit of verbal interaction on stage including at least two speakers. The dialogue begins with τί δὲ, which is known as the common introduction of a question in dialogue. It can express «surprise or incredulity»,⁶ open «a new unit of development by introducing a new question about a new topic», or invite the other speaker «to supply further explanation».⁷ Thus τί δὲ marks a topic–switch and therefore serves

3 4 5 6 7

See Culperer – Kytö (2010, 7–10). On the various forms of intensification and “strengthening”, see Thesleff (1954, 11–22). Here and further all fragments of Greek comedy are quoted according to the PCG–edition. Denniston (1954, 175). On the analysis of τί δέ in Plato’s Gorgias, see Sicking (1997, 169–171).

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as an intensifier in the discourse, thus contributing to a hypothetical reconstruction of the content of this fragment. τί δὲ τόδ΄ ἐστί· as well as the following question τί μὰν ἔχει πόδας τέτορας· are both questions with strong deictic emphasis, linked to the object which was in all probability on stage. The speaker A is points to the object (‘what is this here?’) as he describes it (‘and why does it have foor feet?’). The topic–switching marker δέ points either to the beginning of a new scene or to the deliberate change of subject initiated by the speaker A.⁸ The deictic/demonstrative pronoun τόδε is significant, introducing the main protagonist of the fragment, the tripod, which is going to be discussed by both partners to the conversation. However it also represents the speaker as the deictic τόδε is commonly aligned with the first person «in close, physical proximity to the speaker» (Bakker 2010b: 153), and is contrasted to οὗτος and ἐκεῖνος. «Such closeness, incompatible with physical absence, can mean that the thing pointed at is familiar to the speaker».⁹ The next speaker commences his answer with the adverb δηλαδή (‘clearly, doubtless’), which appears for the first time in Greek in this fragment of Epicharmus. It indicates manifestation and confirmation and seems to be rather colloquial.¹⁰ Δηλαδή occurs in the 5th c. BCE in drama as a confirming answer and serves as a response particle ‘yes’. In two cases it contradicts a negative question. In Aristophanes’ Wasps (422 BCE) in the chorus–leader’s monologue (expressed here as an internal dialogue) it serves as an itensified confirmation ‘sure, of course!’: εἶτα δῆτ΄ οὐ πόλλ΄ ἔνεστι δεινὰ τῷ γήρᾳ κακά; δηλαδή· καὶ νῦν γε τούτω τὸν παλαιὸν δεσπότην πρὸς βίαν χειροῦσιν. . . (Ar. V. 441–443) ‘And then are there not many horrible miseries in old age? Of course! Right now these two are overwhelming their old master by force.’

Similarly, in Euripides’ Orestis (408 BCE) in the dialogue between Orestis and Pylades δηλαδή contradicts the negative question serving as a response particle ‘yes’: Ορ. ἦ λέγωμεν οὖν ἀδελφῆι ταῦτ΄ ἐμῆι; Πυ. μὴ πρὸς θεῶν. Ορ. δάκρυα γοῦν γένοιτ΄ ἄν. Πυ. οὔκουν οὗτος οἰωνὸς μέγας; Ορ. δηλαδὴ σιγᾶν ἄμεινον. Πυ. τῶι χρόνωι γε κερδανεῖς. (Eur. Or. 787–789)

8 Bakker (1993, 282–284). 9 Bakker (2010b, 153). On the deictics ὅδε, οὗτος and ἐκεῖνος, see Bakker (2010b, 153–157). On the exclusively interactional level of ὅδε, see the table of distribution patterns in Willi (2010, 307). 10 Apart from dialogical usage, δηλαδή meaning “clearly, obviously” occurs 7 times in Classical Greek as an adverb in prose or in a dramatic monologue: 3 times in Herodotus (before 425 BCE): Her. 4, 135; 5, 118; 6, 39; in Sophocles‘ Oedipus Rex (429–425 BCE) in the final monologue of Oedipus (Soph. OT 1500–1502); in Euripides‘ Andromache (c. 425 BCE) in the lyric monologue of Hermione (Eur. Andr. 856; however this is a problematic passage, deleted by Demetrius Triclinius); in Plato’s comedy Nyx Makra (end of the 5th– beginning of the 4th c. BCE) fr. 91; in Aristophanes‘ Ecclesiazousae (392/391 BCE?) in the chorus–leader monologue (Ar. Eccl. 1155–1159).

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‘Or. Shall we say it to my sister? Py. By the gods, no. Or. But she would cry. Py. Is this not a great omen? Or. Yes, it is better to keep silence. Py. Because you will save time.’¹¹

In two further examples the adverb δηλαδή is used as response particle ‘yes’ in an answer, as in Aristophanes’ Wasps v. 443, but this time answering a positive question confirmatively. The first case is from Euripides’ Iphigenia in Aulis (405 BCE) in the dialogue of Clytaemnestra and Achilles, Achilles answering: Κλ. ἄξει δ΄ οὐχ ἑκοῦσαν ἁρπάσας; Αχ. δηλαδὴ ξανθῆς ἐθείρας. Κλ. ἐμὲ δὲ δρᾶν τί χρὴ τότε; (Eur. IA 1365–1366) ‘Cl. Will he take and bring her against her will? A. Yes (clearly), by her blond hair. Cl. And what should I do then?’

The translation of δηλαδή as ‘yes’ is more appropriate than the adverb ‘clearly’, because Clytaemnestra does not ask ‘how will he bring her’ but ‘whether’ with an expected answer ‘yes/no’. Clytaemnestra asks ‘will he bring her?’, so δηλαδή answers this question meaning ‘yes’ with an intensification ‘by her blond hair (in fact)’. The other even more explicit ‘yes’–answer comes from the mid 4th c. BCE (?) and can be found in the playwright Epigenes’ comedy Mnemation: Β. βασιλέως υἱὸν λέγεις ἀφῖχθαι; Α. Δηλαδή, Πιξώδαρον. (Epig. fr. 6) ‘B. You are saying that the son of the king of Carians has arrived? A. Yes, Pixodarus.’¹²

The collocation τί μὰν (‘but why’) is interrogative in form, but affirmative in meaning, and can be translated ‘what else?’ and ‘of course’.¹³ Μήν (doric μάν) is an interactional particle, and occurrs «in sentences that are the first in a speaker’s turn».¹⁴ George discussed the ‘dialogicality’ of μήν and argues that in most contexts it has dialogical or diaphonic characteristics.¹⁵ It can be used to intensify the interrogative τί (cf. Sophr. fr. 55) and to introduce an objection (here the objection would be to the previous statement ‘it is a tripod’) in interrogative form ‘but why’.¹⁶

11 This usage of δηλαδὴ – a confirming answer to a negative question – occurs also seven times in Platonic dialogues: Pl. Crito 47b8; Crat. 403c7; Parm. 158b9; Resp. 3, 392a9, 398c3, 399d6; 4, 428a10. 12 The answering of a positive question with an affirmative δηλαδή, meaning ‘yes’, occurs once in Plato: Pl. Resp. 3, 387c10. A positive statement is replied positively in the way ‘yes, obviously’ on one other occasion: Pl. Crat. 399a2. 13 See e.g. A. Ag. 672; Eu. 203, Supp. 999; Eur. Rh. 705; often in Plato; cf. Ar. Ach. 757 and 784 σά μάν in Megarian for the Attic τί μὰν. 14 (George 2009, 158). 15 George’s analysis is based on Xenophon’s Symposium, but his categories of dialogicality can be applied to dramatic text as well; see (George 2009, 158–161). 16 Denniston (1954, 333–334).

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The common particle combination γα μὰν (Attic γε μήν) is marked as interactional, because it consists of two particles both characteristic of dialogical texts.¹⁷ Here it emphasizes the objection to the previous statement of the same speaker (it has really got four feet as opposed to the it bears the name tripod). Another dialogical particle τοίνυν (‘well’) introduces «a fresh step in the march of thought».¹⁸ The speaker «marks a new section of the text as being outside or beyond the expectations of his audience in content, or indeed by its very presence».¹⁹ The notion of newness is emphasized by the un–expectedness.²⁰ In this fragment τοίνυν has a special function of announcing an un–expected joke linked to the tripod, a wordplay on dipod and of the riddle of Oedipus. Finally the opposition of the deictic elements in the 1st pers. sing. and 2nd pers. sing. forms οἶμαι (‘I think’) and νοεῖς (‘you think’) structures a communicative situation on stage. Thus the co–occurrence of intensifying particles and collocations engenders tension in the dialogue, while imitating or mocking the school exercises prevalent in Sicily of that time. The four following fragments coming from Aristophanes’ comedy Daital¯es (427 BCE) conveys similar tensions, this time in the educational sphere in Athens. (2)

Aristophanes fr. 205 A. ἀλλ΄ εἶ σορέλλη καὶ μύρον καὶ ταινίαι. B. ἰδού σορέλλη· τοῦτο παρὰ Λυσιστράτου. A. ἦ μὴν ἴσως σὺ καταπλιγήσηι τῷ χρόνῳ. B. τὸ καταπλιγήσηι τοῦτο παρὰ τῶν ῥητόρων. A. ἀποβήσεταί σοι ταῦτά ποι τὰ ῥήματα. B. παρ΄ ᾿Αλκιβιάδου τοῦτο τἀποβήσεται. A. τί ὑποτεκμαίρηι καὶ κακῶς ἄνδρας λέγεις καλοκἀγαθίαν ἀσκοῦντας; B. οἴμ΄ ὦ Θρασύμαχε, τίς τοῦτο τῶν ξυνηγόρων τερατεύεται; ‘A. But you are with one foot in the coffin, and unguent, and in tatters. B. Look, ‘with one foot in the coffin! This from Lysistratus. A. Certainly you will be tripped up one day. B. This ‘will be tripped up’ from the orators. A. These words will have results for you at some point.

17 Cf. «extremely rare in diegesis» Buijs (2007, 127 n. 15). Οn the “dialogicality” of γε despite it being considered representational, see also George (2009, 167–168). 18 Denniston (1954, 574). 19 Sicking – van Ophuijsen (1993, 31). 20 «Marks that the speaker presents something that is outside the expectations of the addressee» (Wakker 2009, 72, n. 22).

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B. This ‘will have results’ from Alcibiades. A. Why do you insinuate against and slander men for cultivating the qualities of a good man? B. Damn it, Thrasymachus! Which of the advocates talks this awful talk?’ The main cover text is Galen who in the preface to his Hippocratic Glossary (2nd half 2nd c. CE) discusses the history of the concept of glossa. He claims that Aristophanes in the comedy Daital¯es reveals that whoever dealt with rhetoric claimed to create new words (19, 66, 13 Kühn) and then quotes and interprets the content of the fr. 205: δηλοῖ δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς οὗτος ὁ ᾿Αριστοφάνης ἐν ταὐτῷ δράματι διὰ τῶνδε ἅλις ὀρέλη καὶ μύρον καὶ ταινίαι. εἶτα ὁ πρεσβύτης ἐπισκώπτων, ἥδουσ΄ ὀρέλη· τοῦτο παρὰ Λυσιστράτου. πάλιν δὲ αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἀκολάστου υἱέως εἰπόντος, ἡμῶν ἴσως οὐ καταπληγήσῃ τῷ χρόνῳ· καὶ τοῦθ΄ υἱοῦ ὁ πρεσβύτης ἐπισκώπτων ἐρεῖ, τὸ καταπληγήσῃ τοῦτο παρὰ τῶν ῥητόρων. εἶτ΄ αὖθις ἐκείνου φάντος, ἀποβήσεταί σοι ταῦτα ποῖ τὰ ῥήματα, πάλιν ὁ πρεσβύτης καὶ τοῦτο σκώπτει, παρ΄ ᾿Αλκιβιάδου τοῦτο ἀποβήσεται. καὶ μέν γε καὶ ὁ υἱὸς οὐδέπω παυόμενος οὐδὲ αἰδούμενος τὸν γέροντά φησι, τί ὑποτεκμαίρῃ καὶ κακοὺς ἄνδρας λέγεις καλοκἀγαθίαν ἀσκοῦντας. εἶτα ὁ πρεσβύτης, οἶμαι, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, τίς τούτων τῶν ξυνηγόρων σε ῥύεται. δῆλον οὖν ἐκ τούτων οἶμαί σοι γεγονέναι, ὡς εἶπον, εἶναι τρόπον τῶν γλωττῶν ἢ τοῦ κοινοῦ πᾶσιν ὀνόματος ἐκπεσόντος τῆς ἐπικρατούσης συνηθείας ἢ τοῦ γενομένου πρός τινος τῶν παλαιῶν, μὴ παραδεχθέντος ὅλως εἰς τὴν συνήθειαν (19, 66, 16–67 Kühn). ‘Aristophanes himself also reveals it in the same play whilst saying: Sufficiently with one foot in the coffin and unguent and in tatters. Then the old man mocking: Delighting ‘with one foot in the coffin’! This from Lysistratus. Again then the licentious son himself said: perhaps you will not be astounded one day by me. And the old man makes fun of this saying of the son, and says: this ‘will be astounded’ from the orators. Then again the other one said: these words will have results for you at some point. Again the old man ridicules it: this ‘will have results’ from Alcibiades. However, the son neither ceasing nor feeling ashamed of the old man says: Why do you insinuate against and slander men for cultivating the qualities of a good man? Then the old man: I am thinking, Thrasymachus, which of these advocates is going to save you? Now I believe, from these examples, as I said, the way of glosses has become clear for you, when either a word which is common to everybody falls out from main–stream usage, or a word created by one of the ancients has been never accepted into the usage.’

The version of Aristophanes’ text as presented by Galen is quite different from that is finally reconstructed in the PCG–edition: ἅλις ὀρέλη in Galen for ἀλλ΄ εἶ σορέλλη in PCG, ἥδουσ΄ ὀρέλη for ἰδού σορέλλη, ἡμῶν for ἦ μὴν, κακοὺς for κακῶς, οἶμαι for οἴμ΄, τίς τούτων τῶν ξυνηγόρων σε ῥύεται for τίς τοῦτο τῶν ξυνηγόρων τερατεύεται. What is important here is that Galen frames our reading of this fragment. Firstly, he declares the main reason for quoting, to illustrate the rhetorician’s newly coined words. Secondly, he presents the fragments as a dialogue, and even more: a dialogue between the old father and a licentious son. Galen comments upon certain semantic and pragmatic points in Aristophanes’ text: in the same play (ἐν ταὐτῷ δράματι) two speakers are represented, the old father (ὁ πρεσβύτης) and his son (τοῦ υἱέως). The age and generation gap indicators are significant here, as this information partially follows from the text of the fragment, when the speaker A clearly points to the age of

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the speaker B in the first line. The fragment does not say anything though on the age of the speaker A. The reader has therefore a double task – to deal with Aristophanes’ text and to decide whether and to which extend he should trust Galen in his interpretation. Thus, according to Galen, the father and his son debate, the son uses rhetoricians’ vocabulary, and the father mocks him for that. This constitutes a pragmatic parameter as a social milieu indicator, the son must have spent some time in rhetoricians’ circles whereas for his father they are alien. All these facts contribute to our analysis of the cover–text, and also predetermine our reading of Aristophanes’ fragment. The verbs in Galen describing this dialogue mark the active process of interaction: the father mocks (ἐπισκώπτων) the expression used by his son, the son says again (πάλιν εἰπόντος), the father repeats the next expression of his son mocking (καὶ τοῦθ΄ υἱοῦ ἐπισκώπτων ἐρεῖ), the son says back (εἶτ΄ αὖθις ἐκείνου φάντος), the father once again ridicules the next expression (πάλιν καὶ τοῦτο σκώπτει), the son neither ceasing nor feeling ashamed says back (οὐδέπω παυόμενος οὐδὲ αἰδούμενος τὸν γέροντά φησι), and then the father concludes the fragment. Further, the following discourse markers and interpretative remarks structure the description of the Aristophanic dialogue: then (εἶτα, καί, εἶτα), and again (πάλιν δὲ, εἶτ΄ αὖθις, πάλιν καὶ), nonetheless (καὶ μέν γε καὶ), neither ceasing nor feeling ashamed (οὐδέπω παυόμενος οὐδὲ αἰδούμενος). A number of dialogue markers in the Aristophanic text help in interpreting this text independingly of Galen. Firstly, the discourses of speaker A, but not of speaker B, uses the 2nd pers. sing. forms εἶ, καταπλιγήσηι, ὑποτεκμαίρηι, λέγεις and the personal pronoun forms σὺ and σοι. The discourse of the speaker B is marked by repetitions of the expressions of speaker A, τοῦτο παρὰ (3 times) and the rhetorical question at the end of the fragment. The fragment starts with the turn–initial discourse marker ἀλλά, which frequently starts a speaking turn in classical drama.²¹ Usually ἀλλά presupposes an opposition, an objection to the words or conduct of the previous speaker, and this is the most probable interpretation of the first line of this fragment. However, another function of ἀλλά, as change of discourse topic, is also possible here, speaker A for whatever reason wishing to introduce a new topic.²² Finally, the Aristophanes’ comedy Lysistrata starts with ἀλλά in Lysistrata’s monologue, making an impression of an in medias res beginning, so here the line could be the beginning of a new scene when speakers A and B are coming out on stage. The colloquial adverb ἰδού (‘look, here, take it!’, originally the 2nd pers. sing. imper. aor. med. ἰδοῦ of ὁράω) was used several times by Aristophanes in dialogue in the same

21 On the functions of ἀλλά at the beginning of a turn of speach in 5th c. BCE drama, see Drummen (2009). Her main conclusion is that the turn–initial ἀλλά objects rather to implicit than to explicit elements. On the analysis of the use of ἀλλά in Aristophanes’ Frogs, see Basset (1997). See also Bonifazi, Drummen & De Kreij 2016 in https://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/display/6210; §§ 64–68. 22 See 13 examples in Drummen (2009, 151 n. 36).

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position as here, repeating and thus emphasizing and intensifying another person’s words.²³ The collocation ἦ μὴν is used to confirm a strong assertion; here it is used as a threat.²⁴ If speaker A is serious, talking with “an oath’s solemnity”, while speaker B is mocking A’s words, then a certain tension between the two moods of the speakers permits an additional level of reading for this text. The particle μήν tends to be “dialogical” and to function at the interactional level of discourse.²⁵ Another discourse marker, the interjection οἴμοι, expresses strong emotional affect such as pain, fright, pity, anger, grief, wonder, surprise, and is actively used in comedy.²⁶ If the disposition of speaker B remains unchanged until the end of the dialogue and he keeps on mocking speaker A’s manner of speaking, then οἴμοι should here be understood ironically. The choice of words characterizes the colloquial level and presupposes personal assaults. Most “intensifyers”’ are in all probability Aristophanes’ coinages: σορέλλη (‘with one foot in the coffin’), καταπλίσσομαι (‘to be tripped up’), ὑποτεκμαίρομαι (‘to insinuate against’).²⁷ Finally, the elliptical sentences used by speaker B, and common for the interactional level of discourse, are striking.²⁸ The ellipsis ‘comes’ is in each case to be interpreted from a preceding sentence (from the attacks of the speaker A). The three times repeated τοῦτο παρὰ emphasizes the introduction of new information such as rhetoricians’ names. The elliptical sentences bear an additional function of denoting a change of speaker. (3)

Aristophanes fr. 206 σοὶ γὰρ σοφίσματ΄ ἐστίν ἁγὼ ‘κτησάμην; οὐκ εὐθὺς ἀπεδίδρασκες ἐκ διδασκάλου; ‘Well, do you possess the clever stuff that I have acquired? Did you not make a habit of running straight from (elementary) school?’

23 «ἰδού marks dismissal of another’s words, quoted with contempt» (Olson 1998, 107). Cf. Ar. Eq. 85–87, 343–344, 702–703; Nu. 817–818, 870–872, 1468–1469; Pax 198; Lys. 440–441; Th. 205–206; Eccl. 132–133, 135–136; cf. Nu. 254–255, Lys. 850–851; Ra. 1204–1205 and Eccl. 92–93 the same word being repeated, the form being changed. See also López Eire (1996, 184–186). 24 I am discussing the standard text from the PCG–edition here, the conjecture ἦ μὴν by Porson incorporated into the text (pace Cassio 1977, 45 who defends the manuscript reading ἡμῶν here). See LSJ s.v. I 1: «esp. ἦ μήν used in oaths and asseverations». Denniston (1954, 389): «ἦ μήν is used in oaths and in earnest asseverations which partake of an oath’s solemnity». See examples in Wakker (1997, 222–223). 25 Wakker (1997, 213–214); George (2009, 158). 26 See Labiano Ilundain (2000, 251–270); Biraud (2010, 138–146). In other two cases οἴμοι is followed by a vocative: Nu. 256 and Pax 1255. 27 Cassio (1977, 44–48). 28 On the function of elliptical constructions in Aristophanes’ comedies, see López Eire (1996, 181–194).

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As is clear from the critical apparatus of the PCG–edition, as far as the form of the speech act is concerned these two lines were interpreted differently by various editors. The present form represents two questions belonging to one speaker, but all possible options are open: none of the lines being a question (unlikely); the first being statement, the second a question; the first being a question the second the (beginning of a) statement; bothe being questions but belonging to two different speakers like «how on earth could you acquire clever stuff if you used immediately to run away from school». In any case the opposition of the deictics ‘you’ (σοί) versus ‘I’ (ἁγὼ) and the opposition of two verbal forms in the 1st and 2nd person singular ‘I have acquired’ (‘κτησάμην) versus ‘you ran away’ (ἀπεδίδρασκες) presupposes a part of a dialogue. The opposition is firstly emphasized in the first line where ‘you’ (σοί) opens the line and ‘I acquired’ (‘κτησάμην) closes it; further, the temporal opposition is important. The aorist ‘I have acquired’ asserts «the action that constitutes the present speech moment» whilst the imperfect ‘you ran away’ presupposes events occurred in the long past.²⁹ If the first line is a question, the connective particle γάρ, described mainly as functioning on the presentational level of discourse, «marks a transition to a fresh point, when a speaker either (1) proffers a new suggestion after the elimination of a previous hypothesis, or (2) . . . wishes to learn something further».³⁰ The first category is called “backward–linking” by Croon in her analysis of the Latin equivalent nam, whilst the second group is called “forward–linking” or “copulative”.³¹ As the rest of the context lacks, it is impossible to decide here to which category belong the γάρ, but the evolution of discourse is marked, and the fragment must represent therefore the inner development of a dialogue. Finally, the word σοφίσματα linked to the verb ‘acquire’ is marked here as it helps in attributing this fragment to the educational theme, in the sence ‘acquire certain intellectual skills’. The word started being used in all probability in the 5th c. BCE both in positive and negative (critically to sophistic achievements) sense, which allows us to build various hypothesises about who might be the speaker here.³² (4)

Aristophanes fr. 232 ὅστις αὐλοῖς καὶ λύραισι κατατέτριμμαι χρώμενος, εἶτά με σκάπτειν κελεύεις; ‘I who has been utterly exhausted playing flutes and lyres, and then you order me to dig?’

The lines represent a part of a dialogue as is clear from the juxtaposition you versus me indicating another speaker to whom the line is addressed in the 1st pers. sing. form ‘I

29 Bakker (2010b, 162). On tense and temporal reference and the deictic orientation of tense, see Bakker (2010b, 161–166). 30 Denniston (1954, 81). 31 Croon (1995, 144). 32 See the apparatus in PCG, Cassio (1977, 50) and Luppe (1980, 221).

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have been utterly exhausted’ (κατατέτριμμαι), ‘me’ (με) and the 2nd pers. sing. form ‘you order’ (κελεύεις).³³ It is in all probability an answer to a previous directive, an order to dig (perhaps this not appropriate for the speaker, or alternatively the speaker is pretending that the activity is not appropriate for him). As other parallels reveal, it is also possible that the verb κελεύεις ends the speaker’s line. Even more, the verb has a marked position at the end of the sentence here³⁴ and, as other parallels reveal, can also mark a change of speaker, with the line broken in the middle, such as in 1. Φε. λέγε δή, τί κελεύεις; Στ. καί τι πείσεi; (Ar. Nu. 90) ‘Ph. Tell me, what do you order? St. And will you obey?’ 2. Φι. τί οὖν κελεύεις δρᾶν με; Βδ. τὸν τρίβων΄ ἄφες (Ar. V. 1131) ‘Phi. What do you order me to do? Bd. Take off the cloak’ 3. Φι. ὡδὶ κελεύεις κατακλινῆναι; Βδ. μηδαμῶς (Ar. V. 1211) ‘Phi. You order me to recline like this? Bd. Not at all’

It is noteworthy also that in all three cases the dialogue is between a father and a son and the verb in the Clouds is spoken by the son ‘what do you order me/want me to do’ referring to his father, whilst in the Wasps it is the father who asks his son this question. On the lexical level the verb κατατρίβομαι (‘to be utterly worn out’) contains both an intensifying morpheme κατα– (‘utterly, completely’) and an intensified metaphorical meaning when it refers to persons who are exhausted during a military campaign, such as in ‘speeches were coming from the allies that through softness they were being completely worn out by the war’ (κατατριβήσοιντο ὑπὸ τοῦ πολέμου) Xen. Hell. 5, 4, 60; ‘for some time now we have been ruined and completely exhausted (ἀπολλύμεθα καὶ κατατετρίμμεθα) whilst wandering to the Lyceum and from the Lyceum with spear and shield’ Ar. Pax 353–355, ‘nor has he been exhausted (κατατετριμμένος) in itinerant military campaigns’ Isoc. Antid. 115. Through the use of the verb referring to playing on ‘flutes and lyres’, the military associations create a comic effect in Aristophanes’ fragment. The adverb εἶτα ( and then‘) is used according to LSJ «especially in questions or ’ exclamations to express surprise, indignation, contempt, sarcasm, and the like». εἶτα marks also «a disgusted recognition of the connection between the actions. . . ‘then –

33 An extended monologue is also possible, but a hypothetical previous directive is needed (either real or imagined by the speaker) in order to justify the constatation of the act of ordering. On κελεύω and other lexical forms of the directive, see Denizot (2011, 98–102). 34 Note that in Homer the form κελεύεις occurs 25 times, 24 of them emphatically at the end of the hexameter verse.

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can you believe it?’»³⁵ It serves here as a bridge between two verbs and two activities opposed to each other (the tension is emphasized through the deliberate semantic contrast between ‘playing flutes and lyres’ and ‘digging’) and at the same time increases the tension at the moment of speaking.³⁶ This fragment comes from a quotation context that is similar to that of the previously discussed fragment Epicharmus’ fr. 147. The cover–text is Athenaeus’ Deipnosophists, and Aristophanes’ fragment is quoted within a broader discussion of flute playing (Athen. 4, 184e). Athenaeus does not impose a specific reading or interpretation on the text. In the next example, however, the quotation context will play a crucial role for allowing a pragmatic interpretation of a fragmentary dialogue from the same comedy, Aristophanes’ Daital¯es. (5)

Aristophanes’ fr. 233 Α. πρὸς ταύτας δ΄ αὖ λέξον ῾Ομήρου γλώττας, τί καλοῦσι κόρυμβα; . . . τί καλοῦσ΄ ἀμενηνὰ κάρηνα; Β. ὁ μὲν οὖν σός, ἐμὸς δ΄ οὗτος ἀδελφὸς φρασάτω, τί καλοῦσιν ἰδύους; . . . τί ποτ΄ ἐστὶν ὀπύειν; ‘A. And now come on in turn explain Homeric words, what do they mean by korymba? . . . what do they mean by amenena karena? B. But let this guy, your (son?) and my brother, explain, what do they mean by idyoi? . . . what is opyein?’

As in Aristophanes’ fr. 205, discussed above, the cover–text here is crucial. Galen in the preface to his Hippocratic Glossary discusses these two fragments (fr. 205 and fr. 233) together, uniting them on the level of content. Galen explains the content of the fragment: προβάλλει γὰρ ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ δράματι ὁ ἐκ τοῦ δήμου τῶν Δαιταλέων πρεσβύτης τῷ ἀκολάστῳ υἱεῖ πρῶτον μὲν τὰ κόρυκά τί ποτ΄ ἐστὶν ἐξηγήσασθαι, μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο τί καλοῦσιν ἀμενηνὰ κάρηνα· κἀκεῖνος μέντοι ἀντιπροβάλλει τὴν ἐν τοῖς Σόλωνος ἄξοσι γλῶτταν, εἰς δίκας διαφέρουσας ὡδί πως. . . ἐφεξῆς προβάλλει τί ποτέ ἐστι τὸ εὖ ποιεῖν (19, 66, 3–10 Kühn). ‘In this play an old man from the deme of Daital¯es proposes to his untamable son first to explain what is ‘koryka’, then what are ‘amenena karena’; and that one counterproposes in the following way a glossa from Solon’s wooden tablets (used) in various legal cases (Aristophanes’ verses following). Thereupon he proposes what is ‘eu poiein”.

Galen’s version of Aristophanic text differs again, as in the case with the fr. 205, from the reconstructed PCG–version. Thus Galen writes πρὸς ταῦτά σοι λέξων ῞Ομηρε γλώττῃ

35 Olson (1998, 127). 36 See S. Ant. 1019, cf. OC 418; E. Andr. 666; Ph. 548; Ar. Nu. 1214; Pl. 79.

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τινι καλοῦσι κόρυκα for πρὸς ταύτας δ΄ αὖ λέξον ῾Ομήρου γλώττας, τί καλοῦσι κόρυμβα in PCG, ἰδοῦσί τε for ἰδύους, τὸ εὖ ποιεῖν for ὀπύειν. Here again Galen comments upon certain semantic and pragmatic points of Aristophanes’ text: in this play (ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ δράματι) two speakers are represented, the old father (ὁ πρεσβύτης) and his son (τῷ υἱεῖ). The father and his son discuss Homeric/epic and Solonic/judicial glossai. This fact is a sociolinguistical parameter as a social milieu indicator. Again, whilst Homeric words are explicitely referred to in Aristophanes, Solon’s wooden tablets come from Galen. It remains open whether Galen had access to other passages from this comedy, from which it might have been clear that Solon’s tablets are meant here, or whether Galen had access to some commentary where this information was given. This may of course be Galen’s own interpretation. Two further parameters are given, one of location – the old father is from the deme of Daital¯es (ἐκ τοῦ δήμου τῶν Δαιταλέων), and the other external characterisation – the son is licentious (ἀκολάστῳ). The deme is unknown, so this might be an incorrect interpretation of the title by Galen (or a predecessor who he follows) or alternatively Galen preserves some information about the content of the comedy which is unknown to us. Such considerations clearly contribut to a cover–text–analysis, and also predetermine our reading of Aristophanes’ fragment. The verbs in Galen describing this communicative situation point to an active process of interaction: the father proposes (προβάλλει) to his son to explain (ἐξηγήσασθαι), the son counterproposes (ἀντιπροβάλλει), the father proposes (προβάλλει) again (however, in Galen Aristophanes’ text is corrupt, and it is not clear who “proposes” the last glossa). Further, the following discourse markers on the representative level frame the description of Aristophanic dialogue in Galen: first (πρῶτον μὲν), then (μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο), and then that one (κἀκεῖνος), thereupon (ἐφεξῆς). Galen therefore structures our reading of this fragment, and his interpretation might be correct, partially correct or mistaken. We have to distinguish in this case between the fragment itself and the fragment presented in the cover–text.³⁷ The analysis of dialogue markers in this fragment contributes to the reading of the text independigly of the cover–text presuppositions. In the Aristophanic text there are some clear dialogue markers indicating intensified speech interaction between at least two speakers. The first deictic πρὸς ταύτας indicates the continuation of communication and engenders a feeling of immediate and vivid dialogue, introducing the immediately following imperative (along with alternative πρὸς ταῦτα and πρὸς τάδε, frequently occurring in drama).³⁸ The deictic οὗτος is usually aligned with the second person, with the interlocutor. «A speaker points with οὗτος to something he wants to know

37 The first verse of the fragment is transmitted by Pollux also. Poll. II 109: ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰς ποιητικὰς φωνὰς γλώττας ἐκάλουν, ὡς ᾿Αριστοφάνης· πρὸς ταύτας δ΄ αὖ λέξον ῾Ομήρου γλώττας, τί †καλεῖται† κόρυμβα (‘however, poetic phrases were called glosses as well, as Aristophanes says, And now come on in turn explain Homeric words, what is called korymba’). 38 Mastronarde (1994, 296) (ad Eur. Phoen. 521) with further examples.

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more about, knowing or assuming that the hearer can see it too, and is in fact more familiar with it. In such cases the deixis with οὗτος, assuming a joint perception, serves as basis for further interaction».³⁹ The boundary–marker αὖ (‘again, in turn’) functions as an intensifier, expressing repeated action. It is often preceded by δέ which increases intensification ‘but on the other hand’⁴⁰ and highlights «an introduction of a thematic discontinuity (different topic), whose effect on the discourse is the opening of a new thematic section».⁴¹ We have to assume therefore that from this line the discussion (between the same speakers?) takes a new turn, and the previous discourse is connected to the current one through the connector αὖ. The co–occurrence of αὖ with the imperative 2nd pers. singular form λέξον (‘and now tell!’) contributes to an intensified turn–taking effect, such as in the dialogue between two slaves sharing their most recent dreams in the prologue of Aristophanes’ Wasps (422 BCE): Ξα. δεινόν γέ ποὔστ΄ ἄνθρωπος ἀποβαλὼν ῾όπλα. ἀτὰρ σὺ τὸ σὸν αὖ λέξον. Σω. ἀλλ΄ ἐστὶν μέγα. περὶ τῆς πόλεως γάρ ἐστι, τοῦ σκάφους ῾όλου. (Ar. V. 27–29) ‘X.: Surely it’s frightening when a man throws away his arms. But you in turn tell me yours. S.: Oh! it is a big dream. It has reference to polis, to the whole ship.’

Here the imperative form is strenghethed by the personal pronoun you (circa and now is your turn, go, tell me!) and by the adversative particle ἀτάρ. This combination provokes a strong intensification in the answer of the interlocutor which commences with the adversative ἀλλά. Τhe general structure of the dialogue is similar to that of the previously discussed fragment from the Daital¯es.⁴² The four questions which commence anaphorically, three of them repeated verbatim τί καλοῦσι and the further τί ποτ΄ ἐστὶν, increase tension in the dialogue. The imperative 3rd pers. sing. form φρασάτω presumes an order for a third character (whether imaginative or on the stage), thus intrucing him, as is also supported by the possessive pronouns σός and ἐμός. The opposition between two speakers on stage clarified through the pronouns σός and ἐμός is strenghthed through the construction μὲν. . . δέ. The construction μὲν. . . δέ contains the connective particle οὖν in its first part. «In this combination the μὲν οὖν–clause often rounds off the preceding discourse unit by

39 Bakker (2010b, 154). 40 Cf. Ar. Ach. 975. 41 Revuelta Piugdollers (2009, 106). 42 Cf. Xen. Symp. 4, 34 where Socrates turns the dialogue line from Callias to Antisthenes with a number of turn–taking expressions: ‘But come on’, said Socrates. ‘Now you in turn tell us (σὺ αὖ λέγε ἡμῖν), Antisthenes, how you have so high thoughts of wealth when you have so little’.

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summarizing it, whereas the δέ–clause marks a new section (opening it, by a balancing or contrasting new point, new argument or even a new part of speech)».⁴³ Though in the Aristophanic fragment the opposition is concise, this observation could fit with a logical turn in the argumentation: ‘and now this guy your son(?) – about whom we know already/have just spoken/already heard’. What we would have here is a summary of the preceding discourse with the second part ‘and he my brother’ offering a new point. This new point might be new in a number of different ways: an unexpected turn in the plot, new information for the audience, or a new line of argumentation brought by the speaker. The content remains open, but the set of discourse cohesion markers frame the modality of speaking thus establishing the structure of the dialogue. The deictic οὗτος is repeated by speaker B this time referring back to speaker A, who used it in the first verse. Again, ‘this my brother’, probably accompanied by a physical gesture, points to the fact that the interlocutor is aware of the subject of οὗτος and this is postulated as a basis for further information. It is also noteworthy, that, as is the case here, «οὗτος very easily combines with the particles μέν and δέ as markers of “boundaries” in a discourse».⁴⁴ The analysis of these five fragmentary dialogues reveals that the markers of conversational exchange contribute to interpreting the fragmentary text whilst discerning character attitudes and relationships. Imitating every–day language and the verbal immediacy, comic register is condensed in dialogical markers.⁴⁵ The co–occurrence of specific characteristics of speech–like text–type, such as structures of spoken face–to– face interaction, lexical markers of communicative tension, lexical repeats, grammatical indicators, pragmatic and sociolinguistic markers, helps shape dialogical type of discourse and increase the cohesion of an interaction on morphological, syntactical and semantical levels. Further, as we have seen, elliptical sentences, speaker interruption, and answering question with a question all contribute to the tension and suspence of the dialogue. Each of these characteristics should be analysed separately, but they contribute to the effect of intensification of the dialogue when they occur simultaneously. Further, the quotation context as an external linguistic parameter brings additional information helpful for understanding of the fragmentary dialogue. In those cases when there is no exterior framework, as it is the case with fragments, the study of discourse markers in the broken text becomes the only possible means for its interpretation.

43 Wakker (2009, 70). 44 Bakker (2010b, 158). 45 Culperer – Kytö (2010, 395–397).

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Bibliography Bakker, E. J. 1993: Boundaries, topics and the structure of discourse: an investigation of the Ancient Greek particle δέ, «Studies in language», 17, 275–311. Bekker, E. J. (ed.) 2010a: A Companion to the Ancient Greek language, Oxford. Bekker, E. J. 2010b: Pragmatics: speech and text, in: Bakker (2010a, 151–167). Bakker, S. & Wakker, G. (eds.) 2009: Discourse cohesion in Ancient Greek, Leiden – Boston. Basset, L. 1997: ᾿Αλλ’ ἐξόλοισθ’ αὐτῷ κοάξ. Réexamen des emplois de ἀλλά à la lumière de l’énonciation dans les Grennouilles d’Aristophane, Rijksbaron (1997, 75–99). Biraud, M. 2010: Les interjections du théâtre grec antique: étude sémantique et pragmatique, Leuven. Bonifazi, A., Drummen A. & de Kreij M. 2016: Particles in Ancient Greek Discourse: Five Volumes Exploring Particle Use Across Genres. Washingtin, DC. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook: CHS_BonifaziA_DrummenA_deKreijM.Particles_in_Ancient_Greek_Discourse.2016. Buijs, M. 2007: Aspectual differences and narrative technique: Xenophon’s Hellenica and Agesilaus, in The language of literature: linguistic approaches to classical texts, eds. R. J. Allan & M. Buijs, Leiden – Boston, 122–153. ¯ I frammenti, Pisa. Cassio, A. C. 1977: Aristofane. Banchettanti [Daitales]. Culperer, J. & Kytö, M. 2010: Early modern English dialogues: spoken interaction as writing, Cambridge. Denizot, C. 2011: Donner des ordres en grec ancien: Étude linguistique des formes de l’injonction, Mont–Saint–Aignan. Denniston, J. D. 19542 : The Greek particles. ed. Oxford. Drummen, A. 2009: Discourse cohesion in dialogue. Turn–initial ἀλλά in Greek drama, in: Bakker – Wakker (2009, 135–154). Fraser, B. 1999: What are discourse markers?, «Journal of Pragmatics», 31, 931–952. George, C. H. 2009: Greek particles: just a literary phenomenon?, in Bakker & Wakker (2009, 155– 169). Kloss, G. 2001: Erscheinungsformen komischen Sprechens bei Aristophanes, Berlin – New York. Kroon, C. 1995: Discourse particles in Latin: a study of nam, enim, autem, vero and at., Amsterdam. Labiano Ilundain, J. M. 2000: Estudio de las interjecciones en las comedias de Aristófanes, Amsterdam. López Eire, A. 1996: La lengua coloquial de la comedia aristofánica, Murcia. ¯ I frammenti, ed. by A. C. Cassio. «JHS», Luppe, W. 1980: Review: Aristofane. Banchettanti [Daitales]. 100, 220–221. Mastronarde, D. J. 1994: Euripides, Phoenissae, ed. with intr. and comm, Cambridge. Olson, S. D. 1998: Aristophanes, Peace, ed. with intr. and comm. Oxford. PCG = Poetae Comici Graeci, ed. R. Kassel and C. Austin, vol. 1–8. Berlin – New York, 1983 – now. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. 2009: The particles αὖ and αὖτε in Ancient Greek as topicalizing devices, in Bakker & Wakker (2009, 83–109). Rijksbaron, A. (ed.) 1997: New approaches to Greek particles, Amsterdam. Sicking, C. M. J. 1997: Particles in questions in Plato, in Rijksbaron (1997, 157–174). Sicking, C. M. J.& van Ophuijsen J. M. 1993: Two studies in Attic particle usage: Lysias and Plato. Leiden – New York – Köln. Thesleff, H. 1954: Studies on Intensification in Early and Classical Greek, Helsinki. Wakker, G. 1997: Emphasis and affirmation. Some aspects of μήν in tragedy, in Rijksbaron (1997, 209–231). Wakker, G. 2009: “Well I will now present my arguments”. Discourse cohesion marked by οὖν and τοίνυν in Lysias, in Bakker – Wakker (2009, 63–81).

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Willi, A. 2010: Register variation, in Bakker (2010a, 297–310). Willi, A. 2014: The language(s) of comedy, in The Cambridge Companion to Greek Comedy, ed. M. Revermann, Cambridge, 168–185.

Elena Redondo Moyano

Defective approximative adverbs in Late Greek Abstract: This work presents a study of the different adverbs or adverbial phrases (σχεδόν, μόνον οὐ, ὀλίγου, μικροῦ, μόλις/μόγις) through which approximation is expressed in the Greek novel. They have been analyzed in the light of focus theory with the aim of describing their syntactic and semantic properties. Among the conclusions, the following are worthy of mention: despite semantically deriving from different notions (“near”, “only + negation”, “nearly”. . . ), all of them express both a proximal meaning and a negative polar meaning, but they differ in their combination possibilities, in the alternatives they evoke and in the possibility that these focus evoked alternatives may be explicitly mentioned in the context.

1 Introduction This work presents a study of the different adverbs or adverbial phrases (σχεδόν, ὀλίγου (δεῖν), μικροῦ (δεῖν), μόνον οὐ) through which defective approximation is expressed in Ancient Greek. This study has been carried out on the corpus of the Greek novel, a genre from which five complete works survive, written between the first and fourth centuries in a Greek that imitates the Attic dialect. Approximative adverbs have recently become a focus of attention in some current languages because they have specific characteristics that distinguish them from prototypical adverbs¹. Among these characteristics are their distribution possibilities and the verification that they carry a specific pragmatic–semantic charge. These characteristics have led to them being studied as focus adverbs, since they highlight the informative segment that they modify (their scope), marking it as a member of a pragmatic set made up of at least one other element, the alternative, which could take the same place as the focus in the clause². Note: Author’s Researcher ID: H–3838–2015. This article was written with the financial support of the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness (Research Projects FFI2012–36944–C03–02 and FFI2015–65541–C3–1–P) and of the Basque Government (Research Group IT760–13). I would like to thank Angela Jones for her help with the translation into the English language of my work. 1 Cf. among others the works of Bolinger (1972, 279), Moreno (1984), Bácklund (1985), Jayez, (1987, 2008), Hitzeman (1992), García (1991), García Medal (1993), Aranovich (1995), Bertocchi (1996), Sevi (1998), Ziegeler (2000), Schwenter and Pons (2005), Nouwen (2006), Penka (2006), Sadock (1981), Amaral (2007), Horn (2011) and Johnson (2013). 2 The focalization is an informative function that can be described in different ways. In this work we consider that the characteristic of a focus adverb is (1) that it evokes alternatives, that is to say, values

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-255

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(1)

Charito 1.1.4 ᾿Αφροδίτης ἑορτὴ δημοτελής, καὶ πᾶσαι σχεδὸν αἱ γυναῖκες ἀπῆλθον εἰς τὸν νεών. ‘A public festival of Aphrodite took place, and almost all the women went to the temple’.³

(2)

Hld. 7.16.3 διαβλέπω σχεδόν τι λοιπὸν συνήθως. ‘I can see almost as normal’.

The presence of σχεδόν in (1) and (2) generates the existence of an alternative [a] (‘all the women went to the temple’; ‘I can see as normal’) and, at the same time, denies its realization [∼ a] (‘all the women didn’t go to the temple’/ ‘I can’t see as normal’). The alternative [a] and the focus [f] ( ‘almost all the women’/ ‘almost as normal’) of these approximative adverbs are ordered on a pragmatic scale, in which the former takes the higher position and the focus the next one down [a–1], cf. (1’) and (2’)⁴. The focus which σχεδόν marks is exclusive⁵, as it negates the alternative and affirms the focus. (1)’ and (2)’ + Strength –all the women went to the temple / I can see as normal [a] –almost all the women went to the temple / I can see almost as normal [f], [∼ a] [a–1] This analysis of the approximatives as focus adverbs facilitates a joint description of all the uses in which their scope is a clausal component, be it a syntagma, an adverb or a predicate.

2 Notional meanings σχεδόν, ὀλίγου (δεῖν), μικροῦ (δεῖν) and μόνον οὐ have become approximative adverbs o adverbial phrases from very different notional meanings.

which answer the same question as the focus and (2) that the focus and the alternatives together form a pragmatic set, cf. Rooth (1992), Portolés (2010). On focus adverbs in ancient Greek, cf. Crespo (2015). 3 English translations of cited Greek authors are taken from those of the Stephens – Winkler (1995), in some cases slightly modified. 4 For an analysis of the approximatives as focus adverbs, cf. Portolés (2010) for the Spanish and Amaral (2007) for the Portuguese. 5 The focus adverbs have been divided into two big groups, the inclusive or additive, that imply the realization of the alternative and of the focus; and the exclusive or restrictive, that imply the exclusion of the alternative and the realization of the focus, cf. König (1991), Quirk et al. (1985); Borrego (1989). Scholars also mention the group of the scalars, which order the focus and the alternative in a scale; in this group those which are usually studied are the ones where the focus is located in an extreme position in the scale and that are part of the inclusive (cf. Sudhoff 2010, 53; König 1991, 68). For a semantic classification of the focus adverbs in ancient Greek, cf. Crespo 2015.

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2.1 σχεδόν h

σχεδόν is an adverb derived from the verbal root of σχεῖν (< IE *seg ), ‘hold’, ‘connect’⁶. In epic and lyrical poetry, it indicates either nearness, in space, time or metaphorically in terms of relationships (‘near’, ‘hard by’), or similarity (‘like to’)⁷. With this meaning it appears both as a predicate adjunct and in nominal syntagmas with the dative or genitive. To these meanings of nearness, is added, in the post–Homeric period, that of approximation⁸: ‘about’, ‘approximately’, ‘more o less’, ‘roughly speaking’ (LSJ); ‘nearly’, ‘almost’, ‘about’ (Beekes). We can see this meaning in (1) and (2). The semantic–pragmatic change is easily understood: from the notion of physical nearness, it changes to the expression of approximation to something which is not fulfilled. In this new meaning, we can easily see the proximal component and the polar component, characteristic of approximatives: in (1) it is understood that not all the women went to the temple (polar component), but that only a few didn’t go (proximal component). In (2) it is understood that the vision is not as normal (polar component), but it is very similar to it (proximal component). In the novel, σχεδόν never means nearness, but it always acts as an approximative adverb that evokes an alternative and a scale; in (1) it is a quantitative scale and in (2) a qualitative one.

2.2 μόνον οὐ Another way to express approximation is μόνον οὐ. This adverbial phrase is made up of two adverbs which have an independent meaning: on the one hand, the negation (οὐ), and on the other, μόνον (‘only’). This last adverb has been analysed as an exclusive or restrictive focus adverb in different modern languages and in Ancient Greek (Martínez 2014): as can be seen in (3) it conveys a restriction and marks its scope as an exclusive focus, since the proposition is only true for the focus, but not for the alternative(s) which it generates. (3)

Hld. 6.1.3 «῏Ω Κνήμων» ἔφη, «ἐγὼ δὲ ᾤμην νύκτωρ σοι μόνον τὴν δειλίαν ἐνοχλεῖν. . . ‘«Knemon», said (Kalasiris), «I thought it was only at night that you suffered from a faint heart»’.

The sum of μόνον and the negation οὐ generates an approximative meaning. The following example shows how the meaning changes from one of exclusivity to one of proximity:

6 Cf. Beekes (2010), Chantraine (1983–4) and LSJ ad locum. 7 Cf. Beekes (2010) ad locum; Bailly (1950) ad locum I, II and III; Chantraine (1983–4) ad locum; LSJ ad locum I, II and III and Ruiz Yamuza (2001, 669–671). 8 Cf. LSJ ad locum IV and Beekes (2010) ad locum.

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(4)

Hld. 5.1.2 Κιρραῖοι μὲν δὴ κόλποι καὶ Παρνασοῦ πρόποδες Αἰτωλοί τε καὶ Καλυδώνιοι σκόπελοι μόνον οὐ διιπταμένην τὴν ὁλκάδα παρημείβοντο. ‘The Gulf of Kerrha, the foothills of Parnassos, the headland of Aitolia and Kalydon, went past the ship which was almost flying.’

As we can see, μόνον has as its scope the negation + the predicate (‘(the ship) didn’t fly’) and it keeps its original meaning of exclusivity (‘only’), so that we understand that ‘the only thing the ship didn’t do was fly’. μόνον οὐ generates a pragmatic scale in which the speed of the ship, in this case, is measured. In this scale the focus is placed immediately below the convoked alternative, to fly, which takes the highest position and is the only one not fulfilled. (4)’ + Strength it was flying [a] the only thing it didn’t do was fly [f], [∼ a] [a–1] In ‘the only thing the ship didn’t do was fly’ it is understood that the reached speed was very similar to flying except for a minimum margin⁹. μόνον οὐ convokes, as σχεδόν, an exclusive focus, as it denies the alternative and affirms the focus. LSJ devotes a small section (B.II.3) to the approximative uses of μόνον οὐ (‘all but’, ‘well nigh’) and quotes examples of authors from the fifth century BCE (Aristophanes) to the second century CE (Polybius)¹⁰. This suggests that this adverbial phrase does not appear earlier as approximative.

2.3 ὀλίγου and (σ)μικροῦ The construction ὀλίγου or (σ)μικροῦ δεῖ + infinitive ‘to be on the point of’, ‘about to’, ‘almost’ is well known¹¹. There the adjuncts ὀλίγου / (σ)μικροῦ may have originally had a temporal meaning, but in the novel the whole structure is always used as approximative, to indicate that the event expressed by the infinitive was almost reached but wasn’t. See (5): (5)

Hld. 8.9.9 οἱ δικάζοντες . . . μικροῦ μὲν ἐδέησαν ὠμοτέρᾳ τε καὶ Περσικῇ τιμωρίᾳ ὑποβαλεῖν. ‘The judges were about to give her the cruellest sentence in Persia.’

9 Cf. too Ach. Tat. 4.4.8 ὁ δὲ ἄνθρωπος ἔλεγεν ὅτι καὶ μισθὸν εἴη δεδωκὼς τῷ θηρίῳ· προσπνεῖν γὰρ αὐτῷ καὶ μόνον οὐκ ἀρωμάτων ᾿Ινδικῶν· ‘The man said that he had given the creature a reward, for the following reason: its exhaled breath is almost indistinguishable from Indian spices’. 10 This use of μόνον οὐ does not appear in historians like Herodotus or Thucydides, but it does in Xenophon, cf. Martínez (2014). 11 Cf. LSJ δεῖ II.

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From this construction, ὀλίγου (δεῖν) or μικροῦ (δεῖν) became fossilized and could be used¹² as approximative adverbial phrases, having as their scope predicates or other segments of the clause, as can be seen in (6): (6)

Charito 1.1.14 ἄφωνος εὐθὺς ἦν καὶ σκότος αὐτῆς τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν κατεχύθη καὶ ὀλίγου δεῖν ἐξέπνευσεν· ‘She immediately lost her voice and shadows darkened her eyes, and she was on the point of dying.’

Here too we have a scale; ‘She was dying’ is the convoked alternative [a] with respect to which the negative polar component [∼ a] and the proximal component [a–1] are fulfilled. (6)’ + Strength She was dying [a] She was on the point of dying [f], [∼ a] [a–1] LSJ provides different examples of this approximative meaning of ὀλίγου (δεῖν) from Homer (Od. 14.37–38) to Pausanias (1.13.6.7–9); however, of μικροῦ (δεῖν) it only gives examples from the fourth century B.C. (D. 18.151, 27.29, Id. Cyr.1.4.8, etc.), which suggests that its use as an approximative adverb was later and identical to its synonym ὀλίγος. Despite these data, in the novel, μικροῦ (δεῖν) is more frequent as approximative than ὀλίγου (δεῖν) and shows a greater variety of uses.

2.4 Types of defectives These three adverbs or adverbial phrases are all defective approximatives¹³ because they have a polar negative component which implies the incompletion of their scope. These adverbs form a different group from the excessive approximatives such as μόγις and its synonym μόλις, see (7), that have a polar positive component which implies the fulfillment of their scope¹⁴. (7)

Hld. 1.17.6 ὁ δὲ ᾿Αρίστιππος ἔχω παρὰ σοῦ καὶ πρὸ τῶν νόμων τὴν δίκην εἰπών, τῷ τε δήμῳ πάντα εἰς τὴν ἑξῆς ἀνεκοινοῦτο, καὶ μόλις συγγνώμης τυχὼν τοὺς

12 Cf. LSJ ὀλίγος IV.1 and μικρός III.2: ὀλίγου δεῖν / μικροῦ δεῖν ‘almost’; ὀλίγου / μικροῦ ‘within a little’, ‘all but’, ‘almost’. 13 For the classification of the approximatives in defectives, excessives and neutrals, cf. García Medall (1993, 159–160). 14 μόγις, cf. LSJ ad locum is an adverb related to µόγος (‘toil’), that means ‘with toil and pain’ (cf. Charito 2.5.4); from this meaning it becomes an approximative of positive polarity, ‘hardly’, ‘scarcely’. μόγις appears in all Greek literature, although in the post–Homeric period it is replaced by its synonym μόλις, whose use is predominant in Attic prose, except for in Plato. For a study of the approximative uses of µόγις and µόλις, cf. Conti (in print).

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φίλους περιενόστει καὶ γνωρίμους . . . ‘Aristippus said only, «You have given me satisfaction, even before the laws took their course.» The next day, he told the assembly what had happened and, as soon as he was pardoned, he went visiting all his friends and acquaintances. . . ‘ And they are also different from the neutral approximatives, which indicate a rounding off, such as the well kown μάλιστα + numeral. This last one does not appear in the novel, but we can see it in an explample of Xenophon (8): (8)

Xen. Hell. 5.2.31 ἐπεὶ δὲ εἰργμένον τὸν ᾿Ισμηνίαν ᾔσθοντο οἱ ἐν τῇ Καδμείᾳ τότε δὴ ἀπεχώρησαν εἰς τὰς ᾿Αθήνας οἱ ταὐτὰ γιγνώσκοντες ᾿Ανδροκλείδᾳ τε καὶ ᾿Ισμηνίᾳ μάλιστα τριακόσιοι. ‘When they learned, however, that Ismenias was imprisoned in the Cadmea, then all those who held the same views as Androcleidas and Ismenias retired to Athens, to the number of about three hundred.’

3 Defective Approximatives σχεδόν, ὀλίγου, μικροῦ and μόνον οὐ are defective approximatives but they differ in various characteristics. Firstly, they show different functions, given that σχεδόν and μόνον οὐ are always focus adverbs¹⁵, but ὀλίγου and μικροῦ can also function as adjuncts and this is their most common use in the novel. Secondly, they are different in their combination possibilities, as we can see in this table: Table 1 Focus adverb

σχεδόν (21) ὀλίγου/ὀλίγου δεῖν (3) μικροῦ/μικροῦ δεῖν (18) μόνον οὐ Totales

syntagmas 12 1/ –

adverbs 1

3/1

17

Sentential scope predicates 7 1/1

1

11/3

1

31

1

15 We can see the same phenomenon in current languages, cf. Spanish apenas, English hardly and German kaum.

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σχεδόν is the one which has most combination possibilities. To start with, it is the only one which can be a and a sentential adverb. It appears only once in the novel with the latter function, see (9): (9) Longus 2.8.3 ᾿Αλγοῦσιν οἱ ἐρῶντες, καὶ ἡμεῖς· τροφῆς ἀμελοῦσιν· [ἵν΄] ἠμελήκαμεν· καθεύδειν οὐ δύνανται, τοῦτο μὲν [καὶ] νῦν πάσχομεν καὶ ἡμεῖς· κάεσθαι δοκοῦσι, καὶ παρ΄ ἡμῖν τὸ πῦρ· ἐπιθυμοῦσιν ἀλλήλους ὁρᾶν· διὰ τοῦτο θᾶττον εὐχόμεθα γενέσθαι τὴν ἡμέραν. Σχεδὸν τοῦτό ἐστιν ὁ ἔρως, καὶ ἐρῶμεν ἀλλήλων. . . ‘Lovers feel pain –and so do we. They neglect their food –and we’ve neglected ours in the same way. They cannot sleep –and that’s happening to us at this moment. They seem to be burning up –and there’s a fire inside us. They long to see each other –and that’s why we pray for the day to come more quickly. Surely this is «love»; and we are «in love» with each other¹⁶ . . . ’ As a sentential scope adverb, it occupies a peripheral (left) place and has a modal sense, acting as an operator, since it modifies the epistemic value of the predication¹⁷ .

3.1 Defective approximatives + syntagmas Only σχεδόν and ὀλίγου (ὀλίγου δεῖν)/μικροῦ (μικροῦ δεῖν) can have as their scope a syntagma. In these cases approximative defective adverbs generates quantitative or qualitative scales, depending on their scope. In the most common use the scope conveys a measurable notion (11 times), as the universal quantifier ‘all’, cf. (1), which appears 8 times with σχεδόν and once with ὀλίγου, the only one in which this adverb modifies a nominal syntagma, see (10)¹⁸. μικροῦ (δεῖν) appears twice, with different quantifiable notions, see (11): (10) Hld. 9.18.3 ᾿Ενταῦθα πολὺς φόνος καὶ ὀλίγου παντελὴς συνέπιπτε τοῖς ἱππεῦσι. ‘Then there was a great carnage and the horsemen were almost all slain.’

16 The text quoted is from the Dalmeyda edition (1934); in this specific passage it coincides with that of Reeve (1994); Herderson (2009) and Schönberger (1960) have different texts. 17 I have discussed this in Redondo Moyano (2015). For this use cf. Beekes (2010) ad locum and LSJ, section IV; in the latter we can see two special meanings (modal values): (1) when the adverb goes with verbs (frequently in perfect), especially of saying or knowing, it softens a positive assertion with a sense of modesty, sometimes of irony; and (2) when it is used in positive answers, it confirms them. The use in the novel is related to the second meaning, since it affirms the truth of the proposition as the closest version to the reality. In this meaning we can see the proximal component. For other uses of σχεδόν as a sentential adverb, see Ruiz Yamuza (2011) and Conti (2017). 18 With ‘all’ + σχεδὸν, cf. (1), Charito 2.5.4 σχεδὸν δὲ καὶ τῆς ὅλης ᾿Ιωνίας and 4.1.7 τῆς ᾿Ιωνίας σχεδὸν ὅλης; Hld. 6.13.3 σχεδόν τι πάντες, 2.3.2 ὀλίγης δὲ τῆς ὑπολειπομένης πρὸς τὸ πνέον ἁπάσης σχεδὸν ἐναποσβεσθείσης, 5.18.3 Οἱ μὲν οὖν ἄλλοι σχεδόν τι πάντες, 10.23.4 σχεδὸν ἅπαντας and 10.27.1 πάντων σχεδὸν τῶν κατὰ πρεσβείαν ἀφιγμένων. For other quantifiable notions, cf. Hld. 5.3.1 παρ’ αὐταῖς σχεδόν τι ταῖς θύραις· ‘nearly by the very door’.

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(11) Longus 3.30.3. μικροῦ δεῖν ὀλιγώτερα ἦν τῶν καταβληθέντων σπερμάτων. ‘It was almost less than the seed that had been sown.’ In all these cases, a quantitative scale is convoked and the proximal component is fulfilled indicating a somewhat smaller amount than the alternative. When the scope conveys a non quantifiable but scalable notion (7 times), the approximative adverbs convoke qualitative scales, and the is fulfilled indicating a lower quality level; in these cases μικροῦ is more common (5 times) than σχεδόν (twice)¹⁹, see (12): (12)

Hld. 2.3.2. μικροῦ καὶ ἰσόπεδον ἐπεδείκνυ τὸ ὑποκείμενον. ‘The ground appeared to be almost flat.’

3.2 Defective approximatives + adverbs On the other hand, as a focus adverb, σχεδόν is the only one that can have as its scope an adverb, although only on one occasion, in (2), that we saw before. It generates a qualitative scale, as in (12).

3.3 Defective approximatives + predicates All the defective approximatives have a predicate as their scope. In fact, this is the only use of μόνον οὐ or the most common use of ὀλίγου, ὀλίγου δεῖν and μικροῦ, μικροῦ δεῖν. But there are differences among them in their uses and distribution.

3.3.1 σχεδόν + predicates σχεδόν appears as a focaliser of two types of predicates. On the one hand, three times its scope is a predicate that denotes state or durative action, as in (13): (13)

Charito 5.8.7 οἱ δὲ πλείονες τἀναντία συνεβούλευον καὶ διὰ τὸν πατέρα τῆς γυναικὸς οὐκ ἄχρηστον γενόμενον τῇ βασιλέως οἰκίᾳ καὶ ὅτι οὐκ ἔξωθεν ἐκάλει τὴν κρίσιν ἐφ΄ αὑτόν, ἀλλὰ σχεδὸν μέρος οὖσαν ἧς ἐδίκαζεν ἤδη. ‘But the majority held the opposite opinion, both because of the woman’s father who had served in the Royal house, and because his decision had not been taken from outside, but he was almost a part of what had been already judged.’

In these cases, σχεδόν convokes an alternative ‘he was a part of what had been already judged’, which is negated (polar component [∼ a]) ‘he was not a part of what had

19 With σχεδόν, cf. Hld. 7.14.4 ἀπὸ τῶν αὐτῶν τε σχεδόν τι ῥημάτων ‘virtually identical words’.

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been already judged’, and focalizes another state [b] defined by its similarity to the alternative (proximal component: [b similar to a])²⁰. On the other hand, four times σχεδόν accompanies predicates that denote processes that conclude and involve a resulting state (telics) as in (14): (14)

Charito 8.8.4 ταχέως οὖν ὁ Μιθριδάτης ἐκέλευσε καθαιρεθῆναί με τοῦ σταυροῦ σχεδὸν ἤδη πέρας ἔχοντα, καὶ ἔσχεν ἐν τοῖς φιλτάτοις. ‘Mithridates immediately gave the order to bring me down from the cross when I was already practically at the end’.

In these cases²¹, the scope of σχεδόν are predicates which are not in personal form (participles), and which are, furthermore, accompanied by a phase adverb, ἤδη or οὔπω²². σχεδόν focalises the phase which is immediately prior to the conclusion of the process denoted by the predicate: ‘I was already practically at the end’. (15) Hld. 5.27.9 Οἷα γὰρ καὶ ἐπεχείρουν οὔπω σχεδὸν τῆς γῆς ἐπιβεβηκότες οἱ ἀλιτήριοι. ‘Indeed, as soon as we disembarked, we were able to see the evil of these criminals.’ In (15) the convoked alternative is negative (οὔπω τῆς γῆς ἐπιβεβηκότες [(∼a)]/ ‘when they had barely set foot on the land’). The negative polar component of σχεδόν adds a second negation, so that the double negation is destroyed and what becomes focalised is the phase that is immediately subsequent to the culmination of the process denoted by the predicate: ‘As soon as we disembarked’.

20 The states do not allow gradation because they are not events that take place, but they occur in a homogeneous way in each moment of the time over which they extend; cf. De Miguel (1999, 3012). Cf. also Longus 2.9.2 Κατεφιλήσαμεν, καὶ οὐδὲν ὄφελος· περιεβάλομεν, καὶ οὐδὲν πλέον σχεδόν· ‘We kissed; and that was no use. We embraced; and that was almost the same’, and Hld. 5.2.2 ᾿Αλλὰ . . . ὁ πρεσβύτης . . . ὅ τι πεπόνθοι διηρώτα καὶ δι’ ἣν αἰτίαν οὕτως ἐκτόπως ἀλύοι σχεδόν τι τῶν μεμηνότων οὐκ ἀποδέων. ‘The old man. . . asked what was wrong with him and what was the reason for his tossing and turning in such an extraordinary manner that he seemed for all the world almost like a madman.’ In this latter occurrence the alternative is a negative clause [(∼a)] (τῶν μεμηνότων οὐκ ἀποδέων), so that the scope of σχεδόν is under the influence of two negations: the one of the clause and the polar component of the adverb itself [(∼a)]. The two negations destroy each other and from that the given translation ‘almost like a madman.’ 21 Cf. also Hld. 7.14.4 Οὕτως ἐγένετο καὶ οὔπω τι σχεδὸν τῆς Κυβέλης χωρισθείσης . . . ‘Her bidding was done. But no sooner had Kybele departed. . . ’ And Hld. 5.31.3 Οὔπω γὰρ σχεδόν τι κατακλινεὶς . . . ἔφη . . . ‘Scarcely had he resumed his place than he said, . . . ’ 22 On the capacity of phase adverbs to divide verbal notions into phases, cf. Fernández Lagunilla – De Miguel (1999, 110–112).

252 | Elena Redondo Moyano

3.3.2 μόνον οὐ + predicates μόνον οὐ can focalize in three different ways. Twice it shows the same use as σχεδόν in (14), with predicates in the form of participles that denote processes that conclude (telics). In one case, see (16), it is also accompanied by the phase adverb ἤδη and in another, see (17), this adverb appears in the previous sentence, which is of the same syntactic type and coordinated with it. In both cases what is focalised is the phase prior to the culmination: (16)

Hld. 5.6.1 ὀψὲ δ΄ οὖν ποτε καὶ μόνον οὐ προσορμιζομένων ἤδη τῶν ἐπιόντων ἀποδιδράσκειν ἡ Χαρίκλεια καὶ τῷ σπηλαίῳ κρύπτειν ἑαυτοὺς εἴ πη διαλάθοιεν ἠξίου καὶ ἅμα ἀπέτρεχεν. ‘In the end, just when those who were approaching were already about to disembark, Charikleia suggested escaping and hiding in the grotto.’

(17) Hld. 9.18.1 Τότε οἱ Βλέμμυες εἰς χεῖρας ἤδη συμπίπτοντες καὶ μόνον οὐ ταῖς αἰχμαῖς ἐγχρίμπτοντες ἀθρόον καὶ καθ΄ ἓν σύνθημα ὑπώκλασάν. ‘Then, when the Blemies were already engaged in the hand–to–hand combat and were almost within a lance’s reach of each other, suddenly at the preconceived signal, they all crouched down.’ In other cases (four times) μόνον οὐ negates the alternative and focalizes a similar action to that denoted by the predicate; this action could be a durative one, as in (4), or a process that concludes, as in (18). (18)

Hld. 1.29.4 καὶ τὸν οὐδὸν ἐπαγαγὼν καί τι καὶ ἐπιδακρύσας αὑτόν τε τῆς ἀνάγκης κἀκείνην τῆς τύχης ὅτι μονονουχὶ ζῶσαν εἴη καταθάψας. . . ‘(Knemon) went back to the stone on the threshold, crying for himself, for the action he had been forced to carry out, and also for her, for her misfortune, because he had practically buried her alive. . . ’

Knemon had not buried Cariclea alive (polar component) but he had shut her in a cave (proximal component)²³. Finally, in a couple of other cases the proximal component of μόνον οὐ indicates that there are or were circumstances favourable to the fulfillment of the predicate; the polar component, however, prevents it from being carried out. We can see different types of predicates: In (19) we have a telic verb; but in (20) is a durative one. (19)

Charito 6.2.11 ταῦτα λέγων ὥρμησεν ἐπὶ ξίφος, κατέσχε δὲ τὴν χεῖρα Πολύχαρμος καὶ μονονουχὶ δήσας παρεφύλαττεν αὐτόν. ‘After saying this, he fell on his

23 Cf. also Hld. 7.12.6. εἰμὶ γάρ τοι τῇ δεσποίνῃ τὰ πάντα καὶ μόνον οὐκ ἀναπνεῖ με καὶ ὁρᾷ, καὶ νοῦς ἐκείνῃ καὶ ὦτα καὶ πάντα τυγχάνω. ‘I am everything to my mistress; you might say I am the very air she breathes; I am her eyes, her mind, her ears, her all’.

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sword, but Policarmo grabbed his hand, and he did all but tie him up, to protect him.’ (20)

Hld. 4.14.1 ‘«῏Ω θαυμάσιε’» πρὸς αὐτὸν ἔφην «ὅτε σε ἐχρῆν ἐστέφθαι καὶ χαίρειν ἀποθύειν τε χαριστήρια τοῖς θεοῖς ἐπιτυχόντα τῶν πάλαι σοι δι΄ εὐχῆς καὶ Χαρικλείας ὀψέ ποτε καὶ σὺν τέχνῃ πολλῇ καὶ σοφίᾳ τῇ ἐμῇ πρὸς ἐπιθυμίαν γάμων ἐπικλασθείσης, τότε σκυθρωπὸς καὶ σύννους καὶ μόνον οὐ θρηνεῖς οὐκ οἶδ΄ ὅ τι πεπονθώς.»’ ‘You are admirable, he said. Just when you should be crowned, happy and making sacrifices to the Gods in thanksgiving for obtaining what you have long wanted, that Cariclea at last has given in and agreed to marriage thanks to my good actions and wisdom, instead you are sad, with a darkened face, practically crying about I don’t know what, that has happened to you.’

The focus highlights that, although there are or there were circumstances that are favourable to the fulfillment of the predicate, in fact, it doesn’t or itdidn’t happen. In (19) Polycharmus was about to tie him up; but he didn’t; in (20) she wasn’t crying, but she was on the point of doing it.

3.3.3 ὀλίγου (δεῖν), μικροῦ (δεῖν) + predicates This last type of μόνον οὐ coincides with all the uses of ὀλίγου (δεῖν), μικροῦ (δεῖν), in which, as we have seen in (6), the notion indicated by the verb is or was about to happen but didn’t. Here too we can find different types of predicates, most of them telics, as in (6), or punctuals, as in (21). (21)

Ach. Tat. 1.5.2 ἐγὼ δὲ ὡς ταύτην ἤκουσα τὴν εὐταξίαν, μικροῦ προσελθὼν τὸν πατέρα κατεφίλησα͵ ὅτι μου κατ΄ ὀφθαλμοὺς ἀνέκλινε τὴν παρθένον. ‘When I heard him announce this arrangement, I almost went over and kissed my father for displaying her thus before my eyes.’

We can conclude, therefore, that the polar component is identical in all defective approximatives that always indicate that the alternative is not fulfilled. However, the proximal component is fulfilled in a different way, as is summarized in this table:

254 | Elena Redondo Moyano Table 2 Proximal component

σχεδόν

μόνον οὐ

Fulfillment of the phase prior to the alternative Fulfillment of an event similar to the alternative The alternative is/was close to being fulfilled.

+

+

+

+ +

ὀλίγου (δεῖν)

+

4 Position The defective approximative adverbs σχεδόν, ὀλίγου (δεῖν), μικροῦ (δεῖν), μόνον οὐ are usually located near their scope, but the adjacency is not required in all their appearances. When their scope is a syntagma, they go either before (Hld. 10.23.4 σχεδὸν ἅπαντας, Hld. 9.18.3 ὀλίγου παντελὴς), or inside it (Hld. 5.3.1 παρ΄ αὐταῖς σχεδόν τι ταῖς θύραις, Hld. 4.19.9 ἀπ΄ αὐτῶν μικροῦ τῶν παστάδων). When their scope is a predicate, they are always located before, and very often they are adjacent to it (Hld. 5.31.3 Οὔπω γὰρ σχεδόν τι κατακλινεὶς· Charito 1.1.14 ὀλίγου δεῖν ἐξέπνευσεν· Ach. Tat. 3.1.5 μικροῦ βαπτίζεται and Hld. 1.29.4 μονονουχὶ ζῶσαν εἴη καταθάψας). Finally, in the only appearance as a sentential adverb it occurs in the first position in the clause, where connectors usually appear, cf. (9).

5 Summary The approximative adverbs σχεδόν, ὀλίγου (δεῖν), μικροῦ (δεῖν), μόνον οὐ function as focus adverbs that generate pragmatic scales in which the alternative occupies the higher position and the focus the next one down. All three are defective approximative and carry two semantic instructions: the polar component, that denies the realization of the alternative, and the approximative component, that is carried out in different ways according to the nature of the scope and the context where it takes place. Nevertheless, these ways can basically be reduced to two: either indicating that the alternative is not realized by a small margin, or that the focus is very similar to the alternative. If we consider the data in the LSJ, ὀλίγου (δεῖν) is documented from the beginning of Greek literature; predicates are its original scope, but in the novel this scope has been expanded to the syntagmas too. μικροῦ (δεῖν) appears as its synonym from the fourth century B.C. onwards. It has the same scopes as ὀλίγου (δεῖν) and in the novel is more frequent than it.

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σχεδόν, whose basic notion is the idea of nearness to a point that is not reached, is documented as approximative from the post–Homeric period onwards and is the one with greater combinatory possibilities: not only does it appear as an approximative of different clause components (syntagmas, adverbs and predicates), but it also has as its scope the whole proposition, functioning as an operator that evaluates its truth. Finally, the adverbial phrase μόνον οὐ, from the notion that the event indicated by the verb is the only one (μόνον) which is not (οὐ) realised, is documented as approximative only from the fifth century B.C. onwards and in the novel it has only predicates as its scope, although there is evidence that it had had a broader spectrum in previous times²⁴. The three approximatives can have a predicate as their scope, but they show different distributions (cf. Table I).

Bibliography Amaral, P. M. 2007: The meaning of approximative adverbs: Evidence from European Portuguese, Ph.D. dissertation, Ohio State University. Aranovich, R. 1995: Spanish Casi as a Scalar Operator, in Proceedings of the Twenty–First Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society: General Session and Parasession on Historical Issues in Sociolinguistics/Social Issues in Historical Linguistics, 12–23. Bácklund, J. 1985: “Almost” and “Nearly”. Dinamic versus estatic meaning, «Cahiers de Lexicologie», XLVII– 11, 65–120. Bailly, A. 1950: Dictionnaire Grec Français, Paris. Beekes, R. 2010: Etymological Dictionary of Greek, Leiden. Bertocchi, A. 1996: Some semantic and pragmatic properties of paene, in Akten des VIII. Internationalen Kolloquiums zur lateinischen Linguistik, eds. A. Bammesberger & F. Heberlein, Heidelberg, 457–472. Bolinger, D. 1972: Degree Words, The Hague – Paris. Borrego Nieto, J. 1989: Sobre adverbios atípicos, in Philologica II. Homenaje a D. Antonio Llorente, ed. J. Borrego Nieto, Salamanca, 77–90. Chantraine, P. 1983–1984: Dictionnaire etymologique de la lange grecque: histoire des mots, Paris. Conti, L. 2017: Sobre la expresión del esfuerzo y de la aproximación: Análisis de μόγις y μόλις en Griego Antiguo, «Emerita», LXXXV 1, 1-25. Crespo, E. 2015: Adverbios de foco en griego clásico, in Studia Classica Caesaraugustana: vigencia y presencia del mundo clásico hoy: XXV años de Estudios Clásicos en la Universidad de Zaragoza, eds. J. Vela, J. F. Fraile & C. Sánchez, Zaragoza, 207–234. Dalmeyda, G. 1934: Pastorales, Paris.

24 The approximative adverbs are not frequent in the Greek novels; that’s why their distribution and uses should be completed with the description of their usage in other corpora. For example, although μόνον οὐ has only predicates as its scope in the novel, in some cases it is documented with syntagmas, as in Plb. 3.109.2, ἀλλὰ καὶ διαμαχόμενοι μόνον οὐ καθ΄ ἑκάστην ἡμέραν δεύτερον ἐνιαυτὸν ἤδη διατελεῖτε. ‘But for two years now you have been fighting with them nearly every day’.

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De Miguel, E. 1999: El aspecto léxico, in Gramática descriptiva de la lengua española, eds. I. Bosque & V. Demonte, Madrid, 2977–3060. Fernández Lagunilla, M. & De Miguel, E. 1999: Relaciones entre el léxico y la sintaxis: adverbios de foco y delimitadores aspectuales, «Verba», 26, 97–128. García, M. E. 1991: Casi se usa así, casi: reanálisis semántico en una comunidad bilingüe, «Letras de Deusto», 49, 17–33. García Medal, J. 1993: Sobre casi y otros aproximativos, «DICENDA. Cuadernos de Filología Hispánica», 11, 153–170. Herderson, J. 2009: Longus. Daphnis and Chloe / Xenophon of Ephesus. Anthia and Habrocomes, Cambridge (MS). Hitzeman, J. 1992: The selectional properties and entailments of almost, «Chicago Linguistics Society», 28, 225–238. Horn, L. R. 2011: Almost forever, in Pragmatics and Autolexical Grammar, eds. E. Yuasa, T. Bagchi & K. Beals., Ámsterdam – Filadelfia, 3–21. Jayez, J. 1987: Sémantique et approximation: Le cas de presque et á peine, «Lingvisticae Investigationes», 11, 197–223. Jayez, J. & Tovena, L. M. 2008: Presque and almost: how argumentation derives from comparative meaning, in Empirical Issues in Syntax and Semantics 7, eds. O. Bonami & P. Cabredo, 217–239. Johnson, G. 2013: Liketa is not Almost, «University of Pennsylvania Working Papers in Linguistics», 19.1, 79–85. König, E. 1991: The Meaning of Focus Particles. A Comparative Perspective. London – New York. LSJ= Liddell, H. J., Scott, R., Jones, H. S. 1968: A Greek– English Lexicon, Oxford. Martínez, R. 2014: Adverbios de foco en griego antiguo: μόνον frente a μόνος en la prosa historiográfica clásica y helenística, «CFC (g): Estudios griegos e indoeuropeos», 24, 17–37. Moreno Cabrera, J. C. 1984: Observaciones sobre la sintaxis de ‘casi’, «DICENDA. Cuadernos de Filología Hispánica», 3, 153–170. Nouwen, R. 2006: Remarks on the Polar Orientation of Almost, in Linguistics in the Netherlands 2006, eds. J. van de Weijer & B. Los, Amsterdam, 162–173. Penka, D. 2006: Almost there: the meaning of almost, in Proceedings of the Sinn und Bedeutung 2005, eds. C. Ebert & C. Endriss, Berlin, 275–286. Portolés, J. 2010: Los marcadores del discurso y la estructura informativa, in Los estudios sobre marcadores del discurso en español, hoy, eds. Ó. Loureda & E. Acín, Madrid, 281–326. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. & Svartvik, J. 1985: A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language, Londres – Nueva York. Redondo Moyano, E. 2015: Adverbios de foco y marcadores discursivos: σχεδόν en la novela griega antigua, «Minerva», 28, 163–183. Reeve M. D. 1994: Daphnis et Chloe, Stuttgart. Rooth, M. 1992: A Theory of Focus Interpretation, «Natural Language Semantics», 1, 75–116. Ruiz Yamuza, E. 2001: Desplazamientos semánticos en adverbios de modalidad en griego antiguo, «Habis», 32, 659–675. Ruiz Yamuza, E. 2011: Aproximación a las estrategias de mitigación en Plutarco: el uso de adverbios de modalidad, in Plutarco transmisor, eds. J.M. Candau Morón, F.J. González Ponce & A.L. Chávez Reino, Sevilla, 505–519. Sadock, J. 1981: Almost, in Radical Pragmatics, ed. P. Cole, New York, 257–271. Schönberger O. 1960: Hintengeschichten von Daphnis und Chloe, Berlin. Schwenter, S. A., Pons Bordería, S. 2005: Por poco (no): explicación sincrónica y diacrónica de sus componentes y significado”, «Lingüística española actual», 27, 131–156. Sevi, A. 1998: A semantics for almost and barely. M. A. thesis, Tel Aviv University. Stephens, S. A. & Winkler, J. J. 1995: Ancient Greek Novels: The Fragments, Princeton.

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Sudhoff, S. 2010: Focus Particles in German, Ámsterdam – Filadelfia. Ziegeler, D. 2000: What almost can reveal about counterfactual inferences, «Journal of Pragmatics», 32, 1743–1776.

Kees Thijs

“Single” μήν in Platonic dialogue Abstract: In this paper I examine the particle μήν in Platonic dialogue. The instances where μήν is not used in collocation with other particles (“single” μήν) are used as a research corpus. The paper shows that Wakker’s account of μήν as a marker of personal commitment does not suffice to account for all the Platonic data. Instead, I propose that μήν is a marker of intersubjective contrast, i.e. a discrepancy in the alignment of the assumptions and expectations of the speaker with those of the addressee. On the basis of this semantics special attention is paid to (i) the use of μήν in specifying questions, and (ii) the additional discourse organizing functions of μήν.

1 Introduction¹ In this paper I will examine some aspects of the particle μήν in Platonic dialogue. I will focus on (i) μήν in specifying questions as in (1), and (ii) μήν in reaction to the discourse particle μέν as in (2).² (1)

Τὰ πόρρωθεν, ἔφη, φαινόμενα δῆλον ὅτι λέγεις καὶ τὰ ἐσκιαγραφημένα. Οὐ πάνυ, ἦν δ΄ ἐγώ, ἔτυχες οὗ λέγω. Ποῖα μήν, ἔφη, λέγεις; Τὰ μὲν οὐ παρακαλοῦντα, ἦν δ΄ ἐγώ, ὅσα μὴ ἐκβαίνει εἰς ἐναντίαν αἴσθησιν ἅμα· . . . (Pl. R. 523b) ‘“You obviously mean distant appearances,” he said, “and shadow–painting.” – “You have quite missed my meaning,” said I. – “What μήν do you mean?” he said. – “The experiences that do not provoke thought”, I said, “are those that do not at the same time issue in a contradictory perception. . . . ”’

(2)

[‘Ath. Even if this would not be the truth, could a lawgiver find any more useful fiction than this in persuading all men to act justly in all things willingly and without constraint?’] ΚΛ. Καλὸν μὲν ἡ ἀλήθεια, ὦ ξένε, καὶ μόνιμον· ἔοικε μὴν οὐ ῥᾴδιον εἶναι πείθειν. (Pl. Leg. 663e) ‘clin. Truth is a noble thing, Stranger, and an enduring one; μήν to persuade men of it seems no easy matter.’

1 The research for this paper is supported by the EU under FP7, ERC Starting Grant 338421– PERSPECTIVE. I would like to thank Corien Bary for her valuable comments on an earlier version of this paper. 2 Translations are – if not noted otherwise – those of the Loeb Classical Library, with some minor adjustments.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-271

260 | Kees Thijs

I believe these uses give us reasons to doubt the currently prevalent description of μήν as a marker of speaker commitment (Wakker 1997). Furthermore, I think the Platonic data can shed new light on the discourse organizing functions of the particle. In general, the paper aims at providing a renewed impulse towards a more precise description of the function(s) of μήν in classical Greek. An important basic assumption is that the Attic Greek of tragic dialogue – the corpus Wakker used for her research on μήν – and that of Platonic dialogue is more or less synchronic and that a general analysis of μήν should be able to account for instances in both of these corpora. Now, μήν in Plato has not been the object of a detailed study since Denniston (1954), so such a study is certainly a desideratum.³ After all, the Platonic corpus is one of our main sources of Greek dialogue and as such it is a good test corpus for Wakker’s conclusions on the function of μήν in the dialogical parts of tragedy. A second important motivation for examining μήν in Plato is the fact that the Platonic corpus provides us with a considerable amount of instances of “single” μήν, i.e. those instances where μήν does not occur in collocation with other particles like ἀλλά, καί, οὐδέ, ἦ or γε (see table 1).⁴ Table 1: Quantitative overview of μήν in Plato Frequent collocations with other particles

ἀλλά

243 ἀλλὰ μήν ἀλλά . . . μήν οὐ μὴν ἀλλά

194 38 11

καί

271 καὶ μήν καὶ . . . μήν

268 3

οὐδέ

31 οὐδὲ μήν

31

ἦ

13 ἦ μήν

γε

Number of instances (collocation)

13 105

3 Sicking (1993, 51–55), in a short appendix to his study on particle use in Lysias, does discuss a few examples of μήν in Plato (as well as in Aristophanes), but his observations on the particle do not seem to be based on a full–fledged and detailed study of the particle in these authors. 4 The data are compiled by using the database and search engine of the Perseus Under Philologic project (http://perseus.uchicago.edu). The text used is that of Burnet’s OCT–edition. Plato’s spurious works are excluded. Instances of ἀλλὰ μήν, καὶ μήν and οὐδὲ μήν in collocation with γε (e.g. ἀλλὰ μήν . . . γε) are not counted a second time in the γε–class in the table.

“Single” μήν in Platonic dialogue |

261

Table 1 – continued Frequent collocations with other particles . . . γε μήν . . . μήν . . . γε

Number of instances (collocation)

70 35

“Single” μήν

276 τί μήν; Other

178 98

Total

939

In tragedy, we only find a handful of examples of “single” μήν. In fact, Plato is the author where it occurs by far the most in classical Greek.⁵ I believe that – if we want to give a general analysis of μήν’s semanto–pragmatic function – the most legitimate starting point is looking at “single” μήν, where we can be sure to target the contribution of μήν only and not that of a possible fixed combination such as καὶ μήν. In this respect, the Platonic corpus provides us with more interesting material than tragedy.⁶ In the following, I first discuss the status quaestionis on μήν (section 2). After that I critically discuss Wakker’s description of μήν’s semantics in view of the Platonic material and propose my own revised description (section 3). In the last two sections I will point out how this revised description can account for the use of μήν in specifying questions (section 4) and as a discourse–organizing particle (section 5).

2 Previous literature on μήν In this section, I will discuss the ideas of both Denniston and Wakker in more detail so that we have a clear picture of the status quaestionis on the particle before we look at the situation in Plato.

2.1 Denniston Denniston (1954) distinguishes three distinct uses of μήν: (i) emphatic μήν, which also includes the instances of μήν in questions; (ii) adversative connecting μήν, which is typically «balancing», i.e. connecting two coexisting, but opposed facts (Denniston

5 It is telling that most of the examples in Denniston (1954, 329–341) are taken from Plato. 6 Note that the category of “single” μήν includes quite a large number of instances of the phrase τί μήν; which is typically translated as an expression of (evidential) affirmation (‘of course’, ‘certainly’), cf. Denniston (1954, 333). Though I believe that the exact nature of this expression is a very interesting topic on its own, I will focus in this paper on the other instances of “single” μήν.

262 | Kees Thijs

proposes ‘yet’ and ‘however’ as apt translations); (iii) progressive connecting μήν, which «either adds a fresh point (‘again’, ‘further’), or marks a fresh stage in the march of thought (‘well’, ‘now’)» (336).⁷ Although his categorization gives a highly useful overview of a large amount of the data, Denniston is less clear and convincing when it comes to the exact relationship between these three widely divergent uses. Especially his discussion – or rather lack of discussion – of the semantics of emphatic μήν, is problematic.⁸

2.2 Wakker These problems are addressed in a now classical paper by Gerry Wakker (1997), using tragical dialogue as her research corpus. By employing the functionally oriented discourse–pragmatic framework that Kroon (1995) developed for the description of Latin particles, Wakker succeeds in presenting – in her own words – «a more coherent description of μήν than the one offered by Denniston» (210). First, Wakker claims that “emphatic” μήν should be regarded as an attitudinal particle, which functions as follows: «In using μήν the speaker expresses his positive commitment to the truth of the proposition; he indicates that he as it were personally guarantees its truth: ‘in truth’, ‘really’. This insisting on the truth of the proposition is not a mere sign of ‘emphasis’, rather the speaker in this way anticipates a possible reaction of disbelief on the part of the addressee.» (1997, 213)

The latter part of this description involves the supposed beliefs and expectations of the addressee: the speaker assumes that the addressee might not expect his proposition to be true.⁹ Example (3), where Teiresias fully rejects the previous words of Kreon, clearly illustrates the proposed combination of speaker commitment and anticipation of possible disbelief. (3)

ΚΡ. οὐ βούλομαι τὸν μάντιν ἀντειπεῖν κακῶς. ΤΕ. καὶ μὴν λέγεις, ψευδῆ με θεσπίζειν λέγων. (S. Ant. 1053–4 = Wakker (1997: ex. 21)) ‘kre. I do not wish to reply rudely to the prophet. – ter. And truly you do speak rudely, saying that my prophecies are false.’

7 The adversative and progressive categories also turn up in Denniston’s discussion of the collocations ἀλλὰ μήν (341–347), γε μήν (347–350) and καὶ μήν (351–358), which are treated separately as distinct particle combinations. 8 In addition, the semantic and pragmatic differences with other “emphatic” particles, such as ἦ, δή and γε, are not fruitfully explained. See Wakker (1997, 209–210) for the same points of criticism. 9 This part of Wakker’s analysis overlaps with Sicking’s view on μήν: «[t]he particle μήν seems to be at home in expressing the contrary of what the person addressed might either (1) suppose or (2) wish» (Sicking 1993, 54).

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On the basis of this semanto–pragmatic description Wakker is able to explain some striking distributional properties of μήν, viz. that μήν has a strong inclination to occur (i) in the dialogical text type,¹⁰ and (ii) in declarative clauses, i.e. clauses that make an assertion. The other two categories of Denniston are treated by Wakker as follows. First, she concedes that for many instances of μήν an adversative nuance is present (e.g. (3) above). She claims, however, that «[it] seems unwarranted . . . to ascribe in these cases an adversative connecting function to μήν. The adversativity results from the fact that contrasting assertions are made and does not as such belong to the meaning of μήν. . . . Otherwise stated, μήν does not itself express the adversative relationship, but by its very meaning it is very much compatible with such a context.» (1997, 224–225)

Thus, Wakker concludes, in tragedy the particle never looses its primary attitudinal value and must never be taken «as just an adversative connector». Second, Wakker notes that μήν as a commitment marker is at home not only in adversative contexts, but also in enumerations. She explains that μήν, especially in a climax, can be used to «mark an item of which the speaker may expect that it will elicit the addressee’s disbelief or surprise. Anticipating a reaction of disbelief he marks the truth of what he is presenting with μήν» (226). From here, Wakker argues that μήν diachronically acquires an additional progressive use as a discourse organizing particle,¹¹ introducing a new point in the discourse – which the addressee probably did not expect – or a sudden turn in the course of events. Thus, by means of a basic semantics consisting of (i) personal commitment to the truth of the proposition and (ii) anticipation of possible disbelief Wakker is able to provide a more coherent account of the different uses of μήν.

3 A revision of μήν’s basic semantic value In this section I will compare Wakker’s analysis with the data of my Platonic corpus of “single” μήν. By discussing some peculiar instances I will demonstrate that Wakker’s analysis cannot fully account for all of these data and should be adjusted and elaborated upon.

10 This view is confirmed by George (2009), who gives ample discussion of the degree of “dialogicity” of particles in relation to text type (with pp. 158–164 more specifically on μήν). He clearly demonstrates that μήν may also occur in monological texts with a high degree of “diaphony”, i.e. passages where an addressee is implicitly “present” in the text. 11 In Wakker’s own terminology this use belongs to the presentational level of discourse.

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First of all, I believe the Platonic data give us some reasons to doubt Wakker’s description of μήν’s basic semantics. This especially concerns the first aspect of commitment to the truth of the proposition. I will discuss four points here. (i) “Single” μήν in Plato is predominantly found in assertions, but may also be used in non–assertive utterances such as interrogatives and directives. Example (1) and (4) are examples of μήν in a specifying question, with the question words ποῖα and ποῦ respectively. Both questions are a genuine request for further information.¹² In example (5), μήν occurs in a directive, given the imperative ἐπισκόπει.¹³ (4)

ΕΥ. ῎Αρτι, ὦ Τερψίων, ἢ πάλαι ἐξ ἀγροῦ; ΤΕΡ. ᾿Επιεικῶς πάλαι. καὶ σέ γε ἐζήτουν κατ΄ ἀγορὰν καὶ ἐθαύμαζον ὅτι οὐχ οἷός τ΄ ἦ εὑρεῖν. ΕΥ. Οὐ γὰρ ἦ κατὰ πόλιν. ΤΕΡ. Ποῦ μήν; ΕΥ. Εἰς λιμένα καταβαίνων Θεαιτήτῳ ἐνέτυχον φερομένῳ ἐκ Κορίνθου ἀπὸ τοῦ στρατοπέδου ᾿Αθήναζε. (Pl. Tht. 142a) ‘Eu. Just in from the country, Terpsion, or did you come some time ago? – Ter. Quite a while ago; and I was looking for you in the market place and wondering that I could not find you. – Eu. Well, you see, I was not in the city. – Ter. Where μήν? – Eu. As I was going down to the harbour I met Theaetetus being carried to Athens from the camp at Corinth.’

(5)

[The Athenian tells the story of the Greek defeat of the Persians.] ΜΕ. Καὶ μάλα, ὦ ξένε, ὀρθῶς τε εἴρηκας καὶ σαυτῷ τε καὶ τῇ πατρίδι πρεπόντως. ΑΘ. ῎Εστι ταῦτα, ὦ Μέγιλλε· πρὸς γὰρ σὲ τὰ ἐν τῷ τότε χρόνῳ γενόμενα, κοινωνὸν τῇ τῶν πατέρων γεγονότα φύσει, δίκαιον λέγειν. ἐπισκόπει μὴν καὶ σὺ καὶ Κλεινίας εἴ τι πρὸς τὴν νομοθεσίαν προσήκοντα λέγομεν· οὐ γὰρ μύθων ἕνεκα διεξέρχομαι, οὗ λέγω δ΄ ἕνεκα. (Pl. Leg. 699d) ‘Meg. What you say, Stranger, is perfectly true, and worthy of your country as well as of yourself. – Ath. That is so, Megillus: it is proper to mention the events of that period to you, since you share in the native character of your ancestors. Consider μήν, both you and Clinias, whether what we are saying is pertinent to our law–making; for my narrative is not related for its own sake, but for the sake of the law–making I speak of.’

12 These two examples are the only two examples of “single” μήν in specifying questions in my corpus (τί μήν; excluded, see note 6). However, in the dialogical parts of Xenophon’s work we find some more. Furthermore, in collocation with ἀλλά, μήν occurs much more frequently in specifying questions (e.g. ἀλλὰ τί μήν;), both in Plato and Xenophon. In total I have found 28 instances of genuine specifying questions in Plato and Xenophon (rhetorical τί μήν; excluded). 13 Other instances of μήν in directives utterances are: with imperative Euthd. 283c, Plt. 263b, Leg. 644d (= ex. (8) below); with hortatory subjunctive Plt. 297d and Leg. 842a; with a performative verb (ἀξιῶ) Ep. 347c.

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Since specifying questions and directives are typically understood as not expressing propositions, Wakker’s analysis seems to run into trouble here. No full proposition is present to the truth of which the speaker can commit himself. (ii) The Platonic corpus yields a considerable 27 instances of a rather peculiar collocation of particles, which I will call the “μέν–μήν–construction”. In these instances μήν does not occur at the immediate beginning of a speech turn, as it typically does, but has scope over a clause or discourse unit that reacts to a preceding one that contains μέν. Example (2) in the introduction clearly illustrates this pattern. Whereas the μέν–μήν–construction in itself is no counterargument for the interpretation of μήν as a commitment marker, there are some specific instances that cannot easily be aligned with it. Consider the next two examples from the Laws: (6) σύμφημι γὰρ ἄκοντας ἀδικεῖν πάντας–εἰ καί τις φιλονικίας ἢ φιλοτιμίας ἕνεκα ἄκοντας μὲν ἀδίκους εἶναί φησιν, ἀδικεῖν μὴν ἑκόντας πολλούς, ὅ γ΄ ἐμὸς λόγος ἐκεῖνος ἀλλ΄ οὐχ οὗτος–τίνα οὖν αὖ τρόπον ἔγωγε συμφωνοίην ἂν τοῖς ἐμαυτοῦ λόγοις· (Pl. Leg. 860e) ‘For I agree that all men do unjust acts unwillingly; so, since I hold this view–and do not share the opinion of those who, through contentiousness or arrogance, assert that some are unjust against their will, μήν there are also many who are unjust willingly–how am I to prove consistent with my own statements?’ (7)

ΑΘ. . . . οὐ γάρ φημι ἔγωγε, ὦ Κλεινία καὶ Μέγιλλε, εἴ τίς τινά τι πημαίνει μὴ βουλόμενος ἀλλ΄ ἄκων, ἀδικεῖν μέν, ἄκοντα μήν, καὶ ταύτῃ μὲν δὴ νομοθετήσω, τοῦτο ὡς ἀκούσιον ἀδίκημα νομοθετῶν, ἀλλ΄ οὐδὲ ἀδικίαν τὸ παράπαν θήσω τὴν τοιαύτην βλάβην, οὔτε ἂν μείζων οὔτε ἂν ἐλάττων τῳ γίγνηται· . . . (Pl. Leg. 862a) ‘Ath. . . . For I do not assert, Clinias and Megillus, that, if one man harms another involuntarily and without wishing it, he acts unjustly μήν involuntarily, nor shall I legislate in this way, pronouncing this to be an involuntary act of injustice, but I will pronounce that such an injury is not an injustice at all, whether it be a greater injury or a less.’

Here, the first problem lies in the fact that in example (7) μήν scopes over an element that does not seem to constitute a full proposition (containing a verb) like in example (2) and (6), but only an adjective (ἄκοντα). This fact is problematic for the term “proposition” in Wakker’s description of μήν’s semantic value. When there is no proposition present, there is nothing the speaker can be committed to. Second, it is conspicuous that in both (6) and (7) μήν scopes over a clause that is embedded under a verb of speech (φημι), i.e. it occurs within indirect speech. This embeddability of μήν is a further addition to Wakker’s analysis, since in these instances

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(especially in (6)) μήν cannot reflect the commitment of the actual speaker, but rather that of the reported speaker.¹⁴ (iii) In other instances a reading in terms of commitment to the truth of the proposition may technically be possible, but does not naturally harmonize with particular contextual clues. A good example of such a clue is the occurrence in the μήν–unit of expressions that seem to be indicators of the speaker’s doubt or uncertainty. The verb ἔοικε ‘to seem’ is such an indicator. In example (2), for instance, ἔοικε indicates that Clinias is not fully committed to the proposition he expresses in the second clause, at least he does not present it this way. The same might be concluded for verbs like φαίνομαι or οἶμαι (‘I think’, ‘I surmise’).¹⁵ If we take μήν as a commitment marker, the collocation with such expressions of uncertainty seems to be out of place. (iv) In addition to these four contextual arguments, I propose the following objection on a more theoretical level. I am not fully convinced of the general usefulness of the concept of “commitment” in ascribing a basic value to μήν (or attitudinal particles in general), at least if it is not defined more exactly in terms of e.g. epistemic certainty, evidentiality, speaker’s belief or common ground. Wakker, unfortunately, never explains in detail how she understands “commitment” and what it means in her analysis apart from the intuitive conception we all have about it.¹⁶ This results in a rather vague linguistic notion, which can easily be applied to all kind of (different) contexts. Theoretically, this does not seem to be very satisfying. More specifically, an important but unaddressed question is how Wakker’s analysis of μήν indicating speaker commitment would relate to language–philosophical theories of speech acts or (linguistic) communication in general. First, in speech act theory, it is generally acknowledged that one group of felicity conditions concerns the sincerity of the speaker performing a particular speech act. The sincerity condition of an assertion or statement – in which μήν predominantly occurs (but see above under (i)) – is formulated by Searle (1969, 66) as ‘S believes p’: the speaker believes the proposition he expresses. Notice that on this view every statement or assertion in principle should apply to this condition. Second, I think we should take into account the Cooperative Principle developed by Grice (1975). This implies that interlocutors typically make their conversational contribution «such as is required, at the stage at which it occurs, by the accepted purpose or direction of the talk exchange in which [they] are engaged» (45). One of Grice’s accompanying maxims is the maxim of Quality:

14 Similar instances of an embedded μέν–μήν–construction are Leg. 723a, R. 529e and Sph. 216b. 15 See, for instance, Epin. 973b, Leg. 815c, Sph. 225d and R. 504b. 16 Kroon (1995, 281–332), when describing the Latin particle vero – which in many uses seems to be very similar to Greek μήν – also uses this term without much reflection.

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«Under the category of Quality falls a supermaxim – ‘Try to make your contribution one that is true’ – and two more specific maxims: 1. Do no say what you believe to be false. 2. Do not say that for which you lack adequate evidence.» (1975, 46)

In other words, Grice shows that in all our linguistic communication we typically – provided that we not deliberately flout the cooperative principle – make statements that we believe to be true. Now, if we take both of these theories into account in our discussion of μήν’s basic value, the question can be raised what it is exactly that μήν “adds” to the “basic” commitment or speaker belief that is present in every assertion as a prerequisite for a cooperative way of communicating. In other words, to what extent would an utterance containing μήν differ in speaker commitment from the same utterance without μήν? Answers might be sought in the direction of degree – μήν intensifies the degree of speaker commitment¹⁷ – but I think it is much more natural to point at the second aspect of Wakker’s description of μήν: the possible anticipation of disbelief on the part of the addressee. I believe it is this aspect that should be central in a description of the particle.¹⁸ This leads me to my own proposal of μήν’s basic semantics. I describe μήν’s basic semantic value as follows: μήν signals a (possible) discrepancy in the alignment or coordination of the assumptions, attitudes and expectations of the speaker with those of the hearer.¹⁹ As such, I believe that contrast or adversativity is part of μήν’s basic semantic meaning, since it always points at a (possible) other view or perspective (typically that of the addressee). I believe the term “intersubjective contrast” fits this basic value of μήν really well.²⁰ Crucially, the speaker may have different reasons for assuming that there is such a contrast. In some instances, such as in (3) above, it is explicitly evoked by the immediately preceding words of the addressee. However, the speaker may also indicate that an opposite view could be taken (by the addressee or someone else).²¹ Often, the speaker may have good reasons to believe that this is the case, for instance, when the speaker’s previous words naturally lead to particular inferences or conclusions (based

17 Cf. e.g. Searle – Vanderveken (1985). 18 Many of Wakker’s explanations of particular instances of μήν in tragedy already seem to lay much more weight on the concept of countering possible expectations and assumptions than on the notion of commitment. Consequently, Wakker’s translations such as ‘truly’ and ‘really’ are often rather forced in their particular discourse contexts. 19 I have also excluded the term ‘disbelief’, since this term also seems to presuppose that μήν only occurs in assertive speech acts, which is not the case (see (i) above). 20 Intersubjectivity is an important concept in cognitive linguistics, see e.g. Verhagen (2005). See also Foolen (2006) for a cognitive analysis of Dutch toch and German doch, two particles which are functionally very similar to μήν, in my view. 21 As such, the speaker creates the context to which the particle reacts. See Foolen (2012) for the importance of allowing for context creation in particle analysis.

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on background world knowledge). The particle then signals that these inferences are not valid in this case: it denies possible inferences. With this description we do not need Wakker’s central aspect of commitment to the truth of the proposition. The intuitive feeling of emphasis or commitment can be seen as a contextual factor, which especially arises in dialogical contexts in which it is clear that the interlocutors do not share the same assumptions or have different intentions or expectations. What do we win with this analysis? First of all, I think that the problems discussed in this section (i–iv above) disappear when the notion of commitment is not taken to be part of μήν’s basic semantics. Second, if we take “intersubjective contrast” as μήν’s primary semantics, we can give a more natural and satisfying explanation of how it has developed additional usages as a discourse organizing particle. I will elaborate on both of these points in the next two sections.

4 Attitudinal μήν in specifying questions In this section, I will give an analysis of attitudinal μήν in specifying questions in terms of the notion of “intersubjective contrast”. First of all, it is quite conspicuous that all of the instances of μήν in specifying questions (e.g. (1) and (4) above) are found in very similar contexts: the addressee of the μήν–question has just rejected an assumption that was taken for granted by the speaker. However, a presupposition of this rejected proposition still remains unchallenged in the common ground. Thus, there is an open presupposed proposition now, which the speaker asks the addressee to “close” again. In other words, the speaker would like to know which assumption should replace the rejected one, i.e. which assumption should be added to their common ground. Schematically, this pattern can be represented as follows: Table 2: Schematic representation of the contexts of μήν in specifying questions (with (1) as example) Common Ground

Utterance A: Socrates means distant appearances. B: No, Socrates does not mean that. A: What does he mean?

M(d) ¬M(d) Wh* μήν M(x)?

M(x) M(x) M(x)

So in example (1), Glaucon assumes that Socrates meant distant appearances and shadow painting (M(d)). However, his view is explicitly rejected by Socrates in the next utterance: οὐ πάνυ . . . ἔτυχες οὗ λέγω (¬M(d)). Still, the presupposition that Socrates meant something (M(x)) has not been rejected and remains in the common ground.

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Glaucon, of course, wants to know this missing piece of information and asks for it: ποῖα μήν . . . λέγεις; The explicit rejection by the addressee (B in the schema) makes it clear that there is a discrepancy in the alignment between the assumptions of the speaker and those of the addressee, i.e. an intersubjective contrast. In other words, B has only rejected an assumption and did not add new information as well. This warrants the use of μήν in the next utterance, the specifying question. It points at the discrepancy in views and indicates that the present speech act should be evaluated in connection with it. Note that – just as in (3) above – the discrepancy in views is explicitly evoked in the preceding words of the addressee. However, as pointed out above, this not necessarily needs to be the case and this brings me to the next section.

5 The discourse organizing function of μήν: denial–of–expectation contrast In this section I would first like to focus on the μέν–μήν–construction, introduced in section 3. The construction is formally very similar to the discourse particle combination μέν . . . δέ . . . , which obviously is much more frequent in ancient Greek. So μήν occurs here in the same position as where we normally find the discourse organizing particle δέ, i.e. in reaction to a preceding “preparatory” μέν.²² This gives us a strong indication that μήν in this construction should be regarded not as an attitudinal particle as in (1), (3) and (4), but as a discourse organizing particle, just like δέ. What is μήν’s function in this construction? I believe it is used to indicate what is typically called a denial–of–expectation contrast.²³ I follow Spenader – Maier (2009) here: first, there is a contextual “issue”, the topic under discussion. Second, there is a “concession”, the information contributed by the first part of the contrastive construction. This contains a partial answer to a contextual question and a confirmation of some information. Thirdly, there is the “correction”, the information contributed by the second part. The correction «initiates a search process for conflicting implications, a TC [Tertium Comparationis, KT]. This TC is likely an implication of the first conjunct, interpreted with respect to the issue» (1713). Thus, it involves the denial of an implication or expectation that the addressee might infer out of the first part of the contrastive pair. This implication or expectation is often derived from topoi in our world knowledge (of the type: ‘normally, if X, then Y’ or ‘normally, X because of Y’).²⁴

22 Cf. Bakker (1993) for an analysis of μέν . . . δέ . . . in ancient Greek. 23 See e.g. Verhagen (2005, especially ch. 2 and 4) and Spenader – Maier (2009). For ancient Greek, see Slings (1997) on μέντοι in Herodotus. I believe μήν in monological contexts behaves very simily to μέντοι as described by Slings. 24 This concept is taken from Verhagen (2005).

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In the Greek μέν–μήν–construction, the μέν–part is the concession, the μήν–part the correction. This means that the μήν–part denies a possible implication or expectation of the μέν–clause, which is always related somehow with the issue at stake. So in example (2), there is a contextual issue of the desirability of persuading people of something that’s true. The μέν–clause, the concession, confirms some contextual information, viz. that truth is something noble and enduring. This part is added to the common ground. Then, the μήν–clause, contributing the information that it seems not to be easy to persuade people of the truth (in this case), corrects a possible implication of the information in the μέν–clause. The implication arises out of a topos that normally when something is noble and enduring, it would be easy to persuade people of it. The μήν–clause denies or corrects the implication that is raised by this topos. (8)

ΚΛ. Μόγις μέν πως ἐφέπομαι, λέγε μὴν τὸ μετὰ ταῦτα ὡς ἑπομένου. (Pl. Leg. 644c–d) ‘clin. I have some difficulty in keeping pace with you: assume μήν that I do so, and proceed.’

In example (8), the fact that Clinias requests the Athenian to continue with his argument (the μήν–clause) corrects an implication of the contributed information in the μέν– clause, viz. that he has difficulty in following this argument. World knowledge tells us that it is more natural that someone who has trouble in understanding another speaker asks for elucidation before letting him continue his argument. In this construction, the possible other view that μήν reacts to, is not explicitly present in the preceding words of the addressee (as we have seen above in (1), (3) and (4)). Rather, it has the form of an inference or conclusion the addressee could have made out of the previous discourse unit of the speaker. Thus, in cases like these μήν combines the notion of intersubjective contrast with a discourse organizing function. In contrast with Wakker I conclude that μήν does have an adversative connecting function here.²⁵ Now, there are also examples of “single” μήν in monological passages where μέν does not precede. I believe that the given analysis can easily be extended to instances where we have no preceding μέν–unit, but where an analysis of denial–of–expectation contrast fits the context very well. Here is an example: (9)

Ταῦτα εἰπὼν ὁ Θρασύμαχος ἐν νῷ εἶχεν ἀπιέναι, ὥσπερ βαλανεὺς ἡμῶν καταντλήσας κατὰ τῶν ὤτων ἁθρόον καὶ πολὺν τὸν λόγον· οὐ μὴν εἴασάν γε αὐτὸν οἱ παρόντες, ἀλλ΄ ἠνάγκασαν ὑπομεῖναί τε καὶ παρασχεῖν τῶν εἰρημένων λόγον. (Pl. R. 344d)

25 This would be in line with the analysis Oréal (1997) gives on μήν in Demosthenes’ speeches. She compares μήν with the French discourse marker “pourtant”. It may also hold for the non–turn–initial instances of οὐ μήν and γε μήν in tragedy, for which Wakker (1997, 223–224) denies that μήν functions as a connective discourse marker.

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‘After he had said this Thrasymachus made as if to leave, having, like a bath attendant, poured over our ears an incessant copious flood of argument; not μήν would the company let him, but compelled him to stay and defend what he had just said.’ Here, the previous discourse unit could create the expectation that Thrasymachus would indeed leave. At least, this is what he plans to do (ἐν νῷ εἶχεν ἀπιέναι). However, this possible expectation is denied in the next unit, which has μήν. (10) [‘Madness is not an evil, but a gift from god. The prophetess at Delphi and priestesses at Dodona are adduced as an argument.’] καὶ ἐὰν δὴ λέγωμεν Σίβυλλάν τε καὶ ἄλλους, ὅσοι μαντικῇ χρώμενοι ἐνθέῳ πολλὰ δὴ πολλοῖς προλέγοντες εἰς τὸ μέλλον ὤρθωσαν, μηκύνοιμεν ἂν δῆλα παντὶ λέγοντες· τόδε μὴν ἄξιον ἐπιμαρτύρασθαι, ὅτι καὶ τῶν παλαιῶν οἱ τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενοι οὐκ αἰσχρὸν ἡγοῦντο οὐδὲ ὄνειδος μανίαν. (Pl. Phdr. 244b) ‘And if we should speak of the Sibyl and all the others who by prophetic inspiration have foretold many things to many persons and thereby made them fortunate afterwards, anyone can see that we should speak a long time; it is μήν worth while to adduce the fact that those men of old who invented names thought that madness was neither shameful nor disgraceful; . . . ’ In (10), Socrates states that it would take a long time to discuss all manic prophetesses, implicating, of course, that this is not desirable at this point in the discourse. From this utterance the addressee might possibly infer that the present argument is finished now. However, there is another point that Socrates does want to discuss with more length. Here the possible inferences or expectations of the addressee concern the continuation and thematic structure of the discourse. This last point brings me to the instances that are listed by Denniston as progressive connecting μήν. I believe that all of these instances can be analysed in terms of intersubjective contrast too. Again, the possible other view concerns assumptions about the continuation and thematic structure of the discourse. For example: (11)

μετὰ δὴ τὰ νῦν εἰρημένα περὶ ταῦτα νόμος ἀγαθῇ τύχῃ τοιόσδε ἡμῖν γιγνέσθω· [description of the law, about 16 OCT–lines]. δεύτερος μὴν νόμος· Μέτοικον εἶναι χρεὼν ἢ ξένον ὃς ἂν μέλλῃ καπηλεύσειν. τὸ δὲ τρίτον καὶ τρίτος . . . (Pl. Leg. 919d–920a) ‘After the declarations now made, let our law on these matters (Heaven prosper it!) run in this wise: [. . . ] . A second law μήν: Whosoever intends to engage in retail trade must be a resident alien or a foreigner. And thirdly, this third law: ...’

Here, it seems to be the case that μήν just marks a next step in the discourse. However, in accordance with Wakker’s ideas (see section 2), I believe it does more than that. It signals that the addressee probably did not expect this next step: since the first law has

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been introduced as a singular law (νόμος) and takes a considerable amount of space, the addressee might draw the conclusion that this law suffices. However, a second law is needed as well.²⁶ Again, the particle seems to indicate an intersubjective contrast.²⁷ Consequently, I think the progressive use should not be seen as a completely separate use or category. Here too, the basic semantic meaning of μήν is present, but in a more discourse–oriented way.²⁸ Thus, although we not always have explicit linguistic clues at our disposal (such as preceding μέν), I believe that “single” μήν in some contexts can have a discourse– organizing function, viz. contrasting two discourse units of the same speaker. Additional evidence for this view is the conspicuous absence of the collocation of μήν with the discourse organizing particle δέ.²⁹ If μήν would be strictly attitudinal in nature, collocation with the neutral δέ would theoretically not be impossible. However, the distributional evidence shows that “single” μήν behaves as a competitor of δέ.³⁰ Nevertheless, as we have seen in table 1, μήν is preferably used not as a discourse connective itself, but rather in collocation with connective introductory particles like ἀλλά, καί or οὐδέ, which occur much more frequently than “single” μήν.

6 Conclusion In this paper I have analysed occurrences of “single” μήν in Platonic dialogue and proposed some adjustments to Wakker’s analysis of the particle in tragedy. First, I have shown that the notion of commitment is a problematic notion in the description of the semantic value of μήν and that the notion of interpersonal contrast (the existence of a possible other view) should take its place. Second, this contrast can either be explicitly present in the preceding words of the addressee or take the form of an inference or expectation that the addressee might possibly draw from the preceding discourse

26 The fact that the third law is introduced with neutral δέ can be explained along similar lines: since there has already been a second law, a third law might not come as an additional surprise; so another μήν is not needed. 27 Cf. also example (5), where μήν seems to mark the transition from a side issue to the main point. Again, μήν does more than that: it also indicates that – according to the speaker – the addressee is presently not taking into account or expecting this main point. 28 The de re vs. de dicto distinction might be a useful tool in this analysis. Cf. Slings (1997) for these notions with respect to μέντοι in Herodotus. 29 See Bakker (1993) for a description of δέ. There is only one example where δέ and μήν take the same “second position”: Pl. Leg. 782c Τὸ δὲ μὴν θύειν . . . There are a few other instances, but these all have variae lectiones without δέ. 30 Other discourse organizing particles, such as γάρ, οὖν and τοίνυν, are not found at all in collocation with μήν. This can be explained in terms of the incompatibility of the notion of intersubjective contrast with the specific semantics of these particles.

“Single” μήν in Platonic dialogue | 273

unit of the same speaker. In the latter case, “single” μήν has an additional discourse organizing function.

Bibliography Bakker, E. J. 1993: Boundaries, topics, and the structure of discourse: an investigation of the ancient Greek particle dé, «StudLang», 17, 275–311. Denniston, J. D. 19542 : The Greek Particles, Oxford. Foolen, A. P. 2006: Polysemy patterns in contrast: the case of Dutch toch and German doch, in Pragmatic Markers in Contrast, eds. K. Aijmer & A. M. Simon Vandenbergen, Amsterdam, 59–72. Foolen, A. P. 2012: Pragmatic markers in a sociopragmatic perspective, in Pragmatics of Society, eds. G. Andersen & K. Aijmer, Berlin, 217–242. George, C. H. 2009: Greek particles: just a literary phenomenon?, in Discourse Cohesion in Ancient Greek, eds. S. J. Bakker & G. C. Wakker, Leiden, 155–169. Grice, H. P. 1975: Logic and conversation, in Syntax and Semantics. Vol. 3: Speech Acts, eds. P. Cole & J. L. Morgen, New York, 41–58. Kroon, C. H. M. 1995: Discourse Particles in Latin: A Study of nam, enim, autem, vero and at, Amsterdam. Oréal, E. 1997: Sur la fonction argumentative de quelques particules grecques, «Lalies», 17, 229– 249. Rijksbaron, A. (ed.) 1997: New Approaches to Greek Particles: Proceedings of the Colloquium Held in Amsterdam, Januari 4–6, 1996, to Honour C.J. Ruijgh on the Occasion of his Retirement, Amsterdam. Searle, J. R. 1969: Speech Acts: An Essay in the Philosophy of Language, Cambridge. Searle, J. R. & D. Vanderveken 1985: Foundations of Illocutionary Logic, Cambridge. Sicking, C. M. J. 1993: Devices for text articulation in Lysias I and XII, in Two Studies in Attic Particle Usage: Lysias and Plato, C. M. J. Sicking & J. M. van Ophuijsen, Leiden, 1–66. Slings, S. R. 1997: Adversative relators between PUSH and POP, in Rijksbaron (ed.), 109–121. Spenader, J. & Maier E. 2009: Contrast as denial in multi–dimensional semantics, «Journal of Pragmatics», 41, 1707–1726. Verhagen, A. 2005: Constructions of Intersubjectivity, Oxford. Wakker, G. C. 1997: Emphasis and affirmation: some aspects of μήν in tragedy, in Rijksbaron (ed.), 209-231.

| Part III: Tense, aspect, modality and evidentiality

Annamaria Bartolotta

On deictic motion verbs in Homeric Greek Abstract: This paper investigates the basic motion verbs ‘go’ and ‘come’ in Homeric Greek. In particular, it aims to examine whether the deictic component, which is usually ascribed to the inherent semantic meaning of these verbs cross–linguistically, has to be considered as a prototypical semantic property of εἶμι ‘go’ and βαίνω ‘step; go; come’. These latter can indeed take a deictic interpretation at a pragmatic, syntactic or discourse level, but I will show how the deictic component is not inherently associated with their lexical semantics. Data from the contexts of use of these verbs, in both narrative discourse and direct speech, strongly suggest that the original semantic opposition between ‘go’ and ‘come’ in early Homeric Greek was aspectual (Aktionsart) rather than deictic. At a lexical level, the two verbs show traces of a deictically–neutral meaning of ‘moving along a path’, with respect to which the telic verb βαίνω proves to be aspectually compatible with the entailment of arrival of the Figure to the Ground, whereas the atelic verb εἶμι does not contain it as an intrinsic part. Further evidence also comes from the archaic formulaic motion construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι ‘went; set out to go’, which is used according to aspectual rather than deictic meaning inherited from its components.

1 Introduction The motion verbs ‘go’ and ‘come’ are often assumed to be deictic cross–linguistically, describing motion respectively from and toward the deictic center (see, among others, Fillmore 1971, 54; Talmy 1975, 207; 2000, 68; Emanatian 1992, 22; Levinson – Wilkins 2006, 533; Nakazawa 2007, 59; Oshima 2012, 287). However, typological research strongly suggests that go and come are not universally deictic, as language–specific analyses of deictic motion verbs of different languages show, both Indo–European (see, among others, Buck 1949; Goddard 1997; Antonopoulou – Nikiforidou 2002; Di Meola 2003; Lewandowski 2007; Pate 2015) and non–Indo–European (Wilkins – Hill 1995, Nakazawa 2006).¹ Contrary to what generally assumed, these verbs are not always conceptualized as complementary terms, nor do they always have a deictic meaning, although they can take on a deictic interpretation due to specific pragmatic contexts. Some scholars have focused on non–deictic uses of come and go, and found that these verbs (or equivalent

1 For a first attempt to discover universal semantic components behind the diversity of language uses of deictic verbs see Gathercole (1978).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-289

278 | Annamaria Bartolotta

verb pairs) contrast aspectually, but not deictically (Ricca 1991, Lewandowski 2007, Nishi 2012). Now, it has also been assumed that spatial deixis was a prototypical feature of Homeric Greek εἶμι ‘go’ and βαίνω ‘take a step; go; come’, both indicating a centrifugal motion away from the speaker/observer, i.e. the Source of the motion, without exception (Alscher 1982, 43; see recently Yates 2011, 44). This paper aims at exploring what kind of difference exists, if any, between these motion verbs, for which a secure Indo– European lexical meaning has been reconstructed. On the basis of textual analysis of the Iliad and the Odyssey, it will be seen how the semantic–discourse contexts provide evidence for an original deictically–neutral meaning of both εἶμι and βαίνω. The main corpus resources used in this study include the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG 2000) as digital corpus of Homeric Greek texts. The paper is structured as follows. In section 2 I will first investigate those specific contexts in which εἶμι and βαίνω occur with the same directional/goal and stative locative PPs. Data seem to be better explained if we assume that there is an intrinsic lexical aspectual value that can be assigned at V–level, thus suggesting that the two verbs involve aspectual rather than deictic contrast. The analysis of the larger narrative discourse context allows us to hypothesize that the motion events described by the two verbs differ depending on the entailment of arrival of the Figure to the Ground (2.1). Specifically, as a telic verb, βαίνω is lexically determined to express the Path as bounded (at the start or the end), being thus compatible with the arrival of the Figure to the Ground. By contrast, εἶμι never entails the arrival of the Figure, because it is not lexically determined to express a bounded Path. Of course, its lexical semantics does not exclude that, if provided with specific contexts, the Path expressed at a VP level is bounded at the start or the end (Nakazawa 2006, 292). The motion construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι ‘went; set out to go’ will be included in the analysis (2.2), since it has been claimed to reflect the prototypical deictic component inherent to the verbs involved, i.e. εἶμι and βαίνω. However, also this construction is shown to primarily inherit aspectual rather than deictic values of its components. In section 3 I will focus on some usages of εἶμι and βαίνω in direct speech, showing how, by virtue of their original deictic–neutral meaning, these verbs can also express a deictic centripetal orientation through the co–occurrence with deictic spatial adverbs.

2 The aspectual opposition between εἶμι and βαίνω The athematic root present εἶμι traces back to the PIE atelic root *h1 ey– ‘go’, whereas the *–ye/o–present βαίνω and the root aorist (ἔ)βη, which in Ancient Greek form one and the same morphological paradigm, are respectively from the two related PIE telic roots

On deictic motion verbs in Homeric Greek | 279

w

w

g em– ‘go; come’ and g eh2 – ‘step’.² The lexical aspectual opposition between εἶμι [–telic] and βαίνω [+telic] has also been recently remarked because of the distribution of inflected forms within morphological paradigms of Homeric and Vedic verbs derived by the same roots (Bartolotta 2016). The analysis of the semantic properties of these basic motion verbs in their contexts of use might provide further evidence for the Aktionsart opposition inherited from the Indo–European language. To this purpose, it might prove useful to contrast εἶμι and βαίνω occurring in exactly the same syntactic contexts. Both verbs occur indeed as indicative forms with the directional/goal and locative phrases listed below:³ – goal/directional PPs: ἐπὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης / ἁλός ‘to the shore of the sea’, ἐπὶ νῆα/νῆας ‘to the ship(s)’, ἐπὶ / πρὸς πύργον/–ων ‘to(ward) the tower(s)’, ἐς θάλαμον / θάλαμόν(δε) ‘to the chamber’, ἐς κλισίην / κλισίην (δέ) / ἐπὶ κλισίας ‘to the hut(s)’, ἐς πόλεμον / πόλεμον (δέ) ‘to the war’, εἰς ἀγορήν ‘to the place of assembly’;⁴ – locative PPs: παρὰ θῖνα θαλάσσης/ἁλός ‘along the shore of the sea’, παρὰ νῆας ‘along the ships’, παρὰ κλισίας ‘along the huts’. Interestingly, the motion construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι ‘(s)he went; set out to go’, which is made of the aorist indicative of βαίνω (βῆ) plus the infinitive form of εἶμι, also occurs with the same locative and directional expressions as εἶμι and βαίνω. The occurrences of εἶμι, βαίνω, βῆ δ΄ἰέναι are distributed as sketched below (table 1):

w

w

2 The idea that the roots g eh2 – ‘step’ and *g em– ‘go; come’ are strictly interrelated and derive probably from one and the same root is not new. Referring to Vedic Sanskrit, Grassmann (1996, 391) claims that the root ga¯ is a different form of gam. The same hypothesis is found in Mayrhofer (1989, w w ¯ and *g em– 466). Moreover, as pointed out by Hoffmann (1970, 30), being telic, both aorist roots *g a– could not mean ‘go’ in the early PIE language. The meaning ‘step’ refers to an ingressive action, which is also considered telic or bounded. For a different opinion on the relationship between the two roots, see Rix (2001, 210). 3 Although both phrases can be naturally classified as locative expressions (see recently Nam 2012, 473), I decide here to use the term ‘locative’ referring only to stative locative phrases, thus basically distinguishing between Location and Direction (see Luraghi 2003, 20). 4 The particle δέ can occur both separately and combined with the accusative noun.

280 | Annamaria Bartolotta Table 1: Basic motion verbs with the same goal/directional/locative PPs in Homeric Greek goal/directional/locative phrase

εἶμι

βαίνω

βῆ δ΄ἰέναι

ἐπὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης / ἁλός παρὰ θῖνα θαλάσσης / ἁλός ἐπὶ νῆα/νῆας παρὰ (κλισίας καὶ) νῆας ἐς/ἐπὶ κλισίην/–ας/ κλισίην (δὲ) ἐπὶ / πρὸς πύργον/–ων ἐς θάλαμον / θάλαμόν(δε) ἐς πόλεμον / πόλεμον (δέ) εἰς ἀγορήν

1 1 7 2 1 1 (πρὸς) 1 3 1

2 4 8 0 2 2 (ἐπὶ) 1 0 0

3 0 3 3 2 0 6 1 3

Now, the first question to ask is whether the locative and directional expressions listed in table 1 freely occur with εἶμι, βαίνω, and βῆ δ’ ἰέναι, without any semantic differentiation. Let us analyse the texts and start with some lines containing the occurrences with the locative prepositional phrase παρὰ θῖνα θαλάσσης ‘along the shore of the sea’ (1)–(2): (1)

Τὼ δὲ βάτην παρὰ θῖνα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης [. . . ] The–two–nom.du part go/come–aor.3du along shore–acc.sg loud–roaring– gen.sg sea–gen.f.sg Μυρμιδόνων δ’ ἐπί τε κλισίας καὶ νῆας ἱκέσθην (Il. 9, 182,185) Myrmidon–gen.pl part to and hut–acc.f.pl and ship–acc.f.pl attain–to– aor.3du ‘The two went along the shore of the loud–roaring sea [. . . ] and attain to the huts and the ships of the Myrmidons’

(2)

καὶ τότε δὴ παρὰ θῖνα θαλάσσης εὐρυπόροιο and then part along shore–acc.m.sg sea–gen.f.sg with–broad–ways–adj.gen.sg ἤϊα, πολλὰ θεοὺς γουνούμενος· αὐτὰρ ἑταίρους go–impf.1sg great–acc.n.pl god–acc.m.pl imploring–ptcp.nom.sg besides comrade–acc.m.pl τρεῖς ἄγον, [. . . ] (Od. 4, 432–434) three lead–impf.1sg [. . . ] ‘and then I went along the shore of the broad–wayed sea, greatly imploring gods; and I was leading three comrades [. . . ]’

At first glance, the aorist βάτην ‘(the two) went’ in (1) and the imperfect ἤϊα ‘(I) went’ in (2) appear to be interchangeable without any lexical differentiation. They occur with exactly the same locative PP, where the ‘Vector of the Path’ is the preposition παρὰ ‘along’, followed by the accusative case. Importantly, there is no trace of a deictic opposition between the two verbs, since both describe the same kind of motion event

On deictic motion verbs in Homeric Greek | 281

in the narrative discourse, where neither the speaker nor the addressee is located. Even hypothesizing a deictic projection of the narrator, who can adopt the character’s perspective in relating the motion event, the Figure in both (1) and (2) would be interpreted as the deictic center from which the centrifugal motion path originates.⁵ Thus, the question remains as to why the narrator sometimes uses εἶμι, sometimes βαίνω within the same VP structure. A close examination of the larger discourse context might shed some light on the matter. Firstly, notice that in (1) the aorist βάτην ‘(the two) went’ is coordinated with a telic aorist, ἱκέσθην ‘(they) attained to’, whereas in (2) the imperfect ἤϊα ‘I went (or was going)’ is coordinated with an atelic imperfect, ἄγον ‘(I) led (or was leading)’. Secondly, and more importantly, it can be observed that in (1) the motion expressed by βάτην ‘they went’ entails the arrival of the Figure, i.e. the heralds sent by Agamemnon, as confirmed by the fact that in order to attain to the ships (ἱκέσθην ‘they attained to’), they must already have reached the seashore. Differently, the motion expressed by ἤϊα ‘I (viz. Menelaus) went (or was going)’ in (2) does not entail the arrival of the Figure, as can be inferred from the immediately following verses (Od. 4, 435–439): Menelaus and his comrades came across the Daughter of the Sea while they are on the way, thus interrupting their movement before reaching any specific place. In other words, there seems to be a complementary distribution according to the aspectual value of the verb. Specifically, the aorist βάτην is used to describe telic motion with bounded Path, which entails the arrival of the Figure to the Ground, whereas the imperfect ἤϊα is used for atelic motion with unbounded Path, which does not entail the arrival of the Figure to the Ground.⁶ Contrary to what is usually thought, this aspectual opposition basically depends on lexical more than grammatical opposition (aorist vs imperfect), as will be discussed in section 2.1. Let us now compare the occurrences of εἶμι and βαίνω with the goal prepositional phrase ἐπὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης (3)–(4): (3)

[. . . ] οἱ δ’ ἀνστάντες ἔβαν ἐπὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης, [. . . ] they part rise–up–prtc.nom.pl go/come–aor.3pl to shore–acc.m.sg sea–gen.f.sg αἶψα δὲ νῆα μέλαιναν ἐπ’ ἠπείροιο ἔρυσσαν, (Od. 16, 358–359) forthwith part ship–acc.f.sg black–acc.f.sg on land–gen.m.sg drag–aor.3pl ‘after they rose up, they went to the shore of the sea, forthwith they dragged the black ship onto land’

5 In 3rd person narrative discourse, Deictic Projection refers to the narrator projecting the deictic center onto a character in the story other than himself. See Fillmore’s (1971) central character of a narrative condition and, more recently, Pate (2015, 35). 6 Although the inherent lexical aspect of a verb can shift at the verb phrase or the prepositional levels, the role of the basic aspect values of ‘come’ and ‘go’ has been recently remarked also from a crosslinguistic perspective (Nishi 2012).

282 | Annamaria Bartolotta

(4)

ἀλλ’ οὐ γάρ τις πρῆξις ἐγίνετο μυρομένοισιν. but neg indeed some–nom.m.sg effect–nom.f.sg be–impf.3sg shed–tears– prtc.dat.pl ἀλλ’ ὅτε δή ῥ’ ἐπὶ νῆα θοὴν καὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης but when part part to ship–acc.f.sg quick–acc.f.sg and shore–acc.m.sg sea–gen.f.sg ᾔομεν ἀχνύμενοι, θαλερὸν κατὰ δάκρυ χέοντες, (Od. 10, 568–570) go–impf.1pl lament–prtc.nom.pl thick–acc.n.sg down tear–acc.n.sg shed– ptcp.nom.pl ‘but indeed no effect was for them who were shedding tears. But when we went (or were going) to the quick ship and the shore of the sea lamenting and shedding big tears, [. . . ]’

The motion verbs in the sentences (3) and (4) occur within the same VP to describe the same kind of centrifugal motion of the Figure toward a goal that is distinct from the Figure’s location. More specifically, both the aorist ἔβαν ‘(they) went’ in (3) and the imperfect ᾔομεν ‘(we) went (or were going)’ in (4), indicate a motion to the specific goal expressed by the PP ἐπὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης ‘to the shore of the sea’. The scene in (4) is described from the 1st person narrative perspective, so that the motion verb expresses a deictic movement away from the speaker, whereas in (3) we can only hypothesize a deictic projection similar to that described for (1) and (2), in which the narrator is taking the deictic perspective of the central character in the scene. At any rate, the deictic motion event turns out to be the same in the two sentences, i.e. a centrifugal movement from the deictic center (Source/Origo) to a place distinct from the Figure’s location. Thus, if not deixis, what is the difference among εἶμι and βαίνω? As has been seen for (1) and (2), such a difference cannot be found outside the lexical verb at a VP or PP level, because it cannot be ascribed to the Vector ἐπὶ ‘to(ward)’ followed by the accusative, since it is identical regardless of whether the motion is expressed by εἶμι or βαίνω. In such cases, the difference should be attributed to the lexical semantics of the motion verbs themselves. In other words, both VPs in (3) and (4) are telic because of the co–occurrence with a goal PP, but the analysis of the larger discourse context allows us to see that lexical aspect inherent to V does play a role in determining the choice between one and the other verb. In fact, the motion event described in (3) entails the arrival of the Figure to the Ground: the suitors (Figure) must have reached the shore of the sea (Ground) to be able to drag (ἔρυσσαν) the ship on the land. By contrast, the entailment of arrival is not an issue in (4). While Odysseus and his comrades (Figure) are going to the shore of the sea (Ground), the motion scene is interrupted by the description of a new event: without being noticed, Circe fastens a ram and a black sheep by the ship (vv. 571–574). This latter scene closes the narration of Odyssey’s book 10, so that nothing is telling us if the Figure actually reached the Ground. Thus, it might be suggested that the prominent information in the narrative discourse is conveyed by the combination of prepositions and verb aspect (Morrow 1985, 392). On the one

On deictic motion verbs in Homeric Greek | 283

hand, the combination of a telic motion verb, in which the entailment of arrival of the Figure is an intrinsic part, and a goal PP indicates that the goal of the event is more prominent than the path in the motion scene. On the other hand, the combination of an atelic motion verb, in which the entailment of arrival of the Figure is not an intrinsic part, and a goal PP indicates that the path of the event is more prominent than the goal in the motion scene. Further evidence for the aspectual contrast between the two verbs could come from the fact that only βαίνω can occur with the PP ὑπὲρ οὐδὸν ‘over the threshold’ (made of the preposition ὑπὲρ ‘over’ plus the accusative), thus showing to be naturally compatible with the terminative telic meaning derived from the attainment of a goal (i.e., crossing the threshold) (5). (5)

εὖθ’ ὑπὲρ οὐδὸν ἔβαινε Μελάνθιος, (Od. 22, 182) when over threshold–acc.sg go/come–impf.3sg Melanthius ‘When Melanthius passed over the threshold, [. . . ]’

In (5), despite being an imperfect, βαίνω refers to a motion event that entails the arrival of the Figure (Melanthius) to the Ground (the threshold), as can also be inferred from the next scene (v.187), where Melanthius’ enemies, who were waiting for him on either side of the door, sprang upon him and seized him.⁷

2.1 The entailment of arrival of the Figure Now, if the same discourse context analysis is applied to all the occurrences of motion verbs listed in table 1, it is found out that εἶμι and βαίνω behave consistently with what has been seen from (1) to (4). I summarize the results as follows (table 2), focusing on the entailment of arrival of the Figure to the Ground (the results also include the motion construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι, which will be discussed in section 2.2.):

7 The verb βαίνω plus the PP ὑπὲρ οὐδὸν occurs 4x in the Odyssey (as an aorist, as an imperfect, as a present participle), whereas the verb εἶμι is never attested in the Homeric poems with a PP made of ὑπὲρ followed by the accusative case.

284 | Annamaria Bartolotta Table 2: Entailment of arrival of the Figure with Homeric Greek εἶμι, βαίνω and βῆ δ΄ἰέναι εἶμι goal/directional pp ἐπὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης/ ἁλός ἐπὶ νῆα/ νῆας ἐς/ἐπὶ κλισίην/ας κλισίην(δὲ) ἐπὶ / πρὸς πύργον/–ων ἐς θάλαμον / θάλαμόν(δε) ἐς πόλεμον / πόλεμον (δέ) εἰς ἀγορήν locative pp παρὰ θῖνα θαλάσσης/ ἁλός παρὰ (κλισίας καὶ) νῆας

βαίνω

βῆ δ’ἰέναι

arrival 0

no arrival 3

arrival 3

no arrival 0

arrival 2

no arrival 0

0

7

8

0

2

1

0

1

2

0

0

2

0 0

1 1

2 1

0 0

0 6

0 0

0

3

0

0

1

0

0

1

0

0

3

0

0

1

4

0

0

0

0

2

0

0

1

2

Data in table 2 show that εἶμι never entails the arrival of the Figure, even occurring with a goal PP. Let us consider the example in (6), which is a formula found twice in the Odyssey. (6)

αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν ἐπὶ νῆας, ὅθ’ ἕστασαν ἐν ψαμάθοισιν, but I to ship–acc.f.pl where stand–aor.3pl in sand–dat.pl ἤϊα· πολλὰ δέ μοι κραδίη πόρφυρε κιόντι. go–impf.1sg much–acc.n.pl part me–dat.sg heart–nom.f.sg trouble–impf.3sg go–prtc.dat.sg αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ’ ἐπὶ νῆα κατήλυθον ἠδὲ θάλασσαν, (Od. 4, 426–428=571–573) but when part to ship–acc.f.sg come–to–aor.1sg and sea–acc.f.sg ‘but I went to the ships, where they stood on the sand; much was my heart troubled as I went (or was going). but when I arrived to the ship and the sea, [. . . ]’

Although it occurs with the directional expression ἐπὶ νῆας ‘to the ships’, the imperfect ἤϊα ‘I went (or was going)’ does not seem to entail the arrival of the Figure (viz. Menelaus) to the Ground (the ships), but only the intention of the Figure to go towards a place. Otherwise, it would not be necessary to specify that the Figure has arrived to the Ground at the immediately following verse (v.428), using the telic motion verb κατήλυθον ‘I arrived’ followed again by the same goal PP ἐπὶ νῆα ‘to the ship’.

On deictic motion verbs in Homeric Greek | 285

By contrast, data show that βαίνω usually entails the arrival of the Figure, thus expressing a bounded Path even when it occurs with a locative phrase, as already seen in (1) and illustrated in (7) as well. (7)

Αὐτὰρ ὃ βῆ παρὰ θῖνα θαλάσσης δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεὺς But the–nom.sg go/come–aor.3sg along shore–acc.sg sea–gen.sg noble–nom Achilles–nom.sg σμερδαλέα ἰάχων, ὦρσεν δ’ ἥρωας ᾿Αχαιούς. (Il. 19, 40–41) fearful–acc.n.pl cry–prtc.nom.sg arouse–aor.3sg part hero–acc.m.pl Achaean–acc.m.pl ‘But the noble Achilles went along the shore of the sea, crying dreadfully, he aroused the Achaean warriors’.

In (7) Achilles went along the shore, and it can be inferred from the context that he did arrive there, because it is there, ‘in the gathering of the ships’ (νεῶν ἐν ἀγῶνι), that he could arouse the Acheans. Based on the abovementioned examples (6) and (7), one might argue that the [±telic] opposition between the two verbs depends on the grammatical opposition between imperfect, namely ἤϊα in (6), and aorist, namely βῆ in (7). However, it is not difficult to find passages in which the motion verb entails the arrival of the Figure even when the imperfective is used, as illustrated for example in (5) as well as in (8). (8)

[. . . ] τοὶ δ’ ἐπὶ πύργων [. . . ] the–nom.pl part on tower–gen.m.pl βαῖνον Κουρῆτες καὶ ἐνέπρηθον μέγα ἄστυ. (Il. 9, 588–589) go/come–impf.3pl Curetes–nom.pl and burn–aor.3pl great–acc.n.sg city– acc.n.sg ‘the Curetes went on towers, and burned the great city’.

In the sentence (8), although being an imperfect, βαῖνον ‘(they) went’ entails the arrival of the Figure ‘the Curetes’ to the Ground ‘the towers’, since it is from the towers that they are able to burn the whole city.

2.2 The motion construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι ‘ went; set out to go’ The motion construction or collocation βῆ δ΄ἰέναι is made of the two motion verbs εἶμι and βαίνω, with inflected unaugmented aorist βῆ/(βὰν) followed by the particle δὲ and the infinitive ἰέναι.⁸ This ancient construction, which has been defined as a quasi– SVC (serial verb construction) (Yates 2011, 100), is widely attested only in Homeric 8 In this motion construction the Ionic infinitive ἰέναι also appears in the Aeolic variants ἴμεναι and ἴμεν.

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Greek (73x), and disappears in Classical Greek. It is well known that Gr. εἶμι shows a defective morphological paradigm lacking a perfective stem. This is why the lexical periphrasis βῆ δ΄ἰέναι was used to express a bounded Path in the past, by virtue of the telic component inherited by the aorist βῆ. More specifically, the Path is most often bounded at the departure point (Letoublon 1985, 128),⁹ but this does not preclude the possibility that βῆ δ΄ἰέναι is also compatible with the expression of a bounded Path at the arrival point (Nakazawa 2006, 292), thus including the arrival of the Figure to the Ground. It can be said that the ingressive or inchoative construction describes a telic event inasmuch as it involves one entity that undergoes a change of state or position (Lehmann 1991: 202; see also Usón – de Mendoza Ibáñez forthcoming, 12), as illustrated in (9). (9)

βῆν δ’ ἰέναι ἐπὶ νῆα θοὴν καὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης. go/come–aor.1sg part go–inf to ship–acc.f.sg quick–acc.f.sg and shore– acc.m.sg sea–gen.f.sg ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ σχεδὸν ἦα κιὼν νεὸς ἀμφιελίσσης, but when part near go–impf.1sg go–prtc.nom.sg ship–gen.f.sg curved– gen.f.sg καὶ τότε με κνίσης ἀμφήλυθεν ἡδὺς ἀϋτμή· (Od. 12, 367–369) and then me–acc savour–of–fat–gen.sg surround–aor.3sg pleasant–nom.sg scent–nom.f.sg ‘I set out to go to the quick ship and the shore of the sea. But when in going I went near to the curved ship, then the pleasing scent of savour of fat surrounded me’

Though co–occurring with a goal PP, βῆν δ΄ἰέναι indicates in (9) that the Figure has departed from its place with the intention to reach the place where the ship is located, focusing on the initial point of the motion event. Actually, Odysseus (Figure) does not reach the ship (Ground), but simply approaches it. In fact, a new event interrupts the motion, i.e. the spread of the scent of burnt offerings, which will cause a new intervention by the gods. The arrival of the Figure to the Ground is neither described nor implied in the larger discourse context of the following verses. On the other hand, the data in table 2 show that this construction with a goal PP could also refer to a motion event that entails the arrival of the Figure to the Ground, as illustrated in (10) and (11).

9 The fact that βαίνω in the construction βῆ δ΄(ἰέναι)/ἴμεν can be replaced only by ἄρχω ‘begin’ as the first element of the construction (followed by the same infinitive ἰέναι/ἴμεν) in the whole poems, might speak in favour of the ingressive meaning of the collocation (ἦρχ’ ἴμεν ‘set out to go’ is found in Il. 13, 328–329).

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(10) βῆν δ’ ἰέναι ἐπὶ νῆα θοὴν καὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης. go/come–aor.1sg part go–inf to ship–acc.f.sg quick–acc.f.sg and shore– acc.m.sg sea–gen.f.sg εὗρον ἔπειτ’ ἐπὶ νηῒ θοῇ ἐρίηρας ἑταίρους (Od. 10, 407–408) find–aor.1sg then by ship–dat.f.sg quick–dat.f.sg trusty–acc.m.pl comrade– acc.m.pl ‘I went (set out to go) to the quick ship and the shore of the sea. Then I found my trusty comrades by the quick ship’ In (10) Odysseus (Figure) not only set out to go, but also reached the shore of the sea (Ground), since it is there that he precisely found (εὗρον) his comrades (by the ship). (11)

βὰν δ’ ἴμεν ἐς κλισίην ᾿Αγαμέμνονος ᾿Ατρεΐδαο. (Il. 19, 241–243) go/come–aor.3pl part go–inf to hut–acc.f.sg Agamemnon–gen.sg son–of– Atreus–gen.sg αὐτίκ’ ἔπειθ’ ἅμα μῦθος ἔην, τετέλεστο δὲ ἔργον· forthwith thereafter at–once word–nom.m.sg be–impf.3sg fulfil–ppf.mid.3sg part work–nom.n.sg ἑπτὰ μὲν ἐκ κλισίης τρίποδας φέρον, οὕς οἱ ὑπέστη, seven part from hut–gen.f.sg tripod–acc.m.pl bear–impf.3pl which–acc.m.pl him promise–aor.3sg ‘they went to the hut of Agamemnon, son of Atreus. Thereafter, in a moment, at the same time as the word, the work was fulfilled; from the hut they bare seven tripods, that he promised him’

The passage in (11) describes a fast–paced action scene: Odysseus and his comrades (Figure) have certainly reached the hut of Agamemnon (Ground) from where they quickly bare the tripods. In both (10) and (11) the prominent information in the narrative discourse is the goal rather than the start of the motion event. The motion construction proves therefore to be compatible not only with the departure but also with the arrival of the Figure to the Ground, due to the lexical telic value of its component βῆ.

3 Were ‘go’ and ‘come’ deictic motion verbs in early Homeric Greek? Given the data analyzed in section 2, the two motion verbs εἶμι and βαίνω do not seem to entail an inherent deictic opposition, as both can be used with the same deictic centrifugal orientation. Rather they convey a different aspectual meaning, which proves to be more or less compatible with the arrival of the Figure to the Ground. Contrariwise, the idea that these two verbs are always deictically characterized as centrifugal at

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the lexical semantic level has been recently hypothesized. Specifically, it has been claimed that centrifugality was the prototypical property of both εἶμι and βαίνω in early Homeric Greek, with the result that it would also represent the main basic feature of the collocation βῆ δ΄ἰέναι, exhibiting both these verbs (Yates 2011, 51). However, if it is certainly true that both verbs may take on a centrifugal deictic interpretation depending on the contexts of use, as seen for example in (1) and (2),¹⁰ spatial deixis might not have been inherent to the lexical level of εἶμι and βαίνω at an earlier stage, nor might it be considered as the basic prototypical property of the construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι. Let us first analyse the sentence in (12), which illustrates that the centrifugal deictic orientation is not inherent to the lexical semantics of εἶμι. (12) ἀγχοῦ δ’ ἱσταμένη προσέφη πόδας ὠκέα ᾿῀Ιρις· near part stand–prtc.mid.nom.f.sg speak–aor.3sg foot–acc.m.pl quick– nom.f.sg Iris–nom.f.sg «δεῦρ’ ἴθι νύμφα φίλη, [. . . ] (Il. 3, 129–130) hither go–pres.impv.2sg bride–voc.f.sg dear–voc.f.sg ‘standing by her, swift–footed Iris spoke to her: «come here, dear bride, [. . . ]’ In (12) the imperative ἴθι ‘go’ in direct speech is used by the goddess Iris to exhort Helen to go to her (lit. ‘go here!’), thus expressing motion toward the deictic center, that is the speaker (Iris)’s location at reference time. The inherently deictically–neutral verb εἶμι can take on a deictic centripetal interpretation through the co–occurrence with the deictic spatial adverb δεῦρο ‘here’. Since here refers to the speaker`s location at coding time, go would produce an ungrammatical effect if it were inherently centrifugal. Instead, it can take on a deictic centripetal interpretation according to the context, as happens with specific spatial adverbs. This is also illustrated in (13), where the imperative ἴθι ‘go’ occurs with the comparative adverbial ἆσσον ‘nearer’, again in direct speech.¹¹ (13) χαίρετε κήρυκες Διὸς ἄγγελοι ἠδὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν, welcome–impv.2pl herald–voc.m.pl Zeus–gen.sg messenger–voc.m.pl part and man–gen.pl ἆσσον ἴτ’· [. . . ] (Il. 1, 334–335) near–comp go–pres.impv.2pl ‘«Welcome, heralds, messengers of Zeus and men, come nearer; [. . . ]’

10 The centrifugal deictic orientation can also be expressed by both case endings and particles (PP), which cooperate in identifying the direction of motion (Ferrari – Mosca 2010). 11 The formula δεῦρο ἴθι (or ἴτω) in direct speech occurs 4x in the Iliad. The verb εἶμι also occurs with the comparative adverb ἆσσον ‘nearer’, both as imperative in direct speech (4x), and as indicative, participle, infinitive in narrative discourse (13x).

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Let us now analyse the sentences in (14) and (15), taken respectively from a narrative context and a direct speech, trying to see if the centrifugal deictic orientation is inherent to the lexical semantics of βαίνω. (14) εὖ γὰρ δὴ τόδε ἴδμεν ἐνὶ φρεσίν, ἐστὲ δὲ πάντες well conj part this–acc.n.sg see–pf.1pl in mind–dat.f.pl be–pres.2pl part all–nom.m.pl μάρτυροι, οὓς μὴ κῆρες ἔβαν θανάτοιο φέρουσαι· witness–nom.m.pl who–acc.m.pl not Keres–nom.f.pl come–aor.3pl death– gen.m.sg bear–prtc.nom.f.pl ‘for indeed we know this well in our mind, you are all witnesses: the goddesses of death did not come and take you away’ (Il. 2, 301–302) The aorist ἔβαν in (14) clearly denotes a centripetal motion to the deictic center, i.e. the speaker and addressee’s location at reference time. Odysseus is talking to Agamemnon and the Achaeans about their fate in the past; he uses the 1pl person (ἴδμεν) including him as an Achaean (inclusive we). Then, in the same discourse, he uses the 2pl (ἐστὲ) to emphatically urge his comrades to remember how they all escaped death: ‘the Keres did not come and take you (including me) away’. In this last sentence, the Addressee (you–2pl) represents the deictic Ground toward which the Figure (the Keres) moves at the reference time.¹² The centripetal deictic interpretation of βαίνω can also be seen in direct speech expressions like in (15). (15) ῞Ηρη τίπτε βέβηκας; (Il. 15, 90) Hera–voc part come–pf.2sg ‘Hera, why have you come?’ In (15) the goddess Themis addresses Hera, asking her why she is now there, in the house of Zeus, among the immortal gods. The goddess Hera has indeed just arrived at Olympus to bring them a message from Zeus. The choice of βαίνω does not depend here on its supposed centrifugal deictic meaning, but on its telic value (it also occurs in the perfect). In fact, the Figure (Hera) is already arrived to the Ground, i.e. the speaker’s location at the utterance time, which implies the boundedness of the Path of motion. Similarly, the motion construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι does not necessarily express a centrifugal deictic orientation at a lexical level. As has been remarked, a movement can be simply performed without involving any deictic center, so that the motion path neither originates nor moves away from it (Lewandowski 2007, 84). The past tense construction βῆ δ΄ἰέναι usually occurs in narrative contexts where a deictic center is not needed to anchor the interpretation of the sentence. Even in case of 3rd person narrative discourse deictic projection, the possibility of shifts in point of view stems

12 For further details on the Addressee as the Ground of deictic motion verbs see recently Nakazawa (2007, 61 ff.) and references therein.

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from the fact that there is no inherent deictic center in third person narrative (Grenoble 1998, 48). The comparison between (16) and (17), where the motion verb ἦλθε ‘(he) arrived, came’, traditionally analyzed as denoting deictic centripetal movement in Homeric Greek (Letoublon 1985, 49), occurs in almost the same context as βῆ δ΄ἰέναι, might shed light on this matter. (16) βὰν δ’ ἰέναι ἐπὶ νῆα θοὴν καὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης. (Od. 4, 779) go/come–aor.3pl part go–inf to ship–acc.f.sg quick–acc.f.sg and shore– acc.m.sg sea–gen.f.sg ‘they went to the quick ship and the shore of the sea.’ (17) ὃ γὰρ ἦλθε θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας ᾿Αχαιῶν (Il. 1, 12) he conj arrive–aor.ind.3sg quick–acc.f.pl to ship–acc.f.pl Achaean–gen.pl ‘for he arrived to the quick ships of the Achaeans’ In (16) Antinous and his comrades (the Figure) set out to go to the quick ship and the seashore (Ground), where they certainly arrive, because the analysis of the larger discourse context shows that the next action scene takes place just there (as a matter of fact, they draw the ship into the sea). As seen for (10)–(11), being telic the motion construction βὰν δ΄ἰέναι is indeed compatible with both the departure and arrival of the Figure to the Ground. The passage in (17) is taken from the beginning of Iliad, where the narrator tells the wrath of Achilles, starting from Chryses’s arrival to the camp of the Achaeans in order to free his daughter. Specifically, he is said to ‘arrive to the quick ships’, describing a motion event similar to what is seen in (16). The difference is however that the motion verb ἦλθε ‘(he) arrived’ focuses on the terminal point, or goal of the motion event. In other words, the difference between the two motion verbs does not depend on their inherent deictic orientation. In fact, in both sentences the narrative equally continues with the Figure at the endpoint of the motion, which is located by the ships and the seashore in (16), from where Antinous and his men draw the ship into the sea, as well as in (17), where Chryses the priest implores the Achaeans to give him back his daughter. Thus, even in case of deictic projection of 3rd person narrative discourse, the narrator would equally place the deictic center at the endpoint of motion, because it is there that the main action continues and he can adopt the main character’s point of view. When the goal does not coincide with the speaker’s location, either βὰν δ΄ἰέναι or ἦλθε is acceptable, thus showing to be deictically neutral at inherent lexical level. What makes the difference then? It might be again hypothesized that the choice of the narrator depends on lexical aspect, which is bounded at the start (telic ingressive) in (16) and bounded at the end (telic terminative) in (17). To sum up, both βαίνω and εἶμι turn out to have a generic deictic–neutral meaning of ‘moving along a path’, conveying a lexical aspectual opposition based on the semantic property of telicity. This latter proves to be relevant to the extent in which the telic motion verb βαίνω lexically entails the arrival of the Figure to the Ground, whereas the atelic motion verb εἶμι does not lexically entail the arrival of the Figure to

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the Ground. In particular, the semantic–discourse analysis has shown that alternating βαίνω and εἶμι with the same goal PPs determines whether the path or respectively the movement is more prominent in the motion event. These results are in line with the most recent cross–linguistic research on deictic motion verbs, for the contrast between go and come found in many languages such as modern English had not yet developed in archaic Greek.

Bibliography Alscher, H. J. 1982: “Kommen” und “gehen” in den Indogermanischen Sprachen: Das Problem von Griechisch “βαίνω”, «KBS», 8, 40–49. Antonopoulou, E. & Nikiforidou, K. 2002: Deictic motion and the adoption of perspective in Greek, «Pragmatics», 12/3, 273–295. Bartolotta, A. 2016: Inherent telicity and Proto–Indo–European verbal paradigms, «Rivista Italiana di Linguistica e Dialettologia», 18, 9–49. Buck, C.D. 1949: A dictionary of selected synonyms in the principal Indo–European languages, Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Di Meola, C. 2003: Non–deictic uses of the deictic motion verbs kommen and gehen in German, in Deictic Conceptualization of Space, Time and Person, ed. F. Lenz, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 41–68. Emanatian, M. 1992: Chagga ‘Come’ And ‘Go’: Metaphor and the Development of Tense–Aspect, «Studies in language», 16/1, 1–33. Ferrari, G. & Mosca, M. 2010: Some constructions of path: From Italian to some Classical languages, in Space in Language, Proceedings of the Pisa International Conference, eds. G. Marotta, A. Lenci, L. Meini & F. Rovai, Pisa, 317–338. Fillmore, C. J. 1971: Santa Cruz Lectures on Deixis, Indiana University Linguistics Club. Gathercole, V. C. 1978: Towards a universal for deictic verbs of motion, «Kansas Working Papers in Linguistics», 3, 72–88. Goddard, C. 1997: The Semantics of Coming and Going, «Pragmatics», 7/2, 147–162. Grenoble, L. A. 1998: Deixis and Information Packaging in Russian Discourse, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Hoffmann, K. 1970: Das Kategoriensystem des indogermanischen Verbums, «Münchener Studien zur Sprachwissenschaft», 28, 19–41. Lehmann, C. 1991: Predicate classes and participation, in Partizipation: das sprachliche Erfassen von Sachverhalten, eds. H. Seiler & W. Premper, Tübingen, 183–239. Létoublon, F. 1985: Il allait, pareil à la nuit. Les verbes de mouvement en grec: suppletisme et aspect verbal, Paris. Lewandowski, W. 2007: Toward a comparative analysis of coming and going verbs in Spanish, German, and Polish, Barcelona, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona M.A. thesis. Luraghi, S. 2003: On the Meaning of Prepositions and Cases. The expression of semantic roles in Ancient Greek, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Mayrhofer, M. 1989: Etymologisches Wörterbuch des Altindoarischen. I. Band. Lieferung 6, Heidelberg. Mazon, P. 1957–1961: Homère. Iliade. Tome I: chants I–VI; tome II: chants VII–XII; tome III: chants XIII–XVIII; tome IV: chants XIX–XXIV, Paris. Mazon, P. 1960: Hésiod. Théogonie – Les Travaux and les Jours – Le Bouclier, Paris.

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Morrow, D. G. 1985: Prepositions and Verb Aspect in Narrative Understanding, «Journal of Memory and Language», 24, 390–404. Murray, A. T. 1946: Homer, The Iliad. Vol. I, Cambridge. Murray, A. T. 1946: Homer, The Odyssey. Vol. I–II, Cambridge. Nakazawa, T. 2006: Motion Event and Deictic Motion Verbs as Path–Conflating Verbs, in Proceedings of the 13th International Conference on Head–Driven Phrase Structure Grammar, Varna, ed. S. Müller, Stanford, CA, 284–304. Nakazawa, T. 2007: A typology of the Ground of deictic motion verbs as Path–conflating verbs: the speaker, the addressee, and beyond, «Poznań Studies in Contemporary Linguistics», 43/2, 59– 82. Nam, S. 2012: Syntax–semantics mapping of locative arguments, in Proceedings of the 26th Pacific Asia Conference on Language, Information and Computation (PACLIC 26), 473–480. Nishi, Y. 2012: A temporal approach to motion verbs. ‘Come’ and ‘go’ in English and East Asian languages, in Space and Time in Languages and Cultures Language. Linguistic Diversity, eds. L. Filipović & K. M. Jaszczolt, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 395–416. Oshima, D. 2012: GO and COME revisited: What serves as a reference point?, in Proceedings of Berkeley Linguistics Society (BLS) 32, 287–298. Pate, D. 2015: Deictic motion verbs in Pashto: to whom shall we come?, «Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies», available on CJO2015. doi: 10.1017/S0041977X15000452. Ricca, D. 1991: Andare e venire nelle lingue romanze e germaniche: dall’Aktionsart alla deissi, «Archivio Glottologico Italiano», 76, 159–192. Rix, H. 2001. Lexicon der Indogermanischen Verben, Wiesbaden. Talmy, L. 1975: Semantics and Syntax of Motion, in Syntax and Semantics 4, ed. J. P. Kimball, New York (NY), 181–238. Talmy, L. 2000: Toward a Cognitive Semantics, Volume 2: Concept Structuring Systems, Cambridge (MA). TLG = Thesaurus Linguae Graecae, 2000: A Digital Library of Greek Literature, Irvine (CA). Usón, R. M., & De Mendoza Ibáñez, F. J. R. (forthcoming): An Overview of the Lexical Constructional Model: Part I: Lexical and constructional templates Part II: Subsumption processes, first draft available at http://www.lexicom.es/drupal/files/LCM_overview.pdf Yates, A. D. 2011: Homeric BH Δ΄IENAI: A Diachronic and Comparative Approach, University of Georgia, Master’s thesis. Yates, A. D. 2013: On the PIE `Quasi–Serial Verb’ Construction: Origin and Development, Paper presented at the 25th Annual UCLA Indo–European Conference, 25–26 October 2013. Wilkins, D. P. & Hill, D. 1995: When ‘go’ means ‘come’: Questioning the basicness of basic motion verbs, «Cognitive Linguistics», 6/2–3, 209–259.

Corien Bary

Reportative markers in Ancient Greek Abstract: This paper offers a pragma–semantic analysis of the oblique uses of the optative and accusative–and–infinitive that explains their occurrence in syntactic positions that at first sight may seem remarkable, such as that in relative clauses in indirect discourse, in extended indirect discourse, stretching over more than one sentence, and in isolation, that is, in reports without an attitude verb or verb of saying. It treats these markers as presupposition–triggers, inducing the information that the content of the clause that contains them is said by someone.

1 Introduction In Ancient Greek, and especially in Herodotus, we find uses of the accusative–and– infinitive (AcI) construction that are familiar to classicists but quite remarkable from a linguistic perspective.¹ An example is given in (1): (1)

Λέγεται δὲ καὶ ἄλλον ἀποπεμφθέντα ἄγγελον ἐς Θεσσαλίην τῶν τριηκοσίων τούτων περιγενέσθαι, τῷ οὔνομα εἶναι Παντίτην: νοστήσαντα δὲ τοῦτον ἐς Σπάρτην, ὡς ἠτίμωτο, ἀπάγξασθαι. (Hdt. 7.232) ‘It is said that another of the three hundred survived because he was sent as a messenger to Thessaly. His name was Pantites. When he returned to Sparta, he was dishonored and hanged himself.’²

Example (1) is a speech report with an AcI construction as its complement. Interestingly, this AcI construction extends to the relative clause (τῷ οὔνομα εἶναι Παντίτην) and to the continuation of the report (νοστήσαντα δὲ τοῦτον ἐς Σπάρτην. . . ἀπάγξασθαι). As we will see, the oblique optative is likewise found in such peculiar positions.

1 I would like to thank the audience of the International Colloquium on Ancient Greek Linguistics 2015, in particular Cassandra Freiberg, Richard Faure, Luuk Huitink and Evert van Emde Boas, for their comments on the ideas presented in this paper. Also thanks to Peter de Swart and Rob van der Sandt for reading drafts of this paper and to Delano van Luik for converting the paper from LaTeX to Word. The research for this paper is supported by the EU under FP7, ERC Starting Grant 338421–PERSPECTIVE. 2 The citations of Herodotus’ Histories are taken from Legrand’s text edition (accessed via TLG). The translations given are either Godley’s (via Perseus) or based on these. Throughout the paper I underline oblique infinitives and double underline oblique optatives. Furthermore, I use bold face for relevant verbs of saying.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-305

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This paper provides a pragma–semantic analysis of the oblique uses of both the accusative–and–infinitive and the optative that explains their occurrence in syntactic positions that at first sight may seem remarkable, such as in (1).³

2 Remarkable uses of the reportative markers Let me first introduce some terminology and present a short overview of the various oblique uses of the optative and AcI. We find the Ancient Greek oblique optative usually in combination with a verb of saying or thinking on which the clause with the optative depends syntactically. The same holds for what I call the oblique accusative–and– infinitive. Examples are given in (2) and (3), respectively: (2)

ἐνθαῦτα ῾Υδάρνης καταρρωδήσας μὴ οἱ Φωκέες ἔωσι Λακεδαιμόνιοι, εἴρετο ᾿Επιάλτην ὁποδαπὸς εἴη ὁ στρατός: (Hdt. 7.218.2) ‘Hydarnes feared that the Phocians might be Lacedaemonians and asked Epialtes what country the army was from.’

(3)

. . . οἳ οὐκ ἔφασαν ἀπολιπόντες Λεωνίδην καὶ τοὺς μετ᾿ αὐτοῦ ἀπαλλάξεσθαι. . . (Hdt. 7.222) ‘. . . (The Thespians) said that they would not abandon Leonidas and those with him by leaving. . . ’

I will use the term reportative markers as a cover term for the oblique uses of the AcI and optative, and I will refer to their use exemplified in (2) and (3), where they occur in clauses that depend syntactically on a verb of saying, as the normal use. As we have already seen in the introduction, apart from this normal use, the reportative markers can also be used in more peculiar positions. I distinguish four positions and label them (i) to (iv). In (1) the AcI is used (i) in a subordinate clause within a report. In addition, the markers can also be used (ii) in continued indirect discourse, stretching over more than one sentence. (1) could be a case in point, but here we could also argue that it is still one and the same sentence. With other instances, such as (4), this seems rather implausible, however: (4)

Πρὸς τούτοισι ἐπίκλητοι ἐγένοντο Λοκροί τε οἱ ᾿Οπούντιοι πανστρατιῇ καὶ Φωκέων χίλιοι. Αὐτοὶ γὰρ σφέας οἱ ῞Ελληνες ἐπεκαλέσαντο, λέγοντες δι᾿ ἀγγέλων ὡς αὐτοὶ μὲν ἥκοιεν πρόδρομοι τῶν ἄλλων, οἱ δὲ λοιποὶ τῶν συμμάχων προσδόκιμοι πᾶσαν εἶεν ἡμέρην, ἡ θάλασσά τέ σφι εἴη ἐν φυλακῇ ὑπ᾿ ᾿Αθηναίων τε φρουρεομένη καὶ Αἰγινητέων καὶ τῶν ἐς τὸν ναυτικὸν στρατὸν ταχθέντων, καί σφι εἴη δεινὸν οὐδέν: οὐ γὰρ θεὸν εἶναι τὸν ἐπιόντα ἐπὶ τὴν ῾Ελλάδα

3 This is the analysis proposed in Bary – Maier (2014) but presented in much less technical terms, and in natural language rather than logical formulas.

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ἀλλ᾿ ἄνθρωπον, εἶναι δὲ θνητὸν οὐδένα οὐδὲ ἔσεσθαι τῷ κακὸν ἐξ ἀρχῆς γινομένῳ οὐ συνεμίχθη, τοῖσι δὲ μεγίστοισι αὐτῶν μέγιστα. ὀφείλειν ὦν καὶ τὸν ἐπελαύνοντα, ὡς ἐόντα θνητόν, ἀπὸ τῆς δόξης πεσεῖν ἄν. (Hdt. 7.203) ‘In addition, the Opuntian Locrians in full force and one thousand Phocians came at the summons. The Hellenes had called upon them telling them through messengers that this was only the advance guard, that the rest of the allies were expected any day now, and that the sea was being watched, with the Athenians and Aeginetans and all those enrolled in the fleet on guard. There was nothing for them to be afraid of. For the invader of Hellas was not a god but a human being, and there was not, and never would be, any mortal on whom some amount of evil was not bestowed at birth, with the greatest men receiving the largest share. The one marching against them was certain to fall from pride, since he was a mortal.’ In (4) we have a say–construction (λέγοντες δι᾿ ἀγγέλων), followed by four optatives, after which Herodotus switches to accusative–and–infinitives. Here the length and in particular the presence of γάρ (which comes at the second position of a sentence) makes it unnatural to consider this as belonging to one and the same sentence. Moreover, we find the reportative markers (iii) in cases where the verb of saying is mentioned only parenthetically, as in (5): (5)

‘Υπὸ δὲ μεγάθεος τῆς πόλιος, ὡς λέγεται ὑπὸ τῶν ταύτῃ οἰκημένων, τῶν περὶ τὰ ἔσχατα τῆς πόλιος ἠλωκότων τοὺς τὸ μέσον οἰκέοντας τῶν Βαβυλωνίων οὐ μανθάνειν ἠλωκότας, ἀλλὰ (τυχεῖν γάρ σφι ἐοῦσαν ὁρτήν) χορεύειν τε τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον καὶ ἐν εὐπαθείῃσι εἶναι, ἐς ὃ δὴ καὶ τὸ κάρτα ἐπύθοντο. (Hdt. 1.191) ‘because of the great size of the city, those who dwell there say, the inhabitants of the middle part did not know that those in the outer parts of it were overcome; all this time (since there happened to be a festival) they were dancing and enjoying themselves, until they learned the truth only too well.’

In (5) we have a parenthetical say–construction (ὡς λέγεται ὑπὸ τῶν ταύτῃ οἰκημένων), followed by a series of AcIs. Although these infinitives do indicate that we have to do with a report, syntactically they do not depend on the verb of saying. Lastly, the reportative markers can also be used (iv) without explicit mentioning of a verb of saying or thinking.⁴ This is exemplified in (6): (6) Λαβόντες δὲ αὐτὸν οἱ Πέρσαι ἤγαγον παρὰ Κῦρον. ῾Ο δὲ συννήσας πυρὴν μεγάλην ἀνεβίβασε ἐπ᾿ αὐτὴν τὸν Κροῖσόν τε ἐν πέδῃσι δεδεμένον καὶ δὶς ἑπτὰ

4 This construction is rare. In addition to (6) (which continues for a few more sentences), De Bakker (2007, 33 (note 25) and appendix II), who calls it a plain Independent Declarative Infinitive Clause, mentions two passages: Hdt. 1.59.3 and 2.162.4–6. Cooper (1974, 72–76) mentions two more instances: 3.14.10–11 and 3.23.2–3.

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Λυδῶν παρ᾿ αὐτὸν παῖδας, ἐν νόῳ ἔχων εἴτε δὴ ἀκροθίνια ταῦτα καταγιεῖν θεῶν ὅτεῳ δή, εἴτε καὶ εὐχὴν ἐπιτελέσαι θέλων, εἴτε καὶ πυθόμενος τὸν Κροῖσον εἶναι θεοσεβέα τοῦδε εἵνεκεν ἀνεβίβασε ἐπὶ τὴν πυρήν, βουλόμενος εἰδέναι εἴ τίς μιν δαιμόνων ῥύσεται τοῦ μὴ ζῶντα κατακαυθῆναι. Τὸν μὲν δὴ ποιέειν ταῦτα: τῷ δὲ Κροίσῳ ἑστεῶτι ἐπὶ τῆς πυρῆς ἐσελθεῖν, καίπερ ἐν κακῷ ἐόντι τοσούτῳ, τὸ τοῦ Σόλωνος ὥς οἱ εἴη σὺν θεῷ εἰρημένον, τὸ μηδένα εἶναι τῶν ζωόντων ὄλβιον. ῾Ως δὲ ἄρα μιν προσστῆναι τοῦτο, ἀνενεικάμενόν τε καὶ ἀναστενάξαντα ἐκ πολλῆς ἡσυχίης ἐς τρὶς ὀνομάσαι ‘Σόλων΄. Καὶ τὸν Κῦρον ἀκούσαντα κελεῦσαι τοὺς ἑρμηνέας ἐπειρέσθαι τὸν Κροῖσον τίνα τοῦτον ἐπικαλέοιτο, καὶ τοὺς προσελθόντας ἐπειρωτᾶν. Κροῖσον δὲ τέως μὲν σιγὴν ἔχειν εἰρωτώμενον, μετὰ δὲ ὡς ἠναγκάζετο, εἰπεῖν. . . : (Hdt. 1.86) ‘The Persians took him and brought him to Cyrus, who erected a pyre and mounted Croesus atop it, bound in chains, with twice seven sons of the Lydians beside him. Cyrus may have intended to sacrifice him as a victory–offering to some god, or he may have wished to fulfill a vow, or perhaps he had heard that Croesus was pious and put him atop the pyre to find out if some divinity would deliver him from being burned alive. So Cyrus did this. As Croesus stood on the pyre, even though he was in such a wretched position it occurred to him that Solon had spoken with god’s help when he had said that no one among the living is fortunate. When this occurred to him, he heaved a deep sigh and groaned aloud after long silence, calling out three times the name “Solon.” Cyrus heard and ordered the interpreters to ask Croesus who he was invoking. They approached and asked, but Croesus kept quiet at their questioning, until finally they forced him and he said. . . ’ Here no verb of saying is present. In the middle of the story, Herodotus suddenly starts using infinitives, probably to indicate that he is reporting what he has heard from others.⁵ These more peculiar uses (i) to (iv) form a challenge for a linguistic analysis of these reportative markers. Had we only the normal use of the reportative markers (the use in which they occur in a clause that syntactically depends a verb of saying), we could try to develop an analysis along syntactic lines, especially in view of the fact that there is no clear contribution to the meaning in those cases (I will come back to this later).⁶ Then the reportative markers could be considered a case of agreement (or maybe concord) with the verb of saying, without introducing a meaning element themselves (compare the third person inflection –s in English that agrees with the subject but does not contribute to the overall meaning itself). In view of the more peculiar cases

5 See Cooper (1974, 72–76) for an interpretation of these occurrences. 6 It is a topic of debate whether the use of the oblique optative has a certain effect, for example, indicating distance. See e.g. Neuberger Donath (1983), Basset (1984), Basset (1986), Cristofaro (1996), Faure (2010), and Wakker (1994, 299–300).

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described in this section, however, this is untenable. For one thing, in these cases the markers do contribute information that we would otherwise not have had, namely that the content is said. Moreover, there is nothing in the sentence that the reportative marker can depend on syntactically. Therefore, I will opt for a different route and analyze the various uses of the reportative markers along pragma–semantic lines, following Bary – Maier (2014). The main idea here is that reportative markers are presupposition triggers. As will be explained in the next section, this allows for a uniform treatment of both the normal and the peculiar uses of the reportative markers.⁷

3 Reportative markers as presupposition triggers As we have seen in the previous section, the reportative markers show the following behaviour. If they are not embedded under a verb of saying they clearly contribute something to the meaning of the sentence as a whole, namely that what is expressed is a report of an utterance by someone else. In the normal case, however, if it is embedded under a verb of saying, there is no clear contribution, since the embedding verb already tells us that the complement is reported. In particular, in the latter case we do not get a reduplication of reports (it is said that it is said that . . . ). This means that we have the following desiderata for the semantics of reportative markers: whatever their semantics are, they should turn a clause into a report if the clause in question is not overtly embedded, but dissolve if it is. As we will see, this is exactly the behaviour of presupposition triggers. Presuppositions can be characterized as information that is taken for granted by the participants in a conversation.⁸ This information has a different status from information that is (presented as) new. Consider (7): (7)

The king of the Netherlands likes to swim.The Netherlands has a king

By uttering (7) a speaker presupposes that the Netherlands has a king and conveys as new information that he likes to swim. The distinction between information that is presupposed and information that is presented as new is encoded in our language. In (7) it is the use of the definite description that induces or triggers the presupposition. But the class of presupposition triggers is much broader, and also includes, for example, verbs like to stop or to know. If someone utters (8), we infer from that that Peter used to smoke. (8)

Has Peter stopped smoking?Peter used to smoke

7 For a more technical implementation the interested reader is referred to Bary – Maier (2014). 8 For a good introduction to the topic of presuppositions I refer the reader to Van Der Sandt (2015).

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The information that Peter used to smoke is a presupposition and it is triggered by the use of the verb to stop. Similarly, in (9) we infer that Beijing was formerly romanized as Peking, a presupposition triggered by the use of the verb to know, the presupposition trigger. (9)

John didn’t know that Beijing was formerly romanized as Peking. Beijing was formerly romanized as Peking

There are tests to determine whether a linguistic element is a presupposition trigger. These diagnostics are based on the fact that presuppositional information tends to emerge as inferences in environments where standard inferences do not survive (Van der Sandt, 2015: 330). One test is constancy under negation. Applied to (7) this gives us: (10)

The king of the Netherlands does not like to swim.

In (10) the presuppositional information that the Netherlands has a king is preserved (and hence passes the test) and only the non–presuppositional part (i.e. that he likes to swim) is negated. Presuppositional information is often given explicitly in the preceding discourse, as in (11): (11)

Last year, when I was at his place, Peter was a heavy smoker. But has he stopped smoking now?Peter used to smoke

On a Van Der Sandtian (1992) account of presuppositions, the presupposed information in this case binds to that. However, presuppositions can also be used to make shortcuts, as Karttunen remarked: «People do make leaps and shortcuts by using sentences whose presuppositions are not satisfied in the conversational context. This is the rule rather than the exception . . . If the current conversational context does not suffice, the listener is entitled and expected to extend it as required. He must determine for himself what context he is supposed to be in on the basis of what was said and, if he is willing to go along with it, make the same tacit extension that his interlocutor appears to have made.» (Karttunen, 1974, 191)

Example (12) (also from Karttunen 1974, 191) illustrates this: (12)

John lives in the third brick house down the street from the post office.

It presupposes that there is a post office, a street going down to it and at least three brick houses there and the speaker asserts that John lives in the third of them. Still, even if the presuppositional information is not already part of the common ground of the participants of the conversation, (12) can be uttered felicitously. This is also possible with the examples in (7), (8) and (9). The presuppositional information is then said to be accommodated by the hearer, a term introduced by Lewis (1979), to deal with the non–presuppositional part of the utterance.

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Following Bary – Maier (2014), I claim that the reportative markers are also presupposition triggers. The presupposition that they trigger is that someone said the content expressed by the clause that contains this marker. In the following examples I will abbreviate this presupposition as said , as in (13), where this presupposition is triggered by the optative: (13)

[αὐτοὶ μὲν ἥκοιεν πρόδρομοι τῶν ἄλλων] said

We can now see that these presupposition triggers show the same behaviour as the more familiar ones we have seen earlier. The presupposed information may be given explicitly, as in (14) (the normal use) and (15) (use (ii), in continuations), and then the presupposed information binds to that, in a way analogous to what we have seen in (11): (14)

Αὐτοὶ γὰρ σφέας οἱ ῞Ελληνες ἐπεκαλέσαντο, λέγοντες δι᾿ ἀγγέλων [ὡς αὐτοὶ μὲν ἥκοιεν πρόδρομοι τῶν ἄλλων] said (from (4)) ‘The Hellenes had called upon them telling them through messengers [that this was only the advance guard] said ’

(15) Αὐτοὶ γὰρ σφέας οἱ ῞Ελληνες ἐπεκαλέσαντο, λέγοντες δι᾿ ἀγγέλων ... [οὐ γὰρ θεὸν εἶναι τὸν ἐπιόντα ἐπὶ τὴν ῾Ελλάδα ἀλλ᾿ ἄνθρωπον] said (from (4)) ‘The Hellenes had called upon them telling them through messengers . . . [For the invader of Hellas was not a god but a human being] said ’ The difference between (14) and (15) is that in the former the information is given in the sentence itself, whereas in the latter it is given in the previous discourse. The occurrence of reportative markers in subordinate clauses, use (i) exemplified in (1), and the one with a parenthetical say construction, (iii), exemplified in (5), are just special cases of the former. As we would expect of presupposition triggers, the presuppositional information can also be only presupposed and not given before. In that case it has to be accommodated by the hearer. This is the case with use (iv), the use without any verb of saying, as in (16): (16)

[Τὸν μὲν δὴ ποιέειν ταῦτα] said (from (5)) ‘[So Cyrus did this] said ’

Note that what first seemed remarkable uses of the reportative markers are actually – once they are seen as presupposition–triggers – natural consequences of one and the same meaning.⁹

9 The analysis proposed in Bary – Maier (2014) differs from what I have sketched here in that in that analysis the AcI is not itself an reportative marker, but may contain one in the form of a covert

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Since we knew already that these passages are to be interpreted as someone’s words, it is legitimate to ask what we have gained. The benefit is to be found in our understanding of the mechanism behind these uses: the way in which the optative gives us the information that someone said the content of the words is very similar to the way in which the use of a verb like to stop tells us that the subject used to do that. This then explains that only in some cases do reportative markers make a clear contribution to the interpretation of the sentence as a whole.¹⁰ Cooper has convincingly argued that ‘traditional teaching fails to make an important elementary distinction’ when it does not recognize that infinitives need not ‘stand in a grammatical relationship to some verb of speaking or thinking if they are to reveal their oblique potential’ (Cooper 1974, 66; 76). This paper offers an alternative analysis of the relation between verbs of speaking and associated oblique infinitives taking into account the difficulty Cooper observes with the more traditional picture in terms of a syntactic dependency.¹¹ In Bary – Maier (2014) we introduced the term Unembedded Indirect Discourse for indirect speech reports that lack a verb of saying on which the content of the report is syntactically dependent, as is the case in our categories (ii) – (iv). The question now arises what the usefulness of such constructions is. The presuppositional analysis provides a natural suggestion here: it makes it possible to give a faithful report of the original discourse structure without losing the information that it is a report of what someone else said. To see that Unembedded Indirect Discourse is a useful device for this, consider first the constructed English example in (17): (17)

a. Corien: ‘I won’t be at the meeting today. My son is ill and I have to take him to the doctor. I’ll be present again tomorrow.’ b. Does anyone know if Corien is coming? i. She emailed me that she won’t come. Her son is ill and she has to take him to the doctor. She will be present again tomorrow. ii. She emailed me that she won’t come. She wrote that her son is ill and that she has to take him to the doctor. She wrote that she will be present again tomorrow.

optative morpheme. This is to account for the fact that it is only in some uses of the AcI that we get the presupposition that the content is said. I gloss over these issues in the paper at hand since they do not affect my main point. 10 This is not to be interpreted as stating that there is no difference in effect whatsoever on the reader. In the case of to stop too, it can have a different effect to ask Have you stopped beating your husband? or You used to beat your husband. Have you stopped beating him now?. For one thing, in the latter it is easier for the addressee to deny the habit of beating. 11 Another argument in favour of a presuppositional account is that it correctly predicts that in most cases the presupposed material (here, that it is said) ‘escapes’ from embeddings, but not when it can bind to information that is embedded, e.g. in he didn’t say that . . . (cf. No farmer beats his donkey where his binds locally, i.e. under the negation).

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Imagine that I write (17a) in an email to my colleagues, and that later that day someone at the meeting asks Does anyone know if Corien is coming? Then the reply can be (i), in which case we lose the information that the words in the post–initial sentences are a report of what I said. Or alternatively, the reply could be (ii), in which case the repetition of embedding matrix clauses makes it difficult to sustain the original discourse relations. Unembedded Indirect Discourse, by contrast, gives us the best of two worlds: it has a marker of reportativity (the oblique optative or AcI), but one that, due to its presuppositional nature, does not break the original anaphoric chain. In our examples, we see this clearly in (4), repeated here as (18): (18)

Πρὸς τούτοισι ἐπίκλητοι ἐγένοντο Λοκροί τε οἱ ᾿Οπούντιοι πανστρατιῇ καὶ Φωκέων χίλιοι. Αὐτοὶ γὰρ σφέας οἱ ῞Ελληνες ἐπεκαλέσαντο, λέγοντες δι᾿ ἀγγέλων ὡς αὐτοὶ μὲν ἥκοιεν πρόδρομοι τῶν ἄλλων, οἱ δὲ λοιποὶ τῶν συμμάχων προσδόκιμοι πᾶσαν εἶεν ἡμέρην, ἡ θάλασσά τέ σφι εἴη ἐν φυλακῇ ὑπ᾿ ᾿Αθηναίων τε φρουρεομένη καὶ Αἰγινητέων καὶ τῶν ἐς τὸν ναυτικὸν στρατὸν ταχθέντων, καί σφι εἴη δεινὸν οὐδέν: οὐ γὰρ θεὸν εἶναι τὸν ἐπιόντα ἐπὶ τὴν ῾Ελλάδα ἀλλ᾿ ἄνθρωπον, εἶναι δὲ θνητὸν οὐδένα οὐδὲ ἔσεσθαι τῷ κακὸν ἐξ ἀρχῆς γινομένῳ οὐ συνεμίχθη, τοῖσι δὲ μεγίστοισι αὐτῶν μέγιστα. ὀφείλειν ὦν καὶ τὸν ἐπελαύνοντα, ὡς ἐόντα θνητόν, ἀπὸ τῆς δόξης πεσεῖν ἄν. (Hdt. 7.203( ‘In addition, the Opuntian Locrians in full force and one thousand Phocians came at the summons. The Hellenes had called upon them telling them through messengers that this was only the advance guard, that the rest of the allies were expected any day now, and that the sea was being watched, with the Athenians and Aeginetans and all those enrolled in the fleet on guard. There was nothing for them to be afraid of. For the invader of Hellas was not a god but a human being, and there was not, and never would be, any mortal on whom some amount of evil was not bestowed at birth, with the greatest men receiving the largest share. The one marching against them was certain to fall from pride, since he was a mortal.’

Had the continuation starting with οὐ γάρ been interrupted by a repeated embedding matrix verb, the anaphoric link between the two parts would have been broken and more effort would have been required to interpret a causal relation between Xerxes not being a god and the soldiers not having to be afraid.

4 Conclusion In this paper I have argued that we can understand syntactically unembedded uses of reportative markers (optative and AcI) in Herodotus if we analyse them as presupposition triggers. The presupposed information that they trigger is that the content of the

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clause is said. I argued the constructions are used to facilitate a faithful rendering of original discourse relations without losing the information that it is a speech report.

Bibliography De Bakker, M. 2007: Speech and authority in Herodotus’ Histories, Ph. D. thesis, University of Amsterdam. Bary, C. & Maier, E. 2014: Unembedded indirect discourse in Proceedings of Sinn und Bedeutung 18, 77–94. Basset, L. 1984: L’optatif grec et la dissociation énonciative, «Lalies», 4, 53–59. Basset, L. 1986: La représentation d’un point de vue passé. L’optatif oblique dans les complétives déclaratives chez Thucydide, in Sur le verbe, Lyon, 91–113. Cooper, G. L. 1974: Intrusive Oblique Infinitives in Herodotus, «Transactions of the American Philological Association», 104, 23–76. Cristofaro, S. 1996: Aspetti sintattici e semantici delle frasi completive in greco antico, Firenze. Faure, R. 2010: Les Subordinnées interrogatives dans la prose grecque classique, Ph. D. thesis, Université Paris–Sorbonne. Godley, A. D. (ed.). Herodotus with an English translation by A. D. Godley, Cambridge. Karttunen, L. 1974: Presupposition and Linguistic Context, «Theoretical Linguistics», 1/1–3, 181– 193. Legrand, P. E. (ed.) 1930–1968: Hérodote. Histoires, Paris. Lewis, D. 1979: Scorekeeping in a Language Game, «Journal of Philosophical Logic», 8, 339–359. Neuberger Donath, R. 1983: Die Funktion des Optativs in abhängigen Aussagesatzen, in Proceedings of the XIIIth International Congres of Linguistics, Tokyo, 715–718. Van Der Sandt, R. A. 1992: Presupposition projection as anaphora resolution, «Journal of Semantics», 9/4, 333–377. Van Der Sandt, R. A. 2015: Presupposition and accommodation in discourse, in The Cambridge Handbook of Pragmatics, Cambridge, 329–350. Wakker, G. C. 1994: Conditions and Conditionals: An Investigation of Ancient Greek, Amsterdam.

Ronald Blankenborg

Would–be factuality. Future in the Greek verb system Abstract: In the system of the ancient Greek verb, future is a difficult expression to classify. In this article, I will argue that future has been a feature of ancient Greek from the first datable remnants of the language, and that it has fallen victim to the workings of analogy in order to become classifiable as a tense. Phonology and syntax show that from the start future was meant as a mode, that I will label anticipation. The future of classical Greek is aspect–neutral and seemingly artificial (if not to say: illogical) as an indicative, especially in the main clause; its origins made it nonetheless appropriate for main clauses – until phonetics and analogy ruined everything. It has proven to be not uncommon for ancient Greek to exploit word morphology in order to present processes and eventualities as factual, located in time. There is, of course, no ‘factuality’ in future forms, but in the case of anticipation things went differently. In the working of analogy, the modal suffix for anticipation with a short or closed long vowel was readily, I argue, identified as a temporal rather than as a modal characteristic. As a tense, future achieves what no other tense or mode is able to express: would–be factuality.

1 Introduction In the system of the ancient Greek verb, with its clear distinction between aspect, tense, and modality, future is a difficult expression to classify¹. Over time, future morphology has appeared in various categories and disappeared again, only to appear again and be consumed by other expressions. In this paper, I will argue that future has been a feature of ancient Greek from the first datable remnants of the language, and that its morphology has fallen victim to the workings of analogy in order for future to become classifiable as a tense. Phonology and syntax show that from the start future was meant as a mode, that I – in the absence of better terminology – will label anticipation. The future of classical Greek is aspect–neutral and seemingly artificial (if not to say: illogical) as an indicative, especially in the main clause; its origins, I will show, made it nonetheless appropriate for main clauses – until phonetics and analogy ruined everything.

1 Bary (2009); Blankenborg (2014); Lucas (2013; 2014, 168); Bubeník (2014).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-315

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2 Future as a mode Future is not a fact–presenting tense like present tense, perfect tense, and aorist indicative. It does not comment on a process, presented as a fact that is taking place on the moment of speaking, nor on an eventuality, presented as a fact that has taken place before the moment of speaking, or on its result. Future reflects on what is expected, hoped for, or awaited² like a verbal mode. Future, in other words, does not locate an eventuality in time as if it were presented as a fact: it merely conveys speaker’s expectations, hopes, or longing. Still, future provides nominal forms (infinitive, participle) like a fact–presenting tense, and tends to align with present tense despite being itself a mode: Duhoux therefore refers to future as a “modal tense” (temps modal)³. This label shows that future appears to combine the characteristics of a tense (nominal forms, a level of factuality in presentation) with those of a mode (other–than–factuality in presentation, no nominal forms), as if different usages of the verb were put together to form a separate fact–presenting tense, the forms of which still show the origin from mixed sources. Future shares characteristics with subjunctives, not in the least semantically, as desiderative. Subjunctives serve to convey what is, or was, not (yet) presented as factual, but foreseen or wished for⁴. It is much more frequently used in subordinate clauses than in main clauses (ancient grammarians took subordinate use as the standard and labeled it subjunctive for that reason⁵). The first occurrences of the morphology of future show that its semantics were equally meant to emphasize that what was not presented as factual yet though it might in good faith be considered as such. Mycenaean occurrences of the morphology of future indicative include do–se (δώσει ‘expects to give’), –do–so–si (–δώσονσι ‘expect to give’), and a–se–so–si (which Palmer⁶ interprets as ἀσσέσονσι, future of ἀσ– ‘to fatten’). All instances are interpreted as pledges to provide in accordance with contract: there is no doubt that delivery will be performed as planned, but for some reason recording predated delivery. It is, in other words, foreseen and foreseeable that future delivery meets expectations at the time of recording. The semantics of the verbs on Mycenean tablets are not similar to the syntactical interpretation of future as a tense in classical Greek, where future tense may be defined as “at the moment of speaking the eventuality is still to take place”: in my opinion the Mycenean usage requires a reversal: “(for some reason) the moment of speaking predates/predated the eventuality”. I argue that the morphology of future is not used here to locate an eventuality in time (presenting it as a fact, like a tense does), but to

2 3 4 5 6

Duhoux (2000, 453). Cf. Rijksbaron et al. (2000, 65). Duhoux (2000, 208–209). Smith (1984, 406). Palmer (1980, 50, 312).

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express speakers’/writers’ expectations and assurance. The Mycenaean verbs do–se and –do–so–si are not used primarily to express tense: they do not locate eventualities in time with regard to the moment of speaking. Both verbs are rather instances of mode: they add speaker’s attitude to an anticipated eventuality, without discussing whether the eventuality itself is to be considered, or presented, as a fact or not. The forms do–se and –do–so–si use the suffix –σε/ο– to express a modality that I would therefore label anticipation, rather than widely used desiderative⁷. The morphology of this modality resembles that of present tense indicative. The suffix –σε/ο– itself features the thematic vowel –ε/ο–, as used in present tense indicative, preceded by –σ–. For thematic stems, anticipation is formed by replacing the thematic vowel alternation –ε/ο– by –σε/ο–. Anticipation may also be expressed by the thematic vowel without –σ–, combined with either an athematic present tense stem (ἔδομαι ‘I expect to eat’⁸; ἔσομαι ‘I expect to be’⁹) or an athematic aorist stem (πίομαι ‘I expect to drink’; χέω ‘I expect to pour’). Many more examples could be added of so–called ‘athematic subjunctives with short vowel’ in Homer (γνώομεν, δώομεν, θείομεν), that are morphologically anticipations comparable with the anticipation indicative in Mycenean. In classical Greek, the suffix –σε/ο– is used productively to create anticipations. To that end, it is also used exclusively (sometimes with added contraction in so–called Doric future forms: –σεε/εο–). Compared with the linguistic situation in archaic Greek, classical Greek phonology provides distinctive characteristics for the modes with which anticipation might be confused. Subjunctives are morphologically characterized through contraction of the thematic vowel –ε/ο– with the modal vowel –ε/ο–, a practice that was readily extended to all subjunctives (including those of athematic verbs) so that “athematic subjunctives with short vowel” are no longer a feature of Greek after the times of Homer. The resulting contractions of thematic vowel –ε/ο– with the modal vowel –ε/ο– in subjunctive are all phonologically expressed as long open vowels (–η/ω–) so that there is no confusion with contracted (Attic and Doric) anticipations, which use long closed vowels (phonologically expressed as false diphthongs) –ει/ου–. The resulting contractions have given the subjunctive its characteristic “lengthened thematic vowel”: a characteristic that appears to be understood as mere lengthening of the thematic vowel instead of true contraction¹⁰. In classical Greek, analogy has taken care of clear phonological distinction between subjunctive (long open vowel suffix) and anticipation (short vowel suffix or, in case of vowel contraction, long closed vowel suffix), that includes the so–called Attic future forms (in contracted –ει/ου– already attested for Mycenean in de–me–o–te δεμέhοντες ‘expected to build’) and “Doric” forms (attested in Mycenean e–we–pe–se–so–me–na ἐϝεψεσόμενα ‘expected to be woven’ 7 Cf. Sihler (1995, 556–557). 8 Cf. Homeric infinitive ἔδμεναι ‘to eat’. 9 Cf. ἔσται ‘he will be’. b

10 Cf. Homeric ζώνν¯υνται ‘that they may girdle themselves’ (Od. 24.89) and (Plato Phaedo 77 ) διασκεδάνν¯υται ‘that it may spread around’.

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and a–se–so–si ἀσσέσονσι ‘they expect to fatten’¹¹). This clear phonological distinction has also separated the modes (subjunctive/anticipation) from the tenses: combined with –σ– or with a different stem altogether, anticipation differs from present tense even if it features a short vowel suffix.

3 Factuality as a tense Factuality is the main problem of future as a tense in classical Greek. Whereas the other tenses present eventualities and processes as facts since they have happened or are happening, future is per definition unable to do so. Of course, “present as facts” does not imply that tenses like present indicative, perfect indicative, and aorist indicative automatically and consistently refer to the truth outside the utterance. All indicatives may well facilitate the speaker to tell lies – they merely present what is being told as a piece of true and reliable information from the speaker, to be understood and accepted as such by the hearer(s). The term factuality thus refers to the assumed or developing relation between speaker(s) and hearer(s): it describes what the speaker intends to convey, and the way he wants his audience to understand what has been said. Factuality, as the presentation of eventualities and processes as facts, is primarily a matter not of semantics, but of pragmatics. The lack of factuality turns future into a unique mode–tense amalgam. As a tense, future has no imperative. Nor does future allow for a mode difference between indicative and subjunctive: it is itself a mode. How can anticipation be further modified into something that is non–factual? In the examples from Linear B, factuality is not the problem: there the need to record what has–not–yet–been–but–will–definitely–be accomplished is the main issue. Where tense renders the notion of anticipated factuality in presentation problematic (as ‘not yet accomplished’ equals ‘non–fact’), anticipated factuality is a given in the clay tablets’ context. It is not the delivery that is located in time, but the moment of speaking/recording. This latter moment is equally considered and presented as factual, but as a recording it differs from the mentioning of deliveries in tenses like aorist indicative and perfect indicative: recording in future “indicative” means that recording comes first, and only then the delivery. In other words: as the representation of anticipation, future indicative turns the announcement itself into the eventuality, much like subjunctive, optative, and imperative force the hearer to focus on the moment of speaking rather than on the non–, not–yet–, or counter–factual eventuality. Before factuality became located in time (in other words: before it became a tense), it was presented as an aspect: either as a process (imperfective aspect) or as an even-

11 Cf. Palmer (1980, 312).

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tuality (aorist aspect)¹². First there was aspect, and only then aspect was located in time, using the augment to locate the process or eventuality before the moment of speaking¹³. The location in time of factuality is restricted to the past and the present, as factuality is bound to what is presented as real now, or has been in the past. Anticipated eventualities – expected, wanted, or demanded – can be suggested as being located in time after the moment of speaking, but suggestion is not the realm of tense. Suggestion may be expressed through the subjunctive, whose morphology resembles that of anticipation: subjunctive uses long open –e/o– reminiscent of contracted anticipation. The sigmatic aorist subjunctive combines the long open –e/o– with –s–, thus resembling anticipation in –σε/ο–· the only difference lies in the quality of the vowel contraction, open versus closed; in main clauses, subjunctive addresses speaker’s attitude towards the anticipated eventuality. If speaker wishes to connect the anticipated eventuality to the moment of speaking, the subjunctive is deferred to the subordinate clause (as generalis or futuralis) and expresses the same modality as the anticipation. Fitting the main clause for the location–in–time of an anticipation requires the application of the morphology of anticipation to locate the moment of speaking (as an eventuality) before the eventuality itself.

4 Modality and factuality in the “from now on” Anticipation had always been appropriate for the main clause (Mycenean do–si, di– do–si, a–se–so–si are in the main clause), just as the subjunctive in case of the direct question, the exhortation, and the prohibition, and the optative in case of the wish, and the possibility (with ἂν). All instances are non–factual, and morphologically not located in time, though they all use a specific aspect–stem. All express therefore aspect and modality, but depend on context insofar as their location in time is concerned: as exhortations, prohibitions, wishes, and possibilities are preferably presented as possibly factual from the moment of reference, they are logically conceived as possibly factual at a time yet to come, following the moment of reference. Subjunctives in subordinate clauses may thus be understood as “futuralis”: they refer to an anticipated eventuality that is still in the future from the point of view of the moment of speaking. It has proven to be not uncommon for ancient Greek to exploit word morphology in order to locate processes and eventualities in time, thus turning both the processes and the eventualities into recorded facts. Stems with aorist/perfective aspect, referring to eventualities, were located in time using the augment. Stems with imperfective aspect pointed at processes taking place in speaker’s proximity, and could be presented as recorded eye witness accounts through the addition of the augment. Perfect aspect

12 Bary (2009). 13 Blankenborg (2014).

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stems took on the augment to locate the establishment of an action’s result in the past (pluperfect). Modalities could not be located in time as representing facts: they resist the adding–on of the augment, and the formation of nominal forms like the aspect– stem infinitive and participle. Location in time for modalities could only be suggested through the point of reference: the location–in–time of the main clause verb or the application of particles and adverbs. If location in time was necessary for modality, even if the modality was sensitive to location in time past (as in the case of irrealis), indicatives (in other words: tenses) were used. All other modalities differ mainly in the application of primary (–ω / –μαι etc.) and secondary person–endings (–ην / –μην etc.). The difference, however, is not (like in tenses) between “now” (primary endings) and “then” (secondary endings), but rather, I argue, between “relevant up until now” for secondary, and “relevant from now on” for primary endings. Subjunctive thus looks forward from the moment of speaking, optative considers the moment of speaking as the conclusion of what was considered, thought, or pondered on before. There is, as stated, no real factuality in the “from now on”. The future may be considered, expected, or even longed for, but is not set – not even to be presented as such –, nor can it be recorded in advance. Anticipation, as evidenced in Mycenean and in Homer, seems to locate a future eventuality in time, but it does not: making the recording precede the eventuality may turn the recording itself into an eventuality, but it does not make the “recorded” eventuality itself happen, no matter how confident and convincing the recorder is. Recording a future eventuality does not record the eventuality for a fact in presentation. This modality may, however, easily be mistaken for presented–as–a–fact: especially when uttered by an especially trustworthy or inspired recorder (a Mycenean scribe, for example, or a divinely enthusiast priest) the recording of the future eventuality is as good a fact as anything presented as such and recorded now or in the past. When taken for a fact, anticipation resembles a tense rather than a modality.

5 Turning anticipation into tense: Would–be factuality Morphology did not turn modality into tense. It did locate aspect in time, but it left modality where it belongs: merely located in time by contextual factors. In the case of anticipation things went differently. Its use in the main clause could be understood as a tense recording a future factuality: logic did not stop the illogical from happening. Anticipation was the more easily treated as a tense as it shared morphology with present tense despite the characteristic –σ–. What is more, the combination –σε/ο–, itself attached to athematic stems, could well be considered a thematic tense characteristic, as modal characteristics normally follow thematic vowels (changing them in the process) instead of precede them. Any mix–up of anticipation vowel alternation –ε/ο– with the

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thematic vowel alternation –ε/ο– would turn modal –σε/ο– into a tense characteristic rather than a marker of modality for an athematic form. Other factors furthered the equation of –σε/ο– with the thematic tense marker. Anticipations using thematic –ε/ο– without the preceding spirans, and contracted forms having lost the spirans (Attic future forms) show no morphological difference when compared to non–augmented imperfective stems indicating tense. Once considered a tense marker, the spirans became productive as a temporal and/or aspect marker and resulted in nominal forms like “future infinitive” and “future participle”, just like other infinitives and participles are built from aspect–stems. What is especially remarkable in the process, is that the modal suffix was first treated as a temporal suffix, and then became productive as an aspect suffix to the verbal stem¹⁴. In the aspect system, however, “future” has no role to play: it is “aspect–neutral”, or rather “aspect–less”. Attempts to link the future stem (imperfective, perfective/aorist, perfect aspect stems are all used in future form morphology) to the semantics of aspect stems outside future/anticipation have not been successful. When resembling thematic markers of tense, the modal vowel characteristic of anticipation remains either phonetically short or, when long, closed, just as the modal characteristic of the optative mode (which is in line with the application of secondary personal endings). As was pointed out above, analogy created the long open vowel as the modal characteristic for subjunctive, including the desiderative mode. Regardless of its formation over time, subjunctive (pointing at views generally accepted to be true, and desired factuality in time to come) becomes recognizable through the long open mode vowel through analogy. Such working of analogy reflects a phonetic link between long open vowels preceding the verbs’ personal endings on the one hand, and a desire for factuality in the future on the other. The Greek verb system shows that this combination is consistently, and almost exclusively, used for the formation of subjunctives. Tenses, however, as indicatives, are either athematic, or use short or closed long vowels as their markers. The combination with primary personal endings is used to create present tense and perfect tense. Combined with secondary personal endings (and the augment), athematism and short or closed vowel endings establish the location in time of the process (imperfective tense), the eventuality (aorist indicative), and the result of an action (pluperfect). Tenses and modalities are thus both positively identified: through the presence of a morphological marker rather than by the absence of one. Tense is identified through the phonetic quality of the thematic vowel (if any) combined with the temporal augment; modality is identified through the presence of a modal characteristic that differs, both morphologically and phonetically, from the thematic vowel – either by “lengthening” (subjunctive) or diphthongalization with –ι– (optative), or through a different morpheme altogether (imperative). Analogy assured

14 Cf. aorist –σα, –(θ)η, perfect –κε.

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that the two different markers, of tense and of modality, became, and subsequently remained, mutually exclusive. In this working of analogy, the modal suffix for anticipation with a short or closed long vowel was readily, I argue, identified as a temporal rather than as a modal characteristic. Anticipation’s modal suffix had to be classified (and, when needed, adapted) into the binary opposition short/closed for factual recordings, and long open for not– yet–factual references. Staying with the modalities, “lengthening” of anticipation’s modal vowel rather than contraction with its thematic vowel, would have rendered anticipation synonymous with subjunctive. Despite the semantic similarities, anticipation and subjunctive are not synonymous: we saw that, whereas subjunctive is more desiderative in focusing on a future, not–yet–actuality, anticipation focuses on the act of recording as the eventuality. Leaving the vowel of the modal suffix short or closed, anticipation teamed up with the indicatives, first morphologically but soon syntactically as well. The modal suffix was put on a par with other (aspect +) temporal suffixes, much like the thematic vowel of the thematic aorist indicative. Anticipation was thus turned into an indicative itself, expressing location in time instead of modality; the modal suffix was taken to function as an aspect/temporal suffix. Homology with the –σ– as the productive aspect characteristic of many athematic aorists prevented the adding–on of the subjunctive’s long open vowel onto the newly created “future tense suffix”, but the new suffix did not resist the adding–on of the optative modal suffix (functioning merely as obliquus). As this latter adding–on is a relatively late occurrence¹⁵, we may safely assume that analogy had transformed anticipation into a tense by the end of the fifth century BCE.

6 Conclusion The logical oddity remained: how can something that should necessarily be expressed as a modality be presented as factuality? From the synchronic point of view (from Pindar/Aechylus onwards), is future a tense rather than a modality¹⁶? Or a modality rather than a tense? Or should we conclude to future as a “modal tense”¹⁷? It is clear that later phonetics and analogy obfuscated what anticipation used to express in Mycenean and in Homer, so that ancient Greek from 500 BCE onwards made the illogical possible: referring to anticipated eventualities as facts. Morphology categorizes future as an indicative, and thus as a tense; logic and semantics are still sensitive to the level of modality implied by such categorization. As a tense, future achieves what no other tense or mode is able to express: would–be factuality. As tenses record facts, and modes

15 First in Pindar and Aechylus. 16 Dahl (1985, 106–107). 17 Rijksbaron et al. (2000).

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reflect attitude towards what is presented as other–than–facts, future combines the best of both worlds, presenting not–yet–fact as factuality. Future thus suggests more than it records, but it records nonetheless. The modality that is implied by the sense of logic of language’s users is not supported by morphology. Analogy has the final call, it proves: its workings have deemed anticipation an indicative as “future” – scholars have to take the illogical consequences for granted, as did the users of ancient Greek themselves.

Bibliography Bary, C. 2009: Aspect in Ancient Greek, diss. Bary, C. & Egg, M. 2012: Variety in Greek Aspect Interpretation, «Linguistics and Philosophy», 35/2, 111–134. Bentein, K. 2013: Transitivity, Ecology, and the Emergence of Verbal Periphrasis in Ancient Greek, «Classical Philology», 108/4, 286–313. Blankenborg, R. 2014: Proximity and Distance: a Pragmatic Approach to Aspect, in The Greek Verb. Morphology, Syntax, and Semantics, ed. A. M. Bartolotta, Louvain–la–Neuve, 10–24. Bubeník, V. 2014: Verbal System. Tense, Aspect, Mood, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, ed. G. K. Gianakkis, Leiden – Boston. Dahl, Ö. 1985: Tense and Aspect Systems, Oxford. Duhoux, Y. 20002 : Le Verbe grec ancien. Éléments de morphologie et de syntaxe historiques, Louvain– la–Neuve. Iatridou, S. 2000: The Grammatical Ingredients of Counterfactuality, «Linguistic Inquiry», 31/2, 231– 270. Lucas, S. 2013: Polarizing the Future – The Development of an Aspectual Opposition in the Greek Future Tense, «Journal of Greek Linguistics», 13/1, 154–157. Lucas, S. 2014: Aspect in Greek Future Forms, «Journal of Greek Linguistics», 14/2, 163–189. Palmer, L. R. 1980: The Greek Language, Boston – London. Rijksbaron, A., Slings, S. R., Stork, P., & Wakker, G.C. 2000: Beknopte Syntaxis van het Klassiek Grieks, Lunteren. Sihler, A. L. 1995: New Comparative Grammar of Greek and Latin, New York – Oxford. Smith, H. W. 19842 : Greek Grammar, Harvard.

Antonio Lillo

On the oblique optative in Herodotus’ completive sentences, an evidentiality mark in Ancient Greek Abstract: The oblique optative in Herodotus’ completive sentences is the marked element from the point of view of Evidentiality; the indicative and subjunctive have no such marks, since these forms indicate pure actions, within their corresponding temporal and modal coordinates. Unlike these forms, the oblique optative presents actions from the viewpoint of the source of information, actions that the speaker knows by verification or inference. In consequence, oblique optative would not be merely a mark of subordination, but a modal use to mark the source of the information and, consequently, it would be a mark of Evidentiality.

1 Introduction It is not easy to establish the rules that explain the occurrence of the oblique optative beyond the fact that the verb in the main clause has to take a past tense. Indeed, it has been said that it is optional (Lavidas, 2014, 554), revealing a lack of agreement as to why it should appear at all. Goodwin (1889, 5) notes that in indirect speech «the optative after past tense represents an indicative or a subjunctive of the direct form, which original mood is always used after present and future tense, and may be retained after past tense», to which he adds that (Id. 1889, 261) «after past tense the indicative and optative are in equally good use; the optative being used when the writer incorporates the quotation entirely into his own sentence, and the indicative when he quotes it in the original words as far as his own construction allows. The indicative here, like the subjunctive in final clauses after past tense, is merely a more vivid form of expression than the optative, with no difference in meaning». Discussing evidence of the appearance of an indicative coordinated with an optative in the subordinate clause, he also notes that «Here contains the most important part of the message». With few variations from Goodwin, Vandaele (1897, 211) considers that, when two completive sentences dependent on the same main clause with the verb in historical tense appear in indirect speech in Herodotus, one with the indicative and the other with the optative, these two uses may be due to mere stylistic variation, though on the next page she does add that the indicative points to a material and essential fact, and the optative to a secondary and accessory fact. Similarly, Kühner – Gerth (1904, 361) believes that after historic time in the main clause the optative appears «wenn die Behauptung ausdrücklich als Gedanke des Subjekts im Hauptsätze bezeichnet werden

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-325

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soll». Rijksbaron (2006, 53) likewise thinks that in this context the optative presents the action «from the perspective of the narrator. The construction which uses the tense and mood of direct speech, on the other hand, suggests that the words reported are quoted almost verbatim (almost, for it is not a direct quotation). Now, since their pastness is cancelled, so to speak, the words reported are presented from the perspective of the original speaker and/or addressee». Meanwhile, Duhoux (2000, 188–190 and 231–240) makes the general point (2000, 231) that oblique optative is a chameleon mood, the indiscriminate bearer «des deux modalités exprimées par les formations auxquelles il se substitue: l’attente (subjonctif; indicatif futur / futur–parfait) et le factuel (temps non futurs de l’indicatif non irréalisable)». All these explanations share the fact that they regard the use of oblique optative as “right” from the grammatical point of view, while the use of the indicative would be, if not “wrong”, then at least an anomaly, which cannot be considered per se a rule. Proof of the weakness of this approach is the fact that the scholars hesitate to determine the grammatical value of the optative, claiming either that the optative is equivalent to the indicative, or to the mood which the optative replaces if the subordinate were a main clause, or that the optative expresses the verbal action less “vividly”, in constructions in which two mutually coordinated subordinate clauses appear, one with indicative or subjunctive and another with optative. For reasons of mere linguistic economy, the appearance of two equivalent modal uses would have resulted in the rapid disappearance of one of them and the generalization of the other; but this has not been the case, so that the oblique optative, coordinated or not with indicative, appears in completive sentences in both Ionic and Attic. We would, therefore, be dealing with a consecutio modorum used, shall we say, on a discretionary basis. By contrast, Faure (2012) relates the oblique optative to the expression of temporality; it is thus a temps du récit and its appearance would not be optional. To this end, he focuses on the study of Xenophon’s corpus, specifically Anabasis. The oblique optative would indicate simultaneous action with the introducer verb within the domain of the narrative (récit), thus indicating relative time, a time that would be interpreted in conjunction with another event (événement) with which it is related. But when the action is prior to the time of narration, an imperfect always appears. The problem with this explanation is that, despite the frequency of the use of oblique optative in the situations described, there are instances where it does not follow this rule, so that the expression of time is not the only criterion for the appearance of oblique optative or indicative. A different line of research into oblique optative is pursued by Méndez Dosuna (1999; 2001). After weighing the various explanations given for this modal use, he discusses the possibility of considering the oblique optative as playing the role of an évidential de rapport. But, after an analysis of texts, both inscriptions from the Asklepieion at Epidaurus about stories of healing and other Attic texts in both prose and verse, the main obstacle he finds to this interpretation is the fact that oblique optative appears in contexts in which the source of information provided by the speaker

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is the first–person speaker himself, a fact not suited to the idea of an evidential since, as Méndez Dosuna acknowledges, storytellers cannot question the reliability of their own statements (1999, 348). Therefore, he concludes that the function of the oblique optative is as a marker of indirect speech (Id. 1999, 349). But without abandoning his typological approach, he also notes that this evidential reportive, which indicates modal distance when reporting (rapporter) the words or information of another taking such a distance, would be a stage in the process of grammaticalization from the idea of possibility to the mark of indirect discourse, what he calls an evidentiel de citation (Id. 1999, 350), which would make the oblique optative just one of the hallmarks of literary style. The procedure, in other words, is not readily explicable, given that, apparently, it is not subject to any clear rules of distribution beyond the dependence on sentences in which the main clause has a historical tense. Our work, therefore, will focus on the study of oblique optative in Herodotus’ corpus, particularly in the completive constructs introduced by ὡς and ὅτι and interrogative sentences. We begin by reviewing constructions with two completives dependent on a main sentence in historical tense, one with a verb in the indicative and the other with oblique optative. (1)

Hdt. 1.86.5, Λιπαρεόντων δὲ αὐτῶν καὶ ὄχλον παρεχόντων, ἔλεγε δὴ ὡς ἦλθε ἀρχὴν ὁ Σόλων ἐὼν ᾿Αθηναῖος, καὶ θεησάμενος πάντα τὸν ἑωυτοῦ ὄλβον ἀποφλαυρίσειε οἷα δὴ εἴπας, ὥς τε αὐτῷ πάντα ἀποβεβήκοι τῇ περ ἐκεῖνος εἶπε, ‘As they were so insistent, he told them then how Solon, an Athenian, had first come, and how, after beholding all his opulence, he had slighted him with a number of reasons (saying thus and thus), and how all had happened to Croesus as Solon had said,’¹

We see in (1) that ἦλθε indicates an absolute action, the arrival of Solon, without any additional mark, but that it is not the same with ἀποφλαυρίσειε and ἀποβεβήκοι, whose actions result from Solon’s observation of Creosus’ opulence (θεησάμενος πάντα τὸν ἑωυτοῦ ὄλβον). We find, then, that both oblique optatives do not refer to absolute actions, but are part of a state of affairs where the actions indicated by these optatives are related to a previous verbal action: in the case of ἀποφλαυρίσειε, the fact of having seen all the opulence, whose consequence is his contempt, and in that of ἀποβεβήκοι, using the form to refer Solon to the results of what was said in Chapter 32.5–6, where Solon makes a series of reflections to Croesus, precisely on opulence (ὄλβος) and the results of this kind of life. In both constructions with oblique optative the action is not presented as a mere exposure by Croesus of Solon’s contempt, as is the case of ὡς ἦλθε, but as an inference from Solon’s observation. Furthermore, with regard to the second optative form, ὡς ἀποβεβήκοι, its action is the reference to a state of affairs already

1 In this paper I follow the English translation of the Loeb, although I also introduce some changes.

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known by Solon, which he himself had exposed to Croesus and which Croesus now verifies and assumes. (2)

Hdt. 5.97.1–2, ᾿Επελθὼν δὲ ἐπὶ τὸν δῆμον ὁ ᾿Αρισταγόρης ταὐτὰ ἔλεγε τὰ καὶ ἐν τῇ Σπάρτῃ περὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τῶν ἐν τῇ ᾿Ασίῃ καὶ τοῦ πολέμου τοῦ Περσικοῦ, ὡς οὔτε ἀσπίδα οὔτε δόρυ νομίζουσι εὐπετέες τε χειρωθῆναι εἴησαν. Ταῦτά τε δὴ ἔλεγε καὶ πρὸς τούτοισι τάδε, ὡς οἱ Μιλήσιοι τῶν ᾿Αθηναίων εἰσὶ ἄποικοι, καὶ οἰκός σφεας εἴη ῥύεσθαι δυναμένους μέγα· ‘Coming before the people, Aristagoras repeated the same as manifested in Sparta about the riches of Asia and the Persians’ way of fighting, that they did not use shields and spears and that would be easy to overcome. These, in short, were the arguments used and he added thereto that the Milesians were settlers of the Athenians, and it was but right to save them, being a very wealthy people’.

As in (1), we see that in (2) νομίζουσι indicates an absolute piece of information, while εὐπετέες χειρωθῆναι εἴησαν provides information that is not independent, but is related to νομίζουσι and, in fact, depends on this first piece of information, from which it is inferred, an inference reinforced by how it presents the first information, with a negative construction. Earlier in Aristagoras’ account to the Spartans in (3), whom he fails to convince, the information given is not exactly the same: rather than talk about the weapons not used by the Persians, he mentions those which are, and he ends the account with the same construction appearing in (2) with oblique optative, but now in the indicative. (3)

Hdt. 5.49.3, ῞Η τε μάχη αὐτῶν ἐστι τοιήδε, τόξα καὶ αἰχμὴ βραχέα· ἀναξυρίδας δὲ ἔχοντες ἔρχονται ἐς τὰς μάχας καὶ κυρβασίας ἐπὶ τῇσι κεφαλῇσι. Οὕτω εὐπετέες χειρωθῆναί εἰσι. ‘And their combat weapons are as follows: bows and short spears; and they go into battle with anaxirides and turbans on their heads, so they are easy to overcome’.

It is clear that in (3) the construction οὕτω εὐπετέες χειρωθῆναί εἰσι is the central idea and the conclusion of the statement, but not so in (2), where εὐπετέες χειρωθῆναι εἴησαν refers rather to the situation arising from the fact that the Persians dos not employ or shields or spears, so that this is an inference. And, similarly, οἰκός σφεας εἴη ῥύεσθαι δυναμένους μέγα is a consequence of what is previously discussed, the absolute piece of information, οἱ Μιλήσιοι τῶν ᾿Αθηναίων εἰσὶ ἄποικοι. This is also the first time the idea that Athens is the metropolis of the Ionian cities appears, so that, given the inferential nature of οἰκός σφεας εἴη ῥύεσθαι δυναμένους μέγα, it may well be thought that this is the value of the oblique optative here. And if this is the case, a construction with indicative, *οἰκός σφεας ἐστι ῥύεσθαι δυναμένους μέγα would imply the consideration of both states of affairs as independent, which makes no sense.

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(4)

Hdt. 7.233.1, Οἱ δὲ Θηβαῖοι, τῶν ὁ Λεοντιάδης ἐστρατήγεε, τέως μὲν μετὰ τῶν ῾Ελλήνων ἐόντες ἐμάχοντο ὑπ᾿ ἀναγκαίης ἐχόμενοι πρὸς τὴν βασιλέος στρατιήν· ὡς δὲ εἶδον κατυπέρτερα τῶν Περσέων γινόμενα τὰ πρήγματα, οὕτω δή, τῶν σὺν Λεωνίδῃ ῾Ελλήνων ἐπειγομένων ἐπὶ τὸν κολωνόν, ἀποσχισθέντες τούτων χεῖράς τε προέτεινον καὶ ἤισαν ἆσσον τῶν βαρβάρων, λέγοντες τὸν ἀληθέστατον τῶν λόγων, ὡς καὶ μηδίζουσι καὶ γῆν τε καὶ ὕδωρ ἐν πρώτοισι ἔδοσαν βασιλέϊ, ὑπὸ δὲ ἀναγκαίης ἐχόμενοι ἐς Θερμοπύλας ἀπικοίατο καὶ ἀναίτιοι εἶεν τοῦ τρώματος τοῦ γεγονότος βασιλέϊ· ὥστε ταῦτα λέγοντες περιεγένοντο· εἶχον γὰρ καὶ Θεσσαλοὺς τούτων τῶν λόγων μάρτυρας. ‘But while they were in the ranks of the Greeks, the Thebans, headed by Leontiades, fought, albeit almost by force, against the troops of the king. But when they saw that the situation was clearly looking favourable to the Persians, they siezed the moment in which the Greeks who were with Leonidas retreated hastily up the hill to separate them and approach the barbarians with outstretched hands, claiming the truth: that they were supporters of the Medes, that they were among the first to give the king the earth and water, but that they had come to Thermopylae practically by force and were not responsible for the setback suffered by the monarch . These explanations allowed them to escape, since they had the testimony of the Thessalians as witnesses to confirm what they had said’.

Again in (4) μεδίζουσι and ἔδοσαν provide absolute information, as if both completive sentences were main clauses. On the contrary, ἀπικοίατο and εἶεν indicate actions pertaining to a situation not presented as independent of the foregoing (the fact that the Thebans sympathized with the Medes and provided the king with water and land), but related to and dependent on it: to verify and justify their further action with regard to the king, the fact of having gone to Thermopylae by force, and the fact of not being responsible for the defeat of the king. The situation is, then, similar to that of the previous texts, where the optative indicates an action related to a prior one, so it does not provide absolute information: ἀπικοίατο and εἶεν refer to the result of a given situation, ὑπὸ δὲ ἀναγκαίης ἐχόμενοι, “by force”. Therefore, both forms of oblique optative are used to express the verification of facts and also have an inferential value. We will now analyze constructions with two completives, but in the reverse order, the first constructed with oblique optative and the second with indicative. (5)

Hdt. 1.111.5, Καὶ πρόκατε δὴ κατ᾿ ὁδὸν πυνθάνομαι τὸν πάντα λόγον θεράποντος ὃς ἐμὲ προπέμπων ἔξω πόλιος ἐνεχείρισε τὸ βρέφος, ὡς ἄρα Μανδάνης τε εἴη παῖς τῆς ᾿Αστυάγεος θυγατρὸς καὶ Καμβύσεω τοῦ Κύρου, καί μιν ᾿Αστυάγης ἐντέλλεται ἀποκτεῖναι. ‘Very soon on the way I heard all the story from a servant who brought me out of the city and gave me the child: that behold the child is the son of Mandane, the daughter of Astyages, and of Cambyses, son of Cyrus, and that Astyages has ordered him to be killed’.

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The construction with two completives, ὡς . . . εἴη . . . καί . . . ἐντέλλεται depends on πυνθάνομαι, an historical present. The sentence μιν ᾿Αστυάγης ἐντέλλεται ἀποκτεῖναι, with indicative, is a piece of information that may even be a verbatim reproduction of direct speech, but it is not in indicative for that reason. With this completive Mitradates, the herdsman of Astyages, reveals Astyages’ plan for the child to his wife, a plan whose executor is Mitradates himself. But the information given in the first completive sentence, ὡς ἄρα Μανδάνης τε εἴη παῖς τῆς ᾿Αστυάγεος θυγατρὸς καὶ Καμβύσεω τοῦ Κύρου, is of a different nature, as it simply reports the story of the child without a further mark of time, causality, etc., unlike the clause in the indicative mode, with a time reference, where Astyages orders the child to be killed now. If we accept this, we find that, although in (5) the order of distribution of modal forms is the reverse of the above texts (1), (2) and (4), here too the oblique optative points to a fact that is related to prior information, so that that information (the fact that the herdsman has learned that he is holding the son of Mandane and Cambyses) is not independent, but has been explicitly given previously. We would thus be dealing with a verification of the information. This in turn raises the question whether the optative form εἴη could be switched with an indicative form ἐστι. The ἆρα particle serves to attract attention, “behold”. We have, therefore, a marked text, but with information of a different nature to that expressed in the second completive sentence, which is constructed with indicative, since in the former, εἴη, an assertion is expressed, although not without surprise, and devoid of any reference to temporality, whereas in καί μιν ᾿Αστυάγης ἐντέλλεται ἀποκτεῖναι the action is reported with coordinates of time and in relation to the fact of the information given to the herdsman Mitradates. Consequently, this would be the reason for an optative form, εἴη, the verification of a given situation. Indicative and optative forms would not, therefore, be switchable, unless the approach to the state of affairs were different. And if we accept this, we would have to assume that the appearance here of a second completive clause, but with oblique optative, *ἐντέλλοιτο, which would also be syntactically possible, alters the overall meaning of the whole construction, as the order to kill the child would be presented as a mere addition to the information of the child’s lineage, in the same tone of surprise of the above construction. It would be saying that, as the child is the son of Mandane and Cambyses, he has to be killed, regardless of Mitradates’ objections to obeying the order. We would not, therefore, be dealing with an optional use of oblique optative as, say, a mere stylistic alternative to the use of the indicative; rather, the oblique optative here follows specific rules, namely the verification of a previously given piece of information, now with some surprise, never an absolute and independent piece of information, which would be expressed with indicative. (6)

Hdt. 5.31.1, ᾿Απικόμενος δὲ ὁ ᾿Αρισταγόρης ἐς τὰς Σάρδις λέγει πρὸς τὸν ᾿Αρταφρένεα ὡς Νάξος εἴη νῆσος μεγάθεϊ μὲν οὐ μεγάλη ἄλλως δὲ καλή τε καὶ ἀγαθὴ καὶ ἀγχοῦ ᾿Ιωνίης, χρήματα δὲ ἔνι πολλὰ καὶ ἀνδράποδα.

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‘Arriving at Sardis, Aristagoras told Artaphrenes that Naxos was not an island of great size, but that it was nevertheless beautiful and fertile, close to Ionia, and had much wealth and many slaves’. As in (5), the oblique optative in (6), dependent on λέγει, a historical present, provides general information without a specific mark of time or space beyond the mere communication of the island’s existence and characteristics, just a verification of a state of affairs. In a different manner, the second sentence, χρήματα δὲ ἔνι πολλὰ καὶ ἀνδράποδα supplies the specific information whereby the island of Naxos is of interest to the strategy adopted on a precise occasion. We can compare what is stated in the above texts with (7), where both completives take the verb in indicative. (7)

Hdt. 2.131.1, Οἱ δέ τινες λέγουσι περὶ τῆς βοὸς ταύτης καὶ τῶν κολοσσῶν τόνδε τὸν λόγον, ὡς Μυκερῖνος ἠράσθη τῆς ἑωυτοῦ θυγατρὸς καὶ ἔπειτα ἐμίγη οἱ ἀεκούσῃ· ‘Concerning the cow and the statues, some have, however, the following story: Mycerinus fell in love with his own daughter and, despite the strength of the girl, he forced her’.

In (7) two separate actions are presented, each with its specific and mutually independent marks, both providing new information on equal terms, so that it is impossible to consider that either of them refers to a previous given situation, with no implicit information to be verified or inferred. If what we said before about the use of oblique optative is accepted, the appearance of the pronoun τόνδε in τόνδε λόγον τὸν excludes an oblique optative in the first completive sentence, like the appearance of ἔπειτα in the second, setting both actions on an equal footing. But if ἔπειτα were omitted, then an oblique optative would be acceptable, *καὶ μιγείη οἱ ἀέκουσῃ, but the meaning of the text would then change, because it would be presupposed that, as a result of falling in love with his daughter, Mycerinus ended up having sex with her, an inferential sense. We would therefore be dealing with a choice by the narrator: either present two separate actions, with the same “information status”, and with the appropriate stylistic force, which is the technique adopted by Herodotus in (7), or present the second action as a consequence of the first and linked to it, with oblique optative. A similar text, but in which both procedures depend on different λέγουσι forms, appears in (8)

Hdt. 1.70.2–3, Οὗτος ὁ κρητὴρ οὐκ ἀπίκετο ἐς Σάρδις δι᾿ αἰτίας διφασίας λεγομένας τάσδε· οἱ μὲν Λακεδαιμόνιοι λέγουσι ὡς, ἐπείτε ἀγόμενος ἐς τὰς Σάρδις ὁ κρητὴρ ἐγίνετο κατὰ τὴν Σαμίην, πυθόμενοι Σάμιοι ἀπελοίατο αὐτὸν νηυσὶ μακρῇσι ἐπιπλώσαντες· αὐτοὶ δὲ Σάμιοι λέγουσι ὡς, ἐπείτε ὑστέρησαν οἱ ἄγοντες τῶν Λακεδαιμονίων τὸν κρητῆρα, ἐπυνθάνοντο δὲ Σάρδις τε καὶ Κροῖσον ἡλωκέναι, ἀπέδοντο τὸν κρητῆρα ἐν Σάμῳ, ‘This crater never came to Sardis, for one of two reasons that are given in this regard. The Lacedaemonians say that when the crater, during transport to

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Sardis, reached Samos, the Samians, when they found out, seized her with warships; but the Samians themselves say that, as the Lacedaemonians carrying the crater were delayed and learned the capture of Sardis and Croesus, they sold the crater in Samos,’ Again in (8), as in (6), there is a historical present λέγουσι, on which an oblique optative depends in the construction Λακεδαιμόνιοι λέγουσι ὡς. . . Σάμιοι ἀπελοίατο. . . , a construction repeated below, but now with indicative, αὐτοὶ δὲ Σάμιοι λέγουσι ὡς. . . ἀπέδοντο τὸν κρητῆρα ἐν Σάμῳ. The modal change cannot be a mere variation, but must be due to the nature of the information, information about which, moreover, there is no further notice than that transmitted by Herodotus and Plutarch’s criticism of the explanation of the Lacedaemonians.² However, the Lacedaemonian version must have been what was usually accepted, since Herodotus repeats it in 3.47.1, ὡς δὲ Λακεδαιμόνιοι λέγουσι, οὐκ οὕτω τιμωρῆσαι δεομένοισι Σαμίοισι ἐστρατεύοντο ὡς τείσασθαι βουλόμενοι τοῦ κρητῆρος τῆς ἁρπαγῆς, τὸν ἦγον Κροίσῳ, ‘However, as the Lacedaemonians say, they organized the expedition not so much as to help the Samians in their demands, but for the purpose of revenge by stealing the crater they carried to Croesus’, and, as noted, is Plutarch’s version, while there is no further notice of the explanation given by the Samians, which, moreover, suggests Herodotus’ sympathy towards them, at the expense of the Lacedaemonians. If this is so, we need to see the first construction, with oblique optative, Λακεδαιμόνιοι λέγουσι ὡς. . . Σάμιοι ἀπελοίατο. . . , as the communis opinio indicating a mere verification of the information, and hence the oblique optative, while the second construction, with indicative, αὐτοὶ δὲ Σάμιοι λέγουσι ὡς. . . ἀπέδοντο, is the new information or, in any case, the less known or accepted, which is made explicit and presented absolutely, and thus with an indicative form. Let us now analyze constructions with interrogative sentences. (9)

Hdt. 5.13.2, ῾Ο δ᾿ ἀμείβετο, τίνες τε οἱ Παίονες ἄνθρωποί εἰσι καὶ κοῦ γῆς οἰκημένοι, καὶ τί κεῖνοι ἐθέλοντες ἔλθοιεν ἐς Σάρδις. ‘But he answered who were the Paeonians and where in the world dwelt they, and with what intent were they come to Sardis’.

As in the previous texts, we can see in (9) that the sentence with optative refers to an observable state of affairs, the verification that the Paeonians had come with a purpose, while the sentence with indicative refers to a specific time and space, the news of the presence of Paenians and the ignorance of their identity. (10)

Hdt. 6.3, ᾿Ενθαῦτα δὴ εἰρωτώμενος ὑπὸ τῶν ᾿Ιώνων ὁ ῾Ιστιαῖος κατ᾿ ὅ τι προθύμως οὕτω ἐπέστειλε τῷ ᾿Αρισταγόρῃ ἀπίστασθαι ἀπὸ βασιλέος καὶ κακὸν τοσοῦτο εἴη ῎Ιωνας ἐξεργασμένος,

2 Plutarch, Moralia 859c.

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‘Then Histiaeus was asked by the lonians why he had so zealously charged Aristagoras to revolt from the king and done the Ionians such great harm’. As in (9), the two issues raised in (10) are not of the same nature. While the question with indicative, κατ᾿ ὅ τι προθύμως οὕτω ἐπέστειλε τῷ ᾿Αρισταγόρῃ ἀπίστασθαι ἀπὸ βασιλέος, concerns what triggers the new situation, the reason for the uprising, frameble at a particular time, the interrogative sentence with optative, κατ᾿ ὅ τι. . . κακὸν τοσοῦτο εἴη ῎Ιωνας ἐξεργασμένος, refers to the state of affairs, the calamity that has taken place, which in turn is an inference from what is indicated in the first interrogative, while it is also its verification. (11)

Hdt. 1.53.1, Τοῖσι δὲ ἄγειν μέλλουσι τῶν Λυδῶν ταῦτα τὰ δῶρα ἐς τὰ ἱρὰ ἐνετέλλετο ὁ Κροῖσος ἐπειρωτᾶν τὰ χρηστήρια εἰ στρατεύηται ἐπὶ Πέρσας Κροῖσος καὶ εἴ τινα στρατὸν ἀνδρῶν προσθέοιτο φίλον. ‘To the Lydians who had to carry those presents to shrines, Croesus ordered the oracles to be asked whether Croesus should send an army against the Persians and if they should join any army of friendly men’.

It is not easy to find any differences between the uses of the subjunctive and optative in this text (Abicht 1903, 89; Stein 1883, 60). In fact, Wakker (1994, 382) finds none and refers to Kuner – Gerth’s explanation of purpose sentences, namely that the subjunctive indicates an immediate end, while the optative merely a consequence or supposition, uses defined as Hauptzweck and Nebenzweck (Kühner – Gerth 1904, 387). This explanation would, then, presuppose that the search for partnership is a secondary action, as opposed to the declaration of war, which is not so clear. In our opinion, both indirect questions refer to the same state of affairs, but, while the first, with subjunctive, εἰ στρατεύηται ἐπὶ Πέρσας Κροῖσος, refers to a future situation, the fact of beginning a war, the second, with oblique optative, εἴ τινα στρατὸν ἀνδρῶν προσθέοιτο φίλον, would indicate a verbal action linked to the first, so that it can be inferred from the former. This, then, implies that the association with a friendly army would be part of the whole strategy of attack: a coalition to attack the Persians. Thus, we do not believe that this variation is purely stylistic. If the second indirect interrogative had also been constructed with subjunctive, (12) *ἐπειρωτᾶν τὰ χρηστήρια εἰ στρατεύηται ἐπὶ Πέρσας Κροῖσος καὶ εἴ τινα στρατὸν ἀνδρῶν προσθῆται φίλον. this would presuppose that we are dealing with two distinct states of affairs, one being the attack on the Persians and the other, seemingly unrelated, the coalition with another friendly army, which does not seem reasonable. We are therefore faced with two complementary actions for the expression of a state of affairs, where the first indicates the action set in a future time, while the second is an inference therefrom. We will now analyze a minimal pair with a verb of perception, ἀκούω: (13) Hdt. 7.208.1, Ταῦτα βουλευομένων σφέων ἔπεμπε Ξέρξης κατάσκοπον ἱππέα ἰδέσθαι ὁκόσοι εἰσὶ καὶ ὅ τι ποιοῖεν· ἀκηκόεε δὲ ἔτι ἐὼν ἐν Θεσσαλίῃ ὡς

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ἁλισμένη εἴη ταύτῃ στρατιὴ ὀλίγη, καὶ τοὺς ἡγεμόνας ὡς εἴησαν Λακεδαιμόνιοί τε καὶ Λεωνίδης, ἐὼν γένος ῾Ηρακλείδης. ‘While they were discussing this proposal, Xerxes sent a rider on a spy mission, so as to ensure how many there were and what it was they were doing, since, when he was still in Thessaly, he had heard that there had assembled there a small contingent of troops headed by the Lacedaemonians, and specifically Leonidas, who was a descendant of Heracles’. (14) Hdt. 7.238.1, Ταῦτα εἴπας Ξέρξης διεξήιε διὰ τῶν νεκρῶν καὶ Λεωνίδεω, ἀκηκοὼς ὅτι βασιλεύς τε ἦν καὶ στρατηγὸς Λακεδαιμονίων, ἐκέλευσε ἀποταμόντας τὴν κεφαλὴν ἀνασταυρῶσαι. ‘Having thus spoken, Xerxes passed amongst the dead, and, as he had heard that Leonidas was the king and leader of the Lacedaemonians, he ordered him to be beheaded and his head to be nailed to a stake’. We will not refer in (13) to the uses with indicative and optative of ὁκόσοι εἰσὶ καὶ ὅ τι ποιοῖεν, as it would be similar constructions to which we have discussed in (9) and (10), but we will focus on ἀκηκόεε . . . ὡς . . . εἴη. And here we see that the state of affairs arising is that of information reported as having been received and assumed, while in (14) the completive with indicative, ἀκηκοὼς ὅτι . . . ἦν, relates the mere information of Leonidas’ royalty. The difference between both constructions would therefore be that in (14) there is only the information about Leonidas’ royalty and that Xerxes hears the news, while in (13) we find not only the information but the verification thereof, to which Xerxes gives validity, so that he has received and considered it. Thus, while in (14) the most important thing is the news that reaches Xerxes, in (13) the most important thing is the fact that the news is assumed by him. At this point we must sum up. We see, then, that the meanings of oblique optative constructions are inferential in (1), (2), (4) and (11) and of verification and assumption in (1), (5), (6), (8), (9), (10) and (13). And this means that we find that the oblique optative can be used to indicate the source of the information or how the speaker has accessed it, which brings us to questions of Evidentiality. Aikhenvald (2004, 3; 2014, 3) defines Evidentiality as the linguistic category aimed at describing the source of information, the form in which it is acquired, how we know something, without entering into the question of the speaker’s degree of certainty with regard to the information he is giving, whether it is true or not, and points out that «a significant number of languages distinguish evidentiality only in the past» (2004, 8). She then makes a summary of the sources of information and states that there are six: Visual, Non–visual sensory, Inference, Assumption, Hearsay and Quotative (Aikhenvald 2004, 63–4). Previously Bybee (Bybee – Perkins – Pagliauca 1994, 95; see also Mushin 2001, 18–23) points out that «the basic distinction among evidentials is between those that indicate that the speaker has the information via direct evidence of having witnessed the situation or via indirect evidence, which may be further divided into reported evidence (that is, the speaker has the information from another speaker) or inferred evidence (that is, the

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speaker has inferred the situation from its results or simply by reasoning)», following Willett (1988, 57), who notes that «the primary evidential parameter expressed in natural language is that of direct evidence versus indirect evidence; that is, whether the source of the speaker’s information is of a primary or a secondary nature» and he develops this idea by differentiating three general kinds of evidence: 1. Dirtect: attested (visual, auditory, other sensory). 2. Indirect: reported (hearsay, folklore) and inferring (results, reasoning) But this approach is a development of the ideas proposed by Bybee in a previous book published some years before (Bybee 1985, 184–5). This line of linguistic research has had a rapid development in recent years, but it poses difficulties in European languages, because the marks for indicating the source of information associated with verbal forms are not as clear they may be in languages belonging to other linguistic families; but this is not a reason for not taking these parameters for analysis. Consider Turkish, for example. Johanson (2003; see also Meydan 1996) establishes the opposition of forms gel–miş ‘he has obviously come / obviously came’ and gel–iyor–muş ‘he is / was obviously coming, obviously comes’, where the speaker knows the fact by inference or hearsay and – miş and – muş are marks of Evidentiality, versus gel–di ‘he has come / came’, gel–iyor ‘is coming / comes’, without these marks. Next, he specifies that «the unmarked ones always exhibit neutral uses in cases where the speaker considers the evidential distinction unessential and thus chooses not to use it». To this question Lazard (1996, 1999, 2000, 2001) has also devoted work, choosing to speak of mediative³ when the speaker is aware of facts from hearsay, inference or verification, notions which he finds in the forms of perfect II in Modern Persian and in Tadjik, a Persian dialect. If what we have said is granted, it could be concluded that the oblique optative, that «meaningless» modal use, is the marked element from the point of view of Evidentiality, while the indicative and subjunctive have no such marks, since these forms indicate pure actions, within their corresponding temporal and modal coordinates. But, unlike these forms, the oblique optative presents actions from the viewpoint of the source of information, actions that the speaker knows by verification or inference. Oblique optative would not, therefore, be an arbitrary modal use. The narrator would choose to use it on the basis of the notions to be higlighted, so that the situational context of these actions would be what determines either the use of the mark of Evidentiality or, if one prefers, of Mediativity, if applicable, or its non–use, in the case of the expression of actions that are absolute, independent, not mediated by the type of source of information. In short, oblique optative would not, in the case of completive sentences, be

3 On this term see also Guentchéva (1996).

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merely a mark of subordination, but a modal use to mark the source of the information and, consequently, a mark of Evidentiality.

Bibliography Abicht, K. 1903: Herodotos. Für den Schulgebrauch erklärt von K. Abicht, Erster Band, Leipzig – Berlin. Aikhenvald, A. Y. 2004: Evidentiality, Oxford. Aikhenvald, A. Y. 2014: The gramar of knowledge: a cross–limguistic view of evidentials and the expression of information source in The Grammar of Kmowledge. A Cross–Linguistic Typology, eds. A. Y. Aikhenvald & R. M. W. Dixon, Oxford, 1–51. Bybee, J. L. 1984, Morphology. A Study of the Relation between Meaning and Form, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Bybee, J., Perkins, R. & Pagliauca, W. 1994: The Evolution of Grammar. Tense, Aspect and Modality in the Languages of the World, Chicago – London. Duhoux, Y. 20003 : Le verbe grec ancient. Éléments de morphologie et de syntaxe historiques, Louvain la Neuve. Faure, R. 2010: L’optatif oblique serait–il un temps?, «Lalies», 30, 281–294. Guentchéva, Zl. 1996: Introduction, in L’énonciation miediatisé, ed. Zl. Guentchéva, Louvain – Paris, 11–18. Goodwin, W. W. 1889: Syntax of the Moods and Tenses of the Greek Verb, London. Johanson, L. 2003: Evidentiality in Turkic, in Studies in Evidentiality, eds A. Y. Aikhenvald & R. M. W. Dixon, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 273–290. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 1904: Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache II, Hannover – Leipzig. Lavidas, N. 2014: Optative, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics (EAGLL) II, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Leiden – Boston. Lazard, G. 1996: Le médiatif en persan, in L’énonciation mediatisé, ed. Zl. Guentchéva, Louvain – Paris, 21–30. Lazard, G. 1999: Mirativity, evidentiality, mediativity, or other?, «Linguistic Typology», 3, 91–109. Lazard, G. 2000: Le médiatif: considérations théoriques et application à l’iranien, in Evidentials. Turkic, Iranian and Neighbouring Languages, ed. L. Johanson, 209–226. Lazard, G. 2001: On the grammaticalization of evidentiality, «Journal of Pragmatics», 33, 359–367. Méndez Dosuna, J. V. 1999: Le valeur de l’optatif oblique grec: un regars fonctionnel–typologique, in Les complétives en grec ancien, ed. B. Jacquinod, Saint–Étienne, 331–352. Méndez Dosuna, J. V. 2001: L’optatif oblique dans les Iamata d’Épidaure, «Verbum», 23, 323–339. Meydan, M. 1996: Les emplois médiatifs de – miş en turc, in L’énonciation mediatisé, ed. Zl. Guentchéva, Louvain – Paris, 125–143. Mushin, I., 2001: Evidentiality and Epistemological Stance, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Rijksbaron, A. 20063 : The Syntax and Semantics of the Verb in Classical Greek, Chicago – London. Stein, H. 1883: Herodotos. Erklärt von H. Stein. Erster Band, Berlin. Vandaele, H. 1897: L’optatif grec. Essai de syntaxe historique, Paris. Wakker, G. 1994: Conditions and Conditionals. An Investigation on Ancient Greek, Amsterdam. Willett, Th. 1988: A cross–linguistic survey of the grammaticalization of evidentiality, «Studies in Language», 12, 1, 51–97.

Elisabetta Magni

Pluractionality and perfect in Homeric Greek Abstract: In Archaic Greek the perfect shows two different semantic values: the resultative and the intensive, which is recessive in Classical Greek. The so–called “intensive perfects” describe actions as ongoing processes and differ from the present only in the intensity with which the events are depicted. These meanings are common with noise verbs, but there is no consensus about the other forms to be included in the category, and still controversial is also the question whether the intensive is related to the other uses of the perfect, and if so how. This paper addresses these issues by making reference to the role of pluractionality. It will be argued that this broad cross–linguistic category can account for a variety of facts concerning problematic reduplicated forms. In particular, it will be shown that a number of Homeric perfects with present meaning find a unifying explanation when interpreted as encoding different kinds of event plurality. Several maps illustrating the intersections between the diachronic paths of reduplication and the diverse pluractional meanings will clarify how the incorporation of pluractional verbs contributes to shape the functions and the evolution of the Greek perfect.

1 Introduction 1.1 The perfectum intensivum As is well known, in Archaic Greek the perfect shows two different semantic values: the intensive and the resultative¹, in Classical Greek the former is disappearing, while the resultative generalizes and past meanings start to develop. The difference between Homeric and post–Homeric uses of the perfect is thus especially salient in the category of the ‘intensive’, which describes actions as ongoing processes and differs from the present only in the intensity with which the events are depicted. This set of verbs with present meanings and perfect morphology poses a number of issues. Evidently, intensive forms do not harmonize with the widely accepted view of the Indo–European perfect as characterized by intransitivity and denoting a state in

1 «In addition to state the perfect also expresses elementary actions such as ‘he shouts’, ‘roars’, ‘smells’, ‘is joyful’ (κέκραγε, βέβρυχε, ὄδωδε, γέγηθε), which cannot be derived from resulting state but on the other hand can very well be understood as intensives» (Szemerényi 1996, 294). For a review of the issue and further references see Sicking – Stork (1996, 125–127).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-337

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the present resulting from an action in the past². Moreover, intensive meanings seem particularly common with the so–called Schallverba (noise verbs like βέβρυχα ‘I roar’, or κέκληγα ‘I scream’), but there is no consensus about the other verbs to be included in the category (e.g. those describing activities of the senses like δέδορκα ‘I gaze’, or those describing feelings like γέγηθα ‘I am happy’). Due to these uncertainties, Chantraine rejects the “intensive perfect” as a separate type, arguing that the notions of resultant and present state explain all perfect uses: «Rien n’autorise à constituer une classe de parfaits intensifs comme type particulier de parfaits. La distinction est artificielle et il faut l’abandonner» (Chantraine 1927, 17). On the contrary, Wackernagel identifies several subclasses of verbs, which he views as the remains of an archaic category: «Man kann durch Vergleichung mit dem verwandten Sprachen gerade diese Kategorie der Perfektformen als alt erweisen; es ist hier eine ererbte Verwendung» (Wackernagel 1926, 167). Following this intuition, Schaefer reconstructs a Proto–Indo–European inflectional category of “intensives”, which in Vedic (and in other languages) is continued by forms that pertain to the present system, display “heavy” reduplication, denote noise or luminosity, and code iterativity rather than intensiveness (Schaefer 1994, 78–99). In agreement with this proposal, Drinka (2003, 92–93) hypothesizes that some remnant features of this archaic category have been incorporated in the Indo–European perfect, to which she attributes “stative” values. More recently, denying the idea of a primitive connection between intensive and perfect, Di Giovine (2010) interprets this process of inclusion as secondary phenomenon, mostly due to formal reasons³. The perfects of noise verbs are thus seen as the relics of an actional category, whose decline has followed an alternative path with respect to the integration into the present system. However, the issue of whether the intensive is related to the other uses of the perfect and if so, how, remains controversial, and still, considering the simultaneously existing values in Archaic Greek, «one wonders by which historical coincidence two very different meanings, intensity and resultativity, were associated to the same morphology» (Gerö – Von Stechow 2003, 269). To answer these questions, I will first show that intensity is only a part of the story and that intensification pertains to the processes whereby speakers extend, strengthen, or multiply “the verbal idea”.

1.2 Intensity and pluractionality Initially proposed by Jespersen (1924) and then investigated by Dressler (1968) and Cusic (1981), the notion of verbal plurality has recently spread in use with the label “plu-

2 Transitive uses in Homer are usually seen as forerunners of later developments (Chantraine 1927, 11 ff.); for a detailed investigation of the Indo–European data see Di Giovine (1990, 368–370; 1996). 3 The relevant features are: reduplication, apophonic long vowels, and predesinential –κ– or –χ– as in kappatic or aspirated perfects (Di Giovine 2010, 199).

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ractionality” and with reference to the encoding of information about “event plurality”, mainly by means of morphological devices on the verb (e.g. suffixes or reduplication), or with lexical tools (e.g. adverbs or verbal periphrases)⁴. For Cusic (1981, 64), this cross–linguistic category «should be broadly construed to include the multiplicity of actions, events, occurrences, occasions and so on; but in addition, whatever indicates extension or increase, whether in time or space, of actions or states of affairs». Following this definition, whereby pluractionality encompasses repetition, intensity, frequency, duration, habituality and even stativity, I will discuss the extent to which Homeric perfects can be interpreted as encoding different kinds of event plurality. The paper is organized in this way: the next section provides some basic notions and terms about pluractionality (2.1), its relations with reduplication and with lexical and verbal aspect (2.2). The third section illustrates the intensive and distributive readings of many Homeric perfects (3.1 and 3.2), a semantic map where the diachronic paths of reduplication intersect pluractional meanings (3.3), and the development of progressive and habitual values (3.4 and 3.5). The fourth section explores the intersections with the domain of habituality, and with attitudinal (4.1), potential (4.2), individual–level state (4.3), and generic meanings (4.4). The fifth and last section proposes a final map for the meanings and functions of the Homeric perfects, and some concluding remarks.

2 Pluractional meanings and markers 2.1 Pluractional meanings Following Cusic (1981), I will briefly recapitulate some basic distinctions concerning pluractional meanings, whose variation reflects the interaction of four parameters. The basic divide relates to the event ratio parameter, which differentiates event– internal from event–external pluractionality as follows: if an event consists of a repetitive series of sub–events occurring in one and the same situation, as in (a), it can be classified as event–internal pluractionality; if a whole event repeats itself in the same occasion or in different situations, as in (b), it can be classified as event–external pluractionality. Obviously, repetitivity and repetition may be also combined, as in (c): a. John is coughing b. John kisses Mary every morning c. John knocked daily at Mary’s door

4 In his seminal thoughts, the Danish linguist argues that not only entities, but events as well, can be quantified and states the necessity of a special category coding the “plural of the verbal idea” as a parallel to nominal number (Jespersen 1924, 210–211). Beside the basic works of Dressler (1964) and Cusic (1981), see also Newman (1990), Xrakovskij (1997), Yu (2003), Cabredo Hofherr – Laca (2012).

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As a matter of fact, the distinction between event–internal and event–external pluractionals is not always so simple, and it should be viewed as a cline rather than a sharp division, while the other parameters serve to cross–classify the meanings between these two main categories. The relative measure parameter concerns in fact the relative size of the repetitions, or other related notions such as the efficacy of result, the degree of effort, etc. In particular, when the focus is on the effort of an action rather than on its size or result, we obtain the intensive reading, which denotes «increased effort or increased quantity of the action» (Cusic 1981, 84). The connectedness parameter specifies the general ‘repeated action’ reading by focusing on the «distinctness of the iterated units of action», which can be continuous or discontinuous (Cusic 1981, 99). Lastly, the distribution parameter defines pluralization of events as due to distribution over plural times, spatial locations and participants, with the latter further dividing in subject and object distributive, which are not mutually exclusive.

2.2 Pluractional markers Pluractional marking on the verb presents considerable cross–linguistic variation, but reduplication is definitely one of the most widespread strategies (Hurch 2005; Rubino 2013). This clue is therefore tempting in order to test a “pluractionality–based” analysis of the Homeric perfects, where reduplication is an ancient and obligatory (though not specific) feature⁵. In historical languages this strategy shows two originally distinct patterns (Di Giovine 1996, 102–103): 1. the copying of the whole structure of the verb root (or of a “heavy” syllable), which usually adds an iterative–intensive Aktionsart (e.g. pres. βαμβαίνω ‘stutter’, μαρμαίρω, ‘glitter’) and is recessive; 2. the repetition of the first consonant of the root plus a short vowel, which usually distinguishes themes from different inflectional and aspectual categories (e.g. reduplicated present vs. perfect), and tends to gain in productivity. The reconstruction of a specific value for reduplication remains a thorny problem, but its often–discussed connections with intensity and iterativity, or with durativity and stativity, reveal an interesting ambiguity between lexical and verbal aspect⁶. Not

5 Considering its absence in the widely attested forms of *woida ‘know’, and that only Indo–Iranian and Greek developed productive (and hypermarked) reduplicated perfects with o–grades, Belardi (1950, 128) states that: «il raddoppiamento è divenuto solo secondariamente il morfema del perfetto». On reduplication in Indo–European see Tischler (1976), Szemerényi (1996, 268–269) and Niepokuj (1997). 6 See Di Giovine (1996, 116–118); Giannakis (1997, 11–20); Kulikov (2005).

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surprisingly, also the literature on pluractionality debates similar ambiguous relations; in fact, according to some scholars the category is a subtype of Aktionsart (Dressler 1968; Cusic 1981; Xrakovskij 1997), while others focus on the connections with aspectual values (Shluinsky 2009; Bertinetto – Lenci 2012). Interesting hints about the interplay between reduplication, pluractional meanings and actional/aspectual values can also be found in the cross–linguistic paths for the development of reduplication elaborated in Bybee – Perkins – Pagliuca (1994, 172), and illustrated in fig. (1):

Fig. 1: Cross–linguistic paths of reduplication

Discussing this schema, Drinka views the early Indo–European perfects as intransitives with reduced reduplication to be located on the right side, but she does not explain how the presents coding iterativity with “heavy” reduplicative markers «could have introduced reduplication to the perfect system» (Drinka 2003, 95), and how the “intensive perfects” fit with the intermediate steps on the map. In order to clarify these issues and get a more detailed map, it is necessary to explore the meanings of the Homeric perfects. To this end, it will be useful to remember that, beside reduplication, the expression of pluractionality mobilizes a number of strategies, which «are not mutually exclusive, neither paradigmatically (for one and the same language may present, e.g., affixes and periphrases) nor syntagmatically (for one and the same sentence may exhibit, for example, both dedicated affixes and frequency adverbials)» (Bertinetto – Lenci 2012, 853); moreover, the context as well may evoke event plurality by mere pragmatic inference. Accordingly, even though the relation between pluractional meanings and reduplicated forms is a well established one, in order to avoid circular reasoning I will try to ascertain the pluractional readings of Homeric perfects by checking for the presence of supplementary devices, like the adverbial ones (adverbs expressing frequency, intensity, etc.) or the contextual ones (multiple participants, pragmatic inferences, etc.).

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3 The Homeric Perfects 3.1 The Schallverba This operation is rather straightforward with the set of noise verbs, whose Aktionsart naturally relates to repetitive and continuous actions but whose use often refers to repeated and distributed actions as well. In the following, I will give a few examples for each verb, but I found dozens of similar passages, also with pluperfects and reduplicated aorists⁷. For instance, observing the perfect βέβρυχα in (1), we infer that the event of roaring has an intensive reading because the wave is thunderous (ῥόθιον), but at the same time it surely has also a distributive reading over space because the sound repeats all around, in different places (ἀμφὶ). These meanings also seem appropriate for the pluperfect in (2): (βρυχάομαι), βέβρυχα ‘to roar, bellow’ (perfectum tantum) (1)

(ε 411–412) [. . . ] ἀμφὶ δὲ κῦμα βέβρυχεν ῥόθιον [. . . ] ‘all around the wave is roaring thunderous’

(2)

(μ 241–242) [. . . ] ἀμφὶ δὲ πέτρη δεινὸν βεβρύχει [. . . ] ‘all around the rock was terribly roaring’

Also in the examples with λέληκα the intensity of the event is stressed by the adverbs δεινὸν in (3), and ὀξὺ in (4): (λάσκω), λέληκα ‘scream, shriek’ (perfectum tantum) (3)

(μ 85) ἔνθα δ᾿ ἐνὶ Σκύλλη ναίει δεινὸν λελακυῖα. ‘therein dwells Scylla, yelping terribly’

(4)

(Χ 140–141) [. . . ] ὁ δ᾿ ἐγγύθεν ὀξὺ λεληκὼς ταρφέ᾿ ἐπαΐσσει, [. . . ] ‘but [the falcon] shrilling loudly follows close after [the dove]’

With μέμυκα and μέμηκα the relevant meanings are again intensity, in (5) and (8), and distribution over space, in (6) and (7): (μυκάομαι), μέμυκα ‘roar, rumble’ (perfectum tantum)

7 The texts of the examples were provided electronically by the Perseus Project; the translations given throughout are my own, but those provided by Murray for the Loeb editions were also consulted.

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(5)

(Σ 580–581) ταῦρον ἐρύγμηλον ἐχέτην, ὁ δὲ μακρὰ μεμυκὼς ἕλκετο· [. . . ] ‘[two lions] were holding a loud–lowing bull and he, bellowing mightily, was drawn’

(6)

(κ 227) καλὸν ἀοιδιάει, δάπεδον δ᾿ ἅπαν ἀμφιμέμυκεν ‘[Circes] sings beautifully, and all the country is echoing around’

(μηκάομαι), μέμηκα ‘baa, bleat’ (perfectum tantum) (7)

(ι 439) θήλειαι δὲ μέμηκον ἀνήμελκτοι περὶ σηκούς ‘the ewes were bleating unmilked around the pens’

(8)

(Δ 435) ἀζηχὲς μεμακυῖαι ἀκούουσαι ὄπα ἀρνῶν ‘[many thousand ewes] bleating incessantly in answer to the bleating of their lambs’

Intensity and distribution over time, space and participants are likewise evident with the participial forms of κέκληγα: κλάζω, κέκληγα ‘scream’ (9)

(Ρ 87–88) βῆ δὲ διὰ προμάχων κεκορυθμένος αἴθοπι χαλκῷ ὀξέα κεκλήγων, [. . . ] ‘Then he strode forth amid the foremost fighters, harnessed in flaming bronze, crying acutely’

(10)

(Π 430) ὣς οἱ κεκλήγοντες ἐπ᾿ ἀλλήλοισιν ὄρουσαν ‘[Sarpedon and Patroclus] rushed one against the other screaming’

(11)

(μ 407–408) [. . . ] αἶψα γὰρ ἦλθε κεκληγὼς Ζέφυρος, μεγάλῃ σὺν λαίλαπι θύων ‘for immediately came shrieking the West Wind, blowing with a furious tempest’

These same readings are also possible for τέτριγα, in examples (12) and (13): τρίζω, τέτριγα ‘screech, twitter’ (12)

(Β 314–315) ἔνθ᾿ ὅ γε τοὺς ἐλεεινὰ κατήσθιε τετριγῶτας, μήτηρ δ᾿ ἀμφεποτᾶτο ὀδυρομένη φίλα τέκνα ‘Then [the snake] devoured them [the little sparrows] as they twittered piteously and the mother fluttered around them, wailing for her dear little ones’

(13)

(ω 9) ὣς αἱ τετριγυῖαι ἅμ᾿ ἤϊσαν [. . . ] ‘so [like bats, the souls] were going shrieking together’

In the preceding examples, the verbs reproducing noises, animal sounds, or human shouts represent the core of the "intensive perfect". For Tichy (1983, 63–71), reduplicated

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onomatopoeic forms are also the archetype of the "intensive" in the proto–language, but the relevance of iterativity in presents denoting luminosity (Schaefer 1994) and the meanings of Homeric perfects suggest that the category goes beyond the imitation of sounds. Hence, in order to check whether the link between reduplication and the notions of repetition, intensity and distribution leads to a more comprehensive and plausible account of the phenomena at issue, I will consider other types of verbs and further examples.

3.2 Not only Schallverba It is known that intensity is peculiarly relevant to δέδορκα, which in (14) occurs with the adverb σμερδαλέον: (δέρκομαι), δέδορκα ‘gaze, glare’ (14)

(Χ 95) σμερδαλέον δὲ δέδορκεν ἑλισσόμενος περὶ χειῇ ‘and [the snake] glares terribly, coiled around his lair’

The same considerations apply to μέμονα, which often combines with μάλιστα, as in (15) and (16): (μαίνομαι), μέμονα ‘be very eager’ (perfectum tantum) (15)

(ο 521–522) καὶ γὰρ πολλὸν ἄριστος ἀνὴρ μέμονέν τε μάλιστα μητέρ᾿ ἐμὴν γαμέειν καὶ ᾿Οδυσσῆος γέρας ἕξειν ‘For he is by far the best man, and is most eager to marry my mother and to have the honor of Odysseus’

(16)

(Σ 175–176) [. . . ] μάλιστα δὲ φαίδιμος ῞Εκτωρ ἑλκέμεναι μέμονεν· [. . . ] ‘and glorious Hector is most eager to drag him [Patroclus] away’

The contexts of use of δέδηα suggest instead distribution over space, and this is true also for the pluperfect in (19): δαίω, δέδηα ‘burn, blaze, flame’ (17)

(N 736) πάντῃ γάρ σε περὶ στέφανος πολέμοιο δέδηε ‘for on every side around you blazes a circle of war’

(18)

(Ζ 328–329) [. . . ] σέο δ᾿ εἵνεκ᾿ ἀ”υτή τε πτόλεμός τε ἄστυ τόδ᾿ ἀμφιδέδηε· [. . . ] ‘and it is because of you that the battle–cry and the war are blazing around this city’

(19)

(Μ 35) [. . . ] τότε δ᾿ ἀμφὶ μάχη ἐνοπή τε δεδήει τεῖχος ἐΰδμητον, [. . . ] ‘but then war and the war–cry were blazing around the well–builded wall’

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In (20) and (21) the perfect ὄρωρα evokes intensive and distributive interpretations: ὄρνυμι, ὄρωρα ‘arise, stir, set on, urge on, incite’ (20)

(Λ 530) ἀλλήλους ὀλέκουσι, βοὴ δ᾿ ἄσβεστος ὄρωρεν ‘they are slaying one another, and the cry goes up unquenchable’

(21)

(Λ 657–658) [. . . ] οὐδέ τι οἶδε πένθεος, ὅσσον ὄρωρε κατὰ στρατόν· [. . . ] ‘nor does he know about all the grief that is arising throughout the camp’

Lastly, even the participial forms of πέπληγα describe pluractional events with additional intensive meanings, in (22), or with frequentative and distributional readings over space and time, in (23), and participants, in (24): πλήσσω, πέπληγα ‘hit’⁸ (22)

(Ε 762–763) Ζεῦ πάτερ ἦ ῥά τί μοι κεχολώσεαι, αἴ κεν ῎Αρηα λυγρῶς πεπληγυῖα μάχης ἐξαποδίωμαι· ‘Father Zeus, will you be angry with me if I, sorely smiting Ares, will drive him out of the battle?’

(23)

(Β 263–264) αὐτὸν δὲ κλαίοντα θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας ἀφήσω πεπλήγων ἀγορῆθεν ἀεικέσσι πληγῇσιν ‘I will send you crying back to the fast ships, whipping you out of the assembly with nasty blows’

(24)

(κ 238, similar to κ 319 = π 456) αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δῶκέν τε καὶ ἔκπιον, αὐτίκ᾿ ἔπειτα ῥάβδῳ πεπληγυῖα κατὰ συφεοῖσιν ἐέργνυ. ‘After she gave them the potion, and they drank it off, then immediately hitting them with her wand, she penned them in the sties’

As shown in (25) and (26), also the reduplicated aorist of this verb frequently occurs in formulaic expressions with distributive meaning: (25)

(Ο 113–114) [. . . ] αὐτὰρ ῎Αρης θαλερὼ πεπλήγετο μηρὼ χερσὶ καταπρηνέσσ᾿, [. . . ] ‘Ares beat his two sturdy thighs with the flat of his hands’

(26)

(Σ 51) [. . . ] αἳ δ᾿ ἅμα πᾶσαι στήθεα πεπλήγοντο, [. . . ] ‘and [the Nereids] all together were beating their breasts’

8 On the possible contamination with the reduplicated aorist see Chantraine (1927, 14–15).

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So far, all the Homeric examples confirm the striking similarity between the meanings expressed by reduplicated forms and the typical meanings of pluractional verbs. Accordingly, we may thus say that the essential semantic component of these forms is plurality and not intensity; more precisely, their basic value concerns event repetition, which is further and contextually specified by additional intensive and/or distributive meanings.

3.3 Intensive and Distributive As explained in 2.1, these meanings amount to Cusic’s relative measure and distribution parameter respectively. In addition, both intensity, which associates with continuous single events, and distribution, which associates with discontinuous serial events, interact with the event ratio parameter along the cline between repetitive and repeated actions. In fact, «all the repetitive types can be considered continuous or connected, since they represent single events, and the repeated types discontinuous, since they represent (in some cases) serial events» (Cusic 1981, 96). Accordingly, considering the paths of reduplication illustrated in fig. (1), we can assume that the meanings ranging between the two poles of event–internal and event– external pluractionality intersect orthogonally with the notions of continuative (above) and frequentative (below). This is illustrated in the provisional map in fig. (2):

Fig. 2: Intersections between the paths of reduplication and pluractional meanings

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Iterativity can associate with iconic reduplication in verbs belonging to iterative Aktionsart; this is the case of presents like βαμβαίνω and μαρμαίρω (see 2.2), which can be situated on the left of the map. In other cases, iterativity associates with the presence of a pluractional marker that conveys the basic meaning of event repetition and additional intensive or distributive values; this is the case of the “perfects with present meaning”, which can be situated at the core of the intersection in the middle of the map. With certain verbs, the transition from “iteration” (e.g. repetitive sound) to “iteration + intensification” (e.g. repetitive sound that grows progressively louder) has led to lexicalized forms in which plurality and degree effects co–occur. These are the perfecta tantum that, like the English pluractionals stutter or knock do not have simplex counterparts, and can be seen as the nucleus from which reduplication starts to develop further meanings. As explained in 2.2, the recessive type of reduplication is mainly related to iterativity and lexical aspect, while the more productive type, which here signals repetition plus additional meanings, is also related to verbal aspect. At this point, in order to complete the map and explain the interplay between verbal plurality and verbal aspect, it is necessary to follow the converging paths connecting both progressive and habitual meanings to the domain of imperfectivity.

3.4 From Progressive to Imperfective As for the label Progressive (i.e. ongoing action), it is worth mentioning Dressler’s (1968, 60) and Xrakovskij’s (1997, 4 and 8) observations about the affinity between plurality and duration. Moreover, discussing the paths of reduplication towards the expression of imperfectivity, Bybee, Perkins and Pagliuca observe: «imperfective forms are typically used in backgrounded clauses where the focus is on the situation as continuing (while something else occurs) and not on the outcome of the situation with respect to a particular object. For this reason, backgrounded clauses are often intransitive as well as imperfective» (Bybee – Perkins – Pagliuca 1994, 171). This is consistent with fact that many “intensive perfects” are attested mainly or exclusively in the participle form⁹, and usually denote an event that continues in the background while the main action (often implying motion verbs) proceeds in the foreground, as in examples (3)–(5), (8)–(13), and (22)–(24). Observing the map in fig. (2), the frequent use of participial forms seems to reflect the increasing correlation between reduplicated pluractionals and durativity/imperfectivity. Moreover, the fact that the early Greek perfect is essentially intransitive is in keeping with the final step on the path, and this should cause no surprise if one considers that: «verbal pluralization transforms a telic event (e.g., semelfactive, achievement,

9 «Teilweise sind nur oder besonders die Partizipia üblich» (Schwyzer – Debrunner 1950, 263 n. 1).

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accomplishment) into an atelic event (e.g., activity)» (Yu 2003, 309), because the endpoint of pluralized events (or the number of iterations) is often left unspecified¹⁰. This seems to be confirmed by the uses of ἔρδω in (27), where the perfect ἔοργε is atelic and the aorist ἔρεξεν is telic: ἔρδω, ἔοργα ‘do’ (27)

(Β 272–274) ὢ πόποι ἦ δὴ μυρί᾿ ᾿Οδυσσεὺς ἐσθλὰ ἔοργε βουλάς τ᾿ ἐξάρχων ἀγαθὰς πόλεμόν τε κορύσσων· νῦν δὲ τόδε μέγ᾿ ἄριστον ἐν ᾿Αργείοισιν ἔρεξεν ‘Ah, really Odysseus realizes thousands of good deeds giving good counsels and marshalling the battle, but now this is the best deed that he has done among the Argives’

Equally atelic is the kind of perfect that, with respect to the present, encodes the intransitive counterpart in the anticausative alternation, where «ein aktives Perfect einem medialen Präsens in der Bedeutung entspricht» (Wackernagel 1926, 168), as in τήκω/τέτηκα ‘melt’ or τρέφω/τέτροφα ‘condense, coagulate’. Atelic are also the other perfects with medial values that denote gradual and spontaneous changes of state (Magni 2010), like γέγηθα ‘become happy’, βέβριθα ‘become heavy’, ἔρριγα ‘shiver’, τέθηλα ‘blossom’, πέφρικα ‘horripilate’, etc. Both anticausatives and inchoatives are related to the notion of progressive and will find a place in the final map.

3.5 From Habitual to Imperfective Another source for the Imperfective is found in habitual meanings, which can be illustrated by comparing the examples with μέμηλα. In (28) frequency adverbials confirm repetition, but in (29) this idea is not so relevant and the situation described is a habitual state. μέλω, μέμηλα ‘concern’ (28)

(μ 116–117) σχέτλιε, καὶ δὴ αὖ τοι πολεμήια ἔργα μέμηλε καὶ πόνος· [. . . ] ‘Rash man, now you are again involved in the deeds of war and with struggle’

(29)

(Ε 876) [. . . ] ᾗ τ᾿ αἰὲν ἀήσυλα ἔργα μέμηλεν ‘[Athena] who is always concerned in some impious action’

10 Interestingly, Yu (2003, 303) notes that «Chechen prohibits the use of a pluractional verb when the exact number of repetitions is specified», and this seems in keeping with the fact that in Greek the aorist, and not the perfect, «turns out to be the regular tense with adverbs of cardinal count» (Armstrong 1981, 3).

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Recent investigations point out that habituality is indeed a complex domain that displays semantic and functional overlaps with pluractionality. For Shluinsky, habitual, attitudinal, potential, individual–level and generic meanings correlate with imperfectivity, and since they involve predicates denoting stable features, they «are semantically and/or pragmatically related to iteration», and are often «expressed by the same markers as are plural events» (Shluinsky 2009, 175). Bertinetto and Lenci group these notions into a category called “gnomic imperfectivity”, which is portrayed as intersecting pluractionality (Bertinetto – Lenci 2012, 876). Hence, inserting the domain of habituality on the map, we get the more detailed picture in fig. (3):

Fig. 3: Intersections with the domain of habituality

The next section explains the labels proposed by Shluinsky (2009) and Bertinetto – Lenci (2012), and illustrates the corresponding meanings as reflected in a number of examples where the odd “perfects with present meaning” can be interpreted as pluractionals with additional aspectual values.

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4 The domain of habituality 4.1 Attitudinal (and Usitative) The Attitudinal refers to the meaning of a pluractional marker used «to express a basic characteristic of an individual that becomes apparent in specific regular events» (Shluinsky 2009, 182). This is illustrated in (30): βλώσκω, (παρ)μέμβλωκα ‘go (beside)’ (30)

(Ω 72–73, similar to Δ 10–11) [. . . ] ἦ γάρ οἱ αἰεί μήτηρ παρμέμβλωκεν ὁμῶς νύκτας τε καὶ ἦμαρ ‘for his mother comes ever to his side alike by night and day’

The following examples instantiate the more specific Usitative meaning, which «corresponds to an event that takes place under a certain condition» (Shluinsky 2009, 177): δείδω / δείδια / δείδοικα ‘fear’, perfecta tantum (Schwyzer 1939, 769 and 774). (31)

(Φ 198–199) ἀλλὰ καὶ ὃς δείδοικε Διὸς μεγάλοιο κεραυνὸν δεινήν τε βροντήν, ὅτ᾿ ἀπ᾿ οὐρανόθεν σμαραγήσῃ ‘but even he [Ocean] fears the lightning of great Zeus, and his dread thunder, whenever it crashes from heaven’ πείθω, πέποιθα ‘trust’

(32)

(π 71–72 = φ 132–133) αὐτὸς μὲν νέος εἰμὶ καὶ οὔ πω χερσὶ πέποιθα ἄνδρ᾿ ἀπαμύνασθαι, ὅτε τις πρότερος χαλεπήνῃ ‘I am young and yet I cannot trust my arms to repel a man, when someone attacks first’

(33)

(π 97–98 = π 115–116) ἦ τι κασιγνήτοις ἐπιμέμφεαι, οἷσί περ ἀνὴρ μαρναμένοισι πέποιθε, καὶ εἰ μέγα νεῖκος ὄρηται ‘or you should blame your brothers, in whose fighting a man trusts, even if a great strife arises’

4.2 Potential The potential meaning expresses «the permanent capacity of an individual to perform a certain event», which is pragmatically related to iteration: «if one repeatedly takes part in an event, it means that this person (or device) is capable of doing it» (Shluinsky 2009, 176). This seems the appropriate reading for the verbs in the following examples: χανδάνω, κέχανδα ‘contain, hold’

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(34)

(Ψ 267–268) [. . . ] ἄπυρον κατέθηκε λέβητα καλὸν τέσσαρα μέτρα κεχανδότα, [. . . ] ‘he set forth a cauldron untouched by fire, a fair cauldron that can hold four measures’

κεύθω, κέκευθα ‘hold, hide’ (35)

(Χ 117–118) [. . . ] ἅμα δ᾿ ἀμφὶς ᾿Αχαιοῖς ἄλλ᾿ ἀποδάσσεσθαι ὅσα τε πτόλις ἥδε κέκευθε ‘with the Achaeans we will make due division of all that this city may hold’

(δα–), δεδάηκα ‘learn, teach’ (36)

(θ 133–134, similar to θ 145–146) δεῦτε, φίλοι, τὸν ξεῖνον ἐρώμεθα εἴ τιν᾿ ἄεθλον οἶδέ τε καὶ δεδάηκε· [. . . ] ‘Come, friends, let us ask to the stranger whether he knows and can teach any contests’¹¹

4.3 Individual–Level State Individual–Level State «is the label for the meaning of a pluractional marker that, combined with a lexical individual–level predicate, expresses a single permanent state. In this case, the resulting form is automatically an individual–level predicate, and the connection to iteration is the most obscure» (Shluinsky 2009, 176). This happens in fact with εἴωθα: (ἔθω), εἴωθα ‘be used to’, perfectum tantum (37)

(ρ 394–395) ᾿Αντίνοος δ᾿ εἴωθε κακῶς ἐρεθιζέμεν αἰεὶ μύθοισιν χαλεποῖσιν, [. . . ] ‘for Antinous is always used to provoke to anger in evil wise with harsh words’

(38)

(Ε 766) ἥ ἑ μάλιστ᾿ εἴωθε κακῇς ὀδύνῃσι πελάζειν ‘[Athena] who above others is always used to bring sore pain upon him’

4.4 Generic Generic «is the label for the meaning of a sentence (and a pluractional or aspectual marker used in this sentence) that introduces a permanent state of affairs. This state 11 This interpretation seems more sensible than the traditional translation: ‘he knows and has learned’, or the reading: ‘he knows and is familiar with any games’ (Drinka 2003, 83).

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of affairs is a generalization of different repeated events with different individuals, and characterizes «a permanent feature not of a single individual, but of a whole class of individuals» (Shluinsky 2009, 176). Examples are easy to find, for instance with φύω: φύω, πέφυκα ‘grow’ (39)

(ι 141) κρήνη ὑπὸ σπείους· περὶ δ᾿ αἴγειροι πεφύασιν ‘a spring beneath a cave, and round about it poplars grow’

(40)

(η 114) ἔνθα δὲ δένδρεα μακρὰ πεφύκασι τηλεθόωντα ‘Therein grow trees, tall and luxuriant’

All these cases support the intuition that «iteratives represent states, not activities» (Kučera 1981, 181), and that the emergence of imperfective values involves bleaching of the connection with iteration and increasing ambiguity in the use of reduplicative morphemes as pluractional markers or aspectual markers.

5 Conclusions 5.1 The final map The map in fig. (4) depicts the meanings of the Homeric “perfects with present meaning” as covering various steps along the paths that in Archaic Greek involve the remnants of a «reduplicating formation coding iterativity in the ancient layers of the proto–language» (Drinka 2003, 92)¹².

12 For a discussion of semantic maps as accounts of both the synchronic polysemy of forms and of their gradual semantic developments see van der Auwera (2013).

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Fig. 4: Meanings and functions of Homeric pluractional verbs

More precisely, the presents with “heavy” reduplication, which code the iterative Aktionsart in an iconic way, can be imagined on the left of the map, while the forms with “light” reduplication, which code basic pluractional values, start to grammaticalize new functions by intersecting the continuative and frequentative aspect in the middle of the map. The evolution from the basic notions of repetition, intensity and distribution towards the expression of progressive and ongoing actions explains the frequent use of reduplicated participles in backgrounded clauses and, considering anticausative and inchoative verbs, also the increasing overlaps with the middle voice. The development leading to the expression of habitual situations, on the other hand, explains the “abnormal” perfects denoting characteristic and permanent features. Lastly, the use in contexts where the link to iteration is less clear and the overlap with verbal aspect is more evident motivates the shift of reduplicated forms towards the encoding of stative values.

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5.2 Pluractional verbs and perfect In this way, following the converging paths towards imperfectivity and intransitivity, pluractional verbs align with the semantics of the early Greek perfect, and the development from the domain of habituality towards stativity completes their integration into the category, which in fact is initially wavering between stative and resultative meanings. As is well known, these differ in that «the stative expresses a state of a thing without any implication of its origin, while the resultative expresses both a state and the preceding action it has resulted from» (Nedjalkov 1988, 6). In many languages, however, the two meanings are strictly related in the sense that the same form can be used to denote a state, with or without reference to a causal event (Nedjalkov 1988, 27–28; Haug 2004, 397). This fits very well with the situation in Homeric Greek, where the stative meanings of reduplicated pluractional verbs coexist with the resultative values of the perfect, and where actionality integrates with aspectuality. In this respect, many scholars see the perfect as part of the primitive aspectual system and reduplication as coding the perfective¹³. According to an alternative hypothesis, however, the perfect was connected with Aktionsart; hence, reduplication is compared with other devices coding actionality, and the assimilation in the aspectual systems of the various languages is seen a secondary phenomenon¹⁴. In this perspective, it is tempting to follow Drinka’s (2003, 94) idea of an early transition from iconic iterative reduplication (with lexical functions) to reduced reduplication (with morphological functions). One may suppose that in Greek this type spreads from the perfecta tantum that lexicalize event plurality and degree effects, and becomes a pluractional marker with an increasing range of meanings. Over time, the interplay with habitual values, which blur the connection to iteration/repetion, turns reduplication into a sort of aspectual marker, which harmonizes with the overall evolution of the category. In addition, the fact that habitual meanings also characterize more recent Homeric perfects with velar suffix suggests ongoing adjustments, whereby the forms clustering around the model of noise verbs continue to align with the morphology of the perfect¹⁵. In conclusion, this study shows that the label “intensive perfects” should be abandoned and that problematic forms with present meaning find a unifying explanation when interpreted as expressing different kinds of event plurality. The proposed anal-

13 See for instance Ruipérez (1954, 45 ff.); Sicking – Stork (1996, 138 ff.); Sauge (2000, 18). 14 In particular Belardi (1950) and Di Giovine (1990; 1996). 15 «Der regelmäßige Typus des aktiven Perfekts auf –κα ist eine griechische Neubildung gegenüber der κ–losen, aus dem Indogermanischen ererbten Perfektbildung» (Schwyzer 1939, 765). Cf. the more ancient δείδια with respect to δείδοικα in (31), and πεφύασι vs. πεφύκασι in (39) and (40). Di Giovine (2010, 199) mentions the idea of a scalar expansion within the set of verbs with a predesinential velar, see also footnote 3 in this paper.

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ysis also explains how the semantic and formal incorporation of pluractional verbs contributed to shape the functions and the evolution of the Greek perfect.

Bibliography Armstrong, D. 1981: The Ancient Greek aorist as the aspect of countable action, in Tense and Aspect, eds. P. J. Tedeschi & A. Zaenen, New York, 1–12. Belardi, W. 1950: La formazione del perfetto nell’indoeuropeo, «Ricerche Linguistiche», 1/1, 93–131. Bertinetto, P. M. & Lenci, A. 2012: Habituality, Pluractionality, and Imperfectivity, in The Oxford Handbook of Tense and Aspect, ed. R. I. Binnick, Oxford, 852–880. Bybee, J., Perkins, R. & Pagliuca, W. 1994: The Evolution of Grammar: Tense, Aspect and Modality in the Languages of the World, Chicago. Cabredo Hofherr, P. & Laca, B. (eds.) 2012: Verbal Plurality and Distributivity, Berlin. Chantraine, P. 1927: Histoire du parfait grec, Paris. Cusic, D. D. 1981: Verbal Plurality and Aspect, Ph.D. dissertation, Stanford University. Di Giovine, P. 1990: Studio sul perfetto indoeuropeo, vol. 1, Roma. Di Giovine, P. 1996: Studio sul perfetto indoeuropeo, vol. 2, Roma. Dressler, W. 1968: Studien zur verbalen Pluralität: Iterativum, Distributivum, Durativum, Intensivum in der allgemeinen Grammatik, im Lateinischen und Hethithischen, Wien. Di Giovine, P. 2010: Declino di una categoria flessionale: l’intensivo in greco antico, in La morfologia del greco tra tipologia e diacronia, eds. I. Putzu et al., Milano, 189–203. Drinka, B. 2003: The development of the perfect in Indo–European. Stratigraphic evidence of prehistoric areal influence, in Language Contacts in Prehistory: Studies in Stratigraphy, ed. H. Andersen, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 77–105. Gerö, E. C. & Von Stechow, A. 2003: Tense in time: the Greek Perfect, in Words in Time, Diachronic Semantics from Different Points of View, eds. R. Eckard, K. Von Heusinger & Ch. Schwarze, Berlin, 251–294. Giannakis, G. K. 1997: Studies in the Syntax and Semantics of the Reduplicated Presents of Homeric Greek and Indo–European, Innsbruck. Jespersen, O. 1924: The Philosophy of Grammar, London. Haug, D. 2004: Aristotle’s kinesis/energeia–test and the semantics of the Greek perfect, «Linguistics», 42/2, 387–418. Homer, The Iliad with an English Translation by A. T. Murray, 2 vols. (1924), rev. by W. F. Wyatt (1999), Cambridge, MA. Homer, The Odyssey with an English Translation by A. T. Murray, 2 vols. (1919), rev. by G. E. Dimock (1995), Cambridge, MA. Hurch, B. (ed.) 2005: Studies on Reduplication, Berlin. Kučera, H. 1981: Aspect, markedness and t0, in Tense and Aspect, eds. P. J. Tedeschi & A. Zaenen, New York, 177–189. Kulikov, L. 2005: Reduplication in the Vedic verb: Indo–European inheritance, analogy and iconicity, in Studies on Reduplication, ed. B. Hurch, Berlin, 431–454. Magni, E. 2010: L’evoluzione semantico–funzionale dell’elemento –θ– nella morfologia verbale del greco, in La morfologia del greco tra tipologia e diacronia, eds. I. Putzu et al., Milano, 266–285. Nedjalkov, V. P. & Jaxontov, S. J. 1988: The typology of resultative constructions, in Typology of Resultative Constructions, ed. V. P. Nedjalkov, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 3–62. Newman, P. 1990: Nominal and Verbal Plurality in Chadic, Dordrecht.

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Niepokuj, M., 1997: The Development of Verbal Reduplication in Indo–European, Washington. Rubino, C. 2013: Reduplication, in The World Atlas of Language Structures Online, eds. M. S. Dryer & M. Haspelmath, Leipzig, http://wals.info/chapter/27. Ruipérez, M. S. 1954: Estructura del sistema de aspectos y tiempos del verbo griego antiguo: análisis funcional sincrónico, Salamanca. Sauge, A. 2000: Les degrés du verbe: sens et formation du parfait en grec ancien, Bern. Schaefer, Chr. 1994: Das Intensivum im Vedischen, Göttingen. Schwyzer, E. 1939: Griechische Grammatik. Bd. 1. Allgemeiner Teil, Lautlehre, Wortbildung, Flexion, München. Schwyzer, E. & Debrunner, A. 1950: Griechische Grammatik. Bd. 2. Syntax und syntaktische Stilistik, München. Shluinsky, A. 2009: Individual–level meanings in the semantic domain of pluractionality, in New Challenges in Typology: Transcending the Borders and Refining the Distinctions, eds. P. Epps & A. Arkhipov, Berlin, 175–197. Sicking, C. M. J. & Stork, P. 1996: The synthetic perfect in Classical Greek, in Two Studies of the Semantics of the Verb in Classical Greek, eds. C. M. J. Sicking & P. Stork, Leiden, 119–298. Szemerényi, O. 1996: Introduction to Indo–European Linguistics, (transl. by D.M. Jones & I. Jones from Einführung in die vergleichende Sprachwissenschaft, 4. durchgesehene Auflage, Darmstadt, 1990), Oxford. Tichy, E. 1983: Onomatopoetische Verbalbildungen des Griechischen, Wien. Tischler, J. 1976: Zur Reduplikation im Indogermanischen, Innsbruck. Van Der Auwera, J. 2013: Semantic maps, for synchronic and diachronic typology, in Synchrony and Diachrony: A Dynamic Interface, eds. A. Giacalone Ramat, C. Mauri & P. Molinelli, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 153–176. Wackernagel, J. 1926: Vorlesungen über Syntax mit besonderer Berücksichtigung von Griechisch, Lateinisch und Deutsch, vol. 1, Basel. Xrakovskij, V. S. 1997: Semantic types of the plurality of situations and their natural classification, in Typology of Iterative Constructions, ed. V. S. Xrakovskij, Münich, 3–64. Yu, A. C. L. 2003: Pluractionality in Chechen, «Natural Language Semantics», 11, 289–321.

Anna Orlandini & Paolo Poccetti

Manifestazioni del “locutore” in greco Abstract: Following Nølke’s pathway “le regard du locuteur”, this paper focuses on the main strategies applied by Ancient Greek for signaling the voice of the speaker responsible for the speech act (“locuteur”). In this perspective different morphological, syntactic and lexical facts in their reciprocal relationship with reference to modality and to illocutionary force are taken into account in a pragmatic and semantic discourse analysis. Special attention is paid to expressions of commitment or non–commitment, of agreement or disagreement, to utterances of epistemic value, such as certainty and possibility, to politeness forms, to ‘polyphonic’ factors, that attest to a contrast between the point of view of the “locuteur” and other opinions. In questo lavoro si intende analizzare i principali mezzi di cui dispone la lingua greca per esprimere “le regard du locuteur”, secondo la felice formula di H. Nølke (1993 e 2001). Si applica qui la nozione di ‘locutore’ elaborata dalla linguistica francese in ambito pragmatico–funzionale che distingue il ‘soggetto parlante’, il ‘locutore’ e l’‘enunciatore’, attribuendo al locutore il ruolo di “responsabile dell’enunciazione”¹. In concreto questo lavoro, che mette in relazione la semantica con la pragmatica del discorso, focalizza le strategie messe in atto dalla lingua greca antica per segnalare la voce del locutore, che solo una lingua naturale, all’opposto delle lingue artificiali, permette di cogliere in ogni testo. Pertanto sono qui analizzati fenomeni linguistici diversi, legati dal comune filo conduttore di seguire le tracce enunciative che si nascondono negli enunciati. Saranno, dunque, al centro dell’analisi gli enunciati con forza illocutoria, caratterizzati dalla ‘modalizzazione’, realizzata in prima istanza dalle categorie grammaticali per eccellenza chiamate ad esprimere le modalità, quali i modi, i tempi, le diatesi, ma anche gli avverbi d’enunciazione, che si collocano a livello epistemico. Insomma, tutto ciò che permette di riconoscere l’inserzione del locutore, sotto forma di giudizio epistemico o deontico, di invito, di prescrizione, di attesa, di inferenza, ma anche espressioni del “commitment”, forme di attenuazione, di “politeness”, di accordo o di disaccordo fino alla dissociazione enunciativa. In altre parole il lavoro si prefigge di rintracciare le forme di ‘commento’ (esplicito o implicito) che il locutore aggiunge rispetto a ciò che egli enuncia, al fine di segnalare il suo giudizio, le sue scelte, il suo punto di vista. Entro i limiti del possibile si cercherà di mettere in evidenza queste strategie attuate in seno al corpus letterario del greco antico in maniera contrastiva rispetto al latino.

1 Cfr. Moeschler – Reboul (1994, 326–327).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-357

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1 La scelta dei tempi e dei modi 1.1 Uso modale dei tempi in greco Come è noto il confine tra tempi e modi è spesso labile ed indefinibile. Le categorie del verbo classificate come tempi possono avere, in determinati contesti, un uso modale, come ad es., i cosiddetti operatori TAM (= Tempo, Aspetto, Modo). Ciò in particolare si verifica all’interno del greco, dove queste tre nozioni sono saldamente presenti, ma anche costantemente co–variabili in rapporto tanto alla radice quanto alla coniugazione del verbo. La tradizione grammaticale antica era consapevole del fatto che la concatenazione di tempo, modo e diatesi concorreva alla ‘rappresentazione soggettiva’ dell’azione espressa dal verbo, proprietà che si collega alle attitudini del locutore rispetto all’azione enunciata².

1.1.1 Uso modale del presente indicativo Oltre al tempo e al modo, un elemento ‘modalizzatore’ del verbo greco per eccellenza è la particella ἄν, suscettibile di accompagnarsi con qualunque tempo e modo (finito e non finito), tranne l’imperativo. Questa particella talvolta figura perfino con il presente indicativo. Ciò è apparso anomalo o inconcepibile, al punto da spingere ad operare ingiustificati emendamenti ai testi dove compare o a riferire la particella al verbo della subordinata, configurando casi di enallage, cioè modificazioni dell’ordine sintattico per ragioni stilistiche³. Tuttavia, la ricorsività della particella ἄν al presente indicativo con verba putandi, (es. οἶμαι, δοκῶ) o verbi che esprimono una conoscenza (es. οἶδα), usati alla I persona singolare, realizza la funzione di modulare (attenuando o sfumando) il giudizio o l’espressione del grado di conoscenza del locutore: (1)

a. οὐ μὰ τοὺς θεούς, ὦ Κῦρε, εἰ ἦν οἷος ἔφυν ἐξ ἀρχῆς καὶ ἐπαιδοποιησάμην, οὐκ οἶδ΄ ἂν εἰ ἐκτησάμην παῖδα τοιοῦτον περὶ ἐμέ (Xen. Cyr. V 4, 12) ‘per gli dei, o Ciro, se io fossi tale quale la natura mi ha fatto e avessi avuto figli, non potrei sapere se un figlio sarebbe stato per me quello che tu sei stato per me’ b. πρὸς ταῦτ΄ εἶπεν ὁ Τισσαφέρνης· Εἰ τοίνυν θέλεις σπείσασθαι ἕως ἂν ἐγὼ πρὸς βασιλέα πέμψω, οἶμαι ἄν σε ταῦτα διαπραξάμενον ἀποπλεῖν, εἰ βούλοιο (Xen. Hell. III 4, 5) ‘A ciò rispose Tissaferne: se, dunque, accetti di fare una tregua, finché io informi il re, penserei che tu possa realizzare il tuo scopo, se vorrai’.

2 Tusa Massaro (1993, 153). 3 Così Kühner – Gerth (1966 II, 1, 210).

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c. καὶ τούς γ΄ ἐμοὺς ὑπηκόους ἰδὼν μικρά γε ἀδικουμένους ὑπὸ σοῦ ἧττον ἂν δοκῶ λυπεῖσθαι ἢ νῦν ὁρῶν ὅτι μεγάλα ἀγαθὰ πεπόνθασιν ὑπὸ σοῦ (Xen. Cyr. V 5, 5 27) ‘quanto ai miei sudditi, riterrei meno penoso vederli poco maltrattati da te che riempiti di benefici’. L’attenuazione di οἶμαι in unione alla particella ἄν (οἶμαι ἄν) ‘riterrei, sarei dell’opinione’ si contrappone alla forza illocutoria di forte impegno da parte del locutore realizzata con ἔγωγε (oἶμαι ἔγωγε) ‘credo davvero, la penso proprio così’: (2)

Οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ὦ Σώκρατες (Plat. Crit. 47d) ‘sì, Socrate, è proprio quello che penso’. οὐκ οἶμαι ἔγωγε, ἄνδρες. Σκοπεῖτε δὲ καὶ αὐτοί (Andoc. de Myst. 89, 10) ‘Non la penso affatto così, o Ateniesi. Riflettete bene anche voi’.

Inoltre, ἄν appare anche senza una forma verbale espressa specialmente nelle locuzioni interrogative, dette “tag–questions”, di orientazione positiva: πῶς δ΄ ἄν· πῶς δ΄ οὐκ ἄν; che spesso servono per inserire un commento del locutore del tipo “come (non) potrebbe così”? (3)

Τὸ δ΄ ἔπος οὑξερῶ τάχα, ἥδοιο μέν – πῶς δ΄ οὐκ ἄν; (Soph. OT 937) ‘la notizia che sto per darti dovrebbe rallegrarti – e come non potrebbe?’.

1.1.2 Uso modale dell’imperfetto e dell’aoristo indicativo Con tempi e modi diversi dal presente indicativo ἄν può esprimere un potenziale (in genere con l’ottativo) o un irreale (in genere con l’aoristo e l’imperfetto indicativo). È noto, d’altra parte, che la scelta tra potenziale ed irreale dipende spesso dal punto di vista del locutore nel rappresentare una predicazione, lasciando aperta la possibilità o la verifica del suo realizzarsi⁴. Come scrive L. Basset, «la catégorie de l’irréel se définit par opposition au réel. Mais ce qui est opposé au réel n’est pas le fait exprimé: c’est le point de vue d’où on l’envisage»⁵. Nel seguente passo del Menone platonico, due protasi concatenate di una frase condizionale si differenziano per il diverso grado di probabilità assegnato dal locutore. Il maggior grado di probabilità è assegnato alla prima che presenta l’ottativo, e che ha come soggetto il pronome indefinito τις, l’altra, ritenuta meno probabile, presenta l’indicativo aoristo, ed ha come soggetto la figura ben definita dell’interlocutore (“tu”): (4)

ΣΩ. εἴ τίς σε ἀνέροιτο τοῦτο ὃ νυνδὴ ἐγὼ ἔλεγον, “Τί ἐστιν σχῆμα, ὦ Μένων;” εἰ αὐτῷ εἶπες ὅτι στρογγυλότης, εἴ σοι εἶπεν ἅπερ ἐγώ, “Πότερον σχῆμα ἡ στρογ-

4 Cfr. Orlandini (1993). 5 Cfr. Basset (2004, 67).

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γυλότης ἐστὶν ἢ σχῆμά τι;” εἶπες δήπου ἂν ὅτι σχῆμά τι ME πανυ γε. (Plat. Men. 74b 4–5) ‘SO. se uno ti chiedesse, come dicevo sopra: “Menone, che cosa è figura?” e se tu gli rispondessi: “il circolo”, e quel tale ti dicesse allora, come ho fatto io: “Ma il circolo è ‘la’ figura o ‘una’ figura?”, evidentemente risponderesti che è “una” figura. MEN. Senza dubbio’ Anche nella distribuzione tra imperfetto e aoristo, in unione con ἄν, per esprimere l’irreale del passato, si segnala una differenza riconducibile alla presentazione che viene fatta dal locutore. Per esempio, l’irreale del passato può configurarsi come un desiderativo del passato, nel momento in cui esprime il rimpianto per un evento che non si è realizzato nel modo auspicato da chi lo riferisce. In questo caso, l’enunciato si carica di un valore emotivo che viene affidato all’imperfetto piuttosto che all’aoristo⁶, come mostra il confronto tra i seguenti esempi dove la diversa sfumatura è percepibile proprio dall’occorrenza enfatica del pronome di I persona ἐγὼ: (5)

a. οὐκ ἂν ἐποίησεν ᾿Αγασίας ταῦτα, εἰ μὴ ἐγὼ αὐτὸν ἐκέλευσα (Xen. An. VI 6,3) ‘Agasia non avrebbe fatto questo, se io non glielo avessi ordinato’. b. εἰ μὲν γὰρ [. . . ]μετελθεῖν ἐκέλευον ἐκεῖνον, ἠδίκουν ἄν· εἰ δὲ [. . . ] ᾡτινιοῦν τρόπῳ ἐλάμβανον αὐτόν, σώφρον’ ἂν ἐμαυτὸν ἡγούμην (Lys. I 38) ‘se, infatti avessi cercato di farlo venire, avrei sbagliato; se, invece, avessi in qualche modo cercato di prenderlo, avrei ritenuto di essermi comportato saggiamente’.

Invece nelle locuzioni impersonali, quando sono portatrici di valori epistemici (possibilità o irrealtà), o deontici (convenienza morale o obbligo), l’imperfetto si presenta quasi sempre senza ἄν, ricoprendo gli usi modali dell’indicativo latino, che, nel tradizionale insegnamento scolastico di ambiente italiano, viene impropriamente denominato “falso condizionale”. Ma, a differenza del latino, che con questa funzione modale usa diversi tempi dell’indicativo (presente, imperfetto, perfetto e piuccheperfetto, quali ad es. potuit/poterat/potueram, debuit, debebat, debuerat, oportebat/oportuit, necesse erat, fuit, etc.), il greco presenta, di norma, l’imperfetto. Si tratta, in entrambe le lingue, di espressioni che, già a livello lessicale, in base ai loro valori semantici, sono suscettibili di formulare una modalità epistemica o deontica. Per questa ragione, per esprimere valori modali non hanno bisogno di ulteriori marche morfologiche, come la particella ἄν in greco o il congiuntivo in latino. Nel greco le principali espressioni sono: δυνατὸν ἦν, ἐξῆν, παρῆν, οἷόν τ΄ ἦν ‘era possibile’ o ‘si sarebbe potuto’; προσῆκε, δίκαιον ἦν ‘conveniva’, ‘era giusto’, oppure

6 Cfr. Bertrand (2010, 272–273); cfr. anche Humbert (1954, § 176).

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‘sarebbe convenuto’, ‘sarebbe stato giusto’; εἰκὸς ἦν ‘sarebbe stato opportuno’; κρεῖττον ἦν ‘sarebbe stato meglio’; δίκαιον ἦν ‘sarebbe stato giusto’; καλῶς εἶχε ‘sarebbe stato conveniente’; αἰσχρὸν ἦν ‘sarebbe stato sconveniente’; (ε)χρῆν, ἔδει ‘bisognava’, ‘si sarebbe dovuto’. A parità di uso di tempo e modo è la scelta lessicale che, talvolta, permette di distinguere, sempre in rapporto al punto di vista del locutore, tra un giudizio di controfattualità (qualcosa nel passato si è verificato in maniera opposta) ed un giudizio di possibilità aperta, anche se non verificata. In presenza di una modalità deontica, la differenza tra controfattualità e possibilità aperta o non verificata, in presenza dello stesso tempo imperfetto, è affidata alla distinzione lessicale tra (ἐ)χρῆν e ἔδει, come mostra il confronto tra: (6)

a. τοτε ξυναλγεῖν χρῆν σ΄ ὅτ΄ ὠλλύμην ἐγω (Eurip. Alc. 633) ‘era allora che si sarebbe dovuto/che bisognava che tu facessi prova di compassione, quando la morte mi sovrastava’. (‘ma non lo hai fatto’ = controfattuale) b. ῎Εδει μέν, ὦ ἄνδρες ᾿Αθηναῖοι, τοὺς λέγοντας ἅπαντας μήτε πρὸς ἔχθραν ποιεῖσθαι λόγον μηδένα μήτε πρὸς χάριν, ἀλλ΄ ὃ βέλτιστον ἕκαστος ἡγεῖτο, τοῦτ΄ ἀποφαίνεσθαι (Demosth. VIII 1) ‘bisognerebbe, o Ateniesi, che tutti gli oratori non parlassero per odio o compiacenza, ma che ciascuno si limitasse a dare il parere che ritiene migliore’. (possibilità tuttora valida)

Invece, con le diverse espressioni di cui dispone il greco, la modalità epistemica usata all’imperfetto, come δυνατὸν ἦν, οἷόν τ΄ ἦν ἐξῆν, ἐνῆν, ὲ quasi sempre soltanto il contesto che permette di distinguere il loro impiego nel loro valore ‘radicale’ di ‘era capace, era possibile, era lecito’ dai valori modali presentati talora come possibilità aperta talora come controfattuali. Per esempio, il valore “radicale” si può scorgere nei seguenti passi (7)

a. καὶ τὰ ἐπιτήδεια οὐκέτι ὁμοίως εἶχον· οὐ γὰρ ἔτι ἀποχωρεῖν οἷόν τ΄ ἦν ὑπὸ τῶν ἱππέων (Thuk. VII 78, 6) ‘anche i viveri cominciavano a scarseggiare: infatti i cavalieri rendevano loro impossibile allontanarsi’. b. πρὸς τοιοῦτον τόπον, ὃν οὔτε τοῖς θηρίοις οὔτε τοῖς ὑποζυγίοις δυνατὸν ἦν παρελθεῖν διὰ τὴν στενότητα (Polyb. III 54, 7) ‘in un luogo tale che per la sua strettezza era impossibile entrarvi sia per gli elefanti sia per le bestie da soma’. c. τὰ δὲ ὀστᾶ φασὶ κομισθῆναι αὐτοῦ οἱ προσήκοντες οἴκαδε κελεύσαντος ἐκείνου καὶ τεθῆναι κρύφα ᾿Αθηναίων ἐν τῇ ᾿Αττικῇ· οὐ γὰρ ἐξῆν θάπτειν ὡς ἐπὶ προδοσίᾳ φεύγοντος (Thuk. I 138, 6) ‘dicono che le sue ossa furono portate dai suoi congiunti in patria, come aveva raccomandato egli stesso e furono deposte in Attica all’insaputa degli

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Ateniesi; non era infatti lecito dargli sepoltura, essendo stato esiliato per tradimento’. Invece un valore modale epistemico delle stesse espressioni si può evidenziare nei passi seguenti: (8)

a. πῶς οἷόν τ΄ ἦν ἔτι σοι λέγειν τοὺς ἐνόχους ὄντας τούτοις ὡς τῶν καλλίστων ἐπιτηδευμάτων ἡγεμόνες γεγόνασιν; (Isocr. Panath. 207, 4) ‘come ti sarebbe stato possibile sostenere che gli uomini che portano i pesi di tali responsabilità sono stati i promotori delle azioni più belle?’ b. καίτοι εἰ ἦσαν ἄνδρες,῟΄ωσπερ φασίν, ἀγαθοί, ὅσῳ ἀληπτότεροι ἦσαν τοῖς πέλας, τόσῳ δὲ φανερωτέραν ἐξῆν αὐτοῖς τὴν ἀρετὴν διδοῦσι καὶ δεχομένοις τὰ δίκαια δεικνύναι (Thuk. I 37 5) ‘eppure, se erano quelle persone oneste che dicono di essere, quanto più erano invincibili dai vicini, quanto più erano fuori dalle insidie e dai pericoli, tanto più avrebbero potuto mostrare la loro rettitudine sottostando alle regole della giustizi’. (controfattuale: il locutore ritiene che non sia stato così). c. ἐνθυμουμένους ὅτι μηδὲν ἂν ἔδει δίδοσθαι τοῖς φεύγουσιν ἀπολογίαν εἴπερ οἷόν τ΄ ἦν ἐκ τῶν τοῦ διώκοντος λόγων ἐψηφίσθαι τὰ δίκαια (Isocr. Antid. 17, 4) ‘ritenendo che non si dovrebbe accordare agli accusati alcuna possibilità di difendersi, se fosse possibile che un voto giusto seguisse il discorso dell’accusatore’ (controfattuale: il locutore ritiene che non sia così).

Talvolta all’interno di uno stesso enunciato i diversi valori sono segnalati dal ricorso a diverse strategie. Per esempio il contrasto tra modi e tempi, come ἄν + aoristo, per indicare l’impossibilità e imperfetto δυνατὸν ἦν (senza ἄν) per indicare la possibilità aperta: (9)

a. σχεδὸν γὰρ οὐκ ἄν ποτ΄ ᾠήθησαν ὅρκοις μετριάσαι ψυχὴν νέαν, λαβοῦσαν ἀρχὴν ἐξ ἧς δυνατὸν ἦν τυραννίδα γενέσθαι (Plat. Leg. 692b 5) ‘certamente non avrebbero potuto credere di tenere a freno con dei giuramenti una giovane anima, impadronitasi di un potere da cui poteva scaturire la tirannide’.

oppure il contrasto simultaneo tra le diverse forme lessicali che come valore di base esprimono “la capacità e la facoltà”, come δυνατὸν (ἀδύνατον) ἦν οἷόν τε ἦν ἐξῆν: b. διόπερ οὔτ΄ ἐκκλησιάσαι συναθροίσαντα πάντας ὁμοῦ δυνατὸν ἦν οὔτ΄ ἄλλην οὐδεμίαν εὑρέσθαι πρὸς τοῦτο μηχανήν. πῶς γὰρ οἷόν τε; τὸν μὲν γὰρ στρατηγὸν εἰδέναι τὰς ἑκάστων διαλέκτους ἀδύνατον· διὰ πλειόνων δ΄ ἑρμηνέων ἐκκλησιάζειν, ἅμα τετράκις καὶ πεντάκις περὶ ταὐτοῦ λέγοντα πράγματος, σχεδὸν ὡς εἰπεῖν ἔτι τοῦ πρόσθεν ἀδυνατώτερον (Pol. I 67 8, 3)

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‘perciò non era possibile nemmeno riunirli in assemblea e non si trovava nessun mezzo per farlo. E come sarebbe stato possibile? Il generale non poteva conoscere la lingua di ciascuno. E ancor più impossibile sarebbe stato parlare ai soldati riuniti per mezzo di molti interpreti, in modo da far ripetere quattro o cinque volte la stessa cosa in lingue diverse’. c. Οὐ τοίνυν, ὦ ἄνδρες, οὐδὲ Κυρωνίδην οἷόν τε ἦν ὑὸν ᾿Αριστάρχῳ εἰσποιῆσαι, ἀλλ΄ αὐτῷ μὲν ἐπανελθεῖν εἰς τὸν πατρῷον οἶκον ἐξῆν, ὑὸν ἐγκαταλιπόντα ἐν τῷ Ξεναινέτου οἴκῳ, (Is. de Aristar. 11) ‘E ora, o giudici, Cyronide non poteva dare ad Aristarco un figlio legittimo, ma a lui sarebbe stato possibile di rientrare nella casa paterna a condizione di lasciare un figlio in quella di Xenaineto’. Sempre nell’imperfetto è la presenza di ἄν che distingue il giudizio di controfattualità dalla funzione pragmatica di attenuare un’affermazione: (10)

a. εἰ μὲν οὗτοι ἐκινδύνευον, ἠξίουν ἂν τοῖς αὑτῶν οἰκείοις ὑμᾶς πιστεύειν μαρτυροῦσι μᾶλλον ἢ τοῖς κατηγόροις (Is. Euph. 8, 2) ‘se costoro avessero corso il rischio, io sarei stato del parere che voi prestaste fede alla testimonianza dei familiari più che agli accusatori’ (controfattuale = di fatto non hanno corso il rischio e quindi il locutore non è del parere). b. ᾿Εγὼ τοίνυν, ὦ ἄνδρες δικασταί, ἠξίουν ἱκανὰ εἶναι τὰ κατηγορημένα (Lys. XXII 37) ‘Io dunque, o giudici, sarei del parere che le accuse mosse siano sufficienti’ (formula di attenuazione).

Questa funzione di attenuazione, configurabile come strategia di “politeness form”, si attua specialmente alla I persona singolare dell’imperfetto con verbi significanti ‘ritenere’, ‘pensare’, come ἠξίουν nell’esempio precedente, rispetto al presente ἀξιῶ, e ᾤμην, rispetto al presente οἶμαι: (10)

c. ᾿Εγὼ δ΄ ᾤμην μὲν, εἰ καὶ φανερῶς ἐξηλεγχόμην ἀδικῶν, διὰ τὴν πρὸς ἐκεῖνον φιλίαν σῴζεσθαί μοι προσήκειν (Isocr. Antid. 102, 1) ‘io riterrei che, anche se fossi apertamente incolpato di qualche reato, meriteri di essere assolto per l’amicizia verso di lui’.

L’uso modale di ᾤμην (imperfetto) è isofunzionale rispetto al valore del presente οἶμαι + ἄν nell’esempio (1b). Anche in latino l’imperfetto con i verba putandi si trova in alternanza con il presente⁷: (11)

SO. Nimis tandem equide pro barda et pro rustica reor habitam esse abs te [. . . ]me quidem iam satis tibi spectatam censebam esse et meos mores (Plaut. Pers. 171)

7 Gaffiot (1932, 81–83).

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‘credo che mi consideri una biteola, una contadinaccia [. . . ] credevo che tu conoscessi bene me e il mio modo di agire’ Altrettanto comune è in greco l’uso dell’imperfetto con la I persona del verbo ‘volere’ per attenuarne l’impatto semantico: (12)

a. ᾿Εβουλόμην , ὦ ἄνδρες, ὥσπερ Ξεναίνετος οὑτοσὶ δύναται ψευδῆ λέγειν θαρραλέως, οὕτω κἀγὼ τἀληθῆ πρὸς ὑμᾶς περὶ ὧν ἀμφισβητοῦμεν εἰπεῖν δυνηθῆναι (Is. de Aristarch. 1, 1) ‘Vorrei, o giudici, come il qui presente Xeneneto è capace di dire tante menzogne, essere capace di affermare la verità con altrettanta sicurezza davanti a voi’. b. ᾿Εβουλόμην μὲν οὖν, ὦ ἄνδρες ᾿Αθηναῖοι, καὶ τὴν βουλὴν τοὺς πεντακοσίους καὶ τὰς ἐκκλησίας ὑπὸ τῶν ἐφεστηκότων ὀρθῶς διοικεῖσθαι (Aeschil. in Ctesiph. 2,1) ‘Vorrei, o Ateniesi, che il consiglio dei 500 e le assemblee fossero correttamente guidate da coloro che vi sono preposti’. c. ᾿Εβουλόμην μὲν οὐκ ἐρίζειν ἐνθάδε· οὐκ ἐξ ἴσου γάρ ἐστιν ἁγὼν νῷν (Aristoph. Ran. 866) ‘Non vorrei stare a discutere qui perché non giochiamo parti uguali’.

Un impiego analogo dell’imperfetto alla I persona del verbo ‘volere’ con funzione di attenuazione si trova anche in latino e nelle lingue romanze, come in italiano “volevo dirti” = “vorrei dirti”: (13)

LI sed quid venis? quid quaeritas? ME Demaenetum volebam (Plaut. Asin. 392) ‘LI Ma che sei venuto a fare? Chi cerchi? ME Volevo Demeneto’.

Merita notare la differenza tra questo uso dell’imperfetto del verbo ‘volere’ alla I persona (senza ἄν) in funzione di attenuazione e quello della stessa forma verbale con ἄν (ἐβουλόμην ἄν) per indicare un desiderio giudicato come non realizzabile perché in contrasto con lo ‘state of affairs’ del mondo reale: (14)

ἐγὼ δ΄ ἐβουλόμην ἂν αὐτοὺς ἀληθῆ λέγειν (Lys. in Erat. 22, 4) ‘come vorrei che essi dicessero la verità’.

Sul versante deontico, un particolare uso modale dell’aoristo si realizza con il verbo ὀφείλω. Infatti, questo verbo, che al presente indicativo ha generalmente il valore radicale di ‘essere debitore di, dovere, essere tenuto a’, sviluppa all’aoristo la funzione di indicare la controfattualità assumendo il senso di ‘avrebbe dovuto’: (15)

ἀλλ΄ ὤφελεν ἀθανάτοισιν εὔχεσθαι· τό κεν οὔ τι πανύστατος ἦλθε διώκων (Il. XXIII 546–547) ‘avrebbe dovuto invocare gli dei immortali: così non sarebbe arrivato ultimo nella gara’.

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È, inoltre, interessante il fatto che da questo giudizio sullo “state of affairs” del mondo reale si sviluppa un’espressione di rimpianto o di rammarico che si sia verificato un evento diverso da quello auspicato: (16)

᾿Αλλ΄ ὤφελε μὲν Κῦρος ζῆν (Xen. An. II 1,4) ‘Ma Ciro avrebbe dovuto vivere = magari Ciro fosse ancora in vita!’

fino ad arrivare ad una completa grammaticalizzazione della formula εἰ γὰρ ὤφελον per manifestare pienamente il desiderio o l’auspicio senza l’indicazione che tale desiderio sia irrealizzabile: (17)

εἰ γὰρ ὤφελον (Eur. Or. 1582; Plat. Crit. 44d 6; Aristoph. Eccl. 380) ‘volesse il cielo, magari!’.

1.1.3 Uso modale del futuro indicativo Anche in greco, come in molte altre lingue, particolarmente atto per sua natura agli usi modali è il futuro, una categoria verbale, che, spesso più che il tempo, serve a presentare il punto di vista del locutore⁸. I valori modali del futuro sono segnalati in greco dalle relazioni diacroniche con le forme di desiderativo e di congiuntivo di altre lingue indoeuropee, ma anche dalle frequenti alternanze sincroniche con i “modi” per eccellenza, cioè il congiuntivo e l’ottativo. Per esempio nell’espressione del deliberativo, il futuro può alternare con l’ottativo o con il congiuntivo: (18)

a. εἴπωμεν ἢ σιγῶμεν ἢ τί δράσομεν; (Eur. Ion. 758) ‘Dobbiamo parlare o mantenere il silenzio o che altro fare?’,

cosi come, in altri contesti, il futuro può alternare con il congiuntivo eventuale: (18)

b. οὐκ ἔσθ΄ οὗτος ἀνὴρ οὐδ΄ ἔσσεται οὐδὲ γένηται, ὅς κεν Τηλεμάχῳ, σῷ υἱέ”ι, χεῖρας ἐποίσει (Od. XVI 437 sq.) ‘Non è quest’uomo, né mai ci sarà o potrà nascere colui che potrebbe mettere le mani su tuo figlio Telemaco’.

La sovrapposizione con il congiuntivo e l’ottativo è segnalata anche dall’occorrenza della particella ἄν, κε(ν) con il futuro, particella che spesso accompagna modi come l’ottativo e il congiuntivo o i tempi storici dell’indicativo. L’uso della particella κε(ν) con il futuro è molto più frequente in Omero, diminuendo successivamente a favore del congiuntivo e dell’ottativo: (19)

a. καί κέ τις ὧδ΄ ἐρέει Τρώων ὑπερηνορεόντων (Il. IV 176) ‘e forse qualcuno dei Troiani alteri dirà’.

8 Cfr. Orlandini – Poccetti (2014; 2016).

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b. τοὺς δέ κ΄ ἔπειτα Παλλὰς ᾿Αθηναίη θέλξει καὶ μητίετα Ζεύς (Od. XVI 297) ‘e poi lì Pallade Atena li incanterà e il saggio Zeus’. c. ῞Ωστ΄ οὐκ ἂν εἰκότως περὶ ὀλίγου ποιήσεσθε τὰς ἐκείνων ἐπιστολάς (Isocr. Trapez. 58, 2) ‘così che verosimilmente non terrete in poco conto i loro messaggi’. La distinzione tra “valori radicali” e valori modali di eventualità e possibilità sembra neutralizzarsi al participio futuro: (20)

ὃν οὐδὲ εἷς λέληθεν οὐδὲ ἓν ποιῶν, οὐδ΄ αὖ ποιήσων, οὐδὲ πεποιηκὼς πάλαι (Philem. Frg. 91 Kock) ‘Mai nessuno lo fa, né potrà farlo, né avrebbe potuto farlo di nascosto’.

A livello epistemico, i diversi tipi di futuro del greco servono a marcare l’impegno o il disimpegno del locutore rispetto a ciò che enuncia. L’impegno può essere segnalato non solo dal lessema verbale, ma anche dalla persona. Per esempio il verbo ἐρέω, che funge da futuro suppletivo rispetto al presente λέγω, usato alla I persona serve spesso ad introdurre un’affermazione data come certa, in cui il locutore si impegna: (21)

a. ἄλλο δέ τοι ἐρέω, σὺ δ΄ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ βάλλεο σῇσιν (Il. IV 39) ‘un’altra cosa voglio dirti e tu tienila bene in mente’.

Invece lo stesso verbo usato alla III persona con un pronome indefinito esprime la possibilità, come un potenziale equivalente a quello espresso da ἄν+ottativo: (21)

b ὥς ποτέ τις ἐρέει· τὸ δ΄ ἐμὸν κλέος οὔ ποτ΄ ὀλεῖται (Il. VII 91) ‘così forse qualcuno dirà: e la mia fama non perirà’.

Più in generale, la I persona al futuro distingue la fermezza del locutore nel suo proposito dal semplice fatto di riportare un’intenzione altrui, come appare dal confronto dei versi omerici che si riferiscono allo stesso contesto: (22)

ὃ γὰρ ἦλθε θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας ᾿Αχαιῶν λυσόμενός τε θύγατρα φέρων τ΄ ἀπερείσι΄ ἄποινα (Il. I 12–13) ‘costui, infatti, è venuto alle navi veloci degli Achei con l’intenzione di liberare la figlia con un cospicuo riscatto’. τὴν δ΄ ἐγὼ οὐ λύσω (Il. I 29) ‘Ma io non intendo affatto liberarla’.

Come osserva Robert Martin (1983, 131): «Le futur, quoique lié par nature au possible, au virtuel, à l’incertain, est soutenu d’un mouvement de pensée qui, prenant son départ au possible, l’achemine vers la certitude. Les saisies précoces sur ce mouvement fournissent les emplois modaux, les saisies tardives, les emplois temporels». La certezza della realizzazione dell’evento viene espressa dal futuro terzo o futurum exactum, formato sulla base del tema del perfetto. Tuttavia, non tutti i verbi ammettono

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questo tipo di futuro, subordinato all’Aktionsart del verbo, a cui si connette anche la certezza riguardo alla realizzazione del processo enunciato⁹. I verbi che ammettono questo tipo di futuro sono per lo più intransitivi o usati intransitivamente ed indicano l’azione compiuta o la presentano come tale: (23)

a. Οὐκοῦν, ὅταν δὴ μὴ σθένω, πεπαύσομαι (Soph. Ant. 91) ‘ebbene, quando non avrò più forza, (è sicuro che) desisterò’. b. ὑμεῖς δὲ συμμάχων τοιῶνδε μουνωθέντες μεμνήσεσθε τῶν ἐμῶν λόγων. (Hdt. VIII 62, 2) ‘quanto a voi, privati di tali alleati, vi ricorderete di ciò che dico’. c. μάτην ἐμοὶ κεκλαύσεται, σὺ δ΄ ἐγχανὼν τεθνήξεις (Aristoph. Nub. 1436) ‘il mio pianto sarà versato invano e tu sarai morto tra le beffe’. d. ὧδέ θ΄ ἑστήξω παρ΄ αὐτόν (Aristoph. Lys. 634) ‘ecco come mi comporterò davanti a lui’.

Un’ulteriore prova del “commitment” del locutore viene anche dal fatto che tale futuro occorre in subordinate introdotte da verba dicendi o putandi che, per via del modo o della persona, sottolineano la certezza di ciò che viene enunciato, quali “vi dico”, “vi rammento”, “sappiate”, “tenete ben presente”, etc.: (24)

a. ἢν δὲ ποιήσητε ἃ λέγετε, ἴστε ὅτι ἄνδρα κατακεκονότες ἔσεσθε πολλὰ μὲν δὴ πρὸ ὑμῶν ἀγρυπνήσαντα (Xen. An. VII 6, 36) ‘se fate ciò che dite, sappiate che ucciderete un uomo che ha corso molti pericoli per voi’. b. εἰ γάρ τινα ἀλλήλοις μάχην συνάψετε, νομίζετε ἐν τῇδε τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἐμέ τε κατακεκόψεσθαι καὶ ὑμᾶς οὐ πολὺ ἐμοῦ ὕστερον (Xen. An. I 5, 16) ‘se vi combattete reciprocamente, tenete presente che oggi io sarò disfatto’.

Invece, la semplice probabilità di realizzazione della predicazione si esprime generalmente con il futuro I. Tuttavia, questo futuro può esprimere un giudizio epistemico di certezza di realizzazione, quando occorre nel sistema ipotetico, al posto del congiuntivo, sia nella protasi: (25)

a. Εἰ ταῦτα λέξεις, ἐχθαρῇ μὲν ἐξ ἐμοῦ (Soph. Ant. 93) ‘se tu dici questo, ti detesterò’

che nell’apodosi: (25)

b. λέγοντες ὅτι, [. . . ] ῥᾳδίως ᾿Ακαρνανίαν σχόντες καὶ τῆς Ζακύνθου καὶ Κεφαλληνίας κρατήσουσι (Thuk. II, 80,1) ‘dicendo che [. . . ] sarebbe facile, una volta entrati in possesso dell’Acarnania, assicurarsi ugualmente Zacinto’.

9 Orlandini – Poccetti (in stampa).

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In conclusione, nel futuro III la certezza nell’azione enunciata è legata non alla categoria della persona, ma piuttosto all’aspetto e all’Aktionsart del verbo. Come abbiamo già visto, anche il futuro I può esprimere la certezza, ma generalmente solo alla I persona. In tal modo il futuro, si sostituisce, di fatto, al presente indicativo, come nel caso, già citato, di ἐρέω, futuro suppletivo del verbo λέγω¹⁰. Tuttavia, in particolari contesti, anche alla III persona il futuro I può esprimere certezza in affermazioni di validità generale in proposizioni indipendenti già da epoca più antica: (26)

a. Οὔποθ΄ ὕδωρ καὶ πῦρ συμμείξεται (Theogn. 1245) ‘Mai acqua e fuoco si mescoleranno’

fino alla traduzione dell’Antico Testamento: (26)

b. στόμα ἔχουσιν καὶ οὐ λαλήσουσιν, ὀφθαλμοὺς ἔχουσιν καὶ οὐκ ὄψονται, (LXX, Salm. 113, 13) Oculos habent et non uidebunt. ‘Hanno la bocca e non saranno capaci di parlare, hanno gli occhi, e non saranno capaci di vedere’

ed anche in enunciati con valore predittivo o profetico: (26)

c. ἔσσεται ἦμαρ ὅτ΄ ἄν ποτ΄ ὀλώλῃ ῎Ιλιος ἱρή (Il. IV 164; VI 448) ‘ci sarà un giorno in cui la sacra Ilio sarà distrutta’ d. τῶ οἱ κλέος οὔ ποτ΄ ὀλεῖται ἧς ἀρετῆς (Od. XXIV 196) ‘e a lui mai perirà la fama del suo valore’.

Il futuro può occorrere anche per formulare un ordine o un’esortazione in sostituzione del congiuntivo esortativo o dell’imperativo: (27)

a. ὣς οὖν ποιήσετε, καὶ πείθεσθέ μοι (Plat., Prot. 338a) ‘Voi farete dunque così, ascoltatemi bene’ b. ᾿Αγαπήσεις τὸν πλησίον σου ὡς σεαυτόν (Mt. 5, 43) ‘Amerai (= ama) il prossimo tuo come te stesso’.

È noto che pragmaticamente molti intensificatori servono anche a realizzare una funzione opposta, cioè quella di attenuatori. Così il futuro si presenta spesso in frasi interrogative formulate negativamente per esprimere un ordine in maniera attenuata: (28)

“οὗτος ᾿Απολλόδωρος, οὐ περιμένεις; (Plat. Symp. 172a) ‘Apollodoro, non vuoi aspettarmi?’ (=aspettami!)

La funzione di attenuazione di una richiesta o di una esortazione fa sì che il futuro venga impiegato come strategia di “politeness” e che ricorra, per esempio, nelle preghiere:

10 Kölligan (2007, 219–223).

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παραιτήσομαι δ΄ ὑμᾶς μηδὲν ἀχθεσθῆναί μοι, (Dem. 21, 58) ‘Vi chiederò (=vi prego) di non volermene’

Nelle lettere, specialmente note da papiri, l’espressione καλῶς (εὖ) ποιήσεις, letteralmente ‘farai bene’, rappresenta la formula standard per introdurre una richiesta¹¹, nella quale il futuro può alternare con ἄν + ottativo (καλῶς (εὖ) ἂν ποιήσαις). Tale formula si è di fatto grammaticalizzata, in funzione pragmatica, con il senso dell’italiano ‘per favore’. Come si è già detto riguardo all’imperfetto, è il contesto che permette di distinguere i diversi valori modali e non modali del futuro. E, analogamente a quanto già visto per l’imperfetto, all’interno di uno stesso testo possono concentrarsi usi del futuro con funzioni diverse come nel seguente passo di Aristofane: (30)

a. ΧΑ. Οὔκουν καθεδεῖ δῆτ΄ ἐνθαδί, γάστρων; ΔΙ. ᾿Ιδού. ΧΑ. Οὔκουν προβαλεῖ τὼ χεῖρε κἀκτενεῖς; ΔΙ. ᾿Ιδού. ΧΑ. Οὐ μὴ φλυαρήσεις ἔχων, ἀλλ΄ ἀντιβὰς ἐλᾷς προθύμως. ΔΙ. Κᾆτα πῶς δυνήσομαι ἄπειρος, ἀθαλάττευτος, ἀσαλαμίνιος ὢν εἶτ΄ ἐλαύνειν; ΧΑ. ῾Ρᾷστ΄· ἀκούσει γὰρ μέλη κάλλιστ΄, ἐπειδὰν ἐμβάλῃς ἅπαξ (Aristoph. Ran. 199–205) ‘Vuoi sederti qui, pancione? DI. Eccomi! CHA. Vuoi allungare le braccia e distenderle? DI. Ecco! CHA. Tu non farai (=non fare) il finto tonto, ma appoggia i piedi e spingi il remo con ardore DI. E come, novizio come sono, io che non sono marinaio, né di Salamina, potrò immergere il remo e far forza? CHA. Molto facilmente: tu sentirai dei canti magnifici, non appena avrai impugnato il remo’.

Altri giudizi che concernono l’inferenza, l’attesa, l’intenzione o l’attribuzione di un’intenzione, sono realizzati in greco dal costrutto di μέλλω + infinito che, come ha sottolineato L. Basset¹², prende come punto di riferimento il momento dell’enunciazione e si àncora saldamente alla prospettiva del locutore. Tuttavia, nelle perifrasi con μέλλω, il gioco delle persone può esprimere diversi valori modali, cioè, per esempio, un’intenzione se il verbo è usato alla I persona, l’attribuzione di un’intenzione se è alla II persona, una modalità deontica se è alla III persona: (30)

b. μέλλω ζεύξας τὸν ῾Ελλήσποντον ἐλᾶν στρατὸν διὰ τῆς Εὐρώπης ἐπὶ τὴν ῾Ελλάδα, ἵνα ᾿Αθηναίους τιμωρήσωμαι (Hdt. VII 8, 21) ‘ho intenzione di aggiogare l’Ellesponto e di condurre l’esercito attraverso l’Europa contro la Grecia, per vendicarmi degi Ateniesi’ c. μέλλεις γὰρ ἀφαιρήσεσθαι ἄεθλον (Il. XXIII 544) ‘la tua intenzione, infatti, è quella di strapparmi il premio’

11 Leiwo (2010, 99); Logozzo (2015, 230–233). 12 Cfr. Basset (1979, 205 ss.).

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c. ῇ περ δὴ καὶ ἔπειτα τελευτήσεσθαι ἔμελλεν· αἶσα γὰρ ἦν ἀπολέσθαι, ἐπὴν πόλις ἀμφικαλύψῃ δουράτεον μέγαν ἵππον (Od. VIII 510) ‘proprio in questo modo doveva finire: era destino, infatti che la città perisse dopo che aveva accolto il grande cavallo di legno’ o perfino un irreale, se usato all’aoristo: (30)

d. καὶ αὐτὸν ἐμέλλησαν μὲν ἐς τὸν Καιάδαν [οὗπερ τοὺς κακούργους] ἐσβάλλειν· ἔπειτα ἔδοξε πλησίον που κατορύξαι (Thuk. I, 134) ‘e erano sul punto di gettarlo (= mancò poco che lo gettassero) nel Ceada, dove si gettano i malfattori, ma poi sembrò opportuno seppellirlo lì vicino’.

1.2 La scelta dei modi nella proposizione subordinata Come è noto, nelle subordinate l’uso dei modi distingue frasi che esprimono la soggettività di quanto viene predicato dalle asserzioni semplicemente vero–funzionali. In latino, ciò si verifica sistematicamente con la distribuzione tra indicativo e congiuntivo, che può permettere di distinguere tra la voce del locutore e quella di altri. In greco, invece, tale distinzione è tra indicativo e ottativo “obliquo” in dipendenza da un tempo storico. La dipendenza dell’ottativo da un tempo storico non è un fatto meccanico, ma dipende da diverse variabili contestuali, come il semantismo del verbo reggente, in cui si inserisce l’atteggiamento del locutore rispetto a quanto enuncia. Così, per esempio, le grammatiche mettono in evidenza la differenza di costrutto tra i verba sentiendi e i verba affectuum rispetto ai verba dicendi e putandi. Le completive introdotte dai primi si presentano con il participio o con l’indicativo, anche in dipendenza da un tempo storico, mentre quelle rette dai secondi ammettono l’infinito, l’indicativo, l’ottativo: (31)

a. οὐδεὶς δὲ πώποτε Σωκράτους οὐδὲν ἀσεβὲς οὐδὲ ἀνόσιον οὔτε πράττοντος εἶδεν οὔτε λέγοντος ἤκουσεν (Xen. Mem. I 1, 11) ‘nessuno mai ha visto Socrate compiere né sentito pronunciargli alcunché di empio’ b. ῞Ησθη τε ταῦτα ἀκούσας ὁ Καμβύσης (Hdt. III 34, 22) ‘Cambise si era rallegrato nel sentire queste parole’ c. καὶ μετεμέλοντο τὰς σπονδὰς οὐ δεξάμενοι (Thuk. IV 27, 2) ‘e si pentirono di non aver accettato la tregua’ d. πατρὸς ἐμοῦ, ὃς ἔφασκε Ποσειδάων΄ ἀγάσασθαι (Od. XIII 173) ‘di mio padre, il quale diceva che Poseidone era adirato’ e. τινες ἰδόντες εἶπον ὅτι νῆες ἐκεῖναι ἐπιπλέουσιν (Thuk. I 51, 2) ‘alcuni di loro, vedendole, dissero che quelle navi stavano arrivando’

Manifestazioni del “locutore” in greco | 359

f. λέγοντες ὡς οὐκ ἐπὶ τῷ κακῶς πάσχειν ἐκπεμφθεῖεν (Thuk. I 38, 1) ‘dicendo che non erano stati mandati a fondare una colonia per essere maltrattati’. Tale differenza di costrutti nelle dipendenze dai due tipi di verbi risiede innanzitutto in una duplice ragione di ordine semantico: con i verbi di percezione l’uso del participio comporta una relazione diretta e simultanea con l’oggetto, non mediata da una valutazione intellettuale, mentre i verba dicendi e putandi comportano un’elaborazione razionale. Pertanto, il locutore può dissentire da ciò che viene riferito come un’opinione o un giudizio altrui, ma non da ciò che egli stesso presenta come frutto di una sua percezione o di un suo sentimento. In questo quadro, dunque, l’ottativo obliquo, ammissibile solo per determinate categorie di verbi reggenti, che, quasi sempre implicano un atto di pensiero o di parola o comunque ciò che trascende la semplice percezione immediata, è frutto di una scelta del locutore per riportare il pensiero altrui, che o non coincide con il proprio giudizio o che non viene accettato come verità assodata. In altre parole, come ricorda L. Basset, l’ottativo “obliquo” realizza una dissociazione enunciativa¹³. Una prova si ha nei passi seguenti, nei quali la messa in contrasto tra due modi, l’indicativo e l’ottativo, in due completive coordinate serve a sottolineare gli atteggiamenti diversi del locutore rispetto a due informazioni, l’una accettata come reale, l’altra riportata come opinione altrui, riguardante una predicazione che secondo il locutore potrebbe essersi realizzata: (32)

a. οὗτοι ἔλεγον ὅτι Κῦρος μὲν τέθνηκεν, ᾿Αριαῖος δὲ πεφευγὼς ἐν τῷ σταθμῷ εἴη μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων βαρβάρων (Xen. An. II 1, 3) ‘costoro affermavano che Ciro era morto, ma che Arieo sarebbe riuscito a nascondersi nella loro guarnigione con gli altri barbari’ b. Τιμηγενίδης ὁ ῞Ερπυος ἀνὴρ Θηβαῖος συνεβούλευσε Μαρδονίῳ τὰς ἐκβολὰς τοῦ Κιθαιρῶνος φυλάξαι, λέγων ὡς ἐπιρρέουσι οἱ ῞Ελληνες αἰεὶ ἀνὰ πᾶσαν ἡμέρην καὶ ὡς ἀπολάμψοιτο συχνούς (Hdt. IX 38, 10) ‘Il Tebano Timagenida consigliò a Mardonio di presidiare i passi del Citerone, dicendogli che i Greci accorrevano continuamente ogni giorno e che ne avrebbe catturati parecchi’.

Significativamente in entrambi i passi l’informazione data come un fatto reale precede quella presentata come possibile ed attribuita alla responsabilità del soggetto del verbum dicendi. Anche in altri tipi di subordinate il greco è particolarmente sensibile alla ripartizione dei modi al fine di differenziare il giudizio o il punto di vista del locutore rispetto alle opinioni o alle intenzioni altrui.

13 Basset (2004, 12–17).

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Nella frase consecutiva una distinzione tra de re (enunciati fattuali) e de dicto (enunciati virtuali, generici, abituali, che possono talvolta esprimere giudizi soggettivi) è spesso veicolata dalla distribuzione tra indicativo e infinito: (33)

a. ὑψηλὸν δὲ οὕτω δή τι λέγεται ὡς τὰς κορυφὰς αὐτοῦ οὐκ οἷά τε εἶναι ἰδέσθαι (Hdt. IV 184, 3) ‘si dice che sia così alto che non è nemmeno possibile vedere le sue vette’ ῀ κἄστ΄ ἔτι ζῶν οὗτος, ὥστ΄ ἰδεῖν ἐμέ; (Soph. OT. 1045) “ b. ᾿Η ‘ed egli è ancora vivo, sì che io possa vederlo?’ c. Λακεδαιμόνιοι [. . . ] εἰς τοῦτ΄ ἀπληστίας ἦλθον ὥστ΄ οὐκ ἐξήρκεσεν αὐτοῖς ἔχειν τὴν κατὰ γῆν ἀρχὴν (Isocr. XII 103) ‘Gli Spartani giunsero a tal punto di insaziabilità che non bastò loro avere l’egemonia terrestre’.

L’infinito può neutralizzare la distinzione tra il fine e la conseguenza, soprattutto se dipendente da determinate classi di verbi che, di per sé, marcano l’intenzionalità, come per esempio, i verbi di movimento o quelli indicanti ‘dare, affidare, concedere’, che stabiliscono una relazione diretta tra la principale e la dipendente. Questo è il caso del cosiddetto “infinito consecutivo–finale”, costrutto tipico del greco, che riaffiora in latino, specialmente in poesia, in parte per imitazione del greco, ma, in parte, anche per tendenze latenti nel latino stesso. “L’infinito consecutivo–finale” segnala il non coinvolgimento del locutore nella predicazione enunciata, che viene presentata come parte integrante o sviluppo consequenziale dell’intenzione del soggetto di frase: (34)

a. μανθάνειν γὰρ ἥκομεν ξένοι πρὸς ἀστῶν, ἃν ἀκούσωμεν τελεῖν (Soph. OC. 12–13) ‘come stranieri siamo venuti qui per imparare dai cittadini e compiere ciò che ascoltiamo’ b. ᾿Εγώ σοι, ὦ Κῦρε, τὰ μὲν χρήματα ταῦτα δωροῦμαι, τὴν δὲ θυγατέρα ταύτην ἐπιτρέπω διαθέσθαι ὅπως ἂν σὺ βούλῃ (Xen. Cyr. V 2,7) ‘io, o Ciro, ti porto questi doni e ti affido mia figlia per farne quello che tu vuoi’.

Invece, quando il locutore vuol marcare che lo scopo non è uno sviluppo immediato e consequenziale, ma resta nella sfera delle aspirazioni e delle mire di chi compie un’azione ὡς + il participio futuro (35)

a. οἱ ᾿Αθηναῖοι παρεσκευάζοντο ὡς πολεμήσοντες, παρεσκευάζοντο δὲ καὶ Λακεδαιμόνιοι καὶ οἱ ξύμμαχοι, πρεσβείας τε μέλλοντες πέμπειν παρὰ βασιλέα καὶ ἄλλοσε πρὸς τοὺς βαρβάρους (Thuk. II 7, 1) ‘gli Ateniesi si preparavano a combattere, ma anche gli Spartani e i loro alleati si preparavano a mandare al re e ad altri paesi barbari ambascerie’.

Invece, quando lo scopo è presentato come presentazione separata e indipendente dalla frase principale si usa ὄφρα + congiuntivo:

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b. ἐγὼ δ΄ ἵππων ἀποβήσομαι ὄφρα μάχωμαι (Il. V 227) ‘e io scenderò da cavallo e combatterò’ (= per combattere).

2 Le particelle e il ruolo del locutore Il greco possiede due particelle, che, pur avendo ruoli, funzioni e costrutti molto diversi, hanno un tratto in comune, cioè quello di far emergere la voce del locutore. L’una è ἄν/κε(ν), la particella “modalizzante” per eccellenza che agisce sull’intero sistema dei tempi e dei modi del greco (tranne l’imperativo) e che serve soprattutto per esprimere la modalità epistemica nelle diverse gradazioni tra eventualità, possibilità, probabilità, controfattualità declinate secondo il punto di vista del locutore. Di conseguenza, può anche assolvere la funzione di attenuare un’affermazione o una richiesta e, dunque, rientrare, tra le strategie della “politeness” per rivolgersi a qualcuno. L’altra è ὡς, che è, invece, una particella polifunzionale, poiché introduce subordinate di varia natura, come le dichiarative, le finali, le causali, le consecutive, tanto in forma esplicita, con l’indicativo, il congiuntivo, l’ottativo, quanto in forma implicita, cioè in unione al participio o all’infinito. In particolare, con il participio e con l’infinito ὡς serve ad introdurre la voce del locutore, sia pure con funzione diversa a seconda dei modi. Con l’infinito, può avere un valore limitativo–restrittivo, in espressioni del tipo ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖν, ὡς εἰκάσαι ‘secondo la mia opinione’, ‘a mio modo di vedere’, con funzione ora di attenuare un’affermazione del locutore stesso: (36)

a. ὡς τοῖς γε σεμνοῖς καὶ συνωφρυωμένοις ἅπασίν ἐστιν, ὥς γ΄ ἐμοὶ χρῆσθαι κριτῆι, οὐ βίος ἀληθῶς ὁ βίος ἀλλὰ συμφορά (Eur. Alc. 800–802) ‘per tutti quelli che si atteggiano a saggi ed accigliati, a mio modo di vedere, la vita non è vera vita, ma una disgrazia’

ora di attribuirsi la paternità o la responsabilità di un’inferenza: (36)

b. ἐν αἷς καὶ ὅδε ὁ νόμος ἦν, μὴ ἐξεῖναι τοῖς πατρικίοις πρὸς τοὺς δημοτικοὺς ἐπιγαμίας συνάψαι· δι΄ οὐδὲν ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖν, ἕτερον ἢ τὸ μὴ συνελθεῖν εἰς ὁμόνοιαν τὰ ἔθνη γάμων ἐπαλλαγαῖς καὶ οἰκειοτήτων κοινωνίαις συγκερασθέντα (Dion. Hal. A.R. X 60, 5) ‘tra queste leggi ce n’era una che vietava i matrimoni tra patrizi e plebei, una legge che era stata fatta per nessun’altra ragione, secondo la mia opinione, per impedire che le due classi convivessero armonicamente una volta che fossero legate tra relazioni di parentela’

ora di prendere le distanze dal modo di argomentare altrui: (36)

c. Ταῦτα δὲ λέγων οὗτος ἐμιμέετο Μελάμποδα, ὡς εἰκάσαι βασιληίην τε καὶ πολιτηίην αἰτεομένους (Hdt. IX 34)

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‘dicendo questo, prendeva esempio da Melampo, per quanto si possa mettere a confronto chi reclama il regno e chi reclama la cittadinanza’. Più spesso ὡς + infinito si trova in formule fisse aventi funzione di ricapitolazione o di riformulazione, quali ὡς ἔπος εἰπεῖν ‘per dirla in una parola’, ‘in breve’; ὡς δ΄ ἐν κεφαλαίῳ εἰπεῖν ‘(per dirla) in sintesi’; ὡς ἁπλῶς εἰπεῖν ‘per dirla più semplicemente’, grazie alle quali il locutore medesimo riformula “con un’altra voce” sottolineando l’essenziale di quanto già detto. Lo stesso costrutto si presenta anche come marca di “code–switching” in un ‘espressione del tipo ὡς ἐν ἡμῖν αὐτοῖς εἰρῆσθαι ‘per dirla tra di noi’ con cui il locutore segnala un cambiamento di tono o di registro commisurato alla relazione con il destinatario del messaggio. Specialmentes l’uso di ὡς + participio è deputato a segnalare la dissociazione enunciativa da una versione dei fatti o da un’opinione, da cui il locutore prende le distanze. In questo caso, la particella ὡς, distinguendo nettamente il punto di vista del locutore da quello altrui, svolge anche la funzione di marcatore della “polifonia”. Tale funzione si attua nella costruzione del participio congiunto con valore causale, dove ὡς, al pari di ὥσπερ, καθάπερ, è una marca di soggettività per indicare l’opinione o la causa attribuita all’enunciatore o ad altri soggetti, contrapponendosi, in tal modo, alle particelle οἷα, ὅτε, οἷoν, ὥστε che sempre in analogo costrutto participiale segnalano la causa riconosciuta come reale, oggettiva e quindi condivisa dal locutore: (37)

a. καὶ ὡς προθυμοτάτοις οὖσιν ὑμῖν χάριν εἴσεται Κῦρος καὶ ἀποδώσει (Xen. An. I 4, 15) ‘E Ciro vi sarà grato e vi ricompenserà perché a suo parere siete i più zelanti’ b. ὁ Κῦρος [. . . ] εὐθὺς οἷα δὴ παῖς φύσει φιλόστοργος ὢν ἠσπάζετό (Xen. Cyr. I 3, 2) ‘Ciro, poiché era un giovane veramente affettuoso per natura, lo abbracciò’.

La causa addotta come soggettiva può essere rigettata dal locutore in quanto contestualmente smentita dai fatti. Per questo il costrutto ὡς, ὥσπερ + participio si presta anche ad esprimere una controfattualità, e specificamente nel caso di un’opinione che viene simultaneamente presentata come falsa o infondata: (37)

c. ἄλλοι δὲ τῶν Θρᾳκῶν τὸν ἕτερον ἐξέφερον ὡς τεθνηκότα· ἦν δὲ οὐδὲν πεπονθώς (Xen. An. VI 1 6–7) ‘altri Traci portarono via l’altro come se fosse morto: in realtà non gli era successo niente’.

Specialmente in un discorso indiretto, questa struttura segnala la dissociazione del locutore mettendo ironicamente in evidenza la controfattualità manifesta della predicazione: (38)

a. λέγουσιν ἡμᾶς ὡς ὀλωλότας (Aeschil. Agam. 672) ‘parlano di noi come di morti’ (come se fossimo morti)

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Questa funzione è assolta in latino dall’avverbio quasi ‘come se’ impiegato in comparative ipotetiche ironiche: (38)

b. quasi pisces, non galli cecinerint (Cic. de Div. II 56) ‘come se avessero cantato dei pesci, non dei galli’

Significativamente la struttura ὡς + participio si realizza spesso con verbi che significano ‘lamentarsi’ e serve a mettere in luce il fatto che la motivazione delle lamentele non è riconosciuta valida dal locutore: (39)

a. καὶ ἀγανακτοῦσιν ὡς μεγάλων τινῶν ἀπεστερημένοι καὶ τότε μὲν εὖ ζῶντες, νῦν δὲ οὐδὲ ζῶντες (Plat. Rep. 329 a) ‘a sentir loro, si lamentano che avrebbero perduto grandi ricchezze, affermando che allora fruivano della vita, ma che ora non sarebbero più vivi’ b. μὴ [. . . ] ἀγανακτῇ ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ ὡς δεινὰ πάσχοντος (Plat. Phaed. 115e) ‘Così Critone [. . . .] tollererà meglio la prova e non dovrà indignarsi per me credendo che io subisca un trattamento ignobile’.

2.1 Le particelle che introducono la frase subordinata In misura assai più forte del latino, il greco si avvale di un’ampia gamma di particelle che introducono le subordinate, le quali, congiuntamente al tempo e al modo, concorrono a segnalare il giudizio del locutore rispetto a quanto enunciato. Così, specialmente nelle completive, si riconosce ad ὡς un grado di soggettività maggiore rispetto ad ὅτι, anche se questo comportamento si diversifica tra diacronia e sincronia. Nella lingua letteraria ὅτι si accompagna più frequentemente ai verba affectuum, che, di per sé, non hanno bisogno di marcare la soggettività della sensazione o del sentimento. Per la stessa ragione, ὅτι, più frequentemente di ὡς, può anche fungere da marcatore del discorso diretto: (40) ἐγὼ δ΄ εἶπον ὅτι «οὐκ ἐγώ σε ἀποκτενῶ, ἀλλ΄ ὁ τῆς πόλεως νόμος, ὃν σὺ παραβαίνων περὶ ἐλάττονος τῶν ἡδονῶν ἐποιήσω [. . . ]» (Lys. de caed. Erat. 26) ‘ma io gli ho replicato: “non ti ucciderò io, ma la legge della città che tu, violandola, hai ritenuto meno importante dei tuoi piaceri”’. Tralasciamo qui le particelle e le espressioni che introducono una frase interrogativa, che, distinguendo tra risposta neutra e l’orientazione verso una risposta negativa o affermativa, possono anche servire ad inserire un commento del locutore, come le già ricordate “tag questions” del tipo πῶς γὰρ οὐ· πῶς δ΄ οὐκ ἂν· ‘come non potrebbe essere così? Come potrebbe essere diversamente?’. Ci limitiamo, invece a segnalare la distribuzione delle particelle che introducono la finale ed i modi diversi usati in questa

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subordinata, spia di un diverso atteggiamento del locutore. Per esempio, nella finale introdotta da ἵνα, l’ottativo sostituisce il congiuntivo anche in dipendenza da un tempo presente nella reggente quando la relazione tra un’azione e lo scopo atteso è attribuita ad altri e non è condivisa dal locutore: (41)

῀ οὖν, ἦν δ΄ ἐγώ, ὦ Γλαύκων, καὶ οἱ καθιστάντες μουσικῇ καὶ γυμναστικῇ παι᾿Αρ΄ δεύειν οὐχ οὗ ἕνεκά τινες οἴονται καθιστᾶσιν, ἵνα τῇ μὲν τὸ σῶμα θεραπεύοιντο, τῇ δὲ τὴν ψυχήν; (Plat. Rep. 410 c) ‘dunque, Glucone – chiesi io – anche coloro che si prefiggono di educare con la musica e con la ginnastica, non lo stabiliscono allo scopo, in cui alcuni credono, di curare con l’una il corpo e con l’altra l’anima?’.

Sempre l’ottativo con ἵνα figura quando il verbo della reggente è un potenziale o un desiderativo, esprime, cioè, un’azione non fattuale, così che la finale si configura come una conseguenza auspicata in subordine al realizzarsi di una possibilità aperta: (42)

διὰ τοῦτ΄ εἰκότως βούλοιντ΄ ἂν ἡμᾶς πάντας ἐξολωλέναι, ἵνα τὰς τελετὰς λάβοιεν αὐτοὶ τῶν θεῶν (Aristoph. Pac. 412–414) ‘perciò vorrebbero vederci morti, per essere soli tra gli dei a ricevere sacrifici’.

Invece, l’impiego di ὅπως + futuro indicativo focalizza lo sforzo di raggiungere lo scopo, indipendentemente dal suo esito: (43) ἔπρασσον ὅπως τις βοήθεια ἥξει (Thuk. III 5, 1) ‘facevano in modo di avere qualche aiuto’. Anche nelle subordinate causali, il costrutto introdotto dalla particella segnala la diversa natura semantica della causa. Per esempio un fatto avvenuto, presentato come causa oggettiva, viene introdotto da ἐπεί che ha, di base, un valore temporale: (44) ἐπεὶ δὲ ἐστερῆσθαι αὐτῶν, οὐ δίκαιοι εἶναι ἀποφέρειν ἔτι (Hdt. V 84, 1) ‘ma dal momento che ne erano stati privati, non erano più tenuti ad offrire sacrifici’. Tuttavia, la stessa particella può segnalare il ruolo del locutore se accompagnata da ἄν. In questo caso, infatti, può servire a giustificare un’affermazione adducendo una motivazione molto ovvia, ma che il locutore ritiene che non si realizzi. Per questo, spesso questo tipo di giustificazione si aggiunge ad una frase negativa, come in italiano “non è così, perché altrimenti. . . ” (45)

ἔφη· Μὰ Δία· οὐ γὰρ φιλόπονός ἐστιν· ἐπεὶ ἤρκει ἂν αὐτῷ, εἰ ἐμὲ ἤθελε φιλεῖν, τοῦτο ἀντὶ πάντων τῶν γυμνασίων (Xen. Cyr. II 2, 31) ‘esclamò: “Non è, per Zeus, amante delle difficoltà, perché altrimenti, se volesse essermi amico, gli basterebbe questo invece di tutti gli esercizi ginnici”’

la stessa costruzione si trova in presenza di una causa oggettiva:

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οὐ γὰρ ἡλικίαν ἔχει παρὰ σοὶ καθεύδειν τηλικοῦτος ὤν, ἐπεὶ μήτηρ ἂν αὐτῷ μᾶλλον εἴης ἢ γυνή (Aristoph., Eccl. 1038) ‘Non ha l’età per giacere con te, perché tu potresti essergli più madre che moglie’.

Un causa presentata come ipotetica viene introdotta dalla particella condizionale εἰ nel senso di ‘se è vero che, posto che’: (47) εἰ δὲ δὴ καὶ ἐγκράτεια καλόν τε κἀγαθὸν ἀνδρὶ κτῆμά ἐστιν, ἐπισκεψώμεθα εἴ τι προυβίβαζε λέγων εἰς ταύτην τοιάδε (Xen., Mem. I 5, 1) ‘posto che la moderazione è un’eccellente qualità per l’uomo, esaminiamo se in qualche modo faceva progredire in tal senso con siffatte argomentazioni’. La stessa particella εἰ serve anche per introdurre le completive–dichiarative rette da verbi che esprimono una sensazione o un sentimento (verba affectuum), quali θαυμάζω ‘meravigliarsi’, αἰσχύνομαι ‘vergognarsi’, ἀγανακτέω ‘indignarsi, lamentarsi’, φθονέω ‘invidiare’. Tale particella, che marca la protasi delle frasi condizionali e introduce anche le interrogative indirette, attribuisce al soggetto che prova il sentimento la responsabilità della motivazione, rispetto alla quale una dissociazione più netta da parte del locutaore è espressa da ὡς + participio, come abbiamo già ricordato.

3 L’evidenzialità In latino l’opposizione tra modi diversi serve a distinguere la fonte diretta da quella indiretta secondo la modalità evidenziale. In questa lingua, la distinzione si realizza attraverso l’uso rispettivamente del participio e dell’infinito. Il participio audio te dicentem connota la percezione diretta ed immediata (‘ti sento mentre stai parlando’), mentre l’infinito audio te dicere (‘sento dire che tu vai dicendo’)¹⁴ segnala una percezione indiretta e di “seconda mano”. La fonte è impersonale (‘Mi si dice che vai dicendo. . . ’)¹⁵. In greco, la stessa distinzione è segnalata dall’opposizione tra casi diversi del participio. La fonte indiretta è espressa dal participio all’accusativo: (48)

ἀκούει τοὺς πολεμίους προσιόντας (Xen. Cyr. II 4, 12) ‘sente (dire) che i nemici si stanno avvicinando a noi’.

La fonte diretta è espressa dal participio al genitivo: (49) οὐδεὶς δὲ πώποτε Σωκράτους οὐδὲν ἀσεβὲς οὐδὲ ἀνόσιον οὔτε πράττοντος εἶδεν οὔτε λέγοντος ἤκουσεν (Xen. Mem. I 1, 11) ‘nessuno ha mai visto fare né inteso dire qualcosa di scorretto da parte di Socrate’.

14 Per la diversa struttura soggiacente, cf. M. Maraldi (1980). 15 Cf. Orlandini – Poccetti (2015).

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Così anche nei verbi di memoria, con i quali il diretto coinvolgimento del locutore è indicato dal genitivo (50a), mentre l’accusativo segnala che il locutore non può risalire ad una esperienza diretta (50b): (50)

a. ἀλλ΄ ἔτι σέων μέμνημαι ἐφετμέων ἃς ἐπέτειλας (Il. V 818) ‘ma ricordo bene i tuoi comandi, che tu stesso mi hai dato’ b. Τυδέα δ΄ οὐ μέμνημαι, ἐπεί μ΄ ἔτι τυτθὸν ἐόντα κάλλιφ΄, ὅτ΄ ἐν Θήβῃσιν ἀπώλετο λαὸς ᾿Αχαιῶν (Il. VI 222) ‘Non mi ricordo di Tideo, perché, appena neonato, mi abbandonò, quando perì a Tebe l’esercito acheo’.

Tuttavia la distinzione tra la percezione diretta ed indiretta può essere anche molto più complessa e realizzata tramite altre strategie: l’infinito in opposizione ad una completiva introdotta da ὅτι, ὡς (seguito dall’indicativo o dall’ottativo) oppure l’uso di ὡς e il participio all’accusativo. Nella distribuzione di queste diverse strategie pesa, da un lato, la semantica del verbo reggente, se esprime, cioè, di per sé, una percezione diretta, il frutto di un’inferenza, un’evidenza innegabile, sia per il locutore sia per l’interlocutore, un sapere largamente condiviso e, dall’altro, come il locutore giudica la fonte. L’incidenza di queste diverse componenti può essere esemplificata dai seguenti esempi: (51)

a. Οἱ δὲ καὶ τὸ παράπαν λέγουσι καὶ τὸ ἀρχαῖον ῥέεθρον ἀποξηρανθῆναι (Hdt. I 75, 23) ‘Alcuni addirittura sostengono che il letto del fiume si sia prosciugato’ b. ῾Ορᾷς, ὦ Μέλητε, ὅτι σιγᾷς καὶ οὐκ ἔχεις εἰπεῖν (Plat. Apol. 24d)“ ‘Vedi, o Meleto, che taci e non sai cosa dire?’ c. ὅθεν οἶμαι καὶ δῆλόν ἐστι σαφῶς, ὅτι πᾶσ΄ ἀπάτη καὶ τέχνη συνεσκευάσθη τοῦ περὶ Φωκέας ὀλέθρου (Dem. de fals. leg. 76, 4) ‘da cui credo ed è del tutto chiaro che è stato escogitato un macchinoso inganno per la rovina dei Focei’ d. ῾Ως μηδὲν εἰδότ΄ ἴσθι μ΄ ὧν ἀνιστορεῖς (Soph. Phil. 253) ‘devi sapere che non so nulla di ciò che mi domandi’.

Nel primo esempio (51a), l’infinito attribuisce ad altri la responsabilità di quanto riportato. Nel secondo e nel terzo (51b e 51c) l’uso di ὅτι +indicativo si correla all’evidenza palese o risultante da una inoppugnabile inferenza, mentre nell’ultimo esempio (51d), l’asserzione relativa al “sapere nulla” viene presentata come risultato di mancanza totale di informazione.

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4 Il “commitment” 4.1 Tra lessico, sintassi e diatesi Il locutore può lasciar intendere la mancata realizzazione di una predicazione anche attraverso altre strategie, che spesso sono miste, avvalendosi della combinazione tra scelte lessicali, costrutti sintattici e le categorie verbali, specialmente il tempo e la diatesi. Tra queste strategie si situano le espressioni fraseologiche corrispondenti a quelle italiane “mancar poco/mancar tanto”, “correre il rischio di”, “per poco non”, “fosse dipeso da X”, “fosse per X”. Inoltre anche i verbi che indicano “sembrare” e “apparire”, nella dinamica tra diatesi e tempo, servono a marcare il punto di vista del locutore.

4.1.1 Le espressioni “mancar poco/mancar tanto” Le locuzioni “mancar poco, mancar tanto” esprimono generalmente un giudizio di natura epistemica del locutore riguardo alla non realizzazione di un’azione enunciata. In greco queste locuzioni sono formulate da ὀλίγου + verbo ‘per poco non’ (= lat. paene, prope), ὀλίγου δεῖν + infin., κινδυνεύειν ‘mancar poco che’, ‘correre il rischio di’, che, in riferimento al passato, si accompagnano sempre all’aoristo, per indicare la controfattualità della predicazione: (52)

a. ἐγὼ δ΄ οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς ὑπ΄ αὐτῶν ὀλίγου ἐμαυτοῦ ἐπελαθόμην, οὕτω πιθανῶς ἔλεγον ‘io stesso per poco non me ne sono dimenticato’ (Plat., Apol. 17, 3) b. τοῦτο δὲ μέγα τε ἦν καὶ τοὺς Πλαταιᾶς τἆλλα διαφυγόντας ἐλαχίστου ἐδέησε διαφθεῖραι e mancò pochissimo che i Plateesi non fossero tratti a completa rovina (Thuk. II 77 5) c. καὶ ἡ πόλις ἐκινδύνευσε πᾶσα διαφθαρῆναι (Thuk. III 74,2) ‘e la città corse il rischio di essere completamente distrutta’ d. παρὰ μικρὸν ἤλθομεν ἐξανδραποδισθῆναι (Isocr. Aereop. or. 7 – 6, 9) ‘per poco non siamo stati fatti schiavi’.

Invece al presente indicativo tanto ὀλίγου δεῖν ‘mancar poco’ quanto κινδυνεύειν ‘rischiare’, specialmente nell’uso alla I persona, delineano un valore epistemico che esprime la probabilità (“ho l’impressione che”, “quasi quasi”, “molto probabilmente”), talvolta con una punta di ironia: (53)

a. ἐγὼ δ΄ ὀλίγου δέω χάριν ἔχειν τούτοις ὅτι μ΄ εἰς τουτονὶ τὸν ἀγῶνα κατέστησαν (Isocr. Aegin. 2, 3) ‘io quasi quasi sono grato a costoro per avermi trascinato in questa contesa’.

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b. ἐγὼ ὑμῖν ἐρῶ· κινδυνεύει γάρ μοι τὸ συμβεβηκὸς τοῦτο ἀγαθὸν γεγονέναι (Plat. Apol. 40, 8) ‘Ma io vi dico: ho l’impressione che l’accaduto sia per me un bene’. Analogo valore epistemico del verbo ‘rischiare’ alla I persona del presente indicativo si è sviluppato in italiano come mostra una frase del tipo “rischio di appassionarmici” = “molto probabilmente mi appassionerò”. Le locuzioni “mancar molto”, “essere lontano da” sono formulate da espressioni analoghe come πολλοῦ δεῖν, κινδυνεύειν + infin., mentre il latino sceglie il costrutto tantum abest ut: (54)

οὕτω πολλοῦ ἐδέησε κριθῆναι καὶ ἀπολογήσασθαι (Lys. in Erat. 17,5) ‘così è stato molto lontano dall’essere giudicato e dal difendersi’.

Queste espressioni configurano una modalità epistemica, che, invece, impegna il locutore in un’asserzione negativa data per certa ed indiscutibile, segnalata, anche in questo caso, dalla costruzione personale alla I persona del presente indicativo: (55)

πολλοῦ δέω ἐγὼ ὑπὲρ ἐμαυτοῦ ἀπολογεῖσθαι, ὥς τις ἂν οἴοιτο (Plat. Apol. 30d 6) ‘io sono tanto lontano dal difendere me stesso, come qualcuno potrebbe credere’ = ‘io, di certo, non mi difenderò, diversamente da quanto si sarebbe portati a credere’

4.1.2 La locuzione “fosse dipeso da, se era per” Sempre ad un giudizio di natura epistemica sulla controfattualità si riporta la locuzione τὸ ἐπὶ + dat./acc. con il senso di “se fosse dipeso da, se era per”, con cui il locutore attribuisce ad altri la responsabilità o il desiderio che si realizzasse una predicazione che non si è realizzata: (56)

a. τέθνηκα γὰρ δὴ τοὐπὶ σε (Eur. Alc. 666) ‘se fosse stato per te, sarei morto’ b. αὐτοί τε τὸ ἐπὶ τούτῳ ἀπολώλαμεν (Xen. An. VI 6, 23) ‘noi stessi, fosse stato solo per lui, saremmo periti’.

4.1.3 Le espressioni per “sembrare/apparire” A livello della percezione esiste una distinzione tra i significati “vedere”, “osservare”, “sembrare” e “apparire”. Da questi ultimi, infatti, si sviluppano i valori di “avere l’impressione”, “giudicare”, che li assimilano, di fatto, alla categoria dei verba putandi. In

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questo caso il locutore è direttamente coinvolto come dimostra l’uso alla I persona o la presenza del pronome personale relativo all’ EGO: “mi sembra, ho l’impressione” > “credo, ritengo”. La distinzione tra vedere”, “osservare”, “sembrare” e “apparire”, che nelle lingue europee moderne è affidata al lessico, nel greco e nel latino è prevalentemente affidata alla diatesi, ma anche, in combinazione con questa, alla distribuzione delle persone (uso impersonale/personale; distinzione tra I persona e le altre). Innanzitutto, a differenza del latino, che ha un solo predicato per “vedere” e “sembrare”, affidandone la distinzione alla diatesi (video/videor)¹⁶, il greco possiede predicati diversi, tanto per “vedere”, marcati da varie forme suppletive per tempi e modi (ὁράω, εἶδον, ὄψομαι) quanto per “apparire, sembrare” (δοκέω, δοκάω, δοκεύω· φαίνομαι). In greco, dunque, la distinzione è congiuntamente lessicale e morfologica. Infatti il verbo δοκέω distribuisce i significati di ‘osservare, guardare’, di ‘credere, pensare’ e di ‘sembrare, apparire’, per mezzo di distinzioni morfologiche della tematizzazione verbale. Così, δοκάω δοκεύω ‘osservare, guardare’ si distinguono dalla morfologia verbale di δοκέω ‘credere, pensare, sembrare’. Inoltre, esiste una distinzione fondamentale tra φαίνομαι e δοκέω nel significato di ‘sembrare’: l’uno rinvia all’apparenza che si presenta davanti agli occhi, visiva, l’altro al risultato di un’inferenza (“mi sembra, ho l’impressione che” e di qui “ritengo”, “credo”). Più precisamente, φαίνομαι costruito su una radice che significa ‘brillare, risplendere’, indica ciò che “si manifesta, si svela” senza comportare una riflessione. Invece δοκέω, generalmente legato ad una radice che significa ‘accettare, accogliere’, comporta un’elaborazione mentale di ciò che si presenta alla vista, quindi un giudizio del locutore. Lo sviluppo del processo di elaborazione mentale genera, oltre al senso di ‘sembrare, apparire’, anche il significato di ‘avere la reputazione’ e ‘prendere una decisione’. Così a δοκέω si rapportano δόξα e δόγμα, e a φαίνομαι, φάντασμα e φαντασία. Talvolta i diversi significati di φαίνομαι e di δοκέω possono accumularsi in uno stesso enunciato, come mostrano contrastivamente i passi seguenti: (57)

a. ἡμῖν δὲ ποιοῦσιν δοκεῖν σφᾶς παντοδαποὺς φαίνεσθαι (Plat. Rep. 381c) ‘Gli dei sembrano apparirci sotto molteplici forme’ b. εἰ δὴ κακός γε φαίνομαι δοκῶ τε σοί (Eur. Hipp. 1071) ‘se io mi mostro e ti sembro un uomo malvagio’ c. μοι φαίνεσθαι δοκεῖ τοῦτ΄ ἐλλεῖπον (Plat. Leg. 960) ‘Mi sembra che ciò appaia insufficiente’.

Questa distinzione fondamentale genera la distribuzione in contesti diversi tra φαίνομαι e δοκέω, mentre in latino vi è un solo predicato per i due sensi: videor¹⁷.

16 Cf. Orlandini (1996). 17 Cf. Orlandini (1996).

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È senz’altro φαίνομαι e non δοκέω che segnala l’informazione evidenziale di “prima mano”, risultato della visione diretta, ma in latino ciò è reso da videor, come mostra la traduzione di Catullo del primo verso della celebre lirica di Saffo: (58)

a. φαίνεταί μοι κῆνος ἴσος θέοισιν ἔμμεν ὤνηρ (Sapph. 199 Page) b. Ille mihi par esse deo videtur (Catull. LI 1) ‘lui mi sembra simile a un dio’.

Invece l’informazione di “seconda mano” che presuppone un processo mentale inferenziale è espressa da δοκέω: (59)

ἐπεὶ δοκέω νικησέμεν ῞Εκτορα δῖον (Il. VII 192) ‘poiché credo di poter vincere il divino Ettore’.

Il verbo δοκέω esprime anche la modalità “evidenziale onirica” (“Mi sembrò di vedere in sogno”, “mi apparve in sogno”). Questo ci suggerisce che presso i greci l’apparizione in sogno è compresa non come una manifestazione immediata, evidente, per così dire “brillante” (in questo caso sarebbe espressa da φαίνομαι), ma come il frutto di una elaborazione psichica o mentale del locutore, per es.: (59)

b. τεκεῖν δράκοντ΄ ἔδοξεν, ὡς αὐτὴ λέγει (Aeschil. Ch. 527) ‘sognò di generare serpenti, come lei stessa racconta’.

All’espressione latina ut mihi videtur, corresponde allora in greco la perifrasi ὡς δοκεῖ ἐμοί. In funzione di attenuazione del “commitment” del locutore, si trovano spesso in greco anche le espressioni formulari οἴομαι, ὡς οἴομαι, ἐγᾦμαι ‘a mio parere, quanto alla mia opinione’, equivalenti alla funzione di ὡς δοκεῖ ἐμοί Nell’uso non parentetico, impersonale, δοκεῖ, come videtur, può rinviare ad una decisione il cui grado di impegno debole o forte è in relazione al contesto (‘sembra bene, opportuno, necessario’). L’opposizione di diatesi distingue i significati di οἴω e di οἴομαι, così come accade tra φαίνω e φαίνομαι L’attivo segnala un “impegno” del locutore circa la probabilità o la non probabilità di ciò che inferisce (“credo, ho fiducia che, sono sicuro che”): (60)

a. ἀλλ΄ ἔκ τοι ἐρέω, τὸ δὲ καὶ τελέεσθαι οἴω· (Il. I 204) ‘questo ti dico e credo proprio che ciò si realizzerà’ b. καί που τῶνδε μνήσεσθαι οἴω (Od. XII 212) ‘sono sicuro che vi ricorderete’ c. οὐ γὰρ οἴω ἥκειν εἰς ᾿Ιθάκην (Od. XIII 324–325) ‘Non credo di essere arrivato ad Itaca’.

Sotto negazione, come in quest’ultimo esempio, Ulisse deposto ancora addormentato sul suolo patrio, non crede ai suoi occhi, o piuttosto vuol credere soltanto ai suoi occhi

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che gli rimandano una falsa immagine che non gli permette di riconoscere la sua terra natale¹⁸. Invece, il medio οἴομαι significa: ‘sospetto, temo, dubito, non sono del tutto certo’, veicolando così una forma di attenuazione dell’asserzione: (61)

οἴομαι ἄνδρα χολωσέμεν (Il. I 78) ‘sospetto che qualcuno si arrabbierà’.

L’opposizione della diatesi gioca in modo diverso tra φαίνω e φαίνομαι. Questo verbo esprime all’attivo il significato di ‘mostrare’ e al medio quello di ‘sembrare’. In parallelo all’alternanza, presente in latino, tra la costruzione personale e quella impersonale di videor, in greco la distinzione tra le persone della coniugazione concerne particolarmente il verbo δοκέω, mentre φαίνομαι ricorre quasi esclusivamente nella costruzione personale. A proposito di δοκέω, si può segnalare una diversa sfumatura tra la prima persona singolare e le altre: alla prima persona, il verbo implica sempre un impegno del locutore sul contenuto dell’enunciato: ‘ho l’impressione, credo, sono convinto che. . . ’, mentre nelle altre persone, il significato è quello di ‘dare l’impressione di. . . ’, ‘credere erroneamente che. . . ’, come mostra il confronto tra i passi seguenti: (62)

a. οὐ γάρ σε δοκέω πείθεσθαί μοι (Hdt. I 8, 2) ‘mi sono convinto che tu non mi credi’ b. τῷ δὲ διάφορόν τι ἐδόκει εἶναι τοῦτο τὸ χωρίον (Thuk. IV 3) ‘Questo luogo gli dava l’impressione di essere eccellente’ c. ὁρᾶις γὰρ οὐδὲν ὧν δοκεῖς σάφ΄ εἰδέναι. (Eur. Or. 259) ‘tu non vedi nulla di ciò che credi di sapere con chiarezza’.

Per quel che riguarda una predicazione di altri, cioè una predicazione riportata, è generalmente δοκεῖν che rinvia ad una opinione altrui (più o meno vulgata), che il locutore non condivide o su cui non si impegna. Nel caso di φαίνομαι bisogna distinguere tra due modi diversi: con l’infinito φαίνεται indica l’apparenza, con il participio indica ciò che è manifesto e riconosciuto quindi anche dal locutore: (63)

a. Πῶς ὔμμιν ἀνὴρ ὅδε φαίνεται εἶναι· (Od. XI 336) ‘Quale sorta d’uomo vi sembra questo individuo?’ b. ἀλλὰ σύ γ΄ ἐλθὼν αὐτὸς ἐπιτρέψειας ἕκαστα,δμῳάων ἥ τίς τοι ἀρίστη φαίνεται εἶναι, (Od. XV 25) ‘una volta rientrato a casa, bisogna che tu ti fidi di quella che ti sembra la migliore tra le tue schiave’

(64)

a. Φαίνονται μὲν γὰρ ἐόντες οἱ Κόλχοι Αἰγύπτιοι (Hdt. II 104) ‘Infatti manifestamente gli abitanti della Colchide sono di razza egiziana’

18 Su questo passo, così come sul topos dell’eroe adueniens in patria uix sibi credens, cf. Nuzzo (2006).

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b. καί σφι εὔνοος ἐφαίνετο ἐὼν ὁ Μακεδών (Hdt. VII 173) ‘era assolutamente chiaro che il Macedone era loro favorevole’. Nella costruzione personale, il verbo δοκεῖν può segnalare un’impressione, presentata a titolo personale dal locutore, che può essere resa con la perifrasi ‘aver l’aria di’, ‘dar l’impressione di’: (65)

a. περὶ ὧν οὐκ αἰσθάνεσθαι ἡμῖν γε δοκεῖτε (Thuk. I 70) ‘di una situazione di cui voi avete l’aria di non rendervi conto’ b. εἰ δὴ κακός γε φαίνομαι δοκῶ τε σοί (Eur. Hypp. 1071) ‘se io ti dò l’impressione di essere cattivo e se tu lo credi’.

Quest’ultimo passo mostra l’evoluzione semantica di δοκεῖν verso il significato di ‘stimare, essere del parere di, credere’, che può anche implicare un’opinione sbagliata, come nel passo seguente: (66)

δοκῶν δὲ ὀρθῶς γιγνώσκειν ἐπεχείρησε τῷ ἔργῳ (Thuk. I 126, 7) ‘Credendo di conoscere bene la situazione, passò all’azione’.

In quest’uso, il verbo δοκεῖν raggiunge la funzione di ὡς più il participio. Allo stesso modo, sotto negazione, le costruzioni impersonali di δοκεῖ e φαίνεται esprimono sfumature diverse in rapporto al locutore: φαίνεται esprime la certezza e l’impegno, mentre δοκεῖ esprime una impressione, un parere meno fermo: (67)

οὔ μοι φαίνεται ταῦτα ὅμοια ὄντα, ἃ νῦν ἡμεῖς λέγομεν (Plat. Crat. 440b 7) ‘ciò non mi sembra la stessa cosa di cui si parla’.

Nelle risposte dei dialoghi di Platone, οὔ (μοι) φαίνεται conferma l’orientamento negativo dell’interrogativa retorica realizzata dall’interlocutore: (68)

a. Οὐκοῦν εἰ μὴ λύπῃ, ἀμφοτέροις μὲν οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ὑπερβάλλοι. – ΠΩΛ. Οὐ φαίνεται (Plat. Gorg. 475c). ‘Se la sofferenza non ha la meglio, sono forse le due cose insieme ad avere la meglio? POL. “Non direi proprio!”’ b. ΣΩ. Οὐκοῦν ἐπειδὴ οὐ διδακτόν ἐστιν, οὐδ’ ἐπιστήμη δὴ ἔτι γίγνεται ἡ ἀρετή; ΜΕΝ. Οὐ φαίνεται (Plat. Men. 99a) ‘Ma la virtù, poiché non può essere insegnata, cessa forse di essere una scienza? MEN. “Non direi proprio!”’.

4.2 Avverbi epistemici o deontici per esprimere un giudizio del locutore Come è noto il greco dispone di una quantità notevole di particelle deputate ad esprimere l’impegno o il disimpegno del locutore rispetto a ciò che enuncia, in funzione

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argomentativa di accordo o disaccordo rispetto ad un enunciato altrui. Poiché queste particelle costituiscono un repertorio molto ampio e variegato, fatto oggetto di numerose e ampie disamine, ci limitiamo qui a considerarle alcune che segnalano a livello epistemico gradi diversi di impegno del locutore. La particella γε in unione al pronome di I persona (ἔγωγε, ἔμοιγε) esprime la certezza del locutore in ciò che afferma: (69)

a. οὐ γάρ σ΄ ἔγωγε τῆιδ΄ ἐμῆι θάψω χερί (Eur. Alc. 665) ‘di certo io non ti seppellirò con questa mia mano’.

Soprattutto nelle risposte, ἔγωγε, anche da solo, rafforza l’affermazione o la negazione (= ‘certamente, assolutamente sì/no’), a differenza del latino equidem, che, invece, ha bisogno di appoggiarsi ad un predicato alla I persona con il valore di ‘per quanto mi riguarda’, ‘per parte mia’: (69)

b. Εἰπέ μοι, ἔφη, ὦ Θεοδότη, ἔστι σοι ἀγρός; Οὐκ ἔμοιγ’, ἔφη (Sen. Mem. III 11, 4) ‘Dimmi, o Teodote, – gli chiese – hai un terreno? “No di certo” rispose’ ῀ λῇς ἀκοῦσαι φθεγγομένας; ΔΙ. Νὴ τοὺς θεοὺς ἔγωγε (Aristoph. Acarn. c. ME ᾿Η 776–778) ‘ME. vuoi sentire come strilla? DI. Sì, certo, per gli dei!’ d. ῎Ετι δή μοι καὶ τόδε σκέψαι, ἔφη, εἰ ἄρα συνομολογήσεις. θερμόν τι κα῀ ὅπερ χιόνα καὶ πῦρ; Μὰ Δί΄ οὐκ ἔγωγε (Plat. λεῖς καὶ ψυχρόν; ῎Εγωγε. ᾿Αρ΄ Phaed. 103c) ‘E ora, disse, vedi un po’ se anche su questo non sei d’accordo con me. C’è qualche cosa che tu chiami caldo e qualche cosa freddo? – Certo. – E sono lo stesso che neve e fuoco? – Oh no, certo!’.

In una struttura argomentativa la sequenza di particelle ἀλλ΄ οὖν (γε) focalizza un’affermazione presentata come essenziale ed irrinunciabile da parte del locutore o una una sua concessione con il senso di ‘comunque, in ogni caso, almeno (questo)’. Il coinvolgimento del locutore è indicato dal suo accompagnarsi a verba putandi alla I persona (es. νομίζω ‘penso’) o ad esortazioni rivolte all’interlocutore a tenere ben presente ciò che viene enunciato (es. μέμνηστε ‘ricordate’, ἵστε ‘sappiate’): (70)

a. ἀλλ΄ οὖν μέμνησθ΄ ἁγὼ προλέγω (Aeschil. Prom. 1071) ‘Comunque tenete presente quanto vi dico’ b. ἀλλ΄ οὖν τόδε γ΄ ἴσμεν, ὅτι καὶ νῦν ἔστιν πεινῶντα βλάπτεσθαι, ἔστιν δὲ καὶ ὠφελεῖσθαι (Plat. Lys. 221a 5) ‘Ma questo almeno sappiamo, che anche ora la fame può darci danno, ma anche vantaggio’.

Queste particelle possono perfino esprimere una concessione del locutore ad una argomentazione dell’avversario:

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(71) οὐκοῦν δαιμόνια μὲν φῄς με καὶ νομίζειν καὶ διδάσκειν, εἴτ΄ οὖν καινὰ εἴτε παλαιά, ἀλλ΄ οὖν δαιμόνιά γε νομίζω κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον, καὶ ταῦτα καὶ διωμόσω ἐν τῇ ἀντιγραφῇ (Plat. Apol. 27c 4) ‘Dunque tu dici ch’io credo a cose demoniache e che le insegno; sta bene; nuove o vecchie che siano non importa, io credo, comunque, a cose demoniache: sei tu che lo affermi; e lo hai anche giurato nel tuo atto d’accusa’. Un grado di certezza leggermente più basso, che corrisponde all’idea della probabilità, è espresso da ἴσως, all’origine un avverbio derivato da ἴσος “uguale, simile”, che, usato come avverbio di frase, esprime un giudizio di probabilità, con funzione analoga a quella dell’avverbio latino fortasse: (72) ἀλλὰ δὴ φυγῆς τιμήσωμαι; ἴσως γὰρ ἄν μοι τούτου τιμήσαιτε πολλὴ μεντἄν με φιλοψυχία ἔχοι, ὦ ἄνδρες ᾿Αθηναῖοι, εἰ οὕτως ἀλόγιστός εἰμι, ὥστε . . . (Plat. Apol. 37c) ‘ma dovrei io chiedere di essere condannato all’esilio? È forse questa la pena che voi desiderate infliggermi. Comunque, per quel che mi riguarda, miei concittadini d’Atene, dovrei mostrare una voglia di vivere talmente profonda, se sono stupido fino al punto da . . . ’ Spesso il locutore usa quest’avverbio per preavvertire gli interlocutori ritenendo che le sue parole possano sembrare loro sorprendenti o incredibili e prefigurando la loro reazione: (73)

a. ῎Απιστα μὲν ἴσως, ὥσπερ καὶ ἄλλοι τινές, δόξω ὑμῖν περὶ τοῦ ἐπίπλου τῆς ἀληθείας λέγειν, (Thuk. VI 33) ‘forse io, come alcuni altri, vi sembrerò emettere a proposito della realtà dell’attacco che ci concerne affermazioni poco credibili’ b. ἴσως μέντοι θαυμαστόν σοι φανεῖται εἰ τοῦτο μόνον τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων ἁπλοῦν ἐστιν (Plat. Phaed. 62a 5) ‘è tuttavia probabile che questo debba sembrarvi sorprendente: perché non c’è che questo caso tra tutti che sia semplice’ c. ῎Ισως ἂν οὖν δόξειεν ἄτοπον εἶναι, ὅτι δὴ ἐγὼ ἰδίᾳ μὲν ταῦτα συμβουλεύω περιιὼν καὶ πολυπραγμονῶ (Plat. Apol. 31c) ‘vi sembrerà forse strano che a titolo privato io mi affanni, in modi diversi a prodigare consigli passeggiando in città’.

Per esprimere l’accordo a livello illocutorio, come il latino usa nelle risposte gli avverbi profecto, certe, bene, il greco usa καλῶς, ἄρα o altri avverbi derivati da aggettivi che significano ‘felice’ (felix, fortunatus) come εὐτυχῶς. Il disaccordo, la critica, la correzione sono realizzati, specialmente nel linguaggio dell’epica, da νήπιος, in parallelo alle espressioni latine stulte, male, frustra. In Omero, infatti, si trova spesso νήπιος (= stultus) in un discorso riportato direttamente o indirettamente, che, di fatto esprime un giudizio del narratore:

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(74)

a. φῆ γὰρ ὅ γ΄ αἱρήσειν Πριάμου πόλιν ἤματι κείνῳ νήπιος, οὐδὲ τὰ ᾔδη ἅ ῥα Ζεὺς μήδετο ἔργα· (Il. II 38) ‘dichiara che il giorno stesso prenderà la città di Priamo. Povero illuso ! Non conosce i progetti che medita Zeus’ b. φάτο γὰρ δολιχόσκιον ἔγχος ῥέα διελεύσεσθαι μεγαλήτορος Αἰνείαο νήπιος, οὐδ΄ ἐνόησε κατὰ φρένα καὶ κατὰ θυμὸν (Il. XX 264) ‘dice a se stesso che il lungo giavellotto del magnanimo Enea può attraversarlo facilmente. Povero stupido, che non si rende conto che nel suo animo e nel suo cuore egli sta molto male’.

Allo stesso modo, gli avverbi καλῶς e εὐδόξως occorrono nella risposta di Socrate per manifestare totale accordo con il suo interlocutore: (75) IΠ. ἔστι γάρ, ὦ Σώκρατες, εὖ ἴσθι, εἰ δεῖ τὸ ἀληθὲς λέγειν, παρθένος καλὴ καλόν. ΣΩ. Καλῶς γε, ὦ ῾Ιππία, νὴ τὸν κύνα καὶ εὐδόξως ἀπεκρίνω. ἄλλο τι οὖν, ἂν ἐγὼ τοῦτο ἀποκρίνωμαι, τὸ ἐρωτώμενόν τε ἀποκεκριμένος ἔσομαι καὶ ὀρθῶς, καὶ οὐ μή ποτε ἐλεγχθῶ; (Plat. Hipp. Ma. 287e) ‘IP. Ciò che è bello, Socrate, sappilo bene, a parlare in tutta franchezza, è una bella ragazza. SO. Benissimo, Ippia, tu hai risposto brillantemente e conformemente all’opinione generale’.

4.3 Dichiarazione del ‘commitment’ e ‘non–commitment’ Il locutore può esplicitare il suo impegno o disimpegno in ciò che afferma dichiarando il suo interesse o disinteresse con espressioni del tipo “(non) mi interessa”, “(non) mi importa”, “(non) mi sta a cuore”, “(non) mi curo di”, che, come in altre lingue, sono realizzate in greco mediante elementi lessicali diversi, come μέλει, φροντίζω, μελετάω, κήδομαι. È il contesto che fa emergere l’atteggiamento del locutore anche in presenza della I persona del verbo, come mostra il confronto tra le seguenti occorrenze nel Critone platonico relative ad uno stesso tema in discussione, cioè l’opinione della gente (doxa): (76)

a. ᾿Αλλὰ τί ἡμῖν, ὦ μακάριε Κρίτων, οὕτω τῆς τῶν πολλῶν δόξης μέλει; (Plat. Crit. 44c 7) ‘Ma perché, o buon Critone, dobbiamo preoccuparci tanto della opinione della gente?’ b. ᾿Αλλ΄ ὁρᾷς δὴ ὅτι ἀνάγκη, ὦ Σώκρατες, καὶ τῆς τῶν πολλῶν δόξης μέλειν (Plat. Crit. 44d 2) ‘Ma tu vedi bene, o Socrate, che anche della opinione della gente si deve tener conto’. c. ὥστε πρῶτον μὲν ταύτῃ οὐκ ὀρθῶς εἰσηγῇ, εἰσηγούμενος τῆς τῶν πολλῶν δόξης δεῖν ἡμᾶς φροντίζειν περὶ τῶν δικαίων καὶ καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων (Plat. Crit. 48a 7)

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‘Cosicché, per prima cosa, tu non giudichi correttamente, quando dici che dobbiamo preoccuparci dell’opinione della gente su questioni riguardanti il giusto, il bello, il buono e i loro contrari’. Qui, da una parte, la scelta di differenti lessemi verbali, a cui rispettivamente si accompagna anche una diversa modalità deontica (δεῖν ἡμᾶς φροντίζειν vs. ἀνάγκη . . . μέλειν), mette in contrasto il diverso livello di interesse dei due interlocutori e, dall’altra, la domanda retorica negativamente orientata (ex. 76a) contrapposta al deontico (ex. 76b ed ex. 76c) segnala il disinteresse dell’uno (Socrate) contrapposto all’interesse, presentato come necessità ineludibile, da parte dell’altro: “che cosa ci interessa?” vs. “è necessario interessarsi”.

4.3.1 L’indifferenza o lo scetticismo del locutore: “non ho alcun interesse”, “poco mi importa” Parallelamente all’espressione latina non mihi videtur, i verbi che significano “avere interesse, essere importante”, se negati, segnalano spesso la dissociazione del locutore da un’opinione altrui o da una doxa vulgata. In questo senso si deve intendere il celebre verso di Archiloco: (77)

a. τί μοι μέλει ἀσπὶς ἐκείνη; ἐρρέτω (Archil. Frg. 3, 3) ‘Che m’importa di questo scudo? Che vada in malora!’

dove si esprime una reazione polemica verso l’opinione comune che un buon soldato non deve mai abbandonare le armi. Con lo stesso senso può occorrere in frase negativa: (77)

b. ᾿Αλλ΄ εἰ πόλιν τήνδ΄ ἐξέσωσ΄ οὔ μοι μέλει (Soph. OT 443) ‘ma se ciò ha salvato questa città, non mi interessa’.

La grammaticalizzazione dell’imperativo del verbo ἀμελέω ‘trascurare, non attribuire alcun interesse’, che implica un atteggiamento di indifferenza o di non curanza che può arrivare fino al disprezzo, è all’origine dell’avverbio ἀμέλει, che, oltre a segnalare l’indifferenza del locutore nei confronti di un’asserzione, può svolgere la funzione pragmatica di rassicurare l’interlocutore, proprio come in italiano “non importa”,˜in francese “ce n’est pas grave”, “ne t’inquiète pas” o in inglese “it does not matter”: (78) “ἀμέλει παιδίον” ἔφη “καὶ ἐμοὶ νῦν περὶ θύρας ἀπιὼν ἀπήντηκε (Plut. Dem. 19, 8) ‘non inquietarti, mio piccolino, l’ho appena incontrata sulla porta mentre stava uscendo’. La funzione di rassicurare l’interlocutore può divenire preminente fino a significare l’accordo. Infatti l’avverbio ἀμέλει ha sviluppato molto presto la funzione epistemica di avverbio d’enunciazione esprimendo un commitment positivo nei confronti di un’opinione altrui (‘ma certo, sicuramente’):

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a. ἀμέλει, κομιεῖ τοῦτον σοφιστὴν δεξιόν (Aristoph. Nub. 1111) ‘di sicuro diventerà un perfetto sofista’ b. ῾Ημεῖς ἀμέλει σοι τά γε παρ’ ἡμῖν πείσομεν (Aristoph. Lys. 172) ‘non preoccuparti, penseremo noi a convincere i nostri’ c. ἀμέλει, καλῶς (Aristoph. Nub. 488) ‘assolutamente sì, certamente’.

4.3.2 Usi contrastivi o rettificativi Certi usi di αὐτάρ in Omero possono essere messi in parallelo in latino agli usi di ripresa incipitaria contrastiva di autem (in seconda posizione come ἀτὰρ) e di at (all’inizio di frase) che segnalano una reazione emotiva del locutore: (80)

a. δ΄ ἐπεύξατο δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεύς· ῞Εκτορ ἀτάρ που ἔφης Πατροκλῆ΄ ἐξεναρίζων σῶς ἔσσεσθ΄ (Il. XXII 331) ‘Così Achille simile ad un dio esclamò: “Ma, tu, Ettore, credevi forse quando spogliavi Patroclo delle sue armi che non ti costasse nulla?”’ b. ῞Εκτορ ἀτὰρ σύ μοί ἐσσι πατὴρ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ ἠδὲ κασίγνητος, σὺ δέ μοι θαλερὸς παρακοίτης (Il. VI 429) ‘Ma tu Ettore, tu sei per me un padre, una madre degna, un fratello come anche un giovane sposo’.

Altre particelle possono esprimere la dissociazione enunciativa, quali οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ che serve spesso ad introdurre un’obiezione del locutore per confermare il suo pensiero o esprimere un disaccordo parziale rispetto ad un punto di vista altrui: (81)

οἱ μὲν οὖν νόμοι [. . . ] οὐχ οὕτως λέγουσιν, [. . . ] οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’ ἔγωγε ἐλπίζω καὶ ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ πράγματος δείξειν εἰσαγώγιμον τὴν δίκην οὖσαν (Demosth. in Phorm. 4, 8) ‘ma le leggi non dicono questo [. . . ] Comunque sia, spero di mostrarvi con i fatti stessi che l’azione è possibile’.

4.4 La dissociazione enunciativa ed i verba dicendi 4.4.1 Tra lessico e categorie verbali: la persona Un impiego simile a quello del verbo latino autumare (‘pretendere che’)¹⁹ si presenta nel verbo greco φημί. Infatti, a differenza di λέγω, che al medio–passivo, personale o

19 Per un’analisi semantico–pragmatica di questo verbo latino, cf. Orlandini – Poccetti (2011).

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impersonale, serve a riferire in forma neutra o, comunque, non polemica, una voce o diceria altrui, il verbo φημί, nelle persone diverse dalla prima serve a riportare in maniera diretta o indiretta il pensiero altrui ed a significare al tempo stesso che il locutore non condivide tale pensiero. Tale funzione contrastiva ed enfatica, con cui il verbo presenta il dissenso del locutore rispetto ad un’opinione altrui, emerge dal contrasto tra le persone del verbo in uno stesso enunciato, come mettono in evidenza i seguenti passi di Tucidide: (82)

a. φήσει τις δημοκρατίαν οὔτε ξυνετὸν οὔτ’ ἴσον εἶναι, τοὺς δ’ ἔχοντας τὰ χρήματα. ἐγὼ δέ φημι πρῶτα μὲν δῆμον ξύμπαν ὠνομάσθαι, ὀλιγαρχίαν δὲ μέρος (Thuk. VI 39, 1) ‘mi si dirà che la democrazia non soddisfa né l’intelligenza né l’equità e che coloro che possiedono i soldi sono i migliori per esercitare il potere. Ma io penso invece che prima di tutto la parola popolo designa un tutto completo e che la parola oligarchia designa una parte soltanto’. b. ᾿Επειδὴ δὲ καὶ ὁ βάρβαρος ἦλθεν ἐπὶ τὴν ῾Ελλάδα, φασὶ μόνοι Βοιωτῶν οὐ μηδίσαι, καὶ τούτῳ μάλιστα αὐτοί τε ἀγάλλονται καὶ ἡμᾶς λοιδοροῦσιν. ἡμεῖς δὲ μηδίσαι μὲν αὐτοὺς οὔ φαμεν διότι οὐδ΄ ᾿Αθηναίους (Thuk. III 62 1–2) ‘e quando il barbaro venne contro la Grecia, dicono che i Beoti sono stati gli unici a non schierarsi dalla parte dei Medi. E di questo soprattutto si vantano rinfacciandocelo. Ma noi sosteniamo che loro non favorirono i Medi perché neppure gli Ateniesi lo fecero’.

Il contrasto tra l’impegno e la certezza del locutore in ciò che afferma e il totale dissenso con l’interlocutore fino a dimostrarne l’errore o l’infondatezza emerge dalla contrapposizione tra la I e le altre persone: (83)

a. ῾Ιππόλοχος δέ μ΄ ἔτικτε, καὶ ἐκ τοῦ φημι γενέσθαι (Il. VI 206) ‘Ippoloco mi ha generato e io affermo di essere suo figlio’ b. ῞Εκτορ ἀτάρ που ἔφης Πατροκλῆ΄ ἐξεναρίζων σῶς ἔσσεσθ΄, ἐμὲ δ΄ οὐδὲν ὀπίζεο νόσφιν ἐόντα νήπιε (Il. XXII 331–333) ‘Ettore, tu ritenevi, mentre spogliavi Patroclo, che saresti stato salvo, ma non ti sei curato di me in quanto lontano, sciocco!’.

Le espressioni ἐγὼ δέ φημι / ἡμεῖς δ’οὔ φαμεν, in cui è coinvolta la I persona (singolare o plurale) segnalano un contrasto polemico: ‘e io invece affermo che’; ‘il mio parere è invece che’/‘noi, invece, sosteniamo che non’. Per questo φημί, proprio come autumare, pur essendo verbum dicendi, funziona anche come i verba putandi: ‘io affermo = credo, penso, ritengo’²⁰. Inoltre, le occorrenze in uno stesso enunciato dei due principali verbi di “dire”, cioè φημί e λέγω, impiegati nelle stesse persone del presente indicativo

20 Cf. Fournier (1946, 17).

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mettono in luce la sostanziale differenza tra i due verbi. Il primo serve, come si è visto, ad esprimere l’opinione personale del locutore in maniera contrastiva, l’altro rinvia all’atto locutorio in sé. Questa distinzione funzionale si può evincere dal seguente passo di Platone, dove i due verbi vengono usati alla I persona: (84)

a. οὐ πάλαι σοι λέγω ὅτι ταὐτόν φημι εἶναι τὸ βέλτιον καὶ τὸ κρεῖττον; ἐὰν συρφετὸς συλλεγῇ δούλων καὶ παντοδαπῶν ἀνθρώπων μηδενὸς ἀξίων πλὴν ἴσως τῷ σώματι ἰσχυρίσασθαι, καὶ οὗτοι φῶσιν, αὐτὰ ταῦτα εἶναι νόμιμα; (Plat. Gorg. 489c 3) ‘non ti ho ripetuto mille volte che ritengo essere sinonimi “migliore” e “più potente”? Credi forse che io voglia dire che se un qualunque schiavo o persona di qualsiasi provenienza [. . . ] avranno pronunciato certe parole, queste parole diventeranno legge?’

e da quello di Tucidide, dove, invece, figurano entrambi alla III persona plurale: (84)

b. Θηβαῖοι μὲν ταῦτα λέγουσι καὶ ἐπομόσαι φασὶν αὐτούς· Πλαταιῆς δ΄ οὐχ ὁμολογοῦσι τοὺς ἄνδρας εὐθὺς ὑποσχέσθαι ἀποδώσειν, ἀλλὰ λόγων πρῶτον γενομένων ἤν τι ξυμβαίνωσι, καὶ ἐπομόσαι οὔ φασιν (Thuk. II 5,6) ‘I Tebani riferiscono questa versione e sostengono che i Plateesi si impegnarono con un giuramento. Ma i Plateesi non sono d’accordo nel dire di aver promesso l’immediata restituzione dei prigionieri’.

Alla seconda e terza persona φημί assume il significato di ‘pretendere’, segnalando così una dissociazione enunciativa da parte del locutore: (85) οὔ τινά φησιν ὁμοῖον οἷ ἔμεναι Δαναῶν (Il. 9,305) ‘pretende che nessuno sia paragonabile a lui tra i Danai’. Questo verbo serve anche a riportare promesse, impegni o minacce altrui e ad aggiungere ad un tempo un commento scettico del locutore nei loro confronti: (86)

a. θεοῦ τε γὰρ θέλοντος ἐκπέρσειν πόλιν καὶ μὴ θέλοντός φησιν (Aeschil., Sept. 428) ‘minaccia di distruggere la città, che il Cielo voglia o non voglia’ b. ἀλλ᾿ ἐπισκεπτέον, ὡς ἔοικε, φρόνησιν καὶ σύνεσιν καὶ γνώμην καὶ ἐπιστήμην καὶ τἆλλα δὴ ἃ φῂς πάντα ταῦτα τὰ καλὰ ὀνόματα. (Plat. Crati. 411a) ‘Ma bisogna indagare, come si deve, il pensiero, l’intelletto, il giudizio e la conoscenza e tutte queste altre belle parole che stai dicendo’.

5 Conclusioni Sono state qui riunite le principali strategie con cui i vari livelli della lingua, particolarmente la morfologia, la sintassi e il lessico, con le loro reciproche intersezioni, possono

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esprimere situazioni pragmatiche che investono direttamente il ruolo del locutore rispetto a quanto viene enunciato. Tale ruolo si traduce in un giudizio che concerne parzialmente o totalmente l’enunciato, nell’impegno o nel disimpegno, nella certezza o nella probabilità, nell’indifferenza, fino alla completa dissociazione rispetto a quanto asserito da altri. Queste strategie richiamano la polifonia del processo di enunciazione, quando il locutore si associa o si dissocia dalla voce di altri, oppure si impegna in modo assoluto escludendo altre voci, che sono comunque implicitamente presenti. In queste strategie, morfologia, sintassi e lessico agiscono in modo interdipendente e in co–articolazione, come mostrano i diversi effetti che risultano dalla combinazione, per esempio tra persona e diatesi negli stessi lessemi o tra tempi e modi del verbo e, soprattutto, attraverso l’uso di elementi lessicali, quali le particelle, che in una lingua come il greco giocano un ruolo del tutto speciale nella prospettiva anzidetta.

Bibliografia Basset, L. 1979: Les emplois périphrastiques du verbe grec μέλλειν, Étude de linguistique grecque et essai de linguistique générale, Lyon. Basset, L. 2004: L’imaginer et le dire. Scripta Minora, Lyon. Bertrand, J. 20103 : Nouvelle Grammaire grecque, Paris. Fournier, H. 1946: Le verbe ‘dire’ en grec ancien, Paris. Humbert, J. 1954: Syntaxe Grecque, Paris. Gaffiot, F. 1932: Un fait de style. Liberté dans l’emploi de l’imparfait et du présent de l’indicatif en latin, «L’Antiquité Classique», 1, 79–92. Kölligan D. 2007: Suppletion und defektivität im gtiechischen verbum, Bremen. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 19663 : Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache, Hannover. Logozzo F. 2015: Register variation and personal interaction in the Zenon Archive, «Studi e Saggi linguistici», 53/2, 227–244. Maraldi, M. 1980: The complement structure of perception verbs in Latin, in Papers on Grammar I, ed. G. Calboli, Bologna, 47–79. Martin, R. 1983: Pour une logique du sens, Paris. Moeschler J. & Reboul A. 1994: Dictonnaire encyclopédique de pragmatique, Paris. Nølke, H. 1993: Le regard du locuteur. Pour une linguistique des traces énonciatives, Paris. Nølke, H. 2001: Le regard du locuteur 2 Pour une linguistique des traces énonciatives, Paris. Leiwo, M. 2010: Imperatives and other directives in the Greek Letters from Mons Claudianus, in The Language of the Papyri, eds. T. V. Evans & D. D. Obbink, Oxford, 98–119. Nuzzo G. 2006: Vix sibi credere. Appunti per la storia di un topos, «Sileno», 23, 135–153. Orlandini A. 1993: Le rôle du locuteur dans l’interprétation des systhèmes hypothétiques: une analyse sémantique et pragmatique des systhèmes hypothétiques en latin et en grec, «Indogermanische Forschungen», 98,130–154. Orlandini, A. 1996: 1, 2, 3 Videor: analyse d’un prédicat polysémique, in Akten des VIII. internationalen Kolloquiums zur lateinischen Linguistik, eds. A. Bammesberger & F. Heberlein, Heidelberg, 415–427. Orlandini, A. & Poccetti, P. 2011: Due verbi delocutivi latini tra semantica e pragmatica: autumare e negare, in Latin Linguistic Today. Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft, eds. P. Anreiter & M. Kienpointner, Insbruck, 443–455.

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Orlandini A. & Poccetti, P. 2014: Gli aspetti semantico–pragmatici del futuro II latino e la loro evoluzione romanza, in Latin Vulgaire–latin Tardif X. Actes du Xe colloque international sur le latinvulgaire et tardif, Bergamo, 5–9 settembre 2012. Tome III, eds. P. Molinelli – P. L. Cuzzolin & C. Fedriani, Bergamo, 1011–1030. Orlandini A. & Poccetti P. 2015: Specie–re uera: deux mondes en parallèle, in Latin Linguistics in the Early 21st Century Acts of the 16th International Colloquium on Latin Linguistics 6th–11th, 2011, ed. G. Haverling, Uppsala, 503–517 (Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Studia Latina Upsaliensia 35). Orlandini A. & Poccetti P. 2016: Le futur dans les langues anciennes. Temps, aspect, modalité?, «De Lingua Latina. Revue de linguistique latine du Centre Alfred Ernout [En ligne]», 12, 2016 (mis en ligne Juillet 2016), 1–26. URL: http://www.paris-sorbonne.fr/rubrique2315. Orlandini A. & P. Poccetti (in stampa): Le futur issu du thème du parfait en grec et en latin: une approche contrastive, in Les futurs grecs et leur histoire, Bordeaux, 10–11, octobre 2014. Tusa Massaro L. 1993: Sintassi del greco antico e tradizione grammaticale, I, Palermo. Zucchelli B. 2009, ἄν con il participio nella prosa attica e nell’uso tucidideo, in Scritti minori, Cesena, 17–37.

Liana Tronci

Forme sintetiche del futuro nel greco ellenistico. Brevi note sulla Settanta Abstract: È opinione diffusa che il futuro sintetico inizi a scomparire nel greco ellenistico, sostituito da perifrasi in cui l’infinito del verbo è preceduto da forme ausiliarie di μέλλω, ἔχω, θέλω, preludio del mutamento morfosintattico i cui esiti sono visibili nel greco bizantino e moderno. Nella lingua della Settanta, il futuro sintetico manifesta una notevole vitalità, soprattutto nelle forme del futuro passivo, che si espandono come tokens e come types, a spese anche di classi morfologiche produttive nel greco classico, quale il futuro sigmatico. Attraverso uno spoglio sistematico delle forme sintetiche del futuro nella Settanta e una descrizione della loro distribuzione in funzione delle diverse classi morfologiche e delle opposizioni diatetiche, si intende verificare l’ipotesi della dinamicità del sistema del futuro nella koinè in funzione della voce verbale e contribuire così alla descrizione di un ambito del sistema verbale che, già a partire dal greco classico e, in maggior misura, nel greco della koinè, è interessato da processi di mutamento. Il contributo delinea i contorni di una tessera certo minuscola ma importante del mosaico, fornendo un’analisi dei dati utile anche per ricerche future in prospettiva comparativa, in rapporto sia a testi di epoche differenti (precedenti o posteriori, per es. il Nuovo Testamento), sia a testi coevi di diverso genere (lettere, iscrizioni, testi letterari).

1 Introduzione È un fatto noto che le forme sintetiche del futuro sono perente già nel greco ellenistico, sostituite progressivamente da strutture analitiche in cui l’infinito del verbo o complementi frasali (come ἵνα + congiuntivo) sono preceduti da forme ausiliarie di μέλλω, ἔχω, θέλω: «The H–R [Hellenistic–Roman, LT] period sees considerable linguistic changes in all respects, phonological, morphological, semantic, and syntactic. [. . . ]. Regarding the domain of futurity, the AG Future Tense is declining in use (especially its non–finite forms), mainly to the benefit of the Present Indicative and the Subjunctive which is widely used as a future–referring form, while

Nota: Questa ricerca si inserisce nell’ambito del progetto Multilingualism and Minority Languages in Ancient Europe [HERA.29.015 | Cassio], finanziato dallo Hera Joint Research Programme “Uses of the Past”, Horizon 2020 – 649307. Si desidera ringraziare Martti Leiwo per i preziosi suggerimenti.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-395

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the AVCs [Auxiliary Verb Constructions, LT], especially μέλλω + Infinitive, gain in popularity and seem to become more productive.» (Markopoulos 2009, 46–47)

La progressiva riduzione delle forme verbali sintetiche e la loro sostituzione con forme perifrastiche sono processi tradizionalmente correlati con la ristrutturazione del sistema verbale in funzione dell’opposizione aspettuale perfettivo vs imperfettivo, che viene così a caratterizzare anche l’espressione del futuro:¹ «The future tense, though continuing to survive in living speech, and maintained by the literary tradition, tends more and more to be replaced by a series of periphrases [. . . ]. In so far as these involve the infinitive, a distinction of aspect begins to arise within the future tense, according to whether the present or the aorist infinitive is used. This decay of the future is only in part explicable on phonetic grounds, e.g. by the coincidence of future indicative and aorist subjunctive in many verbs. The main factor is the restructuring of the verb system on the basis of two aspects and two only, each with its own distinct theme. The old future did not fit into this new system, and was hence more and more replaced in living speech by forms which did.» (Browning 1983, 31)

Nel greco della Settanta – oggetto di questa ricerca – le forme sintetiche del futuro non appaiono affatto in regresso, anzi alcuni tipi morfologici, come il futuro cosiddetto passivo (e che sarà d’ora in avanti detto futuro affissato)², risultano estremamente produttivi.³ Il dato è testimoniato sia da Magnien (1912) nel poderoso volume sul futuro in greco antico, sia da Helbing (1907) e Thackeray (1909) nelle rispettive grammatiche ancora oggi di riferimento per la lingua della Settanta: «Mais dans les textes qui subissent l’influence de la κοινή, les futurs I passifs deviennent tout à fait fréquents: les Septante, par exemple, les emploient peut–être plus souvent que les futurs en –σω. On ne cherche pas alors à éviter des formes très longues comme τελεσιουργηθησομένης, λιθοβοληθήσομαι, ἐξολεθρευθήσομαι etc.» (Magnien 1912, 375) «Überhaupt ist auch sonst eine große Vorliebe für das passive Futurum vorhanden, so daß das mediale Futurum in passiver Bedeutung nicht mehr vorkommt; man scheut sich dabei nicht vor sehr langen Formen, wie λιθοβοληθήσομαι, ἐξολεθρευθήσομαι.» (Helbing 1907, 98)

1 Che le cause del mutamento siano molteplici – e che in particolare siano coinvolti fattori di ordine aspettuale e ragioni fonetiche – è sostenuto anche da Holton – Manolessou (2010, 550). La questione è tuttavia più complessa di come la si sia qui brevemente presentata (cf. Joseph – Pappas 2002). Per una sintesi, si rinvia in particolare a Evans (2001) e alla bibliografia ivi citata. 2 Nelle grammatiche e nella tradizione degli studi si parla di “aoristi passivi” e “futuri passivi”, designazioni tuttavia fuorvianti in quanto non tutte le forme affissate ricorrono in costruzioni passive, come illustrato a seguire nel testo. 3 A fronte della ridotta presenza di forme perifrastiche di futuro. Nel Pentateuco, per es., stando alla ricognizione di Evans (2001), le perifrasi verbali in cui l’infinito è preceduto da μέλλω e θέλω sono molto rare: se i tre esempi del primo tipo «may be classed as future tense periphrases» (Evans 2001, 220), i più numerosi esempi del secondo «clearly demonstrate that θέλω has not yet developed a genuine auxiliary function» (Evans 2001, 229).

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«[T]he general tendency [of the Septuagint, LT] was to introduce new first aorists passive and analogous futures.» (Thackeray 1909, 238)

La ricerca testimoniata da questo scritto offre una prima ricognizione delle forme sintetiche del futuro nella Settanta, con particolare riferimento ai diversi tipi morfologici. In particolare, risulta degno di nota il dato della produttività del futuro affissato, che appare in contrasto non solo con quanto è stato anche recentemente ribadito a proposito della koinè – che vedrebbe appunto le forme sintetiche del futuro in regresso rispetto alle perifrastiche – ma anche rispetto ad un più ampio sguardo sulla diacronia della lingua greca, che ha visto, per es., le forme sintetiche del futuro affissato scomparire a differenza di quelle dell’aoristo affissato che invece si conservano, seppur con cambiamenti formali, fino al greco moderno.⁴

2 Analisi dei dati 2.1 Breve excursus sulle forme sintetiche del futuro nel greco classico Rispetto alla lingua dei poemi omerici, il greco classico presenta un’innovazione nell’ambito del sistema del futuro: alle forme del futuro sigmatico e del futuro contratto o attico si affiancano forme morfologicamente caratterizzate dagli affissi –θη– o –η–, i futuri affissati, appunto. L’innovazione, come è noto, prende a modello il sistema dell’aoristo, nel quale le forme affissate con –θη– o –η– sono frequenti e produttive già nei testi omerici. Gli aoristi e i futuri affissati presentano un chiaro orientamento diatetico, correlandosi all’espressione dei valori sintattici del passivo e della sottoclasse dell’intransitivo nota come inaccusativo.⁵ L’innovazione non investe quindi solo le forme ma, e in maniera più interessante, il rapporto tra forme e funzioni. La manifestazione delle differenze diatetiche – associata, nelle forme non–affissate dell’aoristo e del futuro, all’opposizione

4 L’analisi qui proposta prescinde da alcune considerazioni di ordine storico–filologico che, per questa prima ricognizione dei dati, si ritiene possano essere trascurate. Si tratta, in primo luogo, del fatto che la Settanta è un testo di traduzione e, in quanto tale, pone il problema del rapporto con il testo originale ebraico o aramaico (su questo tema, si veda il volume di Evans 2001 e la bibliografia ivi citata) e, in secondo luogo, del fatto che la composizione del testo è eterogenea sia dal punto di vista del compositore/traduttore, sia dal punto di vista del periodo in cui i diversi libri o loro singole parti furono composti/tradotti. Cf. Thackeray (1909) per un primo indirizzo delle ricerche in tal senso. Più in generale, si vedano gli studi sulla Settanta in Dorival – Munnich (1995), Harl – Dorival – Munnich (1998), Harl (2007). 5 Cf., in particolare, Benedetti (2005), (2006), Tronci (2005), (2011), (2014), La Fauci – Tronci (2009). Per un inquadramento dei diversi contesti sintattico–semantici nei quali ricorrono tanto le forme affissate, quanto le forme con flessione media nell’aoristo e nel futuro, si vedano anche Risselada (1987), Bakker (1994), Rijksbaron (2002), Allan (2003).

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flessionale (desinenze attive vs desinenze medie) – appare correlata, nelle forme innovanti, alla presenza dell’affisso, che marca appunto il passivo/inaccusativo. Per quanto accomunati dallo stesso tipo di innovazione (formale e funzionale), aoristo e futuro non presentano tuttavia la medesima distribuzione delle forme affissate e, parallelamente, delle non–affissate che pure si correlano, retaggio del vecchio sistema, con l’ambito funzionale passivo/inaccusativo, ovvero le forme con flessione media. Per il futuro, in particolare, la distribuzione pare lessicalizzata, dandosi verbi in cui le due forme alternano nel medesimo ambito funzionale (per il passivo cf. (1b–c), per l’inaccusativo cf. (2b–c)) e verbi in cui solo la forma affissata ricorre nel passivo, mentre la non–affissata ricorre nel medio (cf. (3b–c)). Gli esempi in (a) completano il quadro diatetico oppositivo, illustrando l’ambito delle costruzioni attive: (1)

a. οἵτινες τοὺς μὲν φυλάττοντας τὰς ἑαυτῶν γυναῖκας ταῖς ζημίαις ζημιώσουσι. (Lys. 1 48) ‘[e altre leggi] che condanneranno con multe coloro che difendono le proprie donne’ b. [. . . ] ἡ μὲν πόλις βραχέα ἡσθεῖσα μεγάλα ζημιώσεται. (Th. 3.40.3) ‘[. . . ] la città a causa di un piccolo piacere sarà grandemente condannata’ c. καὶ ἐὰν κατίῃ, ἐνδειχθεὶς θανάτῳ ζημιωθήσεται. (Lys. 6 15) ‘e se l’assassino torna, una volta catturato sarà condannato a morte’

(2)

a. ἐκεῖ μεθ’ ἡμῶν ζῶντες εὐφρανοῦσί σε. (E. Med. 1058) ‘e vivendo là con me, essi saranno la tua gioia [lit. ti faranno gioire]’ b. καλῶς τε λέγεις καὶ ἐγὼ εἰσάξω θεάματα ἐφ’ οἷς ὑμεῖς εὐφρανεῖσθε. (X. Smp. 7.5) ‘tu dici bene e io farò uno spettacolo per il quale voi gioirete’ c. Οὐ γὰρ οὐδέποτ’ εὐφρανθήσεται / ἀνήρ, ἐὰν μὴ τῇ γυναικὶ συμφέρῃ. (Ar. Lys. 165–166) ‘e infatti l’uomo mai sarà felice, se non andrà d’accordo con sua moglie’

(3)

a. [. . . ] ἐπεὶ κεκτήμεθα δούλους, τούτους κολάσομεν. (X. Cyr. 7.5.83) ‘dal momento che abbiamo degli schiavi, li puniremo’ b. οὕτω πάλιν τὴν πατρίδα, ἐὰν οἷός τ᾿ ᾖ, κολάσεται. (Pl. Resp. 575d) ‘così di nuovo punirà la sua patria, se ne è capace’ c. πάντων δὲ αὐτῶν ἕνεκα κολασθήσεσθε. (Th. 3.66) ‘voi sarete puniti per tutte queste cose’

Mentre nel caso illustrato in (3) le diverse forme di futuro si correlano con ambiti funzionali distinti (l’attivo, il medio e il passivo, per la precisione), nelle coppie (b)– (c) dei tipi esemplificati da (1)–(2) si rileva una sovrapposizione delle due forme (le affissate e le non–affissate) nell’ambito funzionale del passivo e dell’inaccusativo, rispettivamente. La distribuzione delle forme affissate e delle non–affissate parrebbe

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regolata, in tali casi, dai loro diversi valori aspettuali, rispettivamente perfettivo vs imperfettivo, ma tale correlazione non rende adeguatamente conto di tutti i casi.⁶

2.2 Il sistema del futuro nella Settanta Nella Settanta ricorrono numerose nuove forme di futuro sintetico, non attestate in precedenza. Il fenomeno non segue ovviamente indirizzi casuali ma appare governato dalla ricerca di un maggior isomorfismo tra forme e funzioni nell’ambito, in particolare, della diatesi, e, correlativamente, da una tendenza alla massima differenziazione formale delle opposizioni diatetiche. Effetti di tale processo sono, tuttavia, l’accresciuta complessità formale del sistema e l’aumento della ridondanza nel rapporto tra forme e funzioni. I casi di alternanza libera tra nuove e vecchie forme sono il risultato, da un lato, della composizione cronologicamente eterogenea del testo della Settanta, che riflette quindi nei singoli libri momenti diversi dello sviluppo della koinè, dall’altro, della compresenza, nello stesso stadio di lingua, di stratificazioni successive.⁷

2.2.1 Riduzione delle forme del futuro cosiddetto “attico” Tendenza generale del greco ellenistico, la sparizione del cosiddetto futuro “attico”, «das seinen Namen von dem bei Attikern, im Unterschiede von der hellenistischen Sprache, sich findenden Gebrauche dasselbe hat» (Kühner – Gerth 1892, 108), viene osservata sia da Blass (1898, 41), che ne rileva l’assenza nel greco del Nuovo Testamento, sia da Thackeray (1909), che nota come il processo sia già ben visibile nella Settanta, sebbene ancora esposto a spinte differenti e quindi in fase dinamica: «The tendency was to bring these anomalous forms into line with the other sigmatic futures and so to prevent the possibility of confusion between future and present. The disappearance of the Attic future was, however, gradual: the κοινή even employed some ‘Attic’ futures from verbs in –ζω which were unknown to Attic writers: the LXX, supported by Ptolemaic papyri, presents some contrasts to the N.T.» (Thackeray 1909, 228)

Alle forme del futuro “attico”, più antiche (di seguito in (a)), si affiancano dunque, per uno stesso verbo, le forme normalizzate del futuro sigmatico (di seguito in (b)): (4)

a. καὶ καθαριεῖς αὐτοὺς καὶ ἀποδώσεις αὐτοὺς ἔναντι κυρίου. (Nu. 8.15.2) ‘e tu li purificherai e li presenterai davanti al Signore’

6 Cf. Allan (2003, 178–202) e Tronci (2017), per una discussione dei dati e diverse prospettive sul tema. 7 Il Pentateuco rappresenta senza dubbio la parte più antica della Settanta (cf., tra gli altri, Evans 2001). Su alcuni degli altri libri sono stati condotti studi specifici, a partire da un’intuizione di Thackeray (1909) che individuò la mano di due distinti traduttori nel libro di Geremia. Cf., in particolare, gli studi di Herrmann – Baumgärtel (1923) e Ziegler (1934) sul libro del profeta Isaia.

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b. καὶ κύριος καθαρίσει αὐτήν. (Nu. 30.13.4) ‘e il Signore la purificherà’ (5)

a. καὶ οἱ υἱοὶ Ααρων οἱ ἱερεῖς σαλπιοῦσιν ταῖς σάλπιγξιν. (Nu. 10.8.1) ‘i sacerdoti figli di Aronne suoneranno le trombe’ b. καὶ σαλπίσεις ἐν αὐταῖς, καὶ συναχθήσεται πᾶσα ἡ συναγωγὴ ἐπὶ τὴν θύραν τῆς σκηνῆς τοῦ μαρτυρίου. (Nu. 10.3.1) ‘e tu suonerai le trombe nell’accampamento, e tutta l’assemblea si radunerà presso la porta della tenda del convegno’

(6)

a. οὗτος ἐξολεθρεύσει αὐτούς, καὶ οὗτος ἀποστρέψει αὐτοὺς ἀπὸ προσώπου σου, καὶ ἀπολεῖς αὐτούς, καθάπερ εἶπέν σοι κύριος. (De. 9.3.4) ‘costui li distruggerà e li allontanerà dal tuo volto e tu li farai perire, come il Signore ti ha detto’ b. καὶ παραδώσει αὐτοὺς κύριος ὁ θεός σου εἰς τὰς χεῖράς σου καὶ ἀπολέσει αὐτοὺς ἀπωλείᾳ μεγάλῃ (De. 7.23.2) ‘e il Signore tuo dio le [= le nazioni] metterà nelle tue mani e le farà perire di grande distruzione’

(7)

a. διὰ τοῦτο ἐπιστρέψω καὶ κομιοῦμαι τὸν σῖτόν μου καθ΄ ὥραν αὐτοῦ (Ho. 2.11) ‘per questo tornerò e riprenderò il mio grano, a suo tempo’ b. ἐὰν ἰσχύσῃ, μόλις κομίσεται τὸ ἥμισυ καὶ λογιεῖται αὐτὸ ὡς εὕρεμα (Si. 29.6) ‘se riuscirà a pagare, a stento riprenderà la metà, e dovrà considerarla come cosa trovata’

Interessanti, a questo proposito, sono i casi in cui il doppione “attico” è analizzabile come ipercorrettismo rispetto al futuro sigmatico del medesimo verbo, essendo il primo, e non il secondo, la neoformazione della Settanta: (8)

a. ἐνεχυρασμὸν ὀφείλοντος ἀποδώσει καὶ ἅρπαγμα οὐχ ἁρπᾶται (Ez. 18.7) ‘se restituirà il pegno al debitore e non commetterà rapina’ b. οὐκ ἀδικήσεις τὸν πλησίον καὶ οὐχ ἁρπάσεις (Le. 19.13) ‘non opprimerai il tuo vicino né lo rapinerai’

2.2.2 Riduzione dei futuri media tantum Altro processo del greco ellenistico è la progressiva sostituzione delle forme media tantum del futuro – ovvero forme del futuro a flessione esclusivamente media correlate

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con forme del presente a flessione attiva – con forme del futuro a flessione attiva⁸, che, per quanto più coerenti dal punto di vista del rapporto tra forma e funzione, introducono tuttavia una ulteriore polimorfia nel sistema, all’interno di un dominio funzionale, quello della diatesi, che si presenta, già nel greco classico, fortemente variegato quanto a espressione morfologica (flessione media, forme affissate) e non coerente quanto al rapporto tra forme e funzioni (la flessione media ha valore tanto oppositivo, quanto non–oppositivo: cf. Tronci 2017, per ulteriori dettagli). Il verbo ἁμαρτάνω, per es., ha nel greco classico un futuro medium tantum ἁμαρτήσομαι. Nella Settanta la maggior parte delle forme del futuro sono a flessione media (un esempio in (9a)), con l’eccezione del libro del Siracide dove sono attestate due forme di futuro, entrambe a flessione attiva (un esempio in (9b)): (9)

a. ἐὰν δὲ μὴ ποιήσητε οὕτως, ἁμαρτήσεσθε ἔναντι κυρίου καὶ γνώσεσθε τὴν ἁμαρτίαν ὑμῶν (Nu. 32.23) ‘ma se non farete così, voi peccherete contro il Signore e conoscerete il vostro peccato’ b. ὁ ὑπακούων μου οὐκ αἰσχυνθήσεται, καὶ οἱ ἐργαζόμενοι ἐν ἐμοὶ οὐχ ἁμαρτήσουσιν (Si. 24.22) ‘chi mi obbedisce non si vergognerà, chi compie le mie opere non peccherà’

Forme di futuro media tantum ricorrono con flessione attiva anche nelle sezioni più antiche della Settanta. Il futuro del verbo ἀπαντάω, per es., è medium tantum nel greco classico. Forme media tantum ricorrono anche nella Settanta, come illustra (10a), ma il verbo si presenta con flessione attiva al futuro nel libro della Genesi (cf. (10b)): (10)

a. καὶ ὤμοσεν αὐτῇ Σαουλ λέγων Ζῇ κύριος, εἰ ἀπαντήσεταί σοι ἀδικία ἐν τῷ λόγῳ τούτῳ (1 Ki. 28.10) ‘Saul le giurò dicendo: Per la vita del Signore, se ti accadrà un’ingiustizia per questa faccenda’ b. Συνάχθητε, ἵνα ἀναγγείλω ὑμῖν, τί ἀπαντήσει ὑμῖν ἐπ΄ ἐσχάτων τῶν ἡμερῶν (Ge. 49.1) ‘[quindi Giacobbe chiamò i suoi figli e disse:] Radunatevi, così che io vi annunci cosa vi accadrà nei giorni futuri’

Il caso di θαυμάζω, illustrato di seguito, pare, del resto, coerente con l’idea di uno sviluppo progressivo delle forme a flessione attiva a scapito di quelle media tantum: il futuro medium tantum di tale verbo ricorre infatti nel più antico libro del Levitico (es. (11a)) e il futuro con flessione attiva si trova invece nel libro del profeta Isaia (es. (11b)):

8 Il dato è interessante anche in prospettiva diacronica, nel confronto, per es., con il greco del Nuovo Testamento: «Whereas in Att. many active verbs form a future middle, in N.T. the active form is in most cases employed throughout» (Blass 1898, 42).

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(11)

a. καὶ ἐξερημώσω ἐγὼ τὴν γῆν ὑμῶν, καὶ θαυμάσονται ἐπ΄ αὐτῇ οἱ ἐχθροὶ ὑμῶν οἱ ἐνοικοῦντες ἐν αὐτῇ (Le. 26.32) ‘devasterò io stesso la vostra terra, e i vostri nemici che vi dimoreranno si stupiranno di fronte a essa’ b. οἱ ἰδόντες σε θαυμάσουσιν ἐπὶ σοὶ καὶ ἐροῦσιν (Is. 14.16) ‘quanti ti vedono si stupiranno di fronte a te e diranno’

La polimorfia nell’ambito della flessione dei futuri caratterizzati in epoca classica come media tantum è senz’altro riconducibile in certi casi al diverso livello cronologico di composizione dei libri della Settanta. In alcuni casi però la forma con flessione attiva e quella con flessione media dello stesso verbo ricorrono nello stesso libro e fanno quindi parte, presumibilmente, del medesimo livello cronologico di lingua: è il caso del verbo σιωπάω, che ha nel greco classico un futuro medium tantum σιωπήσομαι ed è attestato con flessione tanto attiva quanto media nel libro del profeta Isaia: (12)

a. Οὐ σιωπήσω, ἕως ἂν ἀποδῶ εἰς τὸν κόλπον αὐτῶν τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν (Is. 65.6) ‘non tacerò, finché non avrò rimesso nel loro grembo i loro peccati’ b. Διὰ Σιων οὐ σιωπήσομαι [. . . ] ἕως ἂν ἐξέλθῃ ὡς φῶς ἡ δικαιοσύνη μου (Is. 62.1) ‘Per Sion non tacerò, finché non sorga come luce la mia giustizia’

Diversi sono i processi che coinvolgono i futuri dei verbi media tantum, di quei verbi cioè in cui la forma con flessione esclusivamente media non è specifica, nel greco classico, del sistema del futuro, ma coinvolge tutti i sistemi tempo–aspettuali. In tali casi il processo di livellamento analogico registrato nella Settanta procede in direzione opposta rispetto a quanto si è appena osservato per i futuri media tantum. Mentre per questi ultimi la flessione si modella su quella attiva del presente, i verbi media tantum si presentano sempre al futuro sotto forma affissata. La forma affissata tende a divenire nel sistema del futuro la sola marca formale associata tanto al medio non–oppositivo (i verbi media tantum) quanto, come si vedrà più in dettaglio nel seguito, al tratto oppositivo passivo/inaccusativo. I futuri affissati dei verbi media tantum nella Settanta sono quindi neoformazioni che in certi casi rimpiazzano futuri a flessione media del greco classico, mentre in altri rappresentano le uniche forme di futuro attestate:⁹ (13)

a. αἰσχυνθήσονται καὶ ἐντραπήσονται πάντες οἱ ἀντικείμενοι αὐτῷ καὶ πορεύσονται ἐν αἰσχύνῃ. (Is. 45.16) ‘si vergogneranno e si confonderanno quanti si infuriano con lui e se ne andranno nella vergogna’

9 A titolo esemplificativo, si veda il caso di εὐλαβηθήσομαι in (13a) che sostituisce il futuro a flessione media di epoca classica εὐλαβήσομαι, attestato, per es., nell’orazione Contro Timarco di Eschine: εὐλαβήσομαι δ΄ αὐτὸ ποιεῖν ὡς ἂν δύνωμαι μάλιστα (Aesch. 1 38) ‘io starò attento a far questo al meglio di come posso’.

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b. καὶ γὰρ αὐτοὶ κυρίου δεηθήσονται (Si. 38.14) ‘anche essi infatti pregheranno il Signore’ c. ὁ φοβούμενος κύριον οὐδὲν εὐλαβηθήσεται καὶ οὐ μὴ δειλιάσῃ, ὅτι αὐτὸς ἐλπὶς αὐτοῦ. (Si. 34.14) ‘chi teme il Signore non starà in guardia e non avrà timore, perché lui è la sua speranza’ d. καὶ ὀργισθήσεται θυμῷ κύριος εἰς ὑμᾶς (De. 7.4) ‘e il Signore si adirerebbe contro di voi’ Il fenomeno è rilevato già da Thackeray (1909) che non lo vede però come tratto specifico del greco ellenistico, ma ne individua le radici nel greco classico: «Already in classical Greek many deponent verbs, particularly those expressive of emotion, took an aorist passive in –θην in place of the aorist middle which from their reflexive or transitive meaning might be expected: the majority, however, of these verbs retained the future middle. This employment of the passive was a first step in the direction of the elimination of the special forms of the middle voice (as in Modern Greek) and the use was quickly extended in the κοινή to other verbs: uniformity was also introduced by the substitution of passive for the old middle futures.» (Thackeray 1909, 238)

L’idea che mette in relazione la sparizione delle forme del futuro a flessione media con la progressiva defunzionalizzazione della flessione media come marca di diatesi è valida tanto per l’aoristo, con riferimento al quale il processo è già chiaramente visibile nel greco classico, quanto per il futuro, dove pare sia soprattutto il greco ellenistico ad accelerare il processo. La Settanta offre a tale riguardo esempi molto chiari, come si è visto, quanto al sistema del futuro.

2.2.3 L’espansione delle forme di futuro affissate Il terzo ed ultimo fenomeno che si prenderà di mira riguarda le forme di futuro affissate, che, come appunto già si osservava, conoscono nella Settanta una straordinaria produttività. Gli esempi forniti di seguito illustrano casi di neoformazioni (cf. Magnien 1912, 347 ss.):¹⁰

10 Le forme di futuro affissato evidenziate nell’es. in testo ἁγιασθήσομαι, δικαιωθήσομαι, πλανηθήσομαι e ἐγερθήσομαι non hanno attestazioni anteriori alla Settanta. Per alcuni di questi verbi il greco classico attesta tuttavia il futuro sigmatico, solo in forma attiva (per es. δικαιώσω) o anche in forma media (per es. πλανήσομαι). Il confronto tra l’es. in testo del futuro πλανηθήσομαι in (14b) e il passaggio seguente che ospita il futuro a flessione media πλανήσομαι mostra la perfetta sovrapponibilità funzionale delle due forme: εἰ δὲ καὶ ὑμεῖς πλανήσεσθε οἱ σοφοί (Pl. Hp. mi. 376c) ‘se anche voi saggi errerete’.

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(14)

a. καὶ τάξομαι ἐκεῖ τοῖς υἱοῖς Ισραηλ καὶ ἁγιασθήσομαι ἐν δόξῃ μου· (Ex. 29.43) ‘io darò ordine là ai figli di Israele e sarò consacrato nella mia gloria’ b. ‘Ο ἀγαπῶν χρυσίον οὐ δικαιωθήσεται, καὶ ὁ διώκων διάφορα ἐν αὐτοῖς πλανηθήσεται (Si. 31.5) ‘chi ama l’oro non sarà considerato giusto e chi insegue gli interessi andrà errando in essi’ c. ἀναστήσονται οἱ νεκροί, καὶ ἐγερθήσονται οἱ ἐν τοῖς μνημείοις (Is. 26.19) ‘i morti si rialzeranno, e si risveglieranno quelli nei sepolcri’

La produttività delle forme affissate e la loro sostituzione alle forme a flessione media tende quindi a creare un sistema in cui l’opposizione diatetica ha manifestazioni formali ridondanti: la flessione attiva, da un lato, l’affisso e la flessione media, dall’altro. Lo illustrano coppie come le seguenti: (15)

a. καὶ ἀνὴρ ἁμαρτωλὸς ταράξει φίλους (Si. 28.9) ‘un uomo peccatore sconvolge gli amici’ b. καὶ ταραχθήσεται τὸ πνεῦμα τῶν Αἰγυπτίων ἐν αὐτοῖς (Is. 19.3) ‘e l’animo degli Egiziani si sconvolgerà ‘

(16)

a. καὶ ἀποστελῶ ἐφ΄ ὑμᾶς τὰ θηρία τὰ ἄγρια τῆς γῆς, καὶ κατέδεται ὑμᾶς καὶ ἐξαναλώσει τὰ κτήνη ὑμῶν (Le. 26.22) ‘manderò contro di voi le bestie selvatiche, e vi mangeranno e stermineranno il vostro bestiame’ b. ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ ταύτῃ ἐξαναλωθήσονται καὶ ἐκεῖ ἀποθανοῦνται (Nu. 14.35) ‘[io il Signore ho parlato:] in questo deserto saranno sterminati e lì moriranno’

La tendenza era del resto già presente nel greco classico, dove però le forme a flessione media mantenevano un loro valore funzionale all’interno del sistema, sia nella manifestazione dei valori diatetici del passivo/inaccusativo, in distribuzione libera con le forme affissate (cf. supra es. (1) e (2)), sia nell’opposizione a tali valori, come marche cioè di funzioni più genericamente classificate come “medie”, e quindi in distribuzione complementare con le forme affissate (cf. supra es. (3)). Già nel greco classico, del resto, i futuri affissati rappresentano l’unica forma possibile per l’espressione del passivo/inaccusativo in quei futuri media tantum che ricorrono in costruzioni transitive, e i numerosi esempi della Settanta confermano la tendenza: (17)

a. Τίς ἡμᾶς ἑώρακεν καὶ τίς ἡμᾶς γνώσεται ἢ ἃ ἡμεῖς ποιοῦμεν· (Is. 29.15) ‘[Guai a coloro che facendo piani nelle tenebre dicono:] chi ci ha visto e chi riconoscerà noi e ciò che facciamo?’

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b. καὶ γνωσθήσεται ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν τὸ σπέρμα αὐτῶν καὶ τὰ ἔκγονα αὐτῶν· (Is. 61.9) ‘sarà riconosciuta tra i popoli la loro stirpe e la loro discendenza’ (18)

a. καὶ λήμψῃ μετὰ σεαυτοῦ ἄνδρας πεποιθότας ἐν ἰσχύι αὐτῶν (Ju. 2.5) ‘[ecco, tu uscirai] e prenderai con te uomini che hanno fiducia nella loro forza’ b. ὅτι ἐν τῷ λημφθῆναι ἡμᾶς οὕτως καὶ λημφθήσεται πᾶσα ἡ Ιουδαία (Ju. 8.21) ‘poiché nel catturare noi, anche l’intera Giudea sarà presa’

(19)

a. καὶ ὄψονταί σε πάντα τὰ ἔθνη τῆς γῆς ὅτι τὸ ὄνομα κυρίου ἐπικέκληταί σοι (De. 28.10) ‘e tutti i popoli della terra ti vedranno che proclami il nome del Signore’ b. Τοῦτο τὸ ῥῆμα, ὃ εἶπεν κύριος, ποιήσατε, καὶ ὀφθήσεται ἐν ὑμῖν δόξα κυρίου (Le. 9.6) ‘[Mosè disse:] questo è ciò che il Signore ha detto; fatelo e tra voi apparirà la gloria del Signore’

3 Conclusioni e prospettive di ricerca Il quadro brevemente delineato, pur nella sua parzialità, mostra un sistema del futuro dinamico e sottoposto a spinte di vario tipo, convergenti, tuttavia, verso un maggiore isomorfismo nei rapporti tra forme e funzioni. La polimorfia delle classi flessionali tende a ridursi con una generalizzazione del tipo sigmatico, che appare produttivo a scapito delle forme contratte del futuro cosiddetto “attico”. Anche la polimorfia nella manifestazione della sintassi medio–passiva è interessata da processi di mutamento che tendono alla biunivocità nei rapporti tra forme e funzioni, nella ricerca, peraltro, della massima differenziazione formale delle funzioni oppositive: la sintassi attiva, da un lato, e la sintassi passiva/inaccusativa, dall’altro. Processo, quest’ultimo, che conferma la perdita del valore diatetico dell’opposizione flessionale nel sistema del futuro e che apparenta, per certi versi, le vicende diacroniche del futuro a quelle dell’aoristo, sistema anch’esso interessato dalla medesima innovazione formale e funzionale delle forme affissate, ma con diversi sviluppi in diacronia. Nell’aoristo, infatti, l’innovazione ha esiti di lunga durata, visto che nel greco moderno è ancora l’opposizione degli affissi a manifestare la diatesi della frase. Nel futuro, invece, l’innovazione non è duratura e già nel greco ellenistico le forme perifrastiche del futuro rimpiazzano le sintetiche. Per quale ragione, allora, nella Settanta le forme sintetiche del futuro, e in particolare le forme affissate, sono tanto produttive? La lingua della Settanta viene tradizionalmente considerata come una fonte importante per la conoscenza della lingua greca scritta in epoca ellenistica:

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«[the Septuagint] is a valuable source of information about the ordinary written Greek of the period [. . . ] the Septuagint’s general grammatical and lexical make–up is that of the ordinary, everyday written Greek of the times, and it therefore constitutes an important source of information for the development of the language in the Hellenistic period.» (Horrocks 2010, 106)

Dei fenomeni che caratterizzano tale lingua, rispetto al greco classico in particolare, dà una descrizione George (2010), che, analizzando tanto la lingua della Settanta quanto quella del Nuovo Testamento, si concentra sul problema dell’influenza che il milieu semitico (ebraico e aramaico) avrebbe avuto sul greco dei due testi: «The language of the Septuagint and the New Testament does not represent a special dialect of Jewish–Christian Greek altogether cut off from the regular development of Koine, nor is it completely free from Semitic influence. Instead, as one would expect of writings produced in Hellenistic Alexandria and Roman Palestine, it reflects both the broader evolution of the Greek language as a whole and the more specific influence of the Semitic milieu in which it arose.» (George 2010, 279)

In maniera simile si esprime Evans (2001) nelle prime pagine del suo volume: «The central argument is that verbal syntax in these translation documents represents essentially idiomatic Greek, which needs to be viewed in the light of contemporary Koine vernacular usage.» (Evans 2001, 2)

Ovviamente, concetti come quelli proposti nelle citazioni appena riferite e relativi ad una caratterizzazione generale e complessiva della lingua della Settanta come ordinary written Greek o koine vernacular usage possono essere meglio precisati, anche alla luce del suggerimento di Brixhe (2010): «the koine is both a written and a spoken language. The highest written register, the standard language (i.e., Classical Attic as it was fixed at the end of the fifth century BCE and represented linguistically in the language of Demosthenes), and the lowest spoken registers form the poles of a continuum.» (Brixhe 2010, 230)

Il dato portato alla luce dalla rapida ricognizione del sistema del futuro presentata in questo scritto dice di una lingua, o meglio di un registro di lingua, non perfettamente sovrapponibile alle descrizioni tradizionali di una koinè ellenistica unitaria e che, quanto al sistema del futuro, si identificano grosso modo nelle parole di Markopoulos (2009) citate in apertura. Il sistema del futuro testimoniato dalla Settanta accentua alcune tendenze di mutamento già presenti nel greco classico, come lo sviluppo dell’opposizione tra forme a flessione attiva e forme affissate nella manifestazione delle differenze diatetiche e la riduzione delle forme che sfruttano invece l’opposizione flessionale per manifestare i medesimi contrasti. Il modello è il sistema dell’aoristo, come appunto nel greco classico, con la differenza però che, nel greco ellenistico, la tendenza è confermata per l’aoristo ma non per il futuro, dove le nuove forme perifrastiche gettano le basi formali e funzionali del nuovo sistema del futuro. La lingua della Settanta esaspera

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quindi una tendenza del greco classico ritenuta dagli studiosi non più attiva in epoca ellenistica: si creano così forme presumibilmente percepite come artificiali, il cui ruolo nel sistema verbale del greco ellenistico (e del futuro, in particolare) necessita di essere meglio precisato alla luce di studi puntuali su altri tipi di testi coevi.

Bibliografia Allan, R. J. 2003: The Middle Voice in Ancient Greek. A Study in Polysemy, Amsterdam. Bakker, E. J. 1994: Voice, Aspect and Aktionsart: Middle and Passive in Ancient Greek, in Voice: Form and Function, eds. B. Fox & P. Hopper, Philadelphia, 23–47. Benedetti, M. 2005: Dispersioni formali del medio indoeuropeo, in Acquisizione e mutamento di categorie linguistiche. Atti del Convegno della Società Italiana di Glottologia (Perugia, 23–25 ottobre 2003), eds. L. Costamagna & S. Giannini, Roma, 95–119. Benedetti, M. 2006: Mehr als Passiv: über einige Verbalmorpheme in altindogermanischen Sprachen, «International Journal of Diachronic Linguistics and Linguistic Reconstruction», 3, 91–110. Blass, F. 1898: Grammar of New Testament Greek, London. Brixhe, C. 2010: Linguistic Diversity in Asia Minor during the Empire: Koine and Non–Greek Languages, in A Companion to the Ancient Greek Language, eds. E. J. Bakker, Malden, MA – Oxford – Chichester, 228–252. Browning, R. 19832 : Medieval and Modern Greek, Cambridge. Dorival, G. & Munnich, O. 1995: Selon les Septante. Hommage à Marguerite Harl, Paris. Evans, T. 2001: Verbal Syntax in the Greek Pentateuch: Natural Greek Usage and Hebrew Interference, Oxford. George, C. H. 2010: Jewish and Christian Greek, in A Companion to the Ancient Greek Language, ed. E. J. Bakker, Malden, MA – Oxford – Chichester, 267–280. Harl, M., Dorival, G. & Munnich, O. 1998: La Bible grecque des Septante. Du judaïsme hellénistique au christianisme ancien, Paris. Harl, M. 2007: La langue de Japhet. Quinze études sur la Septante et le grec des chrétiens, Paris. Helbing, R. 1907: Grammatik der Septuaginta, Göttingen. Herrmann, J. & Baumgärtel, F. 1923: Beiträge zur Entstehungsgeschichte der Septuaginta, Stuttgart. Holton, D. & Manolessou, I. 2010: Medieval and Early Modern Greek, in A Companion to the Ancient Greek Language, ed. E. J. Bakker, Malden, MA – Oxford – Chichester, 539–563. Horrocks, G. 2010: Greek. A History of the Language and its Speakers, Malden, MA – Oxford – Chichester. Joseph, B. D. & Pappas, P. 2002: On some recent views concerning the development of the Greek future system, «Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies», 26, 247–273. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 1892: Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Erster Teil: Elementar– und Formenlehre. Zweiter Band: Formenlehre, Hannover – Leipzig. La Fauci, N. & Tronci, L. 2009: Verb inflection in Ancient Greek and Sanskrit and auxiliation patterns in French and Italian. Forms, functions, system, «Lingvisticæ Investigationes», 32, 55–76. Magnien, V. 1912: Le future grec, vol. 1, Paris. Markopoulos, Th. 2009: The Future in Greek. From Ancient to Medieval, Oxford. Rijksbaron, A. 20023 : The Syntax and Semantics of the Verb in Classical Greek: An Introduction, Amsterdam. Risselada, R. 1987: Voice in Ancient Greek: Reflexives and Passives, in Ins and outs of the predication, eds. J. Van Der Auwera & L. Goossens, Dordrecht, 123–136.

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Thackeray, H. St. J. 1909: A Grammar of the Old Testament in Greek according to the Septuagint, Cambridge. Tronci, L. 2005: Gli aoristi con –(θ)η–: uno studio sulla morfosintassi verbale del greco antico, Perugia. Tronci, L. 2011: Taxonomie der Mediumkonstruktionen und Verbalflexion im Altgriechischen, in Indogermanistik und Linguistik im Dialog. Akten der XIII Fachtagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft (Salzburg, 21–27 September 2008), eds. T. Krisch & T. Lindner, Wiesbaden, 585–594. Tronci, L. 2014: Formes moyennes oppositives et non oppositives. Brèves notes sur le grec ancien, «Langages», 194, 35–47. Tronci, L. 2017: Le futur en grec ancien et son rapport au moyen, in The Greek Future and its History. Les futurs grecs et leur histoire, eds. F. Lambert, R. J. Allan & Th. Markopoulos, Leuven, 193–210. Ziegler, J. 1934: Untersuchungen zur Septuaginta des Buches Isaias, Münster.

| Parte IV: Speech acts and pragmatics

Nicolas Bertrand

Discontinuous and expletive topic expressions in Homeric Greek Abstract: Some Homeric utterances contain both a demonstrative pronoun at the beginning and a coreferent NP at the end. In most cases, the pronoun is analyzed as a non–ratified topic expression and the NP as a ratified topic expression: the former is used to reestablish the referent as a topic of the new utterance, whereas the latter clarifies the identity of the referent, which is already ratified as a topic at this point of the utterance. Each phrase is located in its dedicated slot in the Ancient Greek word order template: the non–ratified topic expression at the beginning of the clause and ratified topic expression immediately after the verb, hence the discontinuity. This discontinuous topic construction is not to be confused with another similar one, in which the NP is a presentative focus expression; in the latter construction, the initial anaphoric pronoun may be an expletive topic expression. The aim of this paper¹ is to identify and describe a specifically Homeric construction, which I will call Discontinuous Topic Construction (henceforth DisTop): the anaphoric pronoun ὅ, ἥ, τό is located at the beginning of the clause, followed by a coreferent lexical expression in the same clause, generally towards the end, as in (1). (1)

῝Ηi δ΄ ἐν τοῖσι παρίστατο δῖα θεάωνi . (Τ 6) ‘And shei stood among them, the divine goddessi .’

This is a fairly frequent construction, since it is found 262 times in Homer (i.e. once every 106 lines), but paradoxically it is hardly mentioned in traditional grammars.² And when it is, it is only as a transitional stage in the evolution of the article. Monro (1986, §258), for instance, treats that use as lying midway between the «Substantival Article» (the use of ὅ as an anaphoric pronoun) and the «Attributive Article» (the use of ὁ as an article proper). The disjoined NP may be added appositively «by way of an afterthought» or may be needed to specify the reference, thus turning the pronoun into something more akin to a determiner; but in any case, Monro adds, it is merely a step in the evolution of the word from a free–standing pronoun to a bound determiner. Now, while it may be that different diachronic layers are found within any given stage

1 Many thanks to the participants of the International Colloquium on Ancient Greek linguistics for their insightful remarks, and to Richard Faure for his sharp reading of my paper. 2 In their monography on hyperbaton, Devine – Stephens (2000, 144) do not analyze the construction as such, although they provide a number of examples. Sławomirski (1988) exclusively deals with what he considers a foreshadowing of object doubling in modern Balkan languages (mostly with μιν and οἱ).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-411

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of a linguistic system (and especially in Homeric diction, which notoriously preserved older usages even when they were getting extinct in everyday language), a synchronic explanation of their use is still worth looking for. My focus will then be not on where this construction comes from, but rather on the functions it serves in Homeric discourse. Since in Ancient Greek, including the Homeric dialect, word order expresses the utterance’s information structure (Dik 1995, Matić 2003, Bertrand 2010; 2014a; 2014b, Allan 2014), I will provide an informational analysis of the DisTop construction (section 1), which will explain both the discontinuity of the coreferent pronoun and the NP, and the discourse uses of the construction in Homer. Thanks to this informational approach, it will be possible (section 2) to highlight another construction involving a coreferent pronoun and an NP in the same clause, which is apparently very similar, but actually totally different, the Expletive Topic Construction (it is also much rarer, since I found only 19 occurrences in Homer, and it has not been previously mentioned at all, to my knowledge, in the literature).

1 The discontinuous topic expression construction 1.1 The two main types of topic expressions in Ancient Greek It is now quite clear that word order in Ancient Greek is not free, but is used to express the information structure of the utterance. Words and phrases are linearized according to their informational function; the different linearization rules may be formalized in a word order template such as (2). This template, designed by Matić (2003) as a refinement of Dik’s (1995) model, is also valid for Homeric Greek (Bertrand 2010); the principle is that each slot may harbor the expression(s) corresponding to the informational function it is meant to convey. (2)

a. Narrow Focus Construction: NRTop(s)–NFoc–Verb–RTop(s)–Presupposed Element(s) b. Broad Focus Construction: NRTop(s)–[ Verb–RTop(s)–Focus Element(s)] Focus Domain

NRTop: Non Ratified Topic; RTop: Ratified Topic NFoc: Narrow Focus (s) indicates that more than one such element can fill the slot. Two different focus constructions are recognized: a Narrow Focus Construction, with the (part of the) constituent in focus located immediately before the verb,³ and a Broad Focus Construction, with the verb and optionally other focal elements constituting a Focus Domain extending rightwards from the verb to the end of the clause. In the latter construction, which is the maximal extension of the actual focus, two focus construals

3 That is the only construction identified by Dik’s (1995) model.

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are possible: either a broad reading, with the focus construal extending on the whole Focus Domain, or a narrow focus reading, with the focus extending only on the last element(s) of the Focus Domain (Bertrand 2010, 2014a).⁴ Similarly, there are basically two types of topic expressions in Ancient Greek (Allan 2014). The first type, located at the beginning of the clause, is used to introduce a referent as a topic of the following utterance (this process is called ratification by Lambrecht and Michaelis (1998), hence the name Non–Ratified Topic Expressions⁵ or NRTop). Whenever a speaker wants to evoke a referent which is already ratified as a topic of the utterance, there is normally no need to use a lexical expression at all: zero anaphora or a clitic pronoun are enough to do the job. There are, however, a number of situations, very well defined by Matić (2003), where Ratified Topic (henceforth RTop) Expressions are used: in Ancient Greek, such expressions occur most often at the border between two episodes⁶ (in Hengeveld and Mackenzie (2008)’s terms), when there is a change in the spatiotemporal frame but the referential frame (the participants) remains constant (see Bertrand 2010, 202–211 for clarification and Homeric examples). The position of those RTop expressions is regularly just after the verb, even at the cost of interrupting the Focus Domain (Matić 2003, 586–587; see also Bertrand (2010, 103–105) for statistics on Homer). However, as shown elsewhere (Bertrand 2009), they are postpositive expressions, the prosodic status of which allow them to be located also in other positions in the utterance (for instance after the focus domain or within another constituent). To sum up, in Ancient Greek word order, whatever the focus construction used by a speaker, one finds NRTop expressions at the beginning of an utterance, and RTop expressions postverbally.

1.2 Analysis of DisTop Construction Once the positions of the two basic kinds of topic expressions in AG are established, the most simple way to account for DisTop constructions is to recognize them as the combination of a pronominal NRTop expression, the function of which is to (re)install the

4 Such underspecification of focal constructions is frequent across languages: see Lambrecht (1994, 304–306) for English and Van Valin (1993, 29–33) for a general distinction of potential vs. actual focus. 5 Matić (2003) calls them «Frame–Setting Topic Expressions»; Dik (1995) called them simply «Topics», since it was the only kind of topic expressions she recognized. NRTop expressions may additionally bear a semantic feature of exclusive contrast («Kontrast» in Vallduví and Vilkuna’s (1998) terms) eliciting the selection out of a list of alternatives (Matić 2003, Bertrand 2010, 172–196); possible restrictions on the position of such expressions might lead to add an ECTop slot at the left of the template; see however Allan (2014), who argues against the distinction between NRTops and ECTops. Since it does not affect my argument, I leave the question open and stick to the simpler version of the template. 6 Episodes are defined as « one or more States–of–Affairs that are thematically coherent, in the sense that they show unity or continuity of Time (t), Location (l), and Individuals (x)» (Hengeveld and Mackenzie 2008, 157).

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referent as a topic of the utterance, and a NP specifying its identity; since the referent is already ratified at the moment of utterance, the NP expresses quite naturally a RTop. Each expression is located in its own slot in the AG word order template (2): the pronoun in NRTop position at the beginning of the clause, and the NP in RTop position after the verb. It is the application of word order rules that makes them discontinuous. Example (1) above is characteristic: as Thetis comes to the Achaeans settlement with Achilles’ brand–new weapons, she finds him weeping with is comrades. Since the narrator then describes the situation the goddess discovers upon her arrival, a new ratification is needed to make her again the topic of the next utterance, which is achieved through the NRTop expression. However, the speaker feels the need to specify the identity of the referent with a second topic expression, this time a RTop expression, which is placed immediately after the verb. Note that the lexical RTop expression need not be at the end of the clause, but may occupy an internal position (I found 65 occurrences, about one quarter of my corpus). In example (3) below, the RTop expression interrupts a Focus Domain: Melantho has been absent from the narrative for some time, and her comeback (after a preparatory description of the servants’ activities) is made through the use of the pronominal NRTop ἥ. But the narrator needs to specify her identity with the lexical RTop Μελανθώ, which gives rise to a DisTop Construction. The RTop, being immediately postverbal, interrupts a Focus Domain: the focus extends both to the servant’s action (expressed by the verb ἐνένιπε) and to the fact that it is the second time she acts that way (δεύτερον αὖτις). (3)

῝Ηi δ’ ᾿Οδυσῆ’ [ἐνένιπε Μελανθὼi δεύτερον αὖτις]Focus Domain . (τ 65) ‘And shei insulted Ulysses, Melanthoi , for the second time.’

Due to their postpositive status, other alternative positions are opened to RTop expressions, even in the DisTop construction. For instance, although the Narrow Focus expression and the Verb must, as a rule, be adjacent, they may be separated by a RTop expression. In example (4) below, Thetis sends the Nereids back to their father; the focus of the next utterance is thus on her own destination (Οὔλυμπόνδε). The RTop expression θεὰ Θέτις ἀργυρόπεζα interrupts the sequence Narrow Focus–Verb, and, consequently, is not at the end of the clause. (4)

῝Ηi δ’ αὖτ’ ΟὔλυμπόνδεNFoc θεὰ Θέτις ἀργυρόπεζαi ἤϊεν ὄφρα φίλῳ παιδὶ κλυτὰ τεύχε’ ἐνείκαι. (Σ 146–147) ‘But shei was headed to the Olympus, the silver–footed goddess Thetisi , in order to bring famous weapons to her son.’

What such instances make clear is that the DisTop construction is not a repair strategy or an «afterthought», since the RTop NP is very much integrated within its clause. Rather it is an instantiation of Lambrecht’s (1994, 184–188) «Principle of Separation of Reference and Role», according to which reference–oriented expressions (the RTop NP in our case) and role–oriented expressions (our pronoun NRTop) should not be introduced in the same clause, with the proviso that here both expressions are indeed within the same clause, but in different structural positions. Two different things are achieved with the DisTop construction: on the one hand, the discourse switches from

Discontinuous and expletive topic expressions in Homeric Greek | 403

one topic referent to another, which is achieved by the pronoun NRTop; on the other hand, the topic referent is named, by means of the RTop NP. Now, there is indeed a paradox in the use in the same clause of a NRTop inducing a change of episode (by changing the referential frame) and a RTop normally expressed when at an episode change when the referential frame is constant. This contradiction might be resolved if we consider the function the DisTop construction serves in the Homeric discourse, alongside the other strategies for referent tracking.

1.3 Discourse functions of the DisTop construction My analysis will be based on Bakker’s (1997, 108–111) very convincing explanation. In his view, the DisTop construction is only one of the ways the Homeric narrator may refer to a character in a narrative transition, according to the activation status of the referent in the narrator’s and the audience’s conscience. This is shown in Table 1: from top to bottom, the referent is less and less active; from the point of view of narrative, the active, near–active, semi–active, and inactive categories correspond respectively to presence, co–presence (i.e. presence among other characters), return after a short absence, and first apparition (or return after a long absence). The DisTop construction (#2 and #3), with its two variants (either a simple name, or a complex NP with a Homeric formula in the next intonation unit) lies midway between a simple pronominal NRTop, establishing as a topic of the utterance a character already present on the narrative stage, and the apparition of a character, where a lexical NRTop is used. Table 1: Formulation of narrative transitions according to the narrative situation and cognitive status of the character (after Bakker 1997, 111) Narrative situation of the character

Cognitive status of the character

Presence

Active

Co–presence

Near–active

Formulation*

#1

ὃ δέ [clause]

#2

ὃi δέ [clause] NPi ὃi δέ [clause]

#3 #4 Return Apparition

Semi–active Inactive

#5 #6

Pragmatic analysis Pronominal NRTop DisTop construction

[answering formula] NP + δέ

| noun +epitheti | noun +epithet | [clause]

τὸνi /τοῦi /τῷi δέ [clause]

| noun +epithetj

TopR or DFoc Lexical NRTop TopNRi + DFocj

The vertical line «|» symbolizes the border between two intonation units. Δέ may be freely replaced by its synonym αὐτάρ.

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This table is based upon a scale of activation of the referent in the conscience of the speaker and the hearer. As Bakker (1997, 108–110) explains, the activation status of a character is linked to its situation in the narrative. The different strategies displayed by the epic language may thus be explained in terms of information structure. First, when two characters are active at the same time, the easiest way to switch between them is to use a pronominal NRTop expression (ὃ δέ/αὐτὰρ ὅ): since the function of a NRTop is to (re)ratify a referent as topic, and the identity of that referent is clear, an anaphoric pronoun is enough to refer to it (#1); this is exemplified in (5), where the pronoun ὅ simply achieves a topic switch from Paris’ spear to Menelaos. (5)

᾿Αντικρὺ δὲ παραὶ λαπάρην διάμησε χιτῶνα ἔγχος· ὃ δ΄ ἐκλίνθη καὶ ἀλεύατο κῆρα μέλαιναν. (Γ 359–360) ‘Straight ahead by the flank, the spear cut through his (i.e. Menelaos’) tunic; but he bent down and avoided his black fate.’

When a character has disappeared briefly, without any scene change, that is when the spatiotemporal frame remains constant, but a character has left for a moment the narrative stage, it may be useful to complete the potentially ambiguous pronominal NRTop expression with a RTop expression specifying the referent’s identity, which gives rise to the DisTop construction. That RTop expression may be either a simple name in the same intonation unit (#2), or a noun–epithet formula occupying the next intonation unit (#3). Each possibility is shown in examples (6). (6)

Στῆ δ’ ἄντα σχομένη· ὃi δὲ μερμήριξεν ᾿Οδυσσεύςi , ἢ γούνων λίσσοιτο λαβὼν ἐυώπιδα κούρην, ἦ αὔτως ἐπέεσσιν ἀποσταδὰ μειλιχίοισι λίσσοιτ’, εἰ δείξειε πόλιν καὶ εἵματα δοίη. (ζ 141–144) ‘(Nausicaa) stood in front of him; and hei hesitated Ulyssesi : should he implore the wide–eyed girl by embracing her knees, or rather stay apart as he was and implore her with soothing words to show him the city and give him clothes.’ ῝Ως ἔφαθ’, ἣi δ’ ἐγέλασσε θεὰ λευκώλενος ῞Ηρηi . (Φ 434) ‘So he spoke, and shei smiled, the white–armed goddess Herai .’

If⁷ the character’s absence is longer, the activation status of the character in the hearer’s conscience may fade; consequently, the speaker will use another strategy to reintroduce the referent in the narrative: a lexical NRTop will ratify again the referent as a topic of

7 I leave aside strategy #4, the use of noun–epithet formulas within turn–switch formulas in dialogue. First, it is a highly formalized context, where a kind of fossilization may blur the analysis. Second, it is sometimes difficult to pinpoint the precise informational status of the NP: an element of the Focus Domain or a RTop? The choice depends on a number of factors: for instance, in a dialogue between two characters, it is likely that the next speaker’s identity is presupposed, hence the use of a RTop; however, in assembly scene, the identity of the character taking the next turn is rather focal material. Moreover, the interruption of the narrative discourse with reported speech may also influence the narrator’s choices.

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the utterance (#5). In example (7), Sthenelos and Diomedes want to attack Pandaros and Aeneas. They first get rid of Pandaros, and then Aeneas intervenes: the NRTop Αἰνείας reactivates the referent as the topic of the next utterance. (7)

Αἰνείας δ’ ἀπόρουσε σὺν ἀσπίδι δουρί τε μακρῷ (Ε 297) ‘But Aeneas sprang to the ground with his shield and his long spear.’

Lastly, when a character makes his/her first appearance on the narrative stage, the strategy #5 is still available, as shown by example (8), where Thersites is evoked for the first time; but a presentative construction may also be used, with an anaphoric NRTop referring to the character who was the topic of the preceding discourse and a Focus Domain containing a noun–epithet formula to name the new character (#6), as in example (9). (8)

῎Αλλοι μέν ῥ΄ ἕζοντο, ἐρήτυθεν δὲ καθ΄ ἕδρας· Θερσίτης δ΄ ἔτι μοῦνος ἀμετροεπὴς ἐκολῴα. (Β 211–212) ‘They all stayed seated, since they had been pushed back on the benches; but Thersites, alone, kept shrieking without measuring his words.’

(9)

Τὸν δὲ ἴδεν Κάδμου θυγάτηρ, καλλίσφυρος ᾿Ινώ. (ε 333) ‘But the daughter of Kadmos, beautiful–ankled Ino saw him.’

Of course, such a presentation is highly schematic: it cannot explain every case, nor does it predict in every situation which verbalization will be chosen by the narrator. Three specifications should be added. First, the activation scale depends not only on the local narrative status of the characters, but also on their position in the general organization of the narrative, that is, it is also linked to the narrative hierarchy. The most important characters, for instance Achilles in the Iliad or Ulysses in the Odyssey, are less likely to leave the conscience of the speaker and the hearer: their activation status erodes more slowly. When such characters leave the narrative even for quite a long time, their return may be verbalized with a strategy generally used for short–term absences. That is what happens in example (10), where Achilles reappears after the whole sequence of the expiatory sacrifice in Chryse, and in example (11), where Ulysses and Eumaeus are met again after about 300 lines. (10) Αὐτὰρ ὃi μήνιε νηυσὶ παρήμενος ὠκυπόροισι διογενὴς Πηλέως υἱὸς πόδας ὠκὺς ᾿Αχιλλεύςi . (Α 488–489) ‘And hei was angry, seated near the swift boats, the divine son of Peleus, swift–footed Achillesi .’ (11)

Τὼi δ΄ αὖτ΄ ἐν κλισίῃ ᾿Οδυσεὺς καὶ δῖος ὑφορβὸςi δορπείτην· παρὰ δέ σφιν ἐδόρπεον ἀνέρες ἄλλοι. (ο 301–302) ‘But they were in the hut, Ulysses and the divine swineherd, having dinner; and next to them other men were dining.’

Second, if DisTop constructions are massively in the nominative case, this is not always true. There are 10 instances of DisTop constructions with other cases: example (12) shows the accusative, example (13) the genitive.

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(12)

Τοὺςi δ’ εὗρ’ εἰν ἀγορῇ Δαναοὺς θεράποντας ῎Αρηοςi νηῒ πάρα πρύμνῃ ᾿Αγαμέμνονος. (Η 382–383) ‘He found them in the agora, the Danaäns, servants of Ares, next to the stern of Agamemnon’s ship.’

(13) Τῶνi δ’ ἅπαν ἐπλήσθη πεδίον καὶ ἐλάμπετο χαλκῷ ἀνδρῶν ἠδ’ ἵππωνi · κάρκαιρε δὲ γαῖα πόδεσσιν. (Υ 156–157) ‘Of themi the whole plain was full and glowing with iron, men and horsesi ; and the earth was quaking under their feet.’ The predominance of nominative is merely a side–effect of the pragmatic function of those expressions. Dik (1997, 37) has shown that there is a hierarchy of syntactic function (14): a topic is more likely to be expressed by a subject phrase than by an object phrase, and rather by an object phrase than by any other phrase⁸. (14)

Hierarchy of syntactic function: Subject > Object > Other (Dik 1997, 37 (36))

However, this correlation is not systematic, and subjects are just the preferred or default way of expressing topics syntactically. The same may be said about the hierarchy of animacy (15), which explains why human (and divine) characters are the vast majority of the referents in DisTop constructions (235 times, i.e. 89.69%). (15)

Hierarchy of animacy: Human > Other animate > Inanimate Force > Other inanimate (Dik 1997, 37 (32))

Even among inanimate referents (20 occurrences), most are moving objects (arrows or spears), to which the Homeric parlance allots an animacy of sorts⁹, as in example (16). (16)

Αἴας δ’ ἀσπίδα νύξεν ἐπάλμενος· ἣi δὲ διαπρὸ ἤλυθεν ἐγχείηi , στυφέλιξε δέ μιν μεμαῶτα. (Η 260–261) ‘Ajax sprung upon him and pierced his shield; and iti went through it, the speari , and stroke him despite his efforts.’

Third, although Bakker’s formalization of the discourse uses of the DisTop construction does account for most cases, it must be emphasized that it is only the stylization of a wider discourse strategy. Not all occurrences of DisTops are concerned with characters coming back on the narrative stage after a brief absence. Sometimes, the DisTop construction is merely a disambiguation strategy. In example (17), for instance, the RTop expression μήρινθος is there to prevent any misreading and avoid that the hearer understands the pronoun ἥ as referring to the dove. (17) ῝Η μὲν ἔπειτ’ ἤϊξε πρὸς οὐρανόν, ἣi δὲ παρείθη μήρινθοςi ποτὶ γαῖαν· ἀτὰρ κελάδησαν ᾿Αχαιοί. (Ψ 868–869) ‘Then it (i.e. the dove) went away to the sky; and iti fell down, the stringi , towards the ground; and the Achaeans shouted out in applause.’

8 Lambrecht (1995) also claims that subject are unmarked topics. 9 Of Achilles’ spear, for instance, the narrator predicates the desire of eating human flesh (Φ 70).

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2 Presentative construction with expletive NRTop pronoun While most of the utterances containing a pronoun and a coreferent lexical expression are amenable to the analysis set out in the preceding section, I have detected 19 instances that are at odds with my DisTop construction explanation¹⁰. These utterances are presentative, introducing referents for the first time in the discourse, through a lexical expression in focus position, which is the normal presentative strategy in Ancient Greek (Bertrand 2010, 114–117). What makes them peculiar is that there is a cataphoric pronoun at the beginning of the clause, i.e. in NRTop position. That is what happens in example (18), a catalogue of the Achaean troops Hector is harassing. (18)

Οἳ μὲν ᾿Αθηναίων προλελεγμένοι· ἐν δ’ ἄρα τοῖσιν ἦρχ’ υἱὸς Πετεῶο Μενεσθεύς, οἳi δ’ ἅμ’ ἕποντο Φείδας τε Στιχίος τε Βίας τ’ ἐΰςi . (Ν 689–91) ‘There were the chosen Athenian men; and among them the chief was the son of Peteus, Menestheus; and there followed Pheidas, Stichios, and strong Bias.’

There is a striking parallelism between both presentative constructions with a Focus Domain ἦρχ’ υἱὸς Πετεῶο Μενεσθεύς and ἅμ’ ἕποντο Φείδας τε Στιχίος τε Βίας τ’ ἐΰς. However, the second Focus Domain is preceded by the pronoun οἵ, obviously in initial NRTop position. The pronoun is clearly expletive, since it occupies a position in the word order template without expressing the function this position is designed to express. Note that a similar construction is attested in Old Icelandic, as can be seen in example (19). (19)

Þei–ri kóm–u ok vestan með θrem tig–um manna Hrafn ok Sturlai . 3pl–nom came.3pl and west with 3.dat.pl 10–dat.pl men.gen Hrafn and Sturla (Íslendinga Saga, 480) ‘And there came also from the west with 30 men Hrafn and Sturla’ (Liberman 1990, 48 (15))

Moreover, the focal expression need not be postverbal (it is not always an argument within the focus domain), since it may also land in preverbal narrow focus position, as in example (20). (20)

Τὸνi δὲ μετ’ ᾿Ωρίωνα πελώριονi εἰσενόησα. (λ 572) ‘And I also recognized the giant Orion.’

10 Here is the complete list of those instances: Κ 194, Ν 690, 765, Τ 47, Φ 90, γ 450, δ 22, ε 68, κ 134, 436, λ 36, 260, 266, 305, 572, 601, ο 162, υ 242. Ζ 421 is perhaps not an instance of this construction. Note the cluster of tokens in the Νέκυια.

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That being said, these instances present a real difficulty. I propose to draw on the idea of «dummy topics» submitted by Dik (1995, 209–210): the pronominal NRTop expression does not serve the purpose of establishing a relational presupposition for the construal of the utterance (which is what NRTop are for), but is a mere support for a change of perspective. Such pronouns are not really referential, for, as they operate within a presentative construction, the referential process is necessarily suspended until the moment when the speaker utters the corresponding lexical expression. Contrary to what obtains in DisTop constructions, the referent of the expletive topic is not identifiable. It is obvious in example (21), where the use of the pronoun ἥ¹¹ cannot elicit a translation of ἡμερὶς ἡβώωσα with a definite NP¹². (21)

῝Ηi δ’ αὐτοῦ τετάνυστο περὶ σπείους γλαφυροῖο ἡμερὶς ἡβώωσαi , τεθήλει δὲ σταφυλῇσι. (ε 68–69) ‘There, around the hollow cave, stretched a vigorous vine, blooming with grapes.’

The impression is that of a mere supporting expression, similar to the French or German expletive subjects, exemplified in (22). (22)

a. Il se produisit alors deux catastrophes. Then two catastrophes happened. b. Es sind viele Menschen gekommen. Lots of people have come.

Expletive topics are by no means a typological aberration, especially in a pro–drop language like AG: they have been found inter alia in Arabic (Fassi Fehri 2012) and Scandinavian languages (Faarlund 1990); even German es may be an expletive topic rather than an expletive subject (note that the verb agrees with the postponed subject NP, contrary to the French verb, which agrees with il). What is peculiar is that the AG expletive topic pronoun must agree with the focal expression in gender, number and case. In French and German, the pronoun is a neutral or unmarked form, fossilized in this kind of construction: there is neither gender nor number agreement between il (masc. sg.) and deux catastrophes (fem. pl.) in French, or between es (nt. sg.) and viele Menschen (masc. pl.) in German. In AG, we are dealing with an agreeing pronoun, although it is expletive. Such a situation is hardly surprising, since demonstrative, relative and interrogative pronouns often agree in gender and number in attributive clauses (Kühner and Gerth 1890–1904, §369.1–2). This so–called attraction already occurs in Homer (Chantraine 1988–1997, §2.26), as shown by example (23), where the pronoun ἥ takes the same gender and number as δίκη. (23)

῝Η γὰρ δίκη ἐστὶ γερόντων. (ω 255) ‘For this is the right of old men.’

11 Some manuscripts have ἐν δ΄ αὐτοῦ, which indicates the possible difficulty of this non definite ἥ. 12 This makes the term “article” chosen by Chantraine (1988–1997) to refer to the pronoun ὅ, ἥ, τό all the more absurd. Note that Monro (1986, §264) remarks the possibility of the Article not to convey definiteness in instances like υ2˜ 42 αὐτὰρ ὁ τοῖσιν ἀριστερὸς ἤλυθεν ὄρνις ‘and there came a bird on their left’, which is adduced as proof of the pronominal use of the word.

Discontinuous and expletive topic expressions in Homeric Greek | 409

If this line of explanation is on the right track, it remains to clarify how such expletive topic expressions came to be. Note that all 19 instances of this construction share a common property: the NRTop pronoun is the only NRTop expression in the utterance, which means that the NRTop position would remain empty if the pronoun was not there. Now, as a rule, the topic positions in the word order template need not be filled with anything and may remain empty. However, the NRTop expressions are also the most frequent in AG.¹³ It may be that they were subject to a process of grammaticalization and gave rise to semantically void expressions designed to fill in a structural position that was felt as obligatory. Homer displays only a handful of such expressions, which means that the evolution sketched above is only beginning to take place. Anyway, it failed to develop in later Greek, where such constructions are not to be found at all. This is likely due to the progress of the use of the pronoun ὅ as a definite article, and the corresponding decline of its demonstrative uses, which are restricted to a few fossilized constructions after Homer (Kühner – Gerth 1890–1904, §459).

3 Conclusion Let us sum up what I have demonstrated in that paper. First, most of the instances of the co–occurrence of the pronoun ὅ and a disjoined coreferring lexical expression in the same clause must be analyzed as Discontinuous Topic constructions, that is the combination of a NRTop pronoun and a lexical RTop. Their function is to reactivate in the conscience of the hearer a referent which is considered near–active; it is a strategy of referent tracking in the narrative discourse. Second, only 19 instances require a different explanation. Those are presentative constructions in which the NP is in focal position. Here the pronoun is an expletive topic expression, used to fill in the NRTop position that would otherwise remain empty.

Bibliography Allan, R. J. 2014: Changing the topic: topic position in Ancient Greek word order, «Mnemosyne», 67/2, 181–213. Bakker, E. J. 1997: Poetry in speech: orality and Homeric discourse, Ithaca – London. Bertrand, N. 2009: Les pronoms postpositifs dans l’ordre des mots en grec: domaines syntaxiques, domaines pragmatiques, «Lalies», 29, 227–252.

13 Matić (2003, 589) considers FSTop (= NRTop) «extremely common in AG prose», without giving statistics; but he numbered 281 ConTop (= RTop) expressions out of 1523 clauses in his prose corpus (2003, 596). In a Homeric corpus of 4087 clauses (Bertrand 2010, 84–85), I counted 2104 NRTop expressions, or 2188 if ECTops are included (2010, 173), against 1383 RTop expressions (2010, 200).

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Bertrand, N. 2010: L’ordre des mots chez Homère: structure informationnelle, localisation et progression du récit. PhD Thesis, Université Paris–Sorbonne (Paris IV), Paris. Bertrand, N. 2014a: Focus, in Encyclopaedia of Greek Language and Linguistics, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Leyde, 595–599. Bertrand, N. 2014b: Information structure and Greek, in Encyclopaedia of Greek Language and Linguistics, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Leyde, 238–243. Chantraine, P. 1988–1997: Grammaire homérique, Paris. (Tradition de l’humanisme, 11) Original edition: 1953–1958. Devine, A. M. & Stephens L. D. 2000: Discontinuous syntax: hyperbaton in Greek, Oxford New York. Dik, H. J. M. 1995: Word order in ancient Greek: a pragmatic account of word order variation in Herodotus, Amsterdam (Amsterdam studies in classical philology, 5). Dik, S. C. 1997: The theory of functional grammar. Part 1: The structure of the clause, Berlin – New York (Functional Grammar Series, 20). Original edition: 1989. Faarlund, J. T. 1990: Syntactic Change: Toward a theory of historical syntax, Berlin – New York (Trends in linguistics. Studies and monographs, 50). Fassi Fehri, A. 2012: Key features and parameters in Arabic grammar, Amsterdam (Linguistik Aktuell/ Linguistics Today, 182). Hengeveld, K. & Mackenzie, J. L. 2008: Functional discourse grammar: a typologically–based theory of language structure, Oxford – New York. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 1890–1904: Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Zweiter Teil: Satzlehre, Hanover – Leipzig. Original edition: 1835. Lambrecht, K. 1994: Information structure and sentence form: topic, focus, and the mental representations of discourse referents, Cambridge – New York (Cambridge studies in linguistics, 71). Lambrecht, K. 1995: The pragmatics of case: on the relationship between semantic, grammatical, and pragmatic roles in English and French, in Essays in semantics and pragmatics in honor of Charles J. Fillmore, eds. M. Shibatani & S. A. Thompson, Amsterdam – Philadelphie, 145–190. Lambrecht, K. & Michaelis, L. A. 1998: Sentence accent in information questions: default and projection, «L&P», 21/5, 477–544. Liberman, A. 1990: «Afterthought» as a feature of Old Icelandic syntax, in Syntax gesprochener Sprachen, eds. B. K. Halford & H. Pilch, Tübingen, 45–60. Matić, D. 2003: Topic, focus, and discourse structure: ancient Greek word order, «StudLang», 27/3, 573–633. Monro, D. B. 1986: A grammar of the Homeric dialect, Hildesheim – Zürich – New York. Original edition: 1891. Sławomirski, J. 1988: Une construction syntaxique négligée dans la langue homérique?, «REA», 90, 325–328. Vallduví, E. & Vilkuna, M. 1998: On rheme and kontrast, in The limits of syntax, eds. P. W. Culicover & L. McNally, San Diego – Londres – Boston, 79–108. Van Valin, R. D. 1993: A synopsis of Role and Reference Grammar, in Advances in Role and Reference Grammar, ed. R. D. Van Valin, Amsterdam – Philadelphie, 1–164.

Marie–Ange Julia

Le grec classique possède–t–il un présentatif? Abstract: The first aim of this work is to show that ἰδού is not a presentative in Classical Greek. This classification was probably influenced by the very high frequency of the h

word in the Bible, compared to its Latin equivalent ecce and Hebrew hinn¯e which are pure presentatives. The deictic presentation in Greek comedies and tragedies is in fact realized by using the proximal demonstrative pronoun ὅδε (in a sense like the ¯ presentative Hittite kaš–ma), or using the verb πάρεστι or ἔρχεται (like in English or nd

German). However, ἰδού is a pure presentative in Late Greek, at least from the 2 century AD. It is quite possible that the interjective use, which is prevailing in Classical Greek, gave rise to the presentative use of the Late Greek: replying ἰδού ‘There!’ when one received the order to give a hand means ‘Here she is!’.

1 Introduction L’homme n’est pas seulement de paroles, il est également (avant tout) homme du dialogue. Dans le cadre d’un questionnement sur la nature dialogique du langage et son inscription en langue, nous avons cherché entre autres à étudier l’importance considérable qu’ont certains “petits mots” dans la parole dialoguée et le rapport génétique qu’ils entretiennent précisément avec le dialogue. L’analyse des présentatifs dans des langues anciennes et modernes constitue une partie de notre recherche car le témoignage qu’ils portent sur cette genèse est remarquable. Il s’agit de petits mots de haute fréquence, qui permettent à un locuteur d’attirer l’attention de son interlocuteur sur un objet présent dans l’espace de l’énonciation ou énonciatif. Des langues possèdent un présentatif à part entière, comme fr. voici/voilà, it. ecco, esp. aqu‘ι, gr. ἰδού/ἤν, got. ¯ ¯ sai, hitt. kaša/k ašma. Il est couramment admis, dans les grammaires ou la littérature, que le grec aussi dispose d’un ou de deux mots signifiant ‘voici’: ἰδού (et ἰδέ), issus de la grammaticalisation de la forme d’impératif moyenne ἰδοῦ (ou active ἴδε/ἰδέ) ‘vois’¹.

1 Les grammaires désignent ἰδού comme un “adverbe”, une “particule” ou une “interjection (exclamative)”. Ce n’est que dans quelques ouvrages ou articles récents que le terme de présentatif a été h

utilisé pour le grec, avant tout pour son usage dans la Bible où il traduit l’hébr. hinn¯e . Muraoka (1985, 137 et 2009, 337) parle au sujet du ἰδού biblique de «presentative adverb» ou de «presentative particule used to draw the hearer’s or reader’s attention to what follows»; cf. aussi BDAG, s.u. ἰδού, «a demonstrative or presentative particle that draws attention to what follows», divise l’entrée en deux sections, selon que le mot sert à attirer l’attention («prompter of attention», «marker of strong emphasis») ou à animer, dynamiser un récit («to enliven a narrative»). Biraud, dans son ouvrage sur les interjections du théâtre grec antique (2009, 225) et sur son site Internet (datant probablement de

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-423

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Une telle évolution de ‘vois’ à ‘voici’ est tout à fait possible puisqu’on l’observe historiquement dans l’anglais behold (> lo), dans le français voi(s)–ci ou dans le bambara yé initialement ‘vois’ et fílε ‘regarde’. Pourtant, la lecture des textes archaïques et classiques du grec ne confirme pas le classement de ἰδού parmi les présentatifs déictiques: aucune occurrence du mot ne signifie ‘le voici’, ‘me voici’, ‘voici Apollon’, etc. On ne peut remettre en cause l’affirmation que nous soutenons ici sur la foi du seul ème

exemple que voici, qui ne doit pas relever d’un état de langue du VI siècle, mais plutôt d’un état de langue tardif: la Fable 51 d’Ésope propose une version tardive ἰδοὺ ῾Ρόδος καὶ πήδημα, en regard de la leçon commune αὐτοῦ γὰρ καὶ ῾Ρόδος καὶ πήδημα ‘Voici Rhodes et le saut’. On pourrait également discuter de l’exemple suivant de Platon, Rsp. 7, 514a–c, extrait du célèbre mythe de la caverne: ἰδὲ γὰρ ἀνθρώπους. . ., φῶς δὲ. . ., . . . δὲ. . . ὁδόν, ἰδὲ τειχίον. . . Ορῶ, ἔφη. ῞Ορα τοίνυν. . . ‘vois (= voici) des hommes, une lumière, une route, vois (= voici) un petit mur. . . Je vois, dit–il. Vois maintenant. . . ‘. La réponse de l’interlocuteur ῾Ορῶ aussi bien que le parallélisme ᾿Ιδὲ / ῞Ορα suggèrent une analyse de la forme comme l’impératif aoriste de ὁρᾶν. L’accentuation n’aide en rien à déterminer s’il s’agit encore de l’impératif du verbe ‘voir’ ou déjà d’un présentatif². De fait, dans les comédies et tragédies du grec classique, comme ailleurs, ἰδὲ fonctionne comme l’impératif du verbe ‘voir’, tandis que ἰδού reçoit un emploi essentiellement interjectif³, ‘voilà!; tiens!’. On pourrait comparer avec ce qui s’est produit en allemand: dans les pièces de théâtre sieh(e), proprement ‘vois’, reçoit un emploi interjectif, jamais présentatif: Schiller, Marie Stuart, I, 2, – Sieh her! vs Schiller, Guillaume Tell, I, 2, Doch sieh, da ist er selber. C’est en grec un adjectif ou un pronom démonstratif qui entre dans des séquences présentant l’arrivée d’un personnage, comme le réalisent les présentatifs ‘fléchis’ eccum, eccam, etc., du latin plautinien. En considérant ἰδού comme un présentatif classique, n’aurait–on pas été influencé par la très haute fréquence du mot dans la Bible, où il sert à traduire le présentatif de l’hébreu, constitutif du style de l’Ancien Testament? On a pu être trompé par le fait que, h

pour calquer l’hébreu hinn¯e , le grec biblique a généralisé ἰδού ὰ toute présentation, narrative (‘voici que’) et déictique (‘voici untel’). Pour répondre à cette interrogation, nous tenterons une analyse typologique.

2011) http://unt.unice.fr/uoh/grec/enonciation/, emploie à l’endroit de ἰδού du grec classique le terme de présentatif; cf. également Petit (2010a, 153 et 2010b, 17). 2 Dans le Parisinus A, le premier ἰδὲ est oxyton, le second ἴδε paroxyton; la première forme présente un ι très allongé et semble porter deux accents. Rien n’est sûr donc et on peut logiquement craindre ici une erreur de copie. ¯ 3 Notons aussi que le présentatif hittite kašma est presque toujours employé avec une valeur pragmaticalisée.

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2 Valeurs de ἰδού dans les comédies et tragédies du Vème siècle Très souvent, ἰδού est attesté en emploi isolé, aussi bien dans les comédies que dans ème

les tragédies du V complète:

siècle avant J.–C. Il peut même constituer à lui seul une réplique

Ar., Ach. 582–583, Δι. ᾿Αλλ’, ἀντιβολῶ ς’, ἀπένεγκέ μοι τὴν μορμόνα. / Λα. ᾿Ιδού. ‘Di.– Oh! je t’en supplie, éloigne de moi cet épouvantail. La.– Voilà.’ (trad. Van Daele) Eur., Bacch. 1264–1265, Κα. Πρῶτον μὲν εἰς τόνδ΄ αἰθέρ΄ ὄμμα σὸν μέθες. / Αγ. ᾿Ιδού· ‘Ka.– Élève ton regard tout d’abord vers le ciel. Ag.– Voilà.’

2.1 Valeur interjective: ‘voilà = c’est fait, oui; tiens’ L’emploi majoritaire de ἰδού est interjectif⁴. Il manifeste souvent l’approbation face à un ordre d’un interlocuteur formulé à l’impératif et attire l’attention de l’interlocuteur sur l’immédiateté de l’obéissance. Le verbe πείθομαι ‘obéir’ dans l’exemple suivant confirme explicitement l’acquiescement (cf. aussi Ar., Eq. 562, Eur., Cycl. 562, etc.)⁵: Eur., Or. 144, Χο. ᾿Ιδού, πείθομαι. ‘Ch.– Voilà, j’obéis.’

Aussi observe–t–on souvent une forme verbale à la première ou deuxième personne du singulier dans le contexte immédiat de ἰδού: Eur., Andr. 411, ᾿Ιδού, προλείπω βωμὸν. ‘Voilà, j’abandonne l’autel.’

᾿Ιδού réalise ainsi ce que le latin plautinien em réalise pour sa part, dans le même genre de texte; le mot grec n’est pas synonyme du lat. ecce, eccum, mais de la forme em, qui signifie l’acquiescement, ou qui dénote la présentation d’un objet à prendre en main, ou les deux à la fois: 4 Plusieurs formes d’impératif en grec se sont de même grammaticalisées dans un emploi interjectif: ἄγε, φέρε, ἴθι ‘allons, allez!’, mais ces formes ont gardé leur accent premier. 5 On relève le même emploi en allemand, avec sieh, et en anglais, avec behold, tous deux proprement ‘vois’: Schiller, Guillaume Tell, III, 3, Und sieh, ich lege gnädig dein Geschick / In deine eigne kunstgeübte Hand; Shakespeare, Othello, V, 2, Behold, I have a weapon.

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Pl., Cap. 570, Sed quaeso hercle, agedum aspice ad me. Tyn. Em. ‘(Ar.–) Mais je t’en prie, par Hercule, allons, tourne vers moi ton regard. Tyn.– Voilà.’ Pl., Aul. 640–641, Evc. Ostende huc manus. Str. Em tibi, ostendi: eccas. Evc. Video. ‘Euc.– Montre ici tes mains. Str.– Tiens, je te les montre: les voici. Euc.– Je vois.’

Assez souvent encore, ἰδού se trouve dans un énoncé en initiative du locuteur, non plus en réponse à un ordre d’un interlocuteur, et sert une fonction illocutoire visant à agir sur l’interlocuteur de manière immédiate: Eur., I. T. 791, ἰδού, φέρω σοι δέλτον ἀποδίδωμί ‘Voici: je te transmets et te remets la lettre.’

Un troisième emploi interjectif, “citationnel”, consiste à signaler une citation d’un mot ou de mots d’un énoncé précédent; il s’observe uniquement dans la comédie, sans doute parce que son emploi est très ironique: Ar., Eq. 85 et 87, Oι. A’ Μὰ Δί´ ἀλλ´ ἄκρατον οἶνον ἀγαθοῦ δαίμονος. Nι. ᾿Ιδού γ’ ἄκρατον. ‘Oi.– Non par Zeus, nous il nous faut boire du vin pur au bon Génie. (. . .) Ni.– Ah oui, du vin pur!’

2.2 Redoublement interjectif: ἰδοὺ ἰδού· ἤν ἰδού En outre, comme on l’observe d’ordinaire avec les interjections, ἰδού est très souvent redoublé: ᾿Ιδοὺ ἰδού ‘Voilà! voilà!’ (Eur., Tr. 308, Eschl., Ag. 1125, Soph., O. C. 1478, etc.). Dans les pièces de théâtre, ἤν s’associe également dans une séquence interjective presque figée avec ἰδού, en guise de réponse approbative à un ordre (par ex. Ar., La Paix 327).

2.3 Occurrences ambiguës Restent quatre occurrences qui pourraient nous faire douter de l’unicité de la valeur interjective de ἰδού en grec classique.

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2.3.1 ἰδοὺ X + participe Dans l’une des occurrences en question, la séquence ἰδοὺ δ’ X + participe a un fonctionnement syntaxique semblable à celui du latin ecce X + participe, ou français Voici/voilà X + participe; il s’agit d’une forme de présentation narrative: Eschl., Ag. 1269–1270, ἰδοὺ δ’ ᾿Απόλλων αὐτὸς ἐκδύων ἐμὲ χρηστηρίαν ἐσθῆτα. . . ‘Et voilà Apollon lui–même me dépouillant du manteau des prophéties (. . .). ‘ Pl., Mil. 610, Pe. Ecce nos tibi oboedientes. ‘Pé.– Nous voici t’obéissant = prêts à t’obéir.’ Molière, Le Malade imaginaire, III, 11, Voilà votre monsieur Purgon brouillé avec vous.

Il ne s’agit toutefois pas d’une présentation “pure”: ἰδοὺ δ΄ ᾿Απόλλων αὐτὸς ‘et voilà Apollon lui–même n’est pas équivalent – référentiellement et informationnellement – à la séquence sans le participe, comme lat. eccum ipsum ‘le voici lui–même’, ou au fr. Voilà Toinette elle–même (Molière, Le Malade imaginaire, III, 8), qui consistent, pour leur part, en une véritable présentation déictique d’un personnage entrant sur scène.

2.3.2 ᾿Ιδοὺ ψίαθος ‘Voici une natte’? Le second exemple ambigu présente un ἰδοὺ suivi d’un substantif sans article⁶, pour lequel on aurait pu songer à un emploi présentatif du mot. Celui–ci se trouve dans une comédie d’Aristophane, Lysistrata, qui atteste huit ἰδού, dont sept sans contestation possible interjectifs; l’occurrence en question suit deux autres occurrences très proches: Ar., Lys. 920 et 923–925, Μυ. ᾿Ιδοὺ, κατάκεις’ ἁνύσας τι, κἀγὼ ‘κδύομαι. (. . .) Κι. Δός μοί νυν κύσαι. Μυ. ᾿Ιδού. Κι. Παπαιάξ. ῟Ηκέ νυν ταχέως πάνυ. Μυ. ᾿Ιδού ψίαθος. Kατάκεισο, καὶ δὴ ‘κδύομαι.

6 Un dernier vers pourrait être discuté, mais il y a tout lieu de croire que la présentation soit non pas déictique, mais endophorique, avec une prolepse ordinaire dans ce genre de construction: Eur., Ion. 1391–1392, ἰδοὺ περίπτυγμ‘ ἀντίπηγος εὐκύκλου / ὡς οὐ γεγήρακ‘ ἔκ τινος θεηλάτου. ‘Voilà comme l’enveloppe de la corbeille arrondie n’est pas vieille par suite d’une volonté divine’. Cette structure est comparable à celle de l’anglais, lo how: Shakespeare, La Nuit des rois ou Ce que vous voudrez, III, 4, Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him!; ou du français, voici/voilà comme: Racine, Andromaque III, 8, Voilà comme Pyrrhus vint s’offrir à ma vue.

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‘My.– Voilà. Couche–toi vite; moi, je me déshabille. (. . .) Ci.– Laisse–moi donc te baiser. My.– Tiens. Ci.– Ah! la, la, la. Reviens à toute vitesse. My.– Voilà une natte. Couche–toi; à l’instant je me déshabille.’ (trad. Van Daele)

Si l’on suit l’interprétation du traducteur, ἰδού servirait ici de présentatif déictique. Mais si l’on considère les occurrences voisines du mot, on pourrait défendre un emploi interjectif et traduire ainsi, puisque la locutrice est partie chercher un objet sans le nommer auparavant: ‘Voilà, une natte’. Myrrhine ne présente pas réellement la natte à Cinésias, ce qui en fait serait ridicule; celle–ci entre dans une liste de divers objets qu’elle cherche à rassembler. Quand bien même on admettrait ici une valeur présentative, qui serait peut–être la trace d’un ancien emploi présentatif de ἰδού tombé en désuétude, elle resterait unique⁷ dans toute la littérature classique.

2.3.3 ᾿Ιδοὺ τάδε ‘la voici’? Deux dernières occurrences de ἰδού le font suivre d’un pronom ou d’un adjectif démonstratif. Dans la première occurrence, τάδε est un pronom et constitue le noyau de l’énoncé. Dans la seconde, τάδε est un adjectif et qualifie βοσκήματα, de la nourriture constituée de fromages et de jeunes agneaux: Eur., H. f. 1408–1409, Ηρ. Ποθῶ· πατρός γε στέρνα προσθέσθαι θέλω. Αμ. ᾿Ιδοὺ τάδ΄, ὦ παῖ· ‘Hé.– Je le désire. Du moins je veux presser mon père sur ma poitrine. Am.– La voici, mon fils.’ (trad. Parmentier) Eur., Cycl. 188, Σι. ᾿Ιδοὺ τάδ’ ὑμῖν ποιμένων βοσκήματα. ‘Si.– Voici pour vous ce qu’ont nourri les pâtres.’ (trad. Méridier)

Le pronom du proximal ὅδε sert couramment dans tout type de texte classique au sens de ‘voici’. Il ne serait pas exclu que dans les deux occurrences ci–dessus on puisse envisager l’emploi interjectif de ἰδού, tout à fait ordinaire lorsqu’il s’agit de tendre une

7 Elle ne resterait plus unique, si l’on admettait que le fragment suivant de Phérécrate, un contemporain d’Aristophane, n’est pas corrompu: Phérécrate, Com. frg. 67, 3 (éd. J. M. Edmonds), chez Athénée de Naucratis, Deipnosophistes 4, 159e, Γυνη? Φέρε δὴ κατακλινῶ· σὺ δὲ τράπεζαν [F085?] φέρε / καὶ κύλικα κἀντραγεῖν [F085?] ἵν‘ ἥδιον πίω. / Θεραπαινα? ᾿Ιδοὺ κύλιξ σοι καὶ τράπεζα (?) καὶ φακοί. Μή μοι φακούς, μὰ τὸν Δί‘· οὐ γὰρ ἥδομαι. ‘Femme? Allez, je me couche: toi, apporte la table, un gobelet et à manger, afin que j’aie plus de plaisir à boire. Servante? Voilà, un gobelet pour toi, une table (?) et des lentilles. Femme? Peste de tes lentilles, non par Zeus, je n’en raffole pas.’

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partie de son corps (la main, la tête, la poitrine⁸), ou une boisson ou de la nourriture⁹, suivi du démonstratif à valeur présentative: ‘Tiens (ἰδού), la voici (τάδε)’; ‘Tiens (ἰδού), voici la nourriture (τάδε βοσκήματα)’. Le pronom τάδε ne serait pas le régime de ἰδού, à l’accusatif ou au nominatif, mais constituerait l’élément d’une phrase nominale¹⁰.

3 Expressions présentatives dans les comédies et tragédies du Vème siècle En grec classique, trois moyens sont utilisés pour présenter: le pronom démonstratif ὅδε, le verbe préverbé πάρειμι et une séquence particulaire.

3.1 Avec le démonstratif ὅδε et une phrase nominale Le pronom démonstratif grec recevant une valeur présentative dans les pièces de ème

théâtre du V siècle est ὅδε, le démonstratif proximal, mais il ne suffit pas à lui seul à exprimer cette valeur: il faut qu’il fonctionne en outre sans article et dans une phrase nominale¹¹ (alors que l’anglais ou l’espagnol recourent au verbe ‘être’ dans ce type de séquence présentative: par exemple, angl. This is my father, esp. Este is mi padre)¹². La conjonction des trois éléments, ὅδε, l’absence de l’article et la phrase nominale, permet de réaliser ce que le latin plautinien exprime avec eccum, eccam, etc., ou le latin classique avec hic, haec, hoc, etc., dans une même phrase nominale¹³. Le pronom grec comme celui du latin prend le genre et le nombre de l’objet qu’il représente, mais

8 Voir, par ex., Ar., Nub. 81–82, Στ. K‘υσον με καὶ τὴν χεῖρα δὸς τὴν δεξιάν./Φε. ᾿Ιδού. ‘St.– Embrasse– moi et donne–moi ta main droite. Ph.– Tiens.΄. 9 Voir, par ex., Ar., Pax. 1–2, ΟΙΚΕΤΗΣ Αʹ. Aἶρ΄ αἶρε μᾶζαν ὡς τάχος τῷ κανθάρῳ./ΟΙΚΕΤΗΣ Βʹ. ᾿Ιδού. ‘Premier serviteur.– Passe, passe au plus vite une galette pour l’escarbot. Second Serviteur.– Voilà.’ (trad. Coulon). 10 Nous nous demandons si l’énoncé suivant en moyen–égyptien ne pourrait pas présenter la même structure: mtn ht.i pw ‘Tiens, voici mes biens.’, avec le présentatif mtn pragmaticalisé et un démonstratif ˘ pw. 11 Voir Guiraud (1962, 131). 12 Le latin classique recourt aussi parfois au démonstratif proximal, dans une phrase nominale, tout en présentant une personne qui arrive sur la scène du monde: ainsi avec un accord de proximité, Virg., Aen. 6, 789–790, Hic Caesar et omnis Iuli / progenies magnum caeli uentura sub axem ‘Voici César et toute la descendance d’Iule destinée à venir sous l’immense voûte du ciel’. 13 On pourrait comparer la construction grecque avec celle de l’étrusque: F. 2031 (sur un tombeau), eca suθi Laθial Cilnia ‘Voici un tombeau. Cilnia née de Lathi’; Buffa 985 (inscription funèbre de Bieda, ème

–IV siècle), eca śuqi neaznas arnqal nes.[l]. . . ‘voici la tombe de Neazna, fils d’Arnq Nesl. . . ‘. Le sanskrit offre ponctuellement cette construction: RV 3, 38, 13, tadin nvasya vr.s.abhasya ‘Voilà l’œuvre du Taureau–Vache’.

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la séquence du grec apparaît toujours au cas du nominatif, alors que celle du latin archaïque est à l’accusatif, celle du latin classique au nominatif. ¯ Le grec ὅ–δε est, d’une certaine manière, proche du présentatif hittite kaš–ma ¯ ou aš–ma: ces formes sont toutes constituées d’un thème de démonstratif et d’une particule, respectivement –ma et δέ, qui remplit le même rôle que et ou sed en latin (cf. Julia, 2016, 92), c’est–à–dire qui réalise une rupture dans la continuité discursive. Mais, contrairement au hittite, où les deux formes sont totalement figées au nominatif masculin singulier, le pronom grec connaît une variation en genre et nombre.

3.1.1 Propriétés Précisons d’abord que le démonstratif ὅδε fait fonction en grec de présentatif mais il ne reçoit pas de lui toutes les propriétés: il reste compatible avec la négation (Soph., O. C. 1668, Aἵδ᾿ οὐχ ἑκάς ‘Elles ne sont pas loin’); et il n’est pas nécessairement en position initiale (Eur., Her. 49, ὁρῶ κήρυκα τόνδ’ Εὐρυσθέως ‘je vois le héraut d’Eurysthée que voici’).

3.1.2 Constructions présentatives ῞Οδε ou ἥδε ne peuvent pas être traduits par ‘ce, cette’ dans les phrases nominales suivantes, ni même par ‘c’est’. L’absence de l’article s’explique logiquement par la valeur présentative du pronom, qui ne détermine pas, n’identifie pas, mais invite l’interlocuteur à regarder un objet nouveau comme “montré du doigt”: Soph., O. C. 31–32, χὤ τί σοι λέγειν εὔκαιρόν ἐστιν, ἔννεφ᾿, ὡς ἀνὴρ ὅδε. ‘Et dis ce qu’il t’est opportun de dire, car voici l’homme.’

Comme en latin ou en français, cette présentation déictique du grec connaît plusieurs développements, qui l’éloignent de la présentation “pure”: 3.1.2.1 Avec un attribut Eur., Her. 553, ὅδ’ αὖ λόγος σοι τοῦ πρὶν εὐγενέστερος. ‘Voici un langage plus noble encore que le premier.’ (trad. Méridier)

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3.1.2.2 Avec une relative Eur., Cycl. 144–145, Σι. ᾿Εν σέλμασι νεώς ἐστιν, ἢ φέρεις σύ νιν; Οδ. ῞Οδ΄ ἁσκὸς, ὃς κεύθει νιν, ὡς ὁρᾷς, γέρον. ‘Si.– Est–il sur les bancs de ta nef ou l’as–tu sur toi? Ul.– Voici l’outre, qui le contient, comme tu vois, vieillard.’

C’est avec le présentatif “fléchi” que l’on observe cette construction en latin: Pl., Most. 560, Da. Sed Philolachetis seruom | eccum Tranium qui mihi neque fenus neque sortem argenti danunt. ‘L’Usurier.– Mais voici Trianon, l’esclave de Philolachès, qui à moi ne me donne ni intérêts ni capital.’

3.1.2.3 Avec un verbe de mouvement, à l’indicatif présent¹⁴ Le verbe de mouvement précisant l’arrivée d’un personnage est accompagné du démonstratif proximal dans les exemples suivants: Eur., Alc. 507–508, Χο. Kαὶ μὴν ὅδ’ αὐτὸς τῆσδε κοίρανος χθονὸς ῎Αδμητος ἔξω δωμάτων πορεύεται. ‘Co.– Et voici en personne le souverain de ce pays, Admète, hors du palais il porte ses pas.’ Eur. Alc. 136–137, ἀλλ’ ἥδ’ ὀπαδῶν ἐκ δόμων τις ἔρχεται / δακρυρροοῦσα· ‘Mais voici venir de la maison une des suivantes, tout en pleurs.’ (trad. Méridier)

La construction ἥδε. . . ἔρχεται est en tout point comparable à celle du latin de Plaute eccam. . . egreditur, à la différence près du cas, ou celle du latin classique ecce uenit: Plaut., Mil. 1215, Sed eccam ipsam egreditur foras. ‘Mais la voici en personne, elle sort de la maison.’ Ov., Met. 2, 635–636, ecce uenit rutilis umeros protecta capillis / filia Centauri quam. . . ‘Voici venir, avec sa chevelure rousse couvrant ses épaules, la fille du Centaure que (. . .). ‘

14 En allemand, la structure présentative recourt également à un verbe de mouvement, au présent, mais on trouve l’article au lieu d’un démonstratif: Schiller, Marie Stuart, III, 3, Paulet. Die Königin kommt!. En anglais, l’expression recourt à un verbe de mouvement associé à un déictique: Shakespeare, Songe d’une nuit d’été, II, 1, Here comes Oberon. Le bambara recourt, pour sa part, à un pronom personnel précédé d’un participe présent (selon l’ordre ordinaire des éléments): à nato fílε ‘le voici arrivant = le voici qui arrive.’. Le mandarin recourt au pronom personnel: wˇo–lái–le ‘je suis venu = me voici’.

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3.1.2.4 Avec tout autre verbe, dans une structure présentative «de narration» Le démonstratif sert également dans la présentation narrative: Soph., O. C. 1460–1461, Οι. Διὸς πτερωτὸς ἥδε μ᾿ αὐτίκ᾿ ἄξεται βροντὴ πρὸς ῞Αιδην· ‘Œ.– Voici que la foudre ailée de Zeus me conduira aussitôt aux enfers.’ Eur., El. 749, ἰδού, τάδ΄ οὐκ ἄσημα πνεύματ΄ αἴρεται. ‘Tiens, voici que l’air apporte des bruits distincts.’

On songe, comme précédemment, à la séquence présentative du latin qui a de même une valeur narrative, ecce autem, dans l’expression plautinienne courante Ecce autem perii! ‘Voici que je suis mort!’. En grec tardif, c’est un autre pronom qu’on rencontre très souvent dans cette structure présentative: il s’agit du démonstratif de la deuxième personne, οὗτος, comme pour mieux inclure encore l’interlocuteur et lui signifier sa participation dans la présentation réalisée: Luc., D. mort. 6, 1, Αιακος. Οὗτος μὲν ᾿Αγαμέμνων, οὗτος δὲ ᾿Αχιλλεύς, οὗτος δὲ ᾿Ιδομενεὺς πλησίον, οὗτος δὲ ᾿Οδυσσεύς, εἶτα Αἴας καὶ Διομήδης καὶ οἱ ἄριστοι τῶν ῾Ελλήνων. ‘Éaque.– Voici Agamemnon, voici Achille, voici Idoménée à côté, voici Ulysse, ensuite Ajax, Diomède et les meilleurs des Grecs’.

On trouve aussi, adjoint à ce démonstratif de la deuxième personne, le pronom personnel de la deuxième personne au datif, exactement comme avec un présentatif déictique (cf. § 4.1.): Luc., D. mort. 6, 3, Αιακος. Πρῶτος οὗτός σοι ὁ Πυθαγόρας ἐστί. ‘Éaque.– Le premier que voici (pour toi) est Pythagore.’

3.2 Avec un verbe préverbé, πάρειμι Quand il s’agit de présenter un objet ou une personne, le grec recourt assez souvent encore au préverbé πάρειμι, avec ou sans ὅδε, dans une séquence sémantiquement proche de celle du latin uenit ou de l’anglais Here I am (≈ πάρ–ει–μι ‘auprès de (toi) je suis, me voici’). Euripide, Le Cyclope 214–215, Κυ. ῎Αριστόν ἐστιν εὖ παρεσκευασμένον; Χο. Πάρεστιν. ‘Cy.– Le déjeuner est–il préparé comme il faut? Co.– Le voici.’

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Eur., Or. 1314, ἥδ’ ῾Ερμιόνη πάρεστι· ‘Voici Hermione.’

Cette structure existe également en latin: Virg., Buc. 10, 26, Pan deus Arcadiae uenit. . . ‘Voici Pan, le dieu de l’Arcadie (. . .). ‘

Quand πάρειμι est précédé de ἰδού, c’est bien le verbe qui porte la valeur présentative, ἰδού gardant sa valeur interjective habituelle de ‘voilà!’ (Ar., Pax. 1041, ᾿Ιδού, πάρειμι ‘Voilà, me voici’). On pourrait rapprocher cette structure du grec ancien à celle de ème

siècle Lo, here (. . .) am, is / (. . .) come(s), ou de la construction l’anglais du XVI hittite, dans lesquelles le présentatif pragmaticalisé a pour fonction d’attirer l’attention sur l’arrivée d’une personne: Douay–Rheims Bible, Num. 22, 38, Lo, here I am. ‘Tiens, me voici.’ (en regard du grec de la Septante, ᾿Ιδοὺ ἥκω πρὸς σέ, du latin de la Vulgate, ecce adsum et de l’anglais moderne de la World English Bible, Behold, I have come to you). KUB XLIV, 4 et KBo XIII, 241, Rs. 25, ¯ asma–war–at uwanzi ‘Tiens, ils viennent = les voici.’

Le dernier exemple grec de notre corpus cumule quatre possibilités de construction précédemment relevées, ἰδού + πάρειμι + ὅδε + attribut: Eur., I. A. 1120, ᾿Ιδού, πάρεστιν ἥδε πειθαρχοῦσά σοι· ‘Tiens, la voici, la voici qui t’obéit.’

4 ᾿Ιδού biblique ᾿Ιδού est de très haute fréquence dans la Bible, en corrélation avec son modèle hébraïque h

h¯en/hinn¯e ¹⁵, et reçoit le plus souvent un emploi narratif (‘voici que’) qui instaure un rapport d’interlocution fictive entre le narrateur et l’auditoire, comme si celui–

h

15 H¯en et hinn¯e servent le plus souvent à mettre en valeur ce qui suit et donc précèdent une prédication: ‘Voici, les cieux s’ouvrirent. . . ‘. Le présentatif n’alourdit pas l’information, il l’anime d’une valeur déictique la donnant d’une certaine manière à voir. Follingstad (1995, 3) souligne l’intérêt du présentatif si fréquent dans la Bible hébraïque: «The reader/hearer assumes that the presence of hinneh is relevant

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ci devenait un témoin direct des événements relatés. Si ἰδού ne servait donc pas de présentatif déictique en grec classique, comment a–t–il pu recevoir cet emploi dans le dialecte chrétien? L’exemple auquel on pense immédiatement est le célèbre ‘Voici l’homme’, séquence qui, dans les traductions ultérieures au texte grec, n’a pas toujours été rendue par un présentatif¹⁶.

4.1 ‘Voici l’homme’ L’énoncé ‘Voici l’homme’ se trouve dans la prise de parole de Ponce Pilate en présence du Christ, qu’il présente à la foule¹⁷, alors qu’il est question de le mettre ou pas à mort et que le gouverneur veut le sauver: Sept., Jean, 19, 4–5, καὶ ἐξῆλθεν πάλιν ἔξω ὁ Πιλᾶτος καὶ λέγει αὐτοῖς· ῎Ιδε ἄγω ὑμῖν αὐτὸν ἔξω, ἵνα γνῶτε οὐδεμίαν αἰτίαν εὑρίσκω ὅτι ἐν αὐτῷ. ἐξῆλθεν οὖν ὁ ᾿Ιησοῦς ἔξω, φορῶν τὸν ἀκάνθινον στέφανον καὶ τὸ πορφυροῦν ἱμάτιον. καὶ λέγει αὐτοῖς· ᾿Ιδοὺ (῎Ιδε) ὁ ἄνθρωπος. Vulg., Jean, 19, 4–5, exiit iterum Pilatus foras et dicit eis ecce adduco uobis eum foras ut cognoscatis quia in eo nullam causam inuenio. (Exiuit ergo Iesus portans coronam spineam, et purpureum uestimentum). Et dicit eis ecce homo ‘Pilate sortit de nouveau, et leur dit: Voilà, je vous l’amène dehors, afin que vous sachiez que je ne trouve en lui aucun crime. (Jésus sortit donc, portant la couronne d’épines et le manteau de pourpre). Et Pilate leur dit: Voici/Voilà l’homme.’

Quand Pilate prononce le premier ἴδε/ecce, Jésus n’est pas encore dans le champ de vision de la foule; il ne s’agit pas d’un présentatif déictique mais d’un présentatif servant comme particule énonciative¹⁸, inséré au début de la proposition prédicative (ἄγω. . .) et recevant la valeur consensuelle assez ordinaire pour un présentatif en emploi pragmaticalisé. Malgré ce consensus, la foule réclame encore plus fort la mise à mort de Jésus. Aussi Pilate emploie–t–il un second ἰδού (ἴδε)/ecce, un présentatif qui ne fonctionne plus comme particule énonciative mais qui est complété par un nom au

and that the additional processing effort he needs to make will be rewarded by his being able to better process additional contextual effects». 16 La Bible gotique est très intéressante sur ce point: la séquence est traduite à l’aide de deux sa (alors que le présentatif, sai, existe en langue et est bien attesté dans la Bible): sa ist sa manna ‘celui–ci est l’homme en question’; le premier sa est un démonstratif déictique ou un anaphorique, le second sa est un quasi–article. L’influence du modèle grec ou latin est tellement forte dans la culture moderne que certains éditeurs ont trouvé bon d’ajouter un entre crochets obliques dans leur édition. Ernst Bernhardt, dans son édition de 1875, n’ajoute pas le présentatif et il a raison: même si le Codex Argenteus est une copie, le manuscrit ne permet pas le doute: il indique saïstsamanna, avec deux points sur le i qui signifient la séparation de sa avec ist. 17 Il n’existe pas de variante de ecce homo dans les Vieilles Latines. 18 Cf. Rabatel (2001, 134).

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nominatif: ὁ ἄνθρωπος/homo; le présentatif reçoit alors une valeur événementielle, la même qu’offre une séquence telle que fr. voici/voilà la reine ou te voilà, qui confirme la présence réalisée et effective d’une personne: ἰδοὺ ὁ ἄνθρωπος/ecce homo ‘voilà l’homme’, autrement dit ‘l’homme est arrivé, il est là’.

4.2 Présentatif endophorique Un dernier argument de la valeur non déictique de ἰδοὺ ὁ ἄνθρωπος/ecce homo sera donné par l’absence d’occurrence de ecce comme présentatif déictique exophorique dans tout le reste de la Bible¹⁹. On trouve parfois une séquence ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ = ecce ego, mais qui est suivie d’un verbe à la première personne du singulier; il s’agit donc d’un ecce non pas déictique (‘me voici’), mais endophorique (‘voici que je’): Sept., Ex. 23, 20, Καὶ ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ ἀποστέλλω τὸν ἄγγελόν μου Vulg., Ex. 23, 20, Ecce ego mittam angelum meum ‘Voici que j’envoie mon ange.’

4.3 Présentatif déictique Alors que le latin de la Vulgate connaît une répartition entre ecce endophorique et e¯ n déictique, pour une raison qui nous échappe, le grec biblique recourt à ἰδού, ἴδε pour toute présentation, même déictique, alors qu’en grec classique c’était le démonstratif proximal ὅδε qui était usuel dans cette fonction présentative.

5 Anciennement présentatif? Même si ἰδού n’est pas attesté comme présentatif déictique dans la littérature classique conservée — alors qu’il fonctionne ainsi dans l’idiolecte chrétien —, il n’est pas exclu qu’il ait rempli ce rôle dans la langue parlée, classique et/ou tardive, ou dans un premier état de langue dont on n’a pas trace²⁰. Le changement d’accent de l’impératif ἰδοῦ, la combinaison avec un datif éthique et la concomitance assez fréquente avec un verbe de vision inviteraient à envisager un ἰδού initialement présentatif.

19 Nous verrons plus loin que cette restriction ne s’applique pas à ἰδού. 20 L’anglais lo a évolué maintenant parfois vers un présentatif déictique, après avoir rempli une valeur interjective chez Shakespeare.

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5.1 Avec un datif éthique ᾿Ιδού est parfois suivi du pronom de deuxième personne du singulier σοι (une seule fois du pluriel ὑμῖν²¹), au datif – de destination ou éthique –, selon une combinaison fréquente pour des formes initialement présentatives comme lat. ecce tibi, em tibi, a.–fr. es vos, etc. (cf. Julia, 2016, 205–207), ou angl. lo you/thee qui a la même valeur interjective que ἰδού σοι: Ar., Ach. 470 ᾿Απολεῖς μ’. ᾿Ιδού σοι. Φροῦδά μοι τὰ δράματα. ‘C’est ma mort que tu veux. Voilà (pour toi). C’en est fait de mes drames.’ Plat., Rsp. 440a, ᾿Ιδοὺ ὑμῖν, ἔφη, ὦ κακοδαίμονες, ἐμπλήσθητε τοῦ καλοῦ θεάματος. ‘Voilà (pour vous), dit–il, mauvais génies, emplissez–vous de ce beau spectacle!’ Shakespeare, Macbeth, V, 1, Lo you, here she comes! ‘Tiens (pour toi), la voici!’

5.2 Avec un verbe de vision Il arrive qu’un présentatif soit associé à un verbe de vision qui confirme la réussite de la vision (cf. Introduction). ᾿Ιδού est aussi parfois utilisé avec un verbe de vision à l’impératif, qu’il précède toujours²². Il n’est pas pleinement présentatif mais fonctionne comme une forme d’impératif grammaticalisée (tels ἄγε, φέρε, ἴθι ‘allons, allez!’), totalement désémantisée et permettant d’accentuer l’exhortation qui suit: Eur., H. f. 1131, Αμ. ᾿Ιδού, θέασαι τάδε τέκνων πεσήματα. ‘Am.– Tiens, regarde ici les cadavres de tes enfants.’

ème

21 On pourrait comparer la structure présentatif + datif pluriel de la 2 personne du grec ἰδοὺ ὑμῖν ¯ avec celle du hittite kaša–smas, le présentatif recevant la même valeur interjective que ἰδού: par ¯ ¯ exemple, KUB XIV 13 I 17–18, kaša–šmaš. . . aruwanun ‘voilà, je me suis prosterné devant vous’. Plus remarquable encore, en vieil–hittite déjà, le présentatif grammaticalisé avec le datif (éthique) du ème

ème

pronom de la 2 personne du singulier peut être suivi en outre du datif (de destination) de la 2 i personne du pluriel: KBo III 27, 13, kasatta–smas Mursilin pihhun ‘Voilà, je vous ai donné Mursili’. 22 On pourrait comparer cette séquence grecque avec celle du néo–égyptien: LES 46,15–16, hr mk ptr ˘ mntk ἰ.wp tw ds.k ‘mais voilà, regarde, c’est toi qui t’es jugé toi–même’ (voir Winand, 2004, 105); et avec D ¯ celle du hittite: KBo V 8 I 12–13, [nu–z]a kašma au u nir.gál–mu beli–ya mahhan piran huuiyanza ˘˘ ˘ ‘voilà, regarde comment le puissant dieu de l’Orage, mon seigneur, est mon allié’.

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Mais il est possible que cela tienne de la pragmatique plus que de la sémantique puisqu’en latin c’est em ‘tiens’ qui est associé à un verbe de vision; en néo–égyptien c’est aussi un verbe ‘voir’ mais en hittite c’est le pronom démonstratif: Pl., As. 840, Ar. Em, aspecta, rideo. ‘Ar.– Tiens, regarde, je ris.’

5.3 Dans l’interro–négative Comme fr. voilà dans les séquences ne voilà pas. . .?, ne voilà–t–il pas. . .?, ἰδού peut entrer dans un énoncé interro–négatif qui renforce la présentation (par ex., Zacharie 3, 2, οὐκ ἰδοὺ τοῦτο ὡς δαλὸς ἐξεσπασμένος ἐκ πυρός; ‘Ne voilà pas cela comme un tison retiré du feu?’).

5.4 Chronologie La littérature conservée offre des occurrences de ἰδού ‘voici’ en dehors de l’idiolecte ème chrétien seulement à partir du II siècle après J.–C., mais les exemples restent rares, ainsi dans des dialogues fictifs, pour les deux premiers exemples, et peut–être dans un dialogue historique et réel, pour le dernier exemple: Luc., D. mort. 20, 2, ᾿Αλλ’ ἰδοὺ ἡ πήρα μοι, ὦ ῾Ερμῆ, καὶ τὸ βάκτρον εἰς τὴν λίμνην ἀπερρίφθων. ‘Mais voici ma besace, Hermès, et mon bâton, qu’ils soient jetés dans le lac.’ Luc., D. mer. 12, 5, ἰδοὺ τὸ μειράκιον ὁ μοιχὸς ὃν ἐζηλοτύπεις. ‘Voici le jeune garçon, l’amant dont tu es jaloux.’ Diogène Laërce, Vies 5, 82, ἰδών ποτε νεανίσκον ἄσωτον, ‘ἰδού,’ ἔφη, ‘τετράγωνος ῾Ερμῆς ἔχων σύρμα, κοιλίαν, αἰδοῖον, πώγωνα.΄ ‘Apercevant un jour un jeune vaurien, ‘Voici, dit–il, un Hermès carré qui a une longue robe, un ventre, des parties viriles et de la barbe.”

Ce dernier exemple met explicitement en relation la vision, ἰδών, et la présentation, ἰδού. Le tableau suivant synthétisera les évolutions des différentes formes présentatives ou faisant fonction de présentatif que nous avons étudiées, avec les valeurs qu’elles acquièrent au fil des textes et des siècles.

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Grec classique

Grec tardif

Présentatif déictique ‘voici’

– Pas de présentatif? – ὅδε, démonstratif proximal faisant fonction de présentatif ‘que voici’

Présentatif pragmaticalisé ‘voilà!’

ἰδού (σοι)

– ἰδού – ὅδε, démonstratif proximal faisant fonction de présentatif – οὗτος, démonstratif de la deuxième personne faisant parfois fonction de présentatif ἰδού (σοι)

5.5 Conclusion Il est donc fort possible que le grec classique n’ait pas possédé de présentatif à part entière et ait recouru à une forme déictique. Le démonstratif proximal ὅδε, de manière attendue puisqu’il peut désigner un élément présent dans le champ de vision des locuteurs, a servi dans la présentation déictique exophorique. La redondance présentative souvent relevée entre le démonstratif proximal et un verbe de mouvement rapproche plus étroitement le démonstratif d’un présentatif (‘le voici qui arrive (ici)’), mais n’autorise pas à en faire un vrai présentatif: cette redondance est extérieure à la nature même des mots. Tout porte à croire néanmoins que, même si ἰδού n’a pas été usuel en grec classique pour la présentation déictique, il a assumé cette valeur au moins en grec tardif. Il n’est pas exclu qu’avant les textes ἰδού ait été un véritable présentatif mais nous n’en avons aucun témoignage. Il est également probable que l’emploi interjectif, dominant en grec classique et reposant sur un acquiescement de l’interlocuteur à un ordre formulé par le locuteur, ait donné naissance à l’emploi présentatif du grec tardif: répondre ἰδού ‘voilà, tiens’ quand on demande de prêter la main revient à dire: ‘la voici’. On peut proposer à l’appui de cette hypothèse l’exemple du latin em, initialement eme ‘prends, tiens’, devenu un présentatif à part entière dès le latin archaïque. Le grec ἰδού est d’ailleurs plus proche du lat. em que du lat. ecce, à la fois dans son emploi interjectif et dans la dénotation d’une présentation tactile et ce, de manière un peu paradoxale.

Bibliographie BDAG = Danker, F.W. 2000: Greek–English lexicon of the New Testament and other early Christian literature, 3ème éd. fondée sur W. Bauer, Griechisch–deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur, 6ème éd. par K. Aland et B. Aland, avec V. Reichmann, Chicago. Biraud, M. 2009: Les interjections du théâtre grec antique: étude sémantique et pragmatique, Louvain. ¯ and Focus Function with application to Tyap, «Journal of translation Follingstad, C. M. 1995: Hinneh and textlinguistics», 7/3, 1–24. Guiraud, Ch. 1962: La phrase nominale en grec d’Homère à Euripide, Paris.

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Julia, M. A. 2016: Analyse contrastive et comparative des présentatifs en latin, en grec et dans d’autres langues anciennes et modernes, Inédit d’HDR, EPHE IVème Section Muraoka, T. 1985: Emphatic Words and Structures in Biblical Hebrew, Jérusalem – Leiden. Muraoka, T. 2009: A Greek–English Lexicon of the Septuagint, Louvain. Petit, D. 2010a: On presentative particles in the Baltic languages. Particles and Connectives in Baltic, eds. N. Nau & N. Ostrowski, Vilnius, 151–170. Petit, D. 2010b: Old Lithuanian añskat, šìskat, tàskat and cognates, «Acta Linguistica Lithuanica» [Vilnius], 62–63, 11–25. Rabatel, A. 2001: Valeurs énonciative et représentative des ‘présentatifs’ c’est, il y a, voici/voilà: effet point de vue et argumentativité indirecte du récit, «Revue de Sémantique et Pragmatique», 9, 111–144. Winand, J. 2004: L’ironie dans Ounamon: les emplois de mk et de ptr, «Göttinger Miszellen», 200, 105–110.

Donna Shalev

Attenuated, modified, assent–seeking declaratives, interrogation and urbanitas in the Greek of Platonic dialogue Abstract: Declaratively formed sentences span a scale of meaning ranging from categorical and assertive statements, utterances with varying degrees of conduciveness to assent of addressee or interlocutor (as elaborated for Contemporary English e.g. by Quirk et al.), to questions. In this paper I examine language and other formal patterns in declaratively contoured sentences in Plato’s Gorgias and Republic in an attempt to single out features which may contribute to conduciveness to assent of such utterances in the prose Classical Greek dialogue style of Plato. A comment by the 6th c. exegete Olympiodorus on a passage (446a9) from the Gorgias where Socrates critiques the question status Polus attaches to an interrogative he performs, serves as a point of departure later taken up by Sicking (1997) for what he calls ἄρα utterances on a gliding scale. After some preliminary observations on elements which reflect the fluid scales of utterance meaning (discrepancies in punctuation in manuscripts and editions; in translations), the following will be discussed in some more detail: particles, adverbs and other expressions of attenuation (§4); response formulae (§5); tag questions (§6); and illocutionary parentheticals (§7). Combinations, distributions, and factors such as attenuators for urbanitas, modalizing force of που, and discrete viz. combined role of tag questions and IFIDS, are taken into account in an integration of these elements and their contribution towards expressing or assessing utterance meaning on a scale between questions and statements in Classical Greek philosophical dialogue.

1 To ask or to state? At Plato, Gorgias, 466a9, Polus asks Socrates about the reputation of rhetors: (1)

a. ΠΩΛ. ῏Αρ΄ οὖν δοκοῦσί σοι ὡς κόλακες ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι φαῦλοι νομίζεσθαι οἱ ἀγαθοὶ ῥήτορες; ΣΩ. ᾿Ερώτημα τοῦτ΄ ἐρωτᾷς ἢ λόγου τινὸς ἀρχὴν λέγεις; ΠΩΛ. ᾿Ερωτῶ ἔγωγε. ΣΩ. Οὐδὲ νομίζεσθαι ἔμοιγε δοκοῦσιν. ‘Polus: Do you think then that good rhetoricians are considered but poor creatures in the cities because they are flatterers? Socrates: Is that a question, or the beginning of a speech? Polus: It is a question I am asking. Socrates: In my opinion they are not considered at all.’ (Tr. Woodhead)

Plato’s Gorgias is not only a philosophical dialogue about rhetoric, or about sophists, it is also an arena where Socrates’ control of the floor is challenged by abrasive and

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-441

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thorny interlocutors. Passage (1a) comes at a point after Socrates has reversed roles, and agrees to be a respondent. Polus asks him a question constructed with the interrogative opener ἆρα. Unlike many adjacency pairs in many dialogues, Socrates doesn’t give a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, or even a μέση ἀπόκρισις· rather, he complains about the quality of Polus’ skills as a questioner, or perhaps is doing what he cannot resist, and tries to drive Polus into an aporetic corner. Hence, the side sequence ἐρώτημα τοῦτ΄ ἐρωτᾷς ἢ λόγου τινὸς ἀρχὴν λέγεις;: : ἐρωτῶ ἔγωγε. This side sequence, albeit worded with figurae etymologicae (ἐρώτημα . . . ἐρωτᾷς and λόγου . . . ἀρχὴν λέγεις), is far from merely playful, ornamental or innocuous. It belongs to a line of metareferences in the Gorgias, and in other dialogues, with concerns about the management of discourse, turn–taking, and communication (as collected e.g. by Dalfen, 1989). Among other concerns preoccupying Socrates in the Gorgias is the preference of βραχυλογία over μακρολογία, and another, the preference of give and take over long protracted discourses – even though Socrates himself performs in both modes. It is not certain how to take Socrates’ use of the term λόγος here, and it probably denotes long discourse (μακρολογία), continuous discourse (ῥῆσις) and also may connote utterance of declarative propositions.¹ It is no rarity for Plato to use one word, even a technical term, on several levels. What stands on somewhat firmer ground is the use of ἐρώτημα in Greek sources distinctly for “yes–no” questions – although in some grammatical and exegetical sources there are occurrences of ἐρώτημα used as a term illustrated by examples which are “wh” questions.² This may just suggest that it is an unmarked term for interrogatives. In any case, the technical, specific, limitative uses of many of these terms gelled after the time of Plato. On some level, then, in the side sequence in (1a) Plato has Socrates articulate the tension between interrogatives and declarative utterances on the formal level, or

1 As used, famously, in the term ἀποφαντικὸς λόγος in Arist.De interp.17a3–4 (i.e. ἐν ὧι τὸ ἀληθεύειν ἢ ψεύδεσθαι). Research for this paper is funded in part by ISF Grant 1379/14. 2 Arist.Rhet.19.1456b68ff and D.L. 9.53 refer to ἐρώτημα as an unmarked term for interrogative sentences or acts of questioning in lists without examples. Ammonius, in his prooimion to the De interp. (at 2.14ff Busse) refers to ἐρωτηματικὸς λόγος in his illustrated enumeration of types of λόγοι, with a “wh” question as his example, 2.9ff Busse: ἀλλὰ τοῦ λόγου πέντε ὄντων εἰδῶν, . . . καὶ τοῦ ἐρωτηματικοῦ ὡς τὸ τίς πόθεν εἷς ἀνδρῶν, . . . See the discussion on these passages in Shalev (2008, 254f, and 269 with n. 69). It seems that Ammonius’ grasp of ἐρωτηματικὸς λόγος as an unmarked term encompassing also “wh” questions is not an ad hoc reflection of the example in the prooimion given above (and discussed also in Schenkeveld, 1984). Compare, e.g., Ammonius’ use of a (derivative) “wh” question as an example in the body of his exegesis ad De interp.17a1ff (at 64.30–65.2 Busse): . . . καθάπερ . . . τὸν ἐρωτηματικόν . . . ὧν ἕκαστον αὐτοτελές ἐστι καὶ καθ‘ ἑαυτὸ σημαντικὸν ἀπηρτισμένης διανοίας καθάπερ γὰρ . . . καὶ τὸ “πότε ἦλθες;” . . . A more systematic investigation of the application of this term in Ammonius and other commentators of Aristotle needs to be carried out. For a discussion of the flexibility of the use of the term with special reference to [Longinus], see Rijksbaron (2003).

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– on the level of meaning – between utterances whose propositional value is more conducive of assent (“yes–no” questions) and those which state or conclude, without such an element conducive of a response, often reaffirming consent or comprehension of the premises. Stallbaum and Dodds do not comment much on this passage of the Gorgias, but perhaps Olympiodorus, albeit through the diachronic filter, can give us an idea of a 6th century AD grasp by a Greek of the nuances of 5th century BC Greek patterns and signs indicating propositional value. In (1b) Olympiodorus’ commentary ad locum clarifies for the reader by paraphrase – as often in this exegesis – the motivations, tactics, and aims of the interlocutor’s move. (1)

b. ῏Αρα οὖν δοκοῦσίν σοι [466 a 9]: ἰδοὺ ὁ Πῶλος συγκεχυμένως ἐρωτᾷ· εἶτα ὁ Σωκράτης, ἐπειδὴ οἶδεν ὅτι ὁ΄ ἄρα΄ συμπερασματικός ἐστι καὶ ἐρωτηματικός, ἀμφιβάλλει καὶ λέγει ὅτι ‘ἐρωτᾷς ἢ ἀρχὴν λόγου λέγεις;’ ‘Then [do] you think that (466a9): observe what a confused question Polus asks. Socrates realizes that ‘ara’ is either inferential or interrogative, and is in two minds, and says ‘Are you asking a question, or stating the first premise of an argument?’ (tr. Jackson–Lycos–Tarrant)

Olympiodorus avers that Polus has not performed well as questioner; the confusion, continues Olympiodorus, stems from ἄρα being construed as either inferential (συμπερασματικός) or interrogative (ἐρωτηματικός). By now, the other layers implicit in Plato’s passage are not a concern for Olympiodorus, only the propositional identity. Harold Tarrant notes rightly ad locum: ‘Olympiodorus fails to realize that inferences and interrogations would have sounded very different to an Athenian.’

2 Scales of utterance meaning in declarative and interrogative sentence types Our evidence for sonic patterns of interrogative vis–à–vis declarative propositions (inferential or otherwise) is very slim indeed, but we can try to recognize patterns and markers of utterances located on the scale from highly assertive statements to requests for assent (or refutations) contoured as “yes–no” questions – ἐρωτήματα. Sicking (1997, 167) has discussed the role of ἄρα in declaratives which he terms “ἄρα –utterances”: (1)

c. ‘ἄρα is, so to speak, on the lower side of a gliding scale that goes from veritable yes/no questions via various other question types . . . to those questions where the interlocutor is given to understand that he is supposed to have committed himself to confirming the suggestion offered to him. . . .

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ἄρα questions submit “for confirmation or denial a suggestion based on the preceding statement or form of assent”.’³ Indeed, when taking out of account intonation and punctuation,⁴ we are left with the wording itself. I focus in this paper on elements of the wording in and around declaratively formed utterances which shape, indicate, and modalize their propositional value approaching conduciveness to assent, and their holding a fact in question. After a brief presentation of attenuation markers such as που in (2), the extra–segmental elements such as response formulae (3) and metagrammatical, adsentential elements such as tag questions (such as ἦ γάρ;) and illocutionary parentheticals (such as εἰπέ μοι) will be illustrated in (4, 5, 6) and (7) below, respectively. Informative yes–no questions seeking assent or refutation are prototypically performed in Greek with the interrogative form, which is highly versatile, and also used, among other things, for expressing a range of emotional utterances and directives, as well as statements formatted as rhetorical questions, as mapped out for example in the introductory section of Mastronarde (1979). Interrogative forms are also used in response formulae, such as τί μήν; or πῶς γὰρ οὔ; etc., which may be classified as rhetorical questions.⁵ Beyond the reallocation of the speech act types such as statement, exclamation and command, there are utterances functioning as prompt questions, echo questions and tag questions configured as interrogative forms which play a particularly strong role in the dosage, segmentation and management of discourse – saliently so in dialogues. In this article the focus will be on the reallocation of declaratively contoured utterances which are modified to lower their assertivity and to raise their index of conduciveness to interlocutor’s assent. Such declaratives are marked, and possibly modalized, by a range of elements: under scrutiny here are attenuators as well as extra–segmental elements raising their conduciveness to interlocutor consent such as tag questions, or expressing the interlocutor’s level of consent such as responses. A possible differentia which may play a role in distinguishing and identifying the propositional value of interrogatively shaped utterances, “illocutionary parentheticals” such as εἰπέ μοι (1d), often accompanies pursuit of information or of assent. Likewise, certain response formulae are compatible with, and help distinguish specific utterance types: ἰδού for example is reserved for directives (but I have not found ἰδού with interrogatively formed directives), and ναί is overwhelmingly prevalent with so–called rhetorical questions, and with statements in declarative form.

3 Van Opphuijsen (1993, 116), where he quotes Phdo 58a1; 71d14; 76c1–4; 79b14; 100e5; 105d3, with a discussion in section 3.3.2 generally giving rhetorical questions (Phdo 68a7; 80d5) and other questions: 68b9; 68a7 and 80d5. 4 Sicking also observes the precarious and inconsistent or unreliable nature of punctuation in the editions. 5 Dubbed “telegraphic” rhetorical transform sentences by Mastronarde (1979, 8).

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Declarative forms are as versatile in function and propositional value as interrogative forms. In this paper I explore examples of declaratives functioning as utterances eliciting responses of confirmation (or information), in a range of patterns in which they appear in Platonic dialogue. In the Greek of Plato they seem to be compatible with a range of modalizing elements, but illocutionary parentheticals are probably not among them (see §7, end). I will not elaborate on the combinability of declaratives with potential optative, deontics, or future indicatives.⁶

3 Translatability of attenuative markers The obvious and prototypical markers of questions are interrogative openers, but even a declaratively formed sentence may be highly conducive of confirmation; this is in the nature of conversation at large, and also a salient feature in the Socratic dialogue as fashioned and stylized by Plato. In this text type, Socrates persistently seeks consent and explicit affirmation or declaration of comprehension from his interlocutors as he incrementally builds up⁷ his argument through premises which need to be reaffirmed stepwise. The type of response–formula (see §5 below) is one of a battery of markers which may help locate an utterance on the scale spanning from statement to question. This scalarity drew my attention most saliently when I was investigating the 10th century medieval Arabic translations of the handful of Stephanus pages of Platonic dialogue passages to have survived – all of them from the Republic,⁸ of which I only discuss two (1d, e).⁹

6 Pot. opt. + ποτε: Grg.510c4–5; otherwise a couple of uncertain passages. Deontic expressions consist of (1) verbal adj.: + που Rep.460b2 (:: ὀρθῶς) (see also n. 19 below), + ὡς ἔοικεν Grg.510a3 (::πάνυ γε), + tag Rep.373b1 (:: ναί); of (2) δεῖ: Grg.500a2–4 (:: πάνυ γε), + tag Grg.505b1–6 (:: φημί). For fut. ind. see n. 25 below. 7 –– or unravels towards aporia, sometimes navigating the conversation through alternating cycles of such build–up and unraveling. 8 Namely, Rep. 402–403 and 504–507. The Arabic texts were first published in Klein–Franke (1977) and in Reisman (2004) respectively. See also Shalev (forthcoming b) for a discussion of the wording and dialogue technique of the Arabic vis–à–vis the Greek. 9 Cf. also 403a7–9: ῾Ο δὲ ὀρθὸς ἔρως πέφυκε κοσμίου τε καὶ καλοῦ σωφρόνως τε καὶ μουσικῶς ἐρᾶν; ¯ suqrat ¯ : wa–l–‘išq allad¯ı yakunu ¯ ‘ala¯ l–istiqama ¯ ¯ innama¯ huwa lil– :: Καὶ μάλα, ἦ δ’ ὅς. qala wa–l–s.awab ¯ ¯ ˙ ya‘šaqu man ya‘šaquhu ‘išq sih.h.at ra’y wa–luzum ¯ li–tar¯iq al–mus ¯ ¯iqa.: ¯ h.ak¯im al–ˇgam¯il al–amr ida¯ kana ¯ ˙ ¯ agl ˙ uqun: ¯ ¯ a¯ f¯ı g˙ ayat ¯ : qala qawluka had al–h.usn. But is not the right love a sober and harmonious love ¯ of the orderly and the beautiful?: : It is indeed. 403a10–12: Οὐδὲν ἄρα προσοιστέον μανικὸν οὐδὲ συγγενὲς ἀκολασίας τῷ ὀρθῷ ἔρωτι; :: Οὐ ¯ suqrat ¯ : fa–laysa yanbag¯ ˙ ılana¯ idan an našuba ¯ προσοιστέον. Qala l–‘išq al–mustaq¯im bi–šay’in ¯ ˙ ¯ ˙ muˇganisin lil–gulma Ø Then nothing of madness, nothing akin to licence, must be allowed to come nigh the right love?: : No.

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An interrogatively formed question opening with ἆρα (1d) was translated in Arabic into a declarative form, only apparently resembling an indirect question. (1)

d. 508b9–11: ῏Αρ’ οὖν οὐ καὶ ὁ ἥλιος ὄψις μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν, αἴτιος δ’ ὢν αὐτῆς ὁρᾶται ὑπ’ αὐτῆς ταύτης;: : Οὕτως, ἦ δ’ ὅς. ¯ suqrat ¯ : fa–’hbirn¯ıl–an ¯ a–laysa l–šamsu ayd.an laysa huwa bas.aran qala ˙ ˘ wa–lakinnahu rubbam a¯ huwa sababu l–bas.ari fa–qad yabs.aruhu l– ¯ agl ˙ uqun: ¯ ¯ bas.aru.: : qala kadalika. ¯ ‘Is it not also true that the sun is not vision, yet as being the cause thereof is beheld by vision itself?: : That is so, he said.’

This ἆρα οὐ in Greek is translated by its Arabic pendant as a–laysa, but in addition, in the Arabic we have the literal equivalent of an εἰπέ μοι or what is sometimes referred to as an illocutionary parenthetical, which adds conduciveness mostly to interrogatives helping to identify them as information seeking (vs. rhetorical questions) – often co–occurring with illocutionary parentheticals.¹⁰ In (1e) Plato’s Greek has τόδε μοι εἰπέ, but in Arabic the interrogative opener ‘hal’, an Arabic pendant of ἆρα. (1)

e. 402e5–7: ἀλλὰ τόδε μοι εἰπέ· σωφροσύνῃ καὶ ἡδονῇ ὑπερβαλλούσῃ ἔστι τις κοινωνία; Καὶ πῶς; ἔφη, ἥ γε ἔκφρονα ποιεῖ οὐχ ἧττον ἢ λύπη; ᾿Αλλὰ τῇ ἄλλῃ ἀρετῇ; Οὐδαμῶς.

403b1–3: Οὐ προσοιστέον ἄρα αὕτη ἡ ἡδονή, οὐδὲ κοινωνητέον αὐτῆς ἐραστῇ τε καὶ παιδικοῖς ὀρθῶς ἐρῶσί τε καὶ ἐρωμένοις; :: Οὐ μέντοι μὰ Δί’, ἔφη, ὦ Σώκρατες, προσοιστέον. [continuation of a pre˙ ı lil–‘ašiq ¯ ¯ ida¯ kana ¯ daka ¯ ya‘šaqu ‘išqan vious turn at talk of Socrates]. . . wa–la¯ yanbag¯ wal–ma‘šuq ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ kullu wah ¯ . idin minhuma¯ amrahu bil–hal¯ıgˇ a mustaq¯iman wa–huwa ma‘šuqun ‘ala¯ l–istiqama an yašuba ¯ agl ˙ uqun: ¯ ˙ ı an yašub ¯ a¯ amrahuma¯ biha. ¯ ¯ mu‘t¯ıl–h.ayat ¯ ma¯ yanbag¯ wa–la¯ bil–qatam.: : qala la¯ billahi ˙ Then this kind of pleasure may not come nigh, nor many lovers orwhi beloved who rightly love and are loved have anything to do with it?: : No, by heaven, Socrates, he said, it must not come nigh them. 508b6–8: Οὐκοῦν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν ἣν ἔχει ἐκ τούτου ταμιευομένην ὥσπερ ἐπίρρυτον κέκτηται;: : Πάνυ ¯ suqrat ¯ : wal–quwwa llat¯ı lahu ayd.an innama¯ hiya bi–sabab had ¯ a¯ ‘ala¯ annaha¯ kal–h.adit ¯ a μὲν οὖν. qala ¯ ¯ ¯ agl ˙ uqun: ¯ ˙ h.aqqun yaq¯in. And it does not receive the power which it possesses as an influx, lahu. :: qala as it were, dispensed from the sun?: : Certainly. 508c4–8: ᾿Οφθαλμοί, ἦν δ‘ ἐγώ, οἶσθ‘ ὅτι, ὅταν μηκέτι ἐπ‘ ἐκεῖνά τις αὐτοὺς τρέπῃ ὧν ἂν τὰς χρόας τὸ ἡμερινὸν φῶς ἐπέχῃ, ἀλλὰ ὧν νυκτερινὰ φέγγη, ἀμβλυώττουσί τε καὶ ἐγγὺς φαίνονται τυφλῶν, ὥσπερ ¯ suqrat ¯ : fa–qultu lahu anta ta‘lamu an al–‘aynayn οὐκ ἐνούσης καθαρᾶς ὄψεως; :: Καὶ μάλα, ἔφη. qala ˙ ¯ a¯ kal–‘amyawayn, ¯ ¯ naqiyyun.: : qala ¯ . . . az.lamata¯ wa–sarat min tar¯iqin annahu laysa f¯iha¯ bas.arun s.afin ˙ ˙ uqun: ¯ agl illa¯ famah! . . . the eyes. . . their edge is blunted and they appear almost blind, as if pure vision did not appear in them?: Yes, indeed. 10 See e.g. Shalev (2001) for an array of illocutionary parentheticals in the dialogues of Plato and in Attic drama, and their use as illocutionary function identifying devices (IFIDs) for marking the interrogatively contoured utterances as information–seeking questions; see also Shalev (2002) for the use of ναί in responses to statements, rhetorical questions and other utterances vis–à–vis other response formulae corresponding with directives, information–seeking questions, and statements.

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¯ suqrat ¯ : hal bayna l–‘iffa wa–l–ladda l–mufrata šay’un min al– qala ¯¯ ˙ ¯ ˙ ¯ ˙ uqun: ¯ mušaraka?: : qala agl wa–kayfa nušrikuha¯ wa–l–ladda l–mufrata ¯¯ ¯ ta’ir ¯ al–‘aql mud.tariban wa–taf‘alu bihi min dalika ¯ ˙ taˇg‘alu l–insan ¯ ˙ ˙ ¯ ma¯ yaf‘aluhu l–h.uzn Ø amr laysa bidun ‘How could there be, he said, since such pleasure puts a man beside himself no less than pain?: : Or between it and virtue generally?: : By no means.::’ Passage (1e) clearly illustrates the fact that even when the source and the target language both have the parallel resources from the same grammatical “department”, they do not always choose them to translate from one to the other, and may have distinct constraints on compatibility conditioned by language type or other factors.

4 Που and friends To return to (1d), this declarative in Arabic translating the Greek interrogative also ¯ which is not in Plato’s Greek. included the attenuative adverb ‘maybe’, Arabic ‘rubbama’ This led me to investigate whether attenuative markers in Greek could also have this role – I found indications that που may act as a sentential modalizer, with the power to move declaratives closer to interrogatives on the utterance scale,¹¹ In a dépouillement from the Gorgias and the Republic, I found, respectively, 3 and 5 declarative utterances modified only with που,¹² and the example in (2a) illustrates that this indefinite adverb has a modalizing effect, further felt when one reads the responding pair part: (2)

a. Grg.460b8: ΣΩ. ῾Ο δὲ δίκαιος δίκαιά που πράττει. ΓΟΡ. Ναί. ‘And the just man, I suppose, does just acts?: : Yes.’

που, like other attenuative markers, is used to add nuances and mannerisms reflecting urbanitas; its use to round off quantities is discussed by Denniston, Lammermann,

11 Interestingly, with a view to additions and omissions in “literal” translations, I performed a spot check of Aristippus’ Latin translations of the Meno and the Phaedo, which yielded, respectively, 12 and 10 omissions of pendants for που in his Latin, and no omissions of pendants for ἴσως. A closer look at the Phaedo showed that a minority of instances of omission involved που as a modalizer for a declarative (in 92b10 it approximates a quantity, but the tag question in the Greek is translated; in 103e6, also with a translated tag question (and with a deontic expression, as well as a future and ἴσως in the parallel clause), it has no other role in the Greek; the remaining omissions involve interrogatively formed utterances); clearly more can be learned about the valeur of που through how it is resolved in such translations, sometimes with recourse not to pendants, but to other grammatical, structural and lexical means. Moerbeke’s Latin version of the Parmenides yields 2 omissions of pendants for που (and no omissions for ἴσως), but his translation technique follows a different modus operandi, among other things, in the area of articulation of those modal, focal, and discourse dimensions conveyed in Greek – and Latin – by particles. 12 Grg.460b8; 478d6–7; 478e1–2. Rep. 522b4; 537e4; 538c6; 564e6.

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and Sicking (1993) who also raises and sharpens our understanding of other effects of που sententially. In particular, Sicking ascribes its frequent use in Plato (vs. its virtual absence in the orators) to being an “interactive” particle rather than one of persuasion, and to the valeur of που as ‘leaving room for difference of opinion’ (1993, 59). The passages gleaned from these two dialogues are a first step (see also the interesting study of Republic by Verano, 2016) towards a fuller picture of the modalizing effect of που in the Platonic corpus. Other motivations for attenuation rule out which are responses and follow–ons, and which are more closely modalizing the verb. Examples with ὡς ἔοικε (2b) and ἴσως (2c) represent the sparse use of these two expressions in a modalizing capacity with otherwise “clean” declaratives, expressions which may be contrasted with the relative prevalence of που in statements, often concomitant with hedging of quantitative elements, and with responses mostly “apodeictic” or “affirmative” and not “problematic” – to use the terms rendered by Brandwood (1990) for the gradations proposed by Siebeck (1888). (2)

b. Grg.498b3:¹³ χαίρουσιν δ΄ οὖν καὶ οἱ δειλοί; ΚΑΛ. Σφόδρα γε. ΣΩ. Καὶ οἱ ἄφρονες, ὡς ἔοικεν. ΚΑΛ. Ναί. ‘At least cowards too feel pleasure?: : Most certainly.: : And fool too, it appears.: : Yes.’ c. Grg.504c1:¹⁴ ῾Υγίειαν καὶ ἰσχὺν ἴσως λέγεις.: : ΣΩ. ῎Εγωγε. ‘Health and strength, I suppose you mean.: : I do.’

ἴσως, by contrast, exhibits much less of a role as a modalizer bringing declaratives closer to interrogatives on the utterance scale. ἴσως seems to be occupied (see e.g. in 2c) by other tasks involving hypothetical statements. Nuchelmans has analyzed ἴσως in Tragedy according to constraints and criteria well worth pursuing: although he observes a surge in the use of ἴσως in Plato – and in the orators, for whom Sicking (1997, 59) reports rare use or που in the context of complementary distribution –, Nuchelmans’ corpus of Tragic authors does not attest ἴσως modalizing utterances contoured as declaratives along the scale approaching questions. Further study might help clarify under what constraints and syntactic conditions the different attenuative markers,¹⁵ or different levels of a marker, combine or distribute among themselves the roles of sentential and constituent modalization in different patterns such as hypotheticals and interrogatives, affirmative or negative expressions, or (as identified for ἴσως and τάχα in Plato by Ruiz Yamuza, 2014) with different temporal, modal, and aspectual settings. Nuchelmans (1976, 229f.) has found, e.g. that clause–level restrictions on ἴσως in Tragedy correspond to those on optative + ἄν. He has also uncovered (239ff), for his cor13 Rep.332a7 (:: ἄλλο μέντοι νὴ Δία). With neg.: Grg.474d1 (:: οὐ δῆτα), 478c5 (:: ἔστι ταῦτα). 14 Neg. Grg.500d4 (::οὐ δῆτα). 15 δήπου at Rep.340a1, or the combination που, ὡς ἔοικε at Rep.610e3. Further examples of attenuative markers may be found in passages with more elaborate combinations of tag questions and other devices.

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pus, the adsentential force of verse–final ἴσως performing attenuative repair, a special effect which is incompatible with potential optative; he argues (236) for combinability in counter–balance with assertive expressions;¹⁶ and identifies a “valeur affirmative” in a scale of potential optatives.¹⁷ These and other questions about restrictions, combinability, complementary distribution, and polar or modal force need to be pursued for που and other expressions and be included alongside an assessment of their attenuative effects in the dimensions of cultural urbanitas, pragmatic “face”, discursal “conduciveness” and stylistic or contextual hedging. One might ask, for example, to what degree που (or other attenuative markers) might be “partikelhaft”;¹⁸ or how are the different functions of attenuation viz. modalizing distributed among the different expressions and devices and their different layers of meaning and function.¹⁹ The question of modalization is of a different order but inextricable from the roles of these attenuative markers in the service of urbanitas, particularly in an author such as Plato,²⁰ where an array of devices for hedging and expressing doubt, compromised commitment, quantitative approximation, modesty, intellectual caution, pejorative indefinite and other nuances, have turned into a manneristic façon de parler. Lammermann has described this ἀστεισμός in its cultural context with cursory mention of the expressions and phraseology involved; an integrated systematic study of the formal

16 Pace Murray and Burnett, Nuchelmans (1976, 241) accepts ἴσως with καὶ δή at E.Hipp.1007, and adduces parallels for ἴσως counterbalanced with other assertive expressions such as with οἶδ‘ ἐγώ (S.OC.661–662) or with τοι and potential optative (S.Aj.962). Application of Nuchelman’s work on these counterbalances, and work by Sicking and Van Opphuijsen on ἄρα will enrich the study of counter– balance of assertive and attenuative markers in Plato, in a fuller corpus than the ones I have found, which consist of: (1) ἄρα, ὡς ἔοικε at Grg.450a3, 454e9 (:: ναί); at Grg.520d4–e1 (::ἔοικε γε), Rep.479d4 (:: anaphora). (2) δή, ὡς ἔοικε at Grg.470b6 (:: ναί). (3) γε δήπου at Grg.459b1–3 (:: δῆλον ὅτι) and γε που at Rep.596b1 (:: ναί). (4) ἄρα . . . τινα at Grg.502d5–9 (:: πάνυ γε). Among other things, particles such as 17 The following scheme proposed by Nuchelmans (1976, 234) sets a scale running from negative οὐκ + ἄν + optative at one end, to a neutral ἄν + optative, and to an affirmative ἴσως + ἄν + optative. A priori affirmative valeur of verse–final ἴσως affecting a preceding word is identified by Nuchelmans (242f.) in a pattern where it is a second term to a preceding negated term, often with transitional δέ in the second term. 18 Repeated ἄν was studied by Eduard Fraenkel and recently by David Goldstein, who refers to many other discussions. Nuchelmans (1976, 229f. and passim) discusses both clustering of ἴσως in close context, and the repetition within an utterance; I have found a possible analogue for the latter involving που in Pl.Rep.460b2. 19 As Nuchelmans posits the need to assess the “affirmative valeur” of τάχ΄ ἄν with optative along the lines that he has done with ἴσως, I think there is a need to assess the compatibility of που as a modalizer with what Ruiz Yamuza has shown in Plato (2014, 243ff.) to be “non–harmonic” (viz. harmonic) combinations. 20 An analogous integration of the role of ἄρα on the levels of logical connection, of managing consent and stepwise comprehension of premises, and of “face” (also beyond Plato) is applied in the analysis by Van Opphuijsen (1993) and forms an important model for further study of other particles, as well as grammatical, lexical and extra–segmental elements promoting conduciveness and which, through this and related valeurs, modalizes declaratives.

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aspects of hedging devices in Greek, of their functions and patterns, and their place within the Greek morphology, grammar and syntax, and which roles are allotted to which expressions, demands further exploratory work.

5 Response formulae Any study of modalization with που and of hedged declaratives, needs to take into account also the instances where there are no markers in the declarative, but if the declarative shows signs of being assent–seeking, and is on the scale of utterances that do “questions” – even at the end of the spectrum near assertions – it is not autonomous, and its analysis needs to include the response of the interlocutor (be he an other, the self, or, as in Plato, imagined in hypophora, and, as in Gorgias 506ff, refabricated). Just as a marker within the declarative, such as που, may be doing double duty as an ἀστεισμός, thus, the choice of response formula may be conditioned by the architecture of a dialogue passage at large, by variatio, by cycles of rising and ebbing aporia, and by other considerations on different levels. Some of these considerations are raised in Thesleff (1960; 1967). I also refer to Brandwood’s collection of 19th century work on stylometrics, where von Arnim, Dittenberger, and Siebeck focus specifically on response formulae, but mostly not in relation to the initiating moves. Siebeck does, however, give a sort of scale of response formulae ranging from those with the highest degree of certainty, so called “apodeictic” (including ἀναγκή and πῶς γὰρ οὔ;, as well as ‘πάνυ’ tout court!!), and “affirmative” (including ναί and anaphora), and expressing least certainty, “problematic” (ἔοικε, φαίνεται, κινδυνεύει, etc.), as they are termed in Brandwood’s English account. ναί can assent statements and is less frequent in response to utterances on the interrogative end of the scale; it does go quite well with “rhetorical questions” and has been at times a useful tool, in cumulation with others, for identifying this specific interrogatively formed utterance. ναί is quite rare with directives. In (3) I classify “bare” unattenuated statements conducive of assent, by (3a) those with ναί in the response, and (3b–d) with other formulae: ἐστι ταῦτα, πάνυ γε, and πῶς γὰρ οὔ;: –– all classifiable (in Siebeck’s taxonomy and terminology) as “apodeictic” or “affirmative”, but not “problematic”. (3)

a. Grg.478e2–4: ΣΩ. Οὗτος δ΄ ἦν ὁ νουθετούμενός τε καὶ ἐπιπληττόμενος καὶ δίκην διδούς. ΠΩΛ. Ναί. ‘And we found this was the man who is admonished and rebuked and punished.: : Yes.’

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b. Grg.464a8–b2:²¹ ΣΩ. Τὸ τοιοῦτον λέγω καὶ ἐν σώματι εἶναι καὶ ἐν ψυχῇ, ὃ ποιεῖ μὲν δοκεῖν εὖ ἔχειν τὸ σῶμα καὶ τὴν ψυχήν, ἔχει δὲ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον. ΓΟΡ. ῎Εστι ταῦτα ‘There exists, I maintain, both in body and in soul, a condition which creates an impression of good health in each case, although it is false.: : That is so.’ c. Grg.467d1–6:²² ΣΩ. Οὐκοῦν καὶ οἱ πλέοντές τε καὶ τὸν ἄλλον χρηματισμὸν χρηματιζόμενοι οὐ τοῦτό ἐστιν ὃ βούλονται, ὃ ποιοῦσιν ἑκάστοτε (τίς γὰρ βούλεται πλεῖν τε καὶ κινδυνεύειν καὶ πράγματ΄ ἔχειν·) ἀλλ΄ ἐκεῖνο οἶμαι οὗ ἕνεκα πλέουσιν, πλουτεῖν· πλούτου γὰρ ἕνεκα πλέουσιν. ΠΩΛ. Πάνυ γε. ‘So too with those who sail the seas and engage in money–making in general – they do not will what they do on each occasion. For who desires to sail and suffer dangers and troubles? But they will, in my opinion, that for the sake of which they sail, namely wealth, for it is for wealth’s sake that they sail.: : Certainly.’ d. Grg..478c1–3: ΣΩ. Μεγάλου γὰρ κακοῦ ἀπαλλάττεται, ὥστε λυσιτελεῖ ὑπομεῖναι τὴν ἀλγηδόνα καὶ ὑγιῆ εἶναι. ΠΩΛ. Πῶς γὰρ οὔ; ‘For the patient is freed from a great evil, so that it is profitable to submit to the pain and recover health.: : Of course.’ I include response formulae in my examples throughout this discussion: they may extend beyond the declarative segment, but are not autonomous of a declarative which is suspect of bearing a conducive propositional value, and an important analytical tool, which, if applied also in analyses of the passages adduced in Nuchelmans and Ruiz Yamuza, for example, may offer some added perspective.

6 Tag questions Plato’s dialogues are particularly rich in so called “tag questions”, critical symptoms of what Quirk et al. dub “conduciveness”. The description by Quirk et al., albeit of Modern English, and based on fabricated examples as well as analyses of acoustic patterns of intonation, rather than textual attestations – takes into account issues of polarity, and importantly, treats the tag–question as an element raising the conduciveness of assent.²³ They also make the distinction between routine tags and other

21 Cf. with this response, also Grg.507b3–4, a follow–on pair, where the initiating turn includes a deontic element, ἀνάγκη. For a list of declaratives with deontic expressions, see n. 6 above. 22 Cf. Grg.507a6–7, a follow–on pair. 23 11.8: «Tag question is a y/n type conveying positive/negative orientation and maximum conduciveness. It asserts something then invites listener’s response.»

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expressions which create the same effect of conduciveness. In (4) below I set apart non–formulaically and explicitly worded tags. Moving away from “neutral” or “bare” declaratives on the propositional scale, there is less frequency of ναί for assent: the basic pattern ἦ γάρ;: : ναί – exemplified in (4a) – is only 3 times found in the Gorgias:²⁴ (4)

a. Grg.499a1–3: εἶναι τὰ καλὰ λέγειν τε καὶ ἐπισκοπεῖσθαι. ἀγαθὸν μὲν εἶναι τὸν φρόνιμον καὶ ἀνδρεῖόν φαμεν. ἦ γάρ; ΚΑΛ. Ναί. ‘We say that the wise and the brave man is good, do we not?: : Yes.’

The variety with other responses and other tag formulae is much richer, ranging from the less categorical δοκεῖ μοι in (4b), responding to a statement couched in the less assertive future ἄπεισιν,²⁵ through the pairs φῂς ἢ οὔ; :: ἔστω (4c), σὺ δὲ τί φῄς; οὐχ οὕτως;: : ναί (4d), and . οὐχ οὕτως ἔχεi;: : πάνυ γε (4e). In each particular passage many factors and contextual layers are at play:²⁶ (4)

b. Rep.370e11–371a2: Καὶ μὴν κενὸς ἂν ἴῃ ὁ διάκονος, μηδὲν ἄγων ὧν ἐκεῖνοι δέονται παρ’ ὧν ἂν κομίζωνται ὧν ἂν αὐτοῖς χρεία, κενὸς ἄπεισιν. ἦ γάρ;: : Δοκεῖ μοι. ‘And again, if our servitor goes forth empty–handed, not taking with him any of the things needed by those from whom they procure what they themselves require, he will come back with empty hands, will he not?: : I think so.’ c. Grg.504d1–4: {ΣΩ.} Ταῖς δέ γε τῆς ψυχῆς τάξεσι καὶ κοσμήσεσιν νόμιμόν τε καὶ νόμος, ὅθεν καὶ νόμιμοι γίγνονται καὶ κόσμιοι· ταῦτα δ΄ ἔστιν δικαιοσύνη τε καὶ σωφροσύνη. φῂς ἢ οὔ; ΚΑΛ. ῎Εστω. ‘And the words lawfulness and law are applied to all order and regularity of the soul, whence men become orderly and law–abiding, and this means justice and temperance. Yes or no?: : So be it.’ d. Grg.516c3–5: ΣΩ. Οὐκοῦν οἵ γε δίκαιοι ἥμεροι, ὡς ἔφη ῞Ομηρος· σὺ δὲ τί φῄς; οὐχ οὕτως; ΚΑΛ. Ναί ‘Now just men are gentle according to Homer. But what do you say? Is is not so?: : Yes.’

24 Cf. Grg.449d3 and 460e3–5. 25 A “clean” future (pf.) with no other markers: Grg.510d10–e3 (:: πάνυ γε); with που Rep.425e3 (:: ναί + sentence with γέ); Rep.601d10 (:: πῶς δ‘ οὔ;); with που and οἶμαι Rep.461b10 (:: demonstrative, γέ); with ὡς ἔοικε Rep.335a5 (:: ναί), with tag question: Rep.352a9, Grg.454a4, 510c7–d3 (:: ναί), Rep.373c7 (::πῶς γὰρ οὔ;), f.pf. Grg.467a2–7 (:: ἔγωγε), Grg.504d5–e5 (anaphora), Grg.510e15 (:: φαίνεται). 26 Grg.475a8–b2: . ἢ οὐκ ἀνάγκη·: : ναί. Grg.496d1:. ἢ οὐχί·: : φημί. Grg.506d5–8: · ἆρα ἔστιν ταῦτα; – ἐγὼ μὲν γάρ φημι. Grg.468b1–4: · ἢ οὔ;: :. ναί. Grg.459b1:. Οὐκ . . . · ἦ γάρ;: : ναί.; Grg.515d5: ἐποίει ἢ οὔ;: : ναί.

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e. Grg.520b4–c1: μόνοις δ΄ ἔγωγε καὶ ᾤμην τοῖς δημηγόροις τε καὶ σοφισταῖς οὐκ ἐγχωρεῖν μέμφεσθαι τούτῳ τῷ πράγματι ὃ αὐτοὶ παιδεύουσιν, ὡς πονηρόν ἐστιν εἰς σφᾶς, ἢ τῷ αὐτῷ λόγῳ τούτῳ ἅμα καὶ ἑαυτῶν κατηγορεῖν ὅτι οὐδὲν ὠφελήκασιν οὕς φασιν ὠφελεῖν. οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει; {ΚΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε. ‘But I always thought myself that political orators and Sophists alone were not entitled to find fault with what received their training for wicked behavior toward them; otherwise the very words they utter are at the same time a condemnation of themselves for having done no good to those whom they claim to benefit. Is it not so? :: Certainly.’ Aside from (4d, e), other passages with tagged statements involved negatives of the statement or of the tag.²⁷ The role of the negative in transform questions (as rhetorical questions are dubbed by Mastronarde) and in the declaratives we are looking at is an important role, and worth separate investigation.²⁸ Passage (5a) features a tag formula ἦ γάρ; with an explicitly worded invitation for assent added ἀληθῆ σοι δοκῶ λέγειν, ὦ Πῶλε, ἢ οὔ;. To this is slapped on a third interrogative: τί οὐκ ἀποκρίνῃ;, which drives home the aporetic context. (5)

a. Grg.468c2–9: ΣΩ. Οὐκ ἄρα σφάττειν βουλόμεθα οὐδ΄ ἐκβάλλειν ἐκ τῶν πόλεων οὐδὲ χρήματα ἀφαιρεῖσθαι ἁπλῶς οὕτως, ἀλλ΄ ἐὰν μὲν ὠφέλιμα ᾖ ταῦτα, βουλόμεθα πράττειν αὐτά, βλαβερὰ δὲ ὄντα οὐ βουλόμεθα. τὰ γὰρ ἀγαθὰ βουλόμεθα, ὡς φῂς σύ, τὰ δὲ μήτε ἀγαθὰ μήτε κακὰ οὐ βουλόμεθα, οὐδὲ τὰ κακά. ἦ γάρ· ἀληθῆ σοι δοκῶ λέγειν, ὦ Πῶλε, ἢ οὔ; τί οὐκ ἀποκρίνῃ; ΠΩΛ. ᾿Αληθῆ. ‘Then when we slaughter or banish from the city or deprive of property, we do not thus simply will these acts. But if they are advantageous to us, we will them; if hamful, we do not. For as you say, we will the good, not what is neither good nor evil, nor what is evil. Do you think my statement is true or not, Polus? Why do you not answer?: : It is true.’

Through a sequence of unrelenting interrogatives (beginning with a conventionalized tag question, followed by a spelled–out articulation with a similar function, and, finally, a stepping out of the illocutionary task of eliciting confirmation and instead verbalizing

27 Neg. statement + pos. tag, Grg.516e6–8: ἢ δοκεῖ σοι;: : οὐκ ἔμοιγε. Neg. statement + neg. tag, Grg.505a5: . ἢ οὐχ οὕτως; :: vαί, in both instances the responses (of Kallikles) amounting to confirmations of the propositions of Socrates. 28 As do those in combinations of tags (I have not specified their forms, but have occasionally supplied response formulae) with other markers: with που: Rep.371a10–13, 582d11 (:: vαί); Grg.479a5 (::ἔμοιγε); with δήπου: Grg.462a5–7; with ἴσως . . . ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι: Rep.333c1; with τις . . . τυγχάνει ὄν . . . δήπου: Grg.468d1–5; with deontic expressions Rep.373b1, Grg.480a1; with futures, see n. 25 above. More complex combinations which need further classification: Grg.514a1–4; Rep.332a1, 371a10, 371e1–6, 373d4; Grg.451d4, 499c6, 504a3, 510d4–9, 514c5–d2, 513d7–e1, 520d4–8.

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– and promoting – Polus’ aporia), passage (5a) in fact encapsulates, piccolo modo, an entire aporetic scenario, inexorably comparable to the famous parallel in the Apology where Socrates brings to the dock a drawn–out dramatization of Meletos’ aporia: (5)

b. Apol.24d5f: . . . τὸν δὲ δὴ βελτίους ποιοῦντα ἴθι εἰπὲ καὶ μήνυσον αὐτοῖς τίς ἐστιν. –῾Ορᾷς, ὦ Μέλητε, ὅτι σιγᾷς καὶ οὐκ ἔχεις εἰπεῖν; καίτοι οὐκ αἰσχρόν σοι δοκεῖ εἶναι καὶ ἱκανὸν τεκμήριον οὗ δὴ ἐγὼ λέγω, ὅτι σοι οὐδὲν μεμέληκεν;, . . . . . . Speak up and inform them who it is that has a good influence upon the young. . . . You see, Meletus, that you are tongue–tied and cannot answer. Do you not feel that this is discreditable, and a sufficient proof in itself of what I said, that you have no interest in the subject? . . .

In the surrounding text at large,²⁹ εἰπέ μοι, ἀποκρίνου and similar illocutionary parentheticals are repeatedly used,³⁰ but in (5b) the dynamic is not of the type involving the gentle conduciveness of attenuated statements or even of more persistent effects of tag questions. The barrage of questions in (5a) from the Gorgias may be considered an outfield, non–formulaic application of tagging, but still on the map. Passage (6a), for its part, is truly borderline, at the edges for other reasons: rather than a declarative form, the tag δοκεῖ ἢ οὔ; comes after an interrogative rather than a declarative form; but closer reading indicates that the interrogative is a rhetorical question with statement value, and thus this tag, although at the edge, does perform its task of eliciting a confirmation for a proposition, investing it with a conducive edge, although in this instance Kallikles’ consent is not wholeheartedly expressed: (6)

a. Grg.516a8–b4: ἢ οὐ δοκεῖ σοι κακὸς εἶναι ἐπιμελητὴς ὁστισοῦν ὁτουοῦν ζῴου, ὃς ἂν παραλαβὼν ἡμερώτερα ἀποδείξῃ ἀγριώτερα ἢ παρέλαβε; δοκεῖ ἢ οὔ; {ΚΑΛ.} Πάνυ γε, ἵνα σοι χαρίσωμαι ‘Or do you not consider any man a poor trainer of any animal whatever, if they are tame when he takes them over, but he makes them wilder than when he assumed charge? Do you agree or not?: : Certainly, to please you.’

It is unclear whether the question in (6b) is a tag, or a true question not uttered merely to modalize the previous statement with its conducive force: (6)

b. Grg.513d1–6: ἀναμνήσθητι δ΄ οὖν ὅτι δύ΄ ἔφαμεν εἶναι τὰς παρασκευὰς ἐπὶ τὸ ἕκαστον θεραπεύειν, καὶ σῶμα καὶ ψυχήν, μίαν μὲν πρὸς ἡδονὴν ὁμιλεῖν, τὴν ἑτέραν δὲ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον, μὴ καταχαριζόμενον ἀλλὰ διαμαχόμενον. οὐ ταῦτα ἦν ἃ τότε ὡριζόμεθα; ΚΑΛ. Πάνυ γε.

29 For a recent discussion of this passage, see Smith (1995); and in the specific context of the cornering of an adversary in forensic cross–examination (ἐρώτησις as set out e.g. in Arist.Rhet.iii.18 and elsewhere in the theoretical sources), see Shalev (forthcoming a). 30 For details see Shalev (2015, n. 52).

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‘Remember at least that we said there were two processes that aim in each case at tending body and soul, one that makes pleasure the end of its association, the other, what is best, this latter not indulging in pleasure but battling against it. Are not these the distinctions we made at the time?: : Certainly.’ All the same, the question being asked is in fact a rhetorical question inviting agreement, and the pair are a form of maintenance of the consent between interlocutors and reaffirmation of the acceptance of the argument so far, a move periodically reoccurring in Socratic dialogues, and reaffirmed through a variety of means, including formulaic phrases, particles, and ad hoc questions as in the example above.

7 Illocutionary parentheticals In (7a) I bring one formulaic “illocutionary parenthetical”, accompanying a statement which includes που, and in (7b) one looser phrasing which has a similar effect of conduciveness, of explicitly inviting the interlocutor to treat the following utterance as assent–worthy. (7)

a. Grg.473a4: σκόπει δὲ καὶ σύ. εἶπον ἐγώ που ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν τὸ ἀδικεῖν τοῦ ἀδικεῖσθαι κάκιον εἶναι.: : ΠΩΛ. Πάνυ γε. ‘Just consider for yourself. I said a short while ago that it was worse to do than to suffer wrong.: : Certainly.’ b. Grg.476d2–4: ΣΩ. Συλλήβδην δὴ ὅρα εἰ ὁμολογεῖς, ὃ ἄρτι ἔλεγον, περὶ πάντων, οἷον ἂν ποιῇ τὸ ποιοῦν, τοιοῦτον τὸ πάσχον πάσχειν. ΠΩΛ. ᾿Αλλ΄ ὁμολογῶ. ‘Then consider whether you agree to what I said just now as a general rule in every case, namely, that the quality of the patient’s experience corresponds to that of the agent’s action.: : I agree.’

I have in (1c) above already spoken about how this device is found also in medieval Arabic translations of Platonic dialogue passages, and in particular how interrogatory openers and illocutionary parentheticals are interchangeable in translation. The corpus however is tiny for translated texts of this text type and author. It is also necessary to see what the prevalence of such expressions is in non–translated texts in Arabic.³¹

31 Some preliminary results of an investigation into debate scenes in prose belles lettres (“adab” literature) as well as catechistic study aids of technical and medical subjects suggests a formulaic, perhaps even mechanized use in quick repartees in an examination setting on the one hand, and on the other a device for overplaying routine and ritual to enhance suspense in fictionalized highly dramatized debates. What is clear is that this is a device independently evolved and conventionalized in distinctly characteristic genres.

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Being interchangeable with interrogative openers such as ἆρα, and the fact that both languages have both devices, suggests that since they are not always used one–to–one, additional contextual and syntactic constraints are at play. The rare use of the parenthetical illocutionary force identifiying devices (IFIDs) with declarative–formed utterances, and their lack of compatibility with tag questions,³² suggesting that the kind of conduciveness which is sought after by hedged declaratives is different from the conduciveness sought after by interrogatively formed utterances; furthermore, tag questions such as ἦ γάρ; et sim., and IFIDs such as σκόπει or ἀπόκριναι et sim., are markers of a different essence, and reallocated declaratives are of a different order than interrogatively–formed questions. Socratic dialogue, with its penchant for interlocutor feedback which is conveyed in nuanced detail in the Platonic oeuvre, and the high frequency and wide variety of expressions of urbanitas, is a corpus in which one may see how the valeur and compatibility of some attenuative markers more than others, in combination with tag questions and response formulae but not other meta–segmental elements, and in a concerted effort with some grammatical and syntactic elements but not others, all have the power not only to put declaratively–formed statements into doubt, but also have the power to make them more conducive of affirmation and confirmation, to reallocate them on the utterance scale and ultimately to modalize them to the status of questions.

Bibliography Brandwood, L. 1990: Studies in the chronology of Plato, Cambridge. Busse, A. (ed.) 1897: Ammonius in Aristotelis de interpretatione commentarius [CAG IV.5], Berlin. Dalfen, J. 1989: Platonische Intermezzi – Diskurse über Kommunikation, «Grazer Beiträge», 16, 71– 123. Fraenkel, E., 1964: Kolon und Satz, II: Beobachtungen zur Gliederung des antiken Satzes, in Kleine Beiträge zur klassischen Philologie, vol. 1., Rome, 93–130. [Originally published in «Nachrichten der Göttinger Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, Phil.– hist. Klasse», 1933, 319– 54.] Goldstein, D. 2013: Iterated modal marking and polarity focus in Ancient Greek, «Transactions of the Philological Society», 111/3, 354–378. Jackson, R., Lycos, K. & Tarrant, H. 1998: Olympiodorus Commentary on Plato’s Gorgias, translated, annotated with introduction by H. Tarrant. Leiden. ¯ ibn Baht¯ıšu‘, ¯ Über die Heilung der Krankheiten der Seele und des Klein Franke, F. 1977: Abu¯ Sa‘id ˘ Körpers, Beirut. Lammermann, K. 1935: Von der attischen Urbanität und ihrer Auswirkung in der Sprache, Inaug.–diss., Göttingen. Mastronarde, D. 1979: Contact and discontinuity, Berkeley – Los Angeles.

32 I found only 2, at Grg.450c6 and 510b2–6, with ναί and ἔμοιγε respectively, in response.

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Nuchelmans, J. 1976: Quelques observations sur l’emploi de l’adverbe de modalité ἴσως dans la tragédie grecque, in Miscellanea Tragica in honorem J.C. Kamerbeek, eds. J. M. Bremer, S. L. Radt & C. J. Ruijgh, Amsterdam, 225–247. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. & Svartvik, J. 1985: A Comprehensive grammar of the English language, London. Reisman, D. 2004: Plato’s Republic in a newly discovered passage, «Arabic Sciences and Philosophy», 14, 263–300. ¯ esis ¯ Rijksbaron, A. 2003: A question of questions: peusis, erot and [Longinus] περὶ ὕψους 18.1, «Mnemosyne», 56/6, 733–373. Ruiz Yamuza, E. 2002: Objective and subjective modality satellites in ancient Greek: τάχα and ἴσως, «Glotta», 75, 237–248. Schenkeveld, D. M. 1984: Studies in the history of ancient linguistics: II, Stoic and Peripatetic kinds of speech act and the distinction of grammatical moods, «Mnemosyne», 37/3–4, 291–343. Shalev, D. 2001: Illocutionary clauses accompanying questions in Greek drama and Platonic dialogue, «Mnemosyne», 54/5, 531–561. Shalev, D. 2003: Yes (and no) in ancient literary Greek, in Dialogue Analysis 2000, eds. M. Bondi & S. Stati, Tübingen, 351–360. Shalev, D. 2008: Speech act theory, and ancient sources for the division of λὀγος, «Papers on Grammar», 10, 243–275. Shalev, D. 2015: Socrates playing with Meletus: the pedigree, birth, and afterlife of a chreia, «Journal of Latin Linguistics», 14/1, 127–153 Shalev, D. (forthcoming a): How to do persuasive things with (ipsissima) verba: direct speech examples in the chapter on ἐρώτησις in Aristotle Rhetoric and its medieval Arabic translation. Shalev, D. (forthcoming b): Linguistic features in medieval (and other) Arabic translations of Plato: dialogue technique and abstraction Sicking, C. M. 1993: Devices for text articulation in Lysias I and XII, in Two Studies in Attic Particle Usage, Lysias and Plato, eds. C. M. J. Sicking & J. M. Van Ophuijsen, Leiden, 3–66. Sicking, C. M. 1997: Particles in questions in Plato, in New approaches to Greek particles, ed. A. Rijksbaron, Amsterdam, 157–174. Siebeck, H. 1888: Untersuchungen zur Philosophie der Griechen, Halle. Smith, L. R. 1995: The Interrogation of Meletus: Apology 24c4–28a1, «Classical Quarterly», 45/2, 372–388. Thesleff, H. 1960: Yes and no in Plautus and Terence, Helsinki. Thesleff, H. 1967: Studies in the styles of Plato, Helsinki. Van Ophuijsen, J. M. 1993: ΟΥΝ, ΑΡΑ, ΔΗ, ΤΟΙΝΥΝ: The linguistic articulation of arguments in Plato’s Phaedo, in Two Studies in Attic Particle Usage, Lysias and Plato, eds. C. M. J. Sicking & J. M. van Ophuijsen, Leiden, 71–164. Verano Llaño, R. 2016: El comentario metadiscursivo en griego antiguo: aproximación desde la lengua de Platon, Revista Española de Lingüística 46/1, 123–142.

Marina Solís de Ovando

Focus in performance: some focusing expressions in anagnorisis scenes from Attic tragedy Abstract: The objective of this paper is the analysis of some focus markers and their syntactic function in recognition (anagnorisis) scenes from Ancient Greek tragedy. These are devices that can be used to highlight specific segments from a speech act. By the observation and analysis of several examples, this paper will make an attempt at describing how these markers work in the building up of the dramatic force of the scene and how they contribute to the structure of these scenes. As long as the focus can be understood as an informative or a contrastive element of the discourse, this perspective is also a reasonable way of studying the communication development with the audience.

1 Introduction Our research deals mainly with finding the narrative real structure of the recognition scene, i.e. anagnorisis¹. We think that searching for the ways that the poet uses to express the focus in his text can work as a good perspective for understanding this structure, the linguistic background that makes these scenes such an important piece of the great and complicated construction that a tragedy intends to be. In order to look for a description as exhaustive as possible, this paper tries to pay attention to all the expressions and procedures that can be understood as focusing markers (especially markers, adverbs, and other kind of invariable forms).

2 Focus, communication and dramatic texts We would like to start by giving some general definitions, with the ulterior intention of making clearer the specific details of the most important concepts that we are about to deal with. For starters, what are we exactly defining as “focus”? There is no unanimity about this point. The concept is complicated and not every definition goes in the same direction. However, we will use the word ‘focus’ to define the linguistic segment that

1 This article was written with the financial support of the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness (Research Project FFI2012–36944–C03–01.).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-459

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is highlighted and brought to the foreground by the speaker in his or her speech act (Crespo, 2015a, 139). The speaker chooses some concrete part of the complete set of the message information and points it out as the emphatic nuclear member, that is, the focus. The importance of the piece that works in the focus function is explained by Dik (2007, 32) who specifies that actually the focus is «the reason why that clause came to be formulated in the first place». Elements marked as focus in the whole message are brought to the foreground, but at the same time are contrasted to one or more alternatives. These alternatives can be explicit or implicit (Crespo, 2015a, 216). This means that the information provided by the focal element can be understood as a new information or as a contrastive information, opposite to what the hearer was waiting for. There are many different ways (semantic, syntactic, pragmatic) to mark informative and contrastive focus in Ancient Greek: personal pronouns in nominative case, initial position into the discursive unit, use of the focus adverbs and particles, and also the oaths and direct appeals². This kind of analysis becomes particularly interesting when we are confronting theatrical texts. To begin with, these are examples of dialogic style, which necessarily means that there is certain level of spontaneity and some search for similarity to the ‘real ways of conversation’. Of course we are not dealing with totally realistic examples (especially because we can’t forget this is poetry). But the textual type is always looking for the plausibility or authenticity, since the spectator must feel some identification with the events that take place over the stage³. So we also need to remember that, in theatre, a speech act has more than one receptor. Every communicative element multiplies itself in this textual type. Every message we can read in a dialogue between two characters in the dramatic plot, is a dialogue with the other character – the direct addresee or receptor – and the audience, further but also real, deeper receptor. The communication exists with both of them.

3 Anagnorisis Now it is time to talk about the precise type of scenes that this paper is to analyze: the recognition scene, i.e. anagnorisis. In this representative scene from the Greek tragedy, as a basic member of its own development, the main character (the protagonist) has to face some essential truth that he/she, until that moment, has not realised. This is the hero’s sudden awareness of a critical reality. This basic information and the discovering of it has the power of changing in a radical way the situation of our main character inside the entire plot; he or she would not be the same after this scene has taken place.

2 For the informative and contrastive functions of the focus and the different procedures to mark them, see Crespo 2015b. 3 Sympathy is one of the three basic and fundamental emotions of tragic thecnique (Stuart, 1918, 268)

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Aristotle in his Poetics defines it as the path that takes the ‘tragic hero’ from ignorance to knowledge (which is, finally, wisdom)⁴. It is one of the strongest climax moments and it is completely crucial to build tragedy in its particular meaning, as long as it makes change (metabolé) possible.⁵ We find, in a general classification, two essential types of anagnorisis in the corpus of Greek tragedy⁶. On the one hand, some character can discover something that involves him and someone else, usually a physical recognition (realisation of the true nature of another important character that makes the destiny and the general situation completely different), like the one that we find in Iphigenia among the Taurians or Coephoroi; on the other hand, tragedy presents the character that needs to face, in some point of the plot, his true own identity, his reality, and also his own history (Sophoclean’ Oedipus is considered the best example). This second type is a personal recognition, that only implicates our protagonist himself. This last type of recognition is the only one that we will analyze in this paper so as to find where the focus is inside of the scenes. We shall work with examples from three tragedies whose anagnorisis scenes are well known in the Greek literature, Bacchae, Herakles and Oedipus Tyrannus⁷. The examples of the personal recognition or anagnorisis that we are going to see here and to study present two characters (sometimes more) that take different roles in the process of recognition, both of them based on the idea of knowing or not–knowing the truth that needs to be faced. One of these characters, the one who knows the reality that will change the situation from one end to the other, functions as the guide in the realisation of that reality; the other character is the one who starts ignoring that critical truth and must arrive at the point of consciousness, helped by the guide. This process so relevant in the play shows its development and progression with different poetic and discourse methods, especially based on a questions and answers system. It seems as a plausbile affirmation to admit that this is a scheme where focus function appears particularly clear⁸. However, the possibilities of interpretation become complex and interesting for the analysis when we note that there is another participant in the communication scheme that this scene is building up, another receptor: the audience. As long as the spectator do know the information (the fundamental truth) that the guide character (transmitter) is about to tell to the protagonist (ignorant), the elements that come to

4 1453b 5 See Romilly (1970) and Stuart (1918) for longer explanations about the relevance of the anagnorisis inside the complete set of the tragic play. 6 See Stuart (1918, 274–275) for more detailed and extended ways of classification of the Recognition Scene in Greek tragedy. 7 English translations of Greek pieces and authors cited are taken from the editions of R. Seaford, G. W. Bond and Lloyd Jones, all of them referenced at the ending bibliography, in some cases slightly modified. 8 «Question–and–answer pairs have been seized on by linguists as transparent examples in explaining the basis of pragmatic functions, especially of focus elements», Dik (2007, 123)

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the foreground as focalized parts of the message become, to some degree, informative and contrastive at the same time. Across the analysis of these scenes, we shall try to see which are these linguistic methods or tools, how they work in the communication that is stablished between the two characters (guide and ignorant) and also which is their function in connection with the “third” receptor, the spectator (audience)⁹. BACCHAE, vv. 1263 – 1296. The anagnorisis between Agave and his father Kadmus in the Euripidean Bacchae shows us the critical moment when Agave appears on stage holding her son’s head, thinking that it is a lion’s head, that she has hunted and sacrificed. The Kadmus’ painful mission is to make her daughter notice that she is the murderer of her own child. So he starts a set of questions where he will use discourse markers. The system is near to the Socratic maieutics¹⁰. The discourse markers that Kadmus will use are going to point out to us where the emphasis is in every different moment. We can observe the use of ordinal markers to note the advances within. An ordinal number works in this discourse in an additive way; it points out a progressive landmark. We are able to see this in πρῶτον μὲν, that starts with the scene¹¹. πρῶτον μὲν ἐς τόνδ᾿ αἰθέρ᾿ ὄμμα σὸν μέθες. ‘First turn your eye up to this upper air.’

However, it is interesting to notice how Kadmus, from this point, makes use of other types of adverbs or particles, especially temporal ones which operate as slowdown elements. ἔθ᾿ αὑτὸς ἤ σοι μεταβολὰς ἔχειν δοκεῖ· ‘Is it still the same, or does it appear to have changed?’ τὸ δὲ πτοηθὲν τόδ᾿ ἔτι σῇ ψυχῇ πάρα· ‘And is this fluttering still with your psyche?’

The focus over which these elements work does not go one step further within the progress of the scene and recognition. In this way the arrival to the critical point to which the ignorant character must finally reach is drawn out. These markers of organization are not of an additive nature but of a slowdown one. They achieved the two objectives of this scene: on the one hand, they provide strength of authenticity,

9 See González Vázquez (2014, 15) for the importance of the audience and its «ability to actually recognise what is happening on stage» in these scenes. 10 For similarity between Plato’s dialogue style (with a Socrates as a character) and Drama, see Dik (2007, 139). 11 Crespo (2012, 84–85) points out the ordinal πρῶτον μὲν as an opening marker for many kinds of discourse units.

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plausibility, which, as stated before, is completely necessary in this kind of scene (the realisation is not straightforward, so that it becomes more believable and, thus, easier for the spectator to get involved with). On the other hand and strictly related with this fact, this slowdown provokes certain kind of tension effect over the audience, since the spectator already knows the basic information that Agave has not yet come to realize. For he spectator, the phóbos emphasizes itself through the contrastive sense of the discourse: while one of the two characters knows everything, the other does not know a thing. Thus, the audience seems to be the most omniscient participant of the communication who also happens to suffer most because of the organization of the discourse. After the combination of forward progress and slowdown elements, now we can see the moment, in which sanity is finally attained, with a greater presence of emotive elements. Finally, helped by the lexical aspects and the focalizing oath that we see in δύστην᾿ ἀλήθει, the key question comes to mind: Kadmus answers and shows the reality gathering focus procedures such as the first position of the verse or of a clause, the personal pronoun in the nominative case and the inclusive element of focus καὶ. K: δύστην᾿ ἀλήθει᾿, ὡς ἐν οὐ καιρῷ πάρει. ‘Miserable truth, how inopportunely you arrive!’ A: λέγ᾿, ὡς τὸ μέλλον καρδία πήδημ᾿ ἔχει. K: σύ νιν κατέκτας καὶ κασίγνηται σέθεν ‘A: Tell me. My heart leaps at what is to come. K: You killed him and your sisters with you.’

In this way, by means of markers the attention over the fundamental information of the scene is achieved, i.e., the “authentic focus”. Hereafter, the questions come to be of Agave’s domain and the answers of Kadmus’. Agave needs to double–check what she has come to learn. The focus becomes completely contrastive with the help of a series of recapitulative markers, above all interrogative particles. ποῦ δ᾿ ὤλετ᾿· ἦ κατ᾿ οἶκον· ἢ ποίοις τόποις· ‘Where did he die? Was it here at home, or in what place?’

It is interesting to notice how, at this point, the roles have already get reversed. The one who was the ignorant, and now has realised the truth, is the one who makes questions to a guide that only keeps the function of consolidate the things that both of them know. This is how in a very sutile way wisdom gets identified with the interrogation more than with clear or absolute affirmation. Thus, the realisation manages itself and gets untied. HERAKLES, vv. 1109 – 1145 The next recognition episode that we will discuss is the one present in the tragedy Herakles’ (sometimes known as ‘Mad Hercules’ or ‘Madness of Hercules’). Again we

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are dealing with a maniac’s awareness. Herakles, caught in the madness that the Gods have delivered to him, have already killed his children and wife; only the old Amphitrio is safe, and together with the chorus of old men, he sees how his son awakes, already sane and without knowing what has happened. The words that the chorus address to him to open the anagnorisis highlight (and also anticipate) the emotional tone of the scene. A: γέροντες, ἔλθω τῶν ἐμῶν κακῶν πέλας· Χ: κἀγώγε σὺν σοί, μὴ προδοὺς τὰς συμφοράς. ‘A: My aged friends, shall I approach the scene of my sorrow? CH: Yes, and let me go with you, not desert you in your trouble.’

So, Amphitrio shall be the guide, and Herakles is the one who ignores the basic information. However, the set of questions is going to be managed in a different way, because here is the “ignorant” (Herakles) who makes most of the questions. The answers of the father show the slowdown function that we have seen before. ὦ τέκνον: εἶ γὰρ καὶ κακῶς πράσσων ἐμός. ‘My child! mine still, for all your misery.’ (. . . ) A: ἃ κἂν θεῶν τις, εἰ μάθοι, καταστένοι. ‘That which might make any of the gods weep, if he were to learn it.’ (. . . ) H: μέγας γ᾿ ὁ κόμπος, τὴν τύχην δ᾿ οὔπω λέγεις. ‘A bold assertion that, but you are not yet explaining what has happened.’

It’s possible to observe the expression of pain and the own intimate emotions through adverbial expressions and particles of an inclusive type (εἶ γὰρ καὶ), mixed with the appellative expressions and oaths, which offer to the scene some linguistic variety. There is a combination between the function of the ignorant Herakles, who is seeking after the truth and marks his discourse with rush (the use of the restrictive but emphatic γε¹², in opposition to the particle and subsequent negation δ᾿ οὔπω, that actually highlights how the fundamental information that Herakles is seeking for keeps on hidden for him) and the slowdown marked by Amphitrio showing his own suffering. The audience is expected to go through both processes, the need and urgency of Herakles of knowing what happened and, at the same time, Amphitrio’s desire of protecting his child from the terrible truth that is now pending over him. This is how the recognition goes on in crescendo, and advances until the point of reaching the great basic truth, the real focus of the scene.

12 Denniston points how γέ «serves to focus the attention upon a single idea» and to «define more sharply a new idea introduced»; it shows a very extended emphatic use (1952, 114 –115).

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H: τί πόλεμον εἶπας· τούσδε τίς διώλεσε· A: σὺ καὶ σὰ τόξα καὶ θεῶν ὃς αἴτιος. H: τί φῄς· τί δράσας· ὦ κάκ᾿ ἀγγέλλων πάτερ. ‘H: War! what do you mean? who killed these? A: You and your bow and some god, whoever is to blame. H: What are you saying? what have I done? Father, you messenger of evil!’

The real, authentic focus of the scene appears in a syntactic structure very similar to the Bacchae’s. Again there is an accumulation of linguistic resources like the personal pronoun, the nominative case, and the emphatic force of the inclusive focus element καὶ. This adverbial καὶ has also the function of leveling the relevance of each essential component in the message of the discourse unit. Then, from this point, we find again the recapitulative function, painfully contrastive. H: ἦ καὶ δάμαρτός εἰμ᾿ ἐγὼ φονεὺς ἐμῆς· ‘H: Was it I that slew my wife also?’ H: ἦ γὰρ συνήραξ᾿ οἶκον ἢ βάκχευσ᾿ ἐμόν· A: οὐκ οἶδα πλὴν ἕν: πάντα δυστυχεῖ τὰ σά. ‘H: So did I dash my house to pieces in my frenzy? A: I know nothing but this, that you are utterly undone.’

Herakles needs to confirm the information that he has already received, as a way of expressing his uncertainty about that truth (he is actually not sure of being able to face that truth). His questions are marked putting the emphasis on this need for confirmation, as well as the search for more concrete details: the principal marker is the use of interrogative particles (ἦ γὰρ). As Erp Taalman Kip signals, these particles «are used when a character is asking for confirmation, reaffirmation or something that has been said, implied or suggested by the previous speaker» (1997, 152). The scene closes with the Amphitrio’s affirmative answer in which the set expression οὐκ οἶδα πλὴν summarizes more than one communicative function. It is the reaffirmation and synthesis of the basic information that Herakles needed to know and it also expresses, in a very deep emotional way, Ampitrio’s pain, as well as the change that Herakles has undertaken. OEDIPUS TYRANNUS, vv. 1119 – 1181 Lastly, we have as an example the famous anagnorisis of Oedipus in the Sophoclean Oedipus the King, when our hero discovers that he is Yocasta’s son. This scene is a little bit longer than the other two. Both roles that we have seen until this point in the communicative scheme are represented by Oedipus as the ignorant character (not mad, this time) and the herdsman as the guide, the one who knows; but in this case, the hint we have to apply in order to comprehend the slowdown of the arrival of the truth that is gone after, is the factor of the will: the servant, knowing that fundamental truth, does not want to pass it through. These are his words:

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μὴ δῆτα, πρὸς θεῶν, τὸν γέροντά μ᾿ αἰκίσῃ. ‘No, in the name of the gods, do not mistreat an old man.’ (. . . ) πολλῷ γε μᾶλλον, ἢν φράσω, διόλλυμαι. ‘But if I speak I doubly lost.’ (. . . ) μὴ πρὸς θεῶν, μή, δέσποθ᾿, ἱστόρει πλέον.» ‘For the love of the gods, master, ask no more!’

In his role of expressing of the emotive nature, the herdsman combines two resources of great emphatic or focusing strength, which are the negation (we can understand that, in general, every negated element is already outlined as a focus over the rest of the linguistic elements), and the use of appeals and exclamatory oaths (underlined in the examples). So we can see in the refusal messages that the servant sends to his ignorant receptor Oedipus, where the information that Oedipus is looking for simply does not arrive. Negation gets mixed with appeals and exclamatory oaths: both resources work for the same ending, that is, to stop the moving of the discourse, to avoid the possibility of access to the basic information. Particles and adverbs (δῆτα, μᾶλλον) go across the rush towards the truth, which Oedipus seeks and, at the same time, is unaware of, emphasizing the focus and gathering up to mark it (like in the following verses, with the use of both first inclusive marks and the constrastive ἀλλ᾿ ὅμως, that makes all the emphasis fall upon the idea of something terrible that is going to be said right – and so heared “ἀκουστέον” – right now). Θ: οἴμοι, πρὸς αὐτῷ γ᾿ εἰμὶ τῷ δεινῷ λέγειν. Οἰ: κἄγωγ᾿ ἀκούειν: ἀλλ᾿ ὅμως ἀκουστέον. ‘S: Ah me! I stand in the perilous edge of speech. E: And I of hearing: I still must hear’

So, it is inevitable: the herdsman finally accepts to revele the terrible truth. Θ: κείνου γέ τοι δὴ παῖς ἐκλῄζεθ᾿: ἡ δ᾿ ἔσω κάλλιστ᾿ ἂν εἴποι σὴ γυνὴ τάδ᾿ ὡς ἔχει. Οἰ: ἦ γὰρ δίδωσιν ἥδε σοι· Θ: μάλιστ᾿, ἄναξ. ‘S: Know then, the child was by repute his own, but she whithin, thy consort best could tell E: But what? What? Did she give it to you? S: Yes, my lord.’

As we have seen it before in Herakles, inclusive accumulation of particles (γέ τοι δὴ) arrives just in the most critical point, as a landmark of the edge that divides the “ignorant situation” from the “wisdom” situation. All of these particles play in a very emphatic role over the terrible message that the Herdsman is for to say in the same

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sentence¹³. After finally reaching that piece of information, Oedipus finds it by means of a question again marked by a reaffirmative particle that we have observed before (ἦ γὰρ). By strengthening the pronoun with which the servant has referred to Yocasta, he, Oedipus, concentrates in this piece of information the focus of his question: she is the focus, the problem. And the slave answers utilizing the affirmative quantifier μάλιστα. It is interesting to see that this μάλιστα, by answering a question, seems to be playing with alternatives in the question that is being answered.

4 Building up the discourse for recognition Thus, once the examples have been compared, it seems plausible to note the following functions of these markers in building the structure of the tragic anagnorisis scene. On the one hand, these expressions contribute to organizing the discourse towards the moment of the realisation, of the transmission of the critical information; on the other hand, they operate as conclusive indicators of what we have come to call “authentic focus”, that is, the fundamental truth that must be encountered and that one of the two main characters is aware of and the other is ignorant of. Focus elements have also, especially when they appear as particles, a summarizing function: they reassert what has been said and they specify the details; lastly, all of them can point out as focused elements the expression of emotion typical of the characters. The next table intends to resume these general functions and their relevance inside the scene and the whole play.

Table 1: Anagnorisis discourse Function

Ordering the discourse (advances and slowdowns)

“Authentic recognition

Markers

Ordinals, levelling, temporal +/–, negation (πρῶτον, ἔτι . . . )

Affirmatives, negatives, inclusives (καὶ, μάλιστ᾿. . . )

Particles, inclusion and exclusion (ἦ, ἦ καὶ, ἦ γὰρ, πλὴν)

‘Topic’

Progression until the realisation of the “ignorant” character

Fundamental information, “truth”

Reaffirmation of new info.; make details specific

Effects in the audience

Tension, phóbos

Climax

Pathetism, éleos

plausibility

Focus”,

Confirmation

13 δὴ and τοι have the function of marking emphasis by «drawing the addrese’s attention» and signalling a proposition of «special interest» (Wakker 1997, 211–213). It is interesting to notice that those are particles that we can place in the interactional level of communication; that means necessarily that this focalizing method can find also a reach over the audience.

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5 Conclusions At this point, we could feel able to say that the narrative structure of such a fundamental scene from Attic tragedy is actually defined by its linguistic markers. The important points of relevance into this structure can be discovered and put into classification using the “focus perspective”. For what we have observed, the focus can be understood as the point where we put our emphasis, just in order to bring it to the foreground. If we accept this, perhaps we can say that, worrying about the focus is basically to worry about what really matters in tragedy. What really matters to the poet, to the characters, to the plot. . . and finally, to us, who have found the chance of being a little bit closer to the audience, that deeper and further receptor, of that great spectacle that took place more than two thousand years ago.

Bibliography Bakker, S. & Wakker, G. (ed.) 2009: Discourse cohesion in Ancient Greek, Leiden – Boston. Bond, G. 1981: Euripides. Herakles (with introduction and commentary), Oxford. Crespo, E. 2012 [2014]: Ordinal Adverbs as Markers of Discourse Cohesion, «Historische Sprachforschung», 125, (FS H. Hettrich), 81–89. Crespo, E. 2015a: Adverbios de foco en griego clásico, in Studia Classica Caesaraugustana. Vigencia y presencia del mundo clásico hoy: XXV años de Estudios Clásicos en la Universidad de Zaragoza, eds. J. Vela Tejada, J. F. Fraile Vicente & C. Sánchez Mañas), Zaragoza, 208–233. Crespo, E. 2015b: Foco informativo y Foco Contrastivo, in Homenaje a Ignacio Rodríguez Alfageme, eds. J. Ángel y Espinós, J. Floristán, F. García Romero & M. López Salvá., Madrid, 139–150. Denniston, J.D. 19522 : The Greek Particles, Oxford. Dik, H. 2007: Word Order in Greek Tragic Dialogue, New York. González Vázquez, C. 2004: Diccionario del teatro latino, Madrid. Lloyd Jones, H. 1994: Sophocles. Ajax. Electra. Oedius Tyrannus, Cambridge. Rijksbaron, A. 1990: Grammatical Observations on Euripides’ Bacchae, Amsterdam. Rijksbaron, A. 1997: New Approaches To Greek Particles, Amsterdam. Romilly, J. 2011: La tragedia griega, Madrid (= 1970, Paris). Seaford, R. 1996: Euripides’ Bacchae, Warminster. Stuart, D. C. 1918: The function and the dramatic Value of the recognition scene in the Greek Tragedy, «The American Journal of Philology», 39, 268–290.

Massimo Vai

Struttura informativa della frase in greco omerico: periferia alta, periferia bassa; collocazione delle relative nella periferia sinistra Abstract: L’analisi cartografica della periferia sinistra della frase può essere utilmente adottata per rendere conto della struttura informativa della frase nel greco antico. Oltre alla periferia sinistra “alta”, già individuata a partire dagli studi di Hale (1987) (per le lingue indoeuropee) e da Rizzi (1997) e Benincà (2001) (per l’italiano e altre lingue romanze), a partire da Belletti (2004) viene individuata anche una periferia bassa, anch’essa articolata in proiezioni di topic e focus. Il presente studio si propone di integrare, entro un unico quadro sintattico teorico, ciò che sembra più chiaro, allo stato attuale, nell’analisi della struttura della frase nel greco antico, e in particolar modo nel greco omerico. Infatti, la ricerca intorno alla struttura della frase del greco antico, soprattutto a partire da Dik (1995; 2007), Matić (2003), Dal Lago (2010) e Bertrand (2010), ha conosciuto momenti di maggior definizione rispetto ai precedenti tentativi, che spesso non erano andati al di là di un’analisi in termini di “ordine libero” dei costituenti. Una volta stabiliti alcuni punti fermi nella struttura, è anche possibile verificare l’interazione fra la struttura informativa e la collocazione di alcune proposizioni: qui si prendono in considerazione alcuni tipi di correlative.

1 Quadro teorico: periferia sinistra¹ della frase e periferia “bassa” (Low Periphery). Con periferia sinistra della frase intendiamo indicare un’organizzazione interna in termini di proiezioni ordinate in cui si pensa sia articolata la precedente proiezione di CP (Split CP), pioneristicamente a partire da Hale (1987) per le lingue indoeuropee antiche, e successivamente da Rizzi (1997), Benincà (2001) in termini più generali. Lo Split–CP è pensato come insieme ordinato di proiezioni, a loro volta ordinate in campi (field), cioè in insiemi di proiezioni che condividono proprietà, ovvero specifiche

1 Nonostante questa denominazione abbia avuto illustri critici, che l’hanno attribuita a una visione della lingua determinata dal verso della scrittura degli autori in cui questa denominazione è stata adottata, resta il fatto che, se si considera il tempo di esecuzione di una frase su un asse ordinato t1 < t2 ecc., ecco che il concetto diventa indipendente dalla forma di scrittura adottata: ciò che è a sinistra precede nel tempo ciò che è a destra.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-469

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caratteristiche semantiche e sintattiche. I campi, individuati da {. . . }, contengono proiezioni singole, indicate da [. . . ]: Frame

[HT] [ Sc Sett] Topic [LD][LI] Focus [Foc contr][Foc inf] / [Interr wh–]. . . .

Inoltre, Benincà – Poletto (2004) hanno individuato all’interno del campo Topic due proiezioni specifiche, indicate come [LD] e [LI]. All’interno di questo quadro, i processi di focalizzazione e tematizzazione sono visti come prodotti dal movimento di costituenti negli specificatori delle proiezioni dedicate dello Split–CP: l’interpretazione di focalizzazione e tematizzazione è pensata in termini simili ai processi di accordo. Più recentemente, a partire da Belletti (2004) e, oltre ad altri, Cognola (2008) e Poletto (2014, 55), è stata avanzata anche l’ipotesi di una periferia bassa di VP (low periphery): [vP [Topic1 [Topic2 [Topic3. . . [Operator. . . VP]. . . ] ²

per giustificare ordini marcati in italiano antico, ad es.: il quale da che ebbe tutto Egitto vinto,. . . (Bono Giamboni, Orosio)

mentre per il resto mostra comportamenti da lingua VO.

2 Struttura informativa della frase nel greco antico L’approccio pragmatico fa del greco antico una lingua FWO (free word order), nella quale l’ordine dei costituenti è determinato da ragioni comunicative e non è legato a fattori sintattici. Nel modello adottato anche da Dik (1995) il Focus (narrow focus) deve precedere il Verbo; Focus e Verbo, inoltre, devono essere adiacenti. Lo schema che viene proposto è il seguente: (1)

P1 – PØ – V – X Topic Focus Verb pragmatically unmarked

Matić (2003, 578) ritiene che il modello in 1) non riesca a rendere conto di alcuni dati: 1. vi sono elementi postverbali che non possono essere considerati unmarked (da lui considerati postverbal foci); 2. più di due soli elementi preverbali (complexity of the left periphery);

2 Schema tratto da Poletto (2014, 55).

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3. elementi compresi fra focus e verbo (focus intruders). Dik (2007, 38) ha modificato il suo schema originario in questi termini: (2)

Setting–Topic–Focus–Verb–Remainder

In 2) la periferia sinistra della frase è stata incrementata con l’ulteriore posizione di Setting³. Comune allo schema di Matić è la collocazione immediatamente preverbale del (narrow) focus, quindi ad es.: (3)

ὁ δὲ Κλέανδρος οὐδένα ἐπεπράκει Xen.An. 7.2.6⁴ ‘Quanto a Cleandro, non (ne) aveva venduto nessuno’.

In 3) ὁ δὲ Κλέανδρος è un tema (proiezione: TopP), mentre οὐδένα è un (narrow) focus (proiezione: FocP). Tuttavia Matić ritiene che anche il segmento postverbale vada analizzato, contrariamente a Dik, la quale ritiene che questa parte della frase non sia suscettibile di ulteriore analisi, facendo essa parte di ciò che Dik definisce come remainder, cioè la parte presupposta dell’enunciato. Matić osserva che il quadro teorico di Dik non può rendere conto dei molti casi in cui la porzione postverbale dell’enunciato dovrebbe essere analizzata come broad focus (“focus esteso”), comprendente il predicato e alcuni argomenti, come in: (4)

Σω· ᾿Επορευόμην μὲν ἐξ ᾿Ακαδημείας εὐθὺ Λυκείου [. . . ] ‘Andavo dall’Accademia verso il Liceo’ [. . . ] ὁ ῾Ιπποθάλης [. . . ] «ὦ Σώκρατες» ἔφη «ποῖ δὴ πορεύῃ καὶ πόθεν;» ‘Ippotale disse «O Socrate, dove vai e da dove vieni?’ ᾿Εξ ᾿Ακαδημείας, ἦν δ᾿ ἐγώ, πορεύομαι εὐθὺ Λυκείου. Pl. Lys. 203a–b⁵ ‘«Dall’Accademia» dissi io «sto andando verso il Liceo»’

In 4) l’intera frase ᾿Επορευόμην μὲν ἐξ ᾿Ακαδημείας εὐθὺ Λυκείου rappresenta per Matić il broad focus (il cui topic sottinteso è “io”), mentre nella risposta di Socrate ᾿Εξ ᾿Ακαδημείας costituisce il narrow focus collocato, come di norma, in posizione preverbale. In altri casi, in cui la parte presupposta è già ricavabile dal contesto, Matić (2003: 588) analizza ulteriormente il broad focus, ad es.:

3 La questione è stata ripresa anche da Lühr (2009) con le seguenti osservazioni: i) enclitici e parole con tono basso sono preferibilmente in seconda posizione (Legge di Wackernagel); ii) la negazione è all’inizio della frase o precede immediatamente il verbo; iii) quando una parola è enfatizzata può essere separata dal suo costituente (iperbato); iv) il verbo di una frase principale tende a collocarsi in mezzo alla frase, risultando negli ordini: S–Pred–O, O–Pred–S (se l’oggetto è enfatizzato), Avv – Pred – S; v) se parte di una frase complessa è enfatizzata, di solito è collocata all’inizio. 4 Matić (2003, 575). 5 Matić (2003, 583).

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(5)

[Contesto: Κῦρος δὲ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἐξελαύνει [. . . ] πρὸς Δάναν, πόλιν οἰκουμένην, μεγάλην καὶ εὐδαίμονα. ‘Ciro, con il resto dell’esercito marcia [. . . ] verso Dana, città popolosa, grande e prospera’] ἐνταῦθα ἔμειναν ἡμέρας τρεῖς Xen.An. 1.2.20⁶ ‘Qui restarono per tre giorni’

In 5) il contenuto proposizionale presupposto, Κῦρος δὲ μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ecc., è ciò che deve essere dato per noto rispetto al broad focus: ἔμειναν ἡμέρας τρεῖς. D’altra parte il broad focus è ulteriormente analizzabile in [qui rimasero per un tempo x]presupposto e [x = tre giorni]asserito . In questo modo, la gran parte degli elementi postverbali può essere analizzata, mostrando l’esistenza di un focus “basso” postverbale. Inoltre, Matić (2003, 587; 591–593) osserva che talvolta ciò che fa parte del contenuto presupposto è collocato immediatamente dopo il verbo, ad es.: (6)

ἐνταῦθα ἔμεινε Κῦρος ἡμέρας τριάκοντα Xen.An.1.2.9 ‘Qui Ciro rimase trenta giorni’

In 6) Κῦρος rappresenta l’elemento che riprende, come topic postverbale, la narrazione interrotta. Riassumendo, Matić (2003) mostra che nel greco antico, in posizione postverbale, esiste uno spazio sintattico in cui vengono collocati gli elementi tematizzati e focalizzati di ciò che da Belletti (2004) viene chiamata low periphery. Dal Lago (2010)⁷ ha sviluppato un criterio di analisi sintattica della periferia sinistra della frase in greco antico che utilizza la collocazione delle particelle μέν e δέ: questi elementi vengono utilizzati come punto di riferimento per effettuare una dettagliata analisi della periferia sinistra in Senofonte, soprattutto per il field di Topic. Come marcatori di List–IinterpretationP (LIP)⁸, le particelle μέν e δέ occorrono in posizione Wackernagel, cioè dopo la prima parola della frase o dopo il primo costituente, oppure più in là nella frase, nel caso in cui la periferia sinistra contenga elementi tematizzati, segnatamente vocativi, avverbiali e Hanging Topic. Le due particelle μέν e δέ, posposte ai costituenti interessati, costituiscono nella maggioranza dei casi i marcatori della posizione di LIP, che ospita costituenti tematizzati contrastivi. A livello sintattico, inoltre, la presenza nell’enunciato di costituenti in LIP possono essere di vari tipi: il costituente in LIP, di volta in volta, può infatti essere l’oggetto, il verbo, un DP o un PP.

6 Matić (2003, 585). 7 In Vai (2003, 79–80) avevo già connesso le due particelle alla List InterpretationP di Benincà–Poletto – allora in corso di stampa, poi 2004. Certamente Dal Lago (2010) ne ha tratto più numerose conseguenze. 8 Cfr. Benincà – Poletto (2004, 67–70).

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In greco antico possiamo trovare esempi che ci indicano elementi in caso accusativo sicuramente tematizzati, che però non sono ripresi da alcun pronome, come accade invece, a parità di struttura informativa, in italiano: (7)

ἂν δὲ μηδὲν ἀναγκαῖον ᾖ κατὰ πόλιν, τὸν μὲν ἵππον ὁ παῖς προάγει εἰς ἀγρόν, ἐγὼ δὲ περιπάτῳ χρῶμαι τῇ εἰς ἀγρὸν ὁδῷ ἴσως ἄμεινον, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἢ εἰ ἐν τῷ ξυστῷ περιπατοίην. ‘Nel caso in cui non ci sia nulla di pressante in città, il cavallo lo porta lo schiavo in campagna, io invece vado a piedi in campagna. . . ’ Xen.Oec. 11.15⁹

In 7) il costituente τὸν μὲν ἵππον è formato da τὸν [. . . ] ἵππον, che informativamente è un elemento tematizzato, come è indicato dalla presenza di μέν, e precede l’altro elemento tematizzato ἐγώ, avente la stessa funzione informativa (topic contrastivi), indicata dalla presenza di δέ.

3 Struttura informativa della frase nel greco omerico¹⁰ 3.1 Periferia sinistra “alta” (High Left Periphery) 3.1.1 Elementi dei field di Frame e Topic In greco omerico esiste una periferia sinistra “alta” della frase molto articolata. Nel seguente esempio compare un tema sospeso seguito da elementi tematizzati della LIP caratterizzati da μέν e δέ come in greco classico: (8)

φύλλα τὰ μέν τ᾿ ἄνεμος χαμάδις χέει, ἄλλα δέ θ᾿ ὕλη / τηλεθόωσα φύει Il. 6.147– 148 ‘Le foglie, alcune (ne) getta a terra il vento, altre la selva fiorente (ne) produce’

In 8) le particelle μέν e δέ vengono collocate secondo la Legge di Wackernagel (LW). Wackernagel (1892, 371; 377) classifica queste particelle fra i sonstige Enklitika o Quasi– Enklitika o fra le postpositive Partikeln, dal momento che, benché accentate, sembrano seguire la stessa regola di collocazione dei clitici veri e propri. Nel caso osservato, μέν, nonostante non occorra linearmente dopo la prima parola, né dopo il primo costituente della frase in cui compare, non rappresenta un’eccezione alla LW: come già osservato

9 Citato in Dal Lago (2010, 23). 10 Bertrand (2010) rappresenta un saggio molto dettagliato sull’ordine dei costituenti in greco antico e, in particolare, nel greco omerico, basato principalmente sul quadro teorico di Dik – Matić: vi farò in parte riferimento nella mia analisi.

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in Hale (1987), la collocazione dei clitici W in seconda posizione va intesa non tenendo conto di eventuali costituenti iniziali tematizzati. Così ad es. anche in vedico (qui il clitico asya compare linearmente in terza posizione): (9)

índrah. Índra–NOM

kím cosa–ACC

asya sakhyé di–lui amicizia–LOC

¯ RV 6.27.1b cakara kr–3SGPF ˚

‘Indra, cosa ha fatto nella sua amicizia?’ Anche in latino (il clitico me compare come seconda parola del costituente nulla cupiditas, dopo il costituente tematizzato de triumpho autem): (10)

de triumpho autem nulla me cupiditas umquam tenuit ‘Riguardo al trionfo non mi ha mai preso nessuna voglia’. Cic. Att. 7.2.6

In greco classico, la collocazione dopo il primo costituente o dopo la prima parola si traduce nel fatto che, nei DP con articolo, le particelle si inseriscono o all’interno del sintagma tra articolo e nome, oppure dopo il sintagma costituito da articolo + nome, ad es.: (11)

[Τὰ μὲν ἀνθρώπινα] παρέντες, [τὰ δαιμόνια] δὲ σκοποῦντες Xen.Mem.1.1.12 ‘Le cose umane trascurando, le divine, invece, osservando’.

La collocazione dei clitici della LW dopo prima parola o dopo primo costituente è nota anche nelle lingue moderne che collocano i clitici analogamente, ad es¹¹. in serbocroato: (12)

[Anina sestra] im nudi čokoladu [Anina im sestra] nudi čokoladu ‘di–Anna la sorella offre loro cioccolato’.

In 8) (Il. 6.147–148), prima degli elementi tematizzati introdotti da μέν e δέ compare φύλλα come ulteriore costituente tematizzato: con tutta probabilità si tratta di un Hanging Topic, che è previsto occorrere a sinistra degli elementi in LIP (entro il field di Frame). In altri casi, a sinistra di LIP si trovano elementi di Scene Setting, sempre entro il field di Frame: (13)

Νῦν δ΄ ἐμὲ μὲν μέγα κῦδος ἀφείλεο, τοὺς δὲ σάωσας / ῥηϊδίως, Il. 22.18–19 ‘Così ora, a me, (mi) hai tolto una grande gloria, quelli invece (li) hai salvati / senza fatica’.

In 13) gli elementi di LIP sono ἐμὲ μὲν. . . τοὺς δὲ, a sinistra dei quali compare Νῦν δ΄ in ScSetting. Anche il contesto Top – wh individua come topic i costituenti che precedono un elemento interrogativo:

11 Tratto da Progovac (1996, 415).

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(14) Τῶν δ΄ ἄλλων τίς κεν ᾗσι φρεσὶν οὐνόματ΄ εἴποι, ὅσσοι δὴ μετόπισθε μάχην ἤγειραν ᾿Αχαιῶν· Il. 17.260–261 ‘Ma degli altri, chi potrebbe nella sua mente dire i nomi, quanti dei Danai dietro destarono battaglia?’. Rientrano fra i casi di topic anche le occorrenze di verbo in prima posizione (V1 ) dovute a topic nullo (Ø) – cfr. Matić (2003, 582), ad es.: (15) ᾿Ιδομενεὺς δ᾿ ἄρα Φαῖστον ἐνήρατο Μῄονος υἱὸν Βώρου, ὃς ἐκ Τάρνης ἐριβώλακος εἰληλούθει. τὸν μὲν ἄρ᾿ ᾿Ιδομενεὺς δουρικλυτὸς ἔγχεϊ μακρῷ νύξ᾿ ἵππων ἐπιβησόμενον κατὰ δεξιὸν ὦμον: ἤριπε δ᾿ ἐξ ὀχέων, στυγερὸς δ᾿ ἄρα μιν σκότος εἷλε. Il. 5.43–47 ‘Idomeneo trafisse Festo, figlio del meonio Boro, il quale era giunto da Tarne fertile zolla; costui Idomeneo buona lancia con l’asta lunga (lo) trafisse, mentre saliva sul carro, nella spalla destra; Ø cadde dal carro, lo prese la tenebra odiosa’. In 15) si è verificato un mutamento di topic, da Idomeneo a Boro, segnalato da τὸν μὲν al v. 45; lo stesso Boro continua a essere associato al topic nullo del v. 47.

3.1.2 New Topic e riattivazione di topic New topic è un elemento che risponde al concetto di aboutness propria dei topic, ma che non era ancora stato introdotto nel discorso (cfr. Bertrand 2010: 159–160), ad es.: (16)

᾿Ωγυγίη τις νῆσος ἀπόπροθεν εἰν ἁλὶ κεῖται. Od. 7.244 ‘C’è un’isola, Ogigia, lontana nel mare’.

Come in 16), Bertrand osserva che in questi casi il greco omerico utilizza spesso una costruzione presentativa. Dal punto di vista informazionale è simile a questo è il caso di un topic che viene reintrodotto in questa funzione associato a un elemento che era già presente nel discorso, ma molto lontano, ad es.: (17)

Νέστορα δ΄ οὐκ ἔλαθεν ἰαχὴ πίνοντά περ ἔμπης, Il. 14.1 ‘Non sfuggì a Nestore il grido, benché stesse bevendo’

Nestore era già comparso nell’opera, ma in 17) viene citato all’inizio di un canto. Questo caso è frequente anche in vedico: (18)

Prajaˉˊ patim . ¯ Prajapati–acc

h

¯ aˉˊ ny vaí b ut PTC creature–NOM

¯ ¯idan ŚB 2.4.2.1 úpas upa+sad–3PL.IMPF

¯ ‘(Una volta) a Prajapati si avvicinarono le creature’. ¯ In 18) Prajapati, personaggio già noto, è reintrodotto nel racconto come topic di una nuova storia.

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3.1.3 Elementi del field di Focus Matić (2003, 582 ss.) e Bertrand (2010, 96 ss.) distinguono due tipi di focus: broad focus/domaine focal e narrow focus/focus restreint. Il primo costituito dal verbo e dai suoi argomenti, il secondo limitato a un solo argomento. Rientrano in quest’ultimo caso i costituenti focalizzati a sinistra del verbo flesso, corrispondenti alla posizione di narrow focus di Matić (2003, 588): (19)

ἂν δ᾿ ἄρα Μηριόνης πελέκεας δέκα πάντας ἄειρε, Τεῦκρος δ᾿ ἡμιπέλεκκα φέρεν κοίλας ἐπὶ νῆας Il 23. 882–3¹² ‘Merione dunque le dieci doppie scuri si prese, Teucro portò le scuri alle navi’.

In 19) Merione e Teucro si trovano in posizione di topic (probabilmente LIP), mentre in posizione di focus preverbale si trovano πελέκεας δέκα πάντας e ἡμιπέλεκκα. Il seguente caso è interessante per la collocazione di “Nessuno”: (20)

Οὖτιν ἐγὼ πύματον ἔδομαι μετὰ οἷς ἑτάροισιν, τοὺς δ᾿ ἄλλους πρόσθεν: τὸ δέ τοι ξεινήιον ἔσται. Od. 9.369–370¹³ ‘Nessuno io (lo) mangerò per ultimo, dopo i compagni Gli altri invece prima: questo sarà il tuo dono ospitale’.

La collocazione di πύματον è in posizione di focus preverbale, a destra di Οὖτιν, che va invece collocato come uno dei costituenti in LIP: Οὖτιν. . . τοὺς δ᾿ ἄλλους ‘Nessuno. . . gli altri invece. . . ’. In 20) “nessuno” è un topic proprio a causa dell’inganno di Odisseo, mentre normalmente il quantificatore si troverebbe in focus, ad es.: (21)

μοῖραν δ᾿ οὔ τινά φημι πεφυγμένον ἔμμεναι ἀνδρῶν, Il.6.488 ‘ma alla Moira, NESSUNO – (ti) dico – è sfuggito, degli uomini’.

In 21) abbiamo μοῖραν δ᾿ in topic, mentre οὔ τινα si trova regolarmente in (narrow) focus. Altri ess. introdotti da elementi focalizzatori: (22)

τοὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ ταῦτα μάλ᾿ ἀτρεκέως καταλέξω. Il 10.427 ‘Perciò io ANCHE QUESTO ti dirò molto sinceramente’.

(23)

ὑμεῖς γὰρ θεαί ἐστε πάρεστέ τε ἴστέ τε πάντα, ἡμεῖς δὲ κλέος οἶον ἀκούομεν οὐδέ τι ἴδμεν. Il. 2.484–486 ‘voi, dee, voi siete sempre presenti, sapete tutto, noi invece SOLO LA FAMA ascoltiamo e non abbiamo visto niente’.

12 Citato in Bertrand (2010, 120). 13 Citato in Bertrand (2010, 121).

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3.2 Periferia bassa (Low Periphery) 3.2.1 Topic postverbale Come si è detto, anche in posizione immediatamente postverbale, nella periferia bassa, si trovano costituenti identificabili come tematizzati. In particolare, Matić (2003: 587; 591–593) osserva che talvolta ciò che fa parte del contenuto presupposto è collocato immediatamente dopo il verbo, mentre Bertrand (2010, 197–198) parla, a questo proposito parla di topique ratifié: (24)

τῶν μὲν ἄρ᾿ ᾿Αμφίμαχος καὶ Θάλπιος ἡγησάσθην υἷες ὃ μὲν Κτεάτου, ὃ δ᾿ ἄρ᾿ Εὐρύτου, ᾿Ακτορίωνε τῶν δ᾿ ᾿Αμαρυγκεΐδης ἦρχε κρατερὸς Διώρης: Il. 2.620–621 ‘Erano dunque a capo degli uni Anfimaco e Talpio, uno figlio di Crèato, l’altro di Eurito, degli altri era a capo il forte Diore Amarincide’.

In 24) i costituenti υἷες ὃ μὲν. . . ὃ δ᾿ ἄρ᾿, apposizioni di ᾿Αμφίμαχος καὶ Θάλπιος, li riprendono come topic collocati dopo il verbo ἡγησάσθην: anche in questo caso il ruolo informativo è indicato dalla successione di μέν e δέ. Un altro caso può essere il seguente (da Bertrand 2010, 198): (25) Σειρῆνας μὲν πρῶτον ἀφίξεαι, αἵ ῥά τε πάντας ἀνθρώπους θέλγουσιν, ὅτις σφεας εἰσαφίκηται. ὅς τις ἀιδρείῃ πελάσῃ καὶ φθόγγον ἀκούσῃ Σειρήνων, τῷ δ᾿ οὔ τι γυνὴ καὶ νήπια τέκνα οἴκαδε νοστήσαντι παρίσταται οὐδὲ γάνυνται Od. 12.39–43 ‘Alle Sirene prima giungerai, che tutti gli uomini stregano, chi le avvicini. Chi ignaro approdi e ascolti la voce delle Sirene, mai più la moglie e i figli infanti, tornato a casa, festosi lo attorniano’.

3.2.2 Focus postverbale Anche per la periferia bassa è disponibile una posizione di focus, che spesso, insieme al verbo che lo precede, forma il broad focus. Dal punto di vista sintattico si tratta spesso di soggetti nella sequenza V – S che segue a un altro argomento del verbo in posizione di topic preverbale (Matić (2003, 585): (26)

τῶν αὖθ᾿ ἡγεμόνευε Γερήνιος ἱππότα Νέστωρ Il 2.601 ‘di questi era a capo il gerenio cavaliere Nestore’.

Si noti che, quando la successione è S – V, la frase può contenere un narrow focus: (27)

Κρητῶν δ᾿ ᾿Ιδομενεὺς δουρὶ κλυτὸς ἡγεμόνευεν Il. 2.645 ‘Sui Cretesi comandava Idomeneo buono con l’asta’.

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Tuttavia altre volte il soggetto postverbale costituisce una ripresa, quindi si tratta più probabilmente di un topic (cfr. Bertrand 2010, 207–209), ad es.: (28)

ὣς ἔφατ᾿, οὐδ᾿ ἀπίθησε θεὰ λευκώλενος ῞Ηρη, βῆ δ᾿ ἐξ ᾿Ιδαίων ὀρέων ἐς μακρὸν ῎Ολυμπον. ὡς δ᾿ ὅτ᾿ ἂν ἀΐξῃ νόος ἀνέρος, ὅς τ᾿ ἐπὶ πολλὴν γαῖαν ἐληλουθὼς φρεσὶ πευκαλίμῃσι νοήσῃ ἔνθ᾿ εἴην ἢ ἔνθα, μενοινήῃσί τε πολλά, ὣς κραιπνῶς μεμαυῖα διέπτατο πότνια ῞Ηρη. Il. 15.78–83 ‘Così parlò [scil. Ζεύς], non mancò di ascoltare la dea Era braccio bianco: e si diresse dalle alte cime dell’Ida verso il grande Olimpo. Come quando si lancia la mente di un uomo, che, avendo percorso molta terra, pensa nei suoi pensieri acuti: “fossi là, oppure là”, e pensa molte cose, così velocemente volò bramosa, Era santissima’.

(29)

῝Ως ἀπὸ Πατρόκλοιο κίε ξανθὸς Μενέλαος. Il.17.113 ‘Così si allontanò da Patroclo, il biondo Menelao’.

In altri casi il focus postverbale consiste dell’oggetto o di altri argomenti del verbo, oppure anche di avverbi e aggettivi predicativi (Bertrand 2010, 97–98): (30)

Αἴας δ᾿ ἐκ Σαλαμῖνος ἄγεν δυοκαίδεκα νῆας Il. 2.557 ‘Aiace da Salamina guidava dodici navi’.

(31)

Οὐδ΄ ὄθομαι κοτέοντος· ἀπειλήσω δέ τοι ὧδε Il. 1.182 ‘Non ti temo adirato, ma ti dico questo: [. . . ]’

Altrove il focus è introdotto o caratterizzato da elementi focalizzatori (ad es.: “anche”, “da solo”): (32)

ἀλλὰ πίθεσθε καὶ ὔμμες, ἐπεὶ πείθεσθαι ἄμεινον Il. 2.274 ‘obbedite anche voi, perché è meglio obbedire’

(33)

[. . . ] ὃ δὲ χερμάδιον λάβε χειρὶ Τυδεΐδης μέγα ἔργον ὃ οὐ δύο γ᾿ ἄνδρε φέροιεν, οἷοι νῦν βροτοί εἰσ᾿: ὃ δέ μιν ῥέα πάλλε καὶ οἶος. Il. 5.302–304 ‘L’altro prese un masso con le mani, il Tidide – grande azione! – che oggi non porterebbero in due, per come sono gli uomini di adesso: lui invece lo brandiva senza fatica anche DA SOLO’.

(34)

ἀλλ᾿ εἴ τίς μοι ἀνὴρ ἅμ᾿ ἕποιτο καὶ ἄλλος μᾶλλον θαλπωρὴ καὶ θαρσαλεώτερον ἔσται. Il. 10.222–223 ‘Ma se venisse con me ANCHE UN ALTRO, ci sarà più speranza e maggiore coraggio’.

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3.3 Excursus. ὅ = sá figé? Bertrand (2010, 164) osserva che la ripresa di un topic può realizzarsi anche attraverso il pronome ὅ. Particolarmente interessante è il caso (l’unico, informa Bertrand) di ὅ che si accorda con la 1a.sg. del verbo: (35) οὐ μὲν γάρ τι κακώτερον ἄλλο πάθοιμι, οὐδ᾿ εἴ κεν τοῦ πατρὸς ἀποφθιμένοιο πυθοίμην, ὅς που νῦν Φθίηφι τέρεν κατὰ δάκρυον εἴβει χήτεϊ τοιοῦδ᾿ υἷος: ὃ δ᾿ ἀλλοδαπῷ ἐνὶ δήμῳ εἵνεκα ῥιγεδανῆς ῾Ελένης Τρωσὶν πολεμίζω Il. 19.321–325 ‘Mai soffrirò disgrazia più grave, nemmeno se di mio padre morto sapessi – che forse a Ftia una tenera lacrima versa per la mancanza di un tale figlio: (io) che, in paese straniero per la funesta Elena combatto coi Troiani’. Il fatto è già stato osservato da Dunkel 1990 a proposito del sá figé. La denominazione di sá figé¹⁴ si riferisce a un insieme di passi in cui la forma del pronome vedico sá, saˊˉ , tád compare soprattutto al nom. sg. masch., in posizione iniziale di frase, apparentemente senza referente, tuttavia evidenziabile in presenza di accordo del verbo alla 1a o 2a persona. Questa particolarità dell’accordo, già notata da Delbrück (1888, 211), aveva indotto Watkins a pensare a un’antico connettivo sá divenuto molto comune in nessi ¯ come sá yádi, sá yátra, sá céd. Vi sono ess. di tale uso in RV e in Śatapathabrahman . a, ad es.: h

(36)

¯ ¯ ¯ sa yády anuláb eran prasrtamatrám atrám . va_ñjalim . va¯ ˚ ‘se prendono la misura di una o due mani’.

(37)

naˉˊ _nyaˉˊ yuvát

prámatir sollecitudine–NOM

non_altra voi–DU–ABL ¯. sá vam sá voi–DU–ACC

h

d íyam . pensiero–ACC

ŚB 4.5.10.7¹⁵

asti máhyam . è a–me

¯im ¯ vajayánt gratificante–ACC

ataks.am//RV 1.109.1c creai

‘Non c’è altra cura per me che voi due, così (?) ho creato per voi due un pensiero gratificante’. Talvolta viene usata anche la forma flessa del pronome sá–/tá–:

14 Per una rassegna critica del problema si rinvia a Berenguer Sánchez (2000, 104 ss.). 15 Citato in Berenguer Sánchez (2000, 105).

468 | Massimo Vai

(38)

RV 5.24 ágne Agni–voc

tvám . tu–nom

no di–noi

ántama intimo–nom h

h

¯ aˉˊ utá trat e salvatore–nom

śivó benevolo–nom

¯ yàh. / b ava¯ varut sii protettore–nom

vásur buono–nom

agnír Agni–nom

vásuśrava¯ beni–famoso–nom

h

ác a¯ naks.i qui giungi–imp

dyumáttamam . luminosa–acc

sá no sá di–noi

bod i sii–attento

h

¯. / dah dà

rayím . ricchezza–acc h

śrud ˉˊi ascolta

h

hávam voce–acc

urus.yaˉˊ n.o proteggi noi

¯ ag ayatáh . malevolo–abl

tám . tva¯ tá–acc te

śocis.t a ˙ splendente–voc

d¯idivah. lucente–voc

sumnaˉˊ ya benevolenza–dat

¯imahe ¯ nunám ora veniamo

sák ib yah. / compagni–dat

h

¯ / samasmat chiunque–abl

h

h

‘O Agni, sii tu nostro amico e salvatore benevolo protettore. Agni è buono e è famoso per i beni: giungi qui e dacci la tua luminosa ricchezza. (Tu essendo tale?) abbi riguardo per noi, ascolta la nostra voce, proteggici da ogni malevolo. (Come tale?) a te ora veniamo, o splendente lucente, per la benevolenza verso (noi) tuoi compagni’. Non è chiaro se si debba pensare a un uso di sá connettivo come a un esito di grammaticalizzazione a partire da un pronome flesso, oppure se si tratti di un arcaismo, precedente lo sviluppo delle forme flesse – in ciò accordandosi con il connettivo itt. šu¹⁶< *so – che sarebbero sorte dalla fusione del connettivo con l’antico pronome enclitico, ancora attestato da itt. –aš¹⁷ < *–os.

16 Cfr. Hoffner – Melchert (2008, 392–393). 17 Cfr. Hoffner – Melchert (2008, 135).

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4 Relative in greco omerico e periferia sinistra della frase 4.1 Problemi nella ricostruzione del pronome relativo i.e. Dal punto di vista morfologico, fino alla scoperta dell’ittita era opinione prevalente che il pronome relativo originario del proto–i.e. fosse *(H)io– e che solo successivamente in ȗ u alcune lingue il pronome interrogativo e indefinito *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– avrebbe sostituito l’altro anche in funzione di relativo. Ovviamente la scoperta dell’ittita e, più recentemente, del celtiberico hanno mutato la prospettiva della ricostruzione: la protolingua utilizzava già questi elementi come relativi, e, se sì, solo uno o entrambi? 1a ipotesi: *(H)io– ̑ Il maggior argomento nel considerare *(H)io– come l’antico relativo è il fatto che i ̑ riflessi diretti di questo elemento compaiono come pronomi o come complementatori connessi a pronomi di originario valore relativo (cfr. Probert 2015, 24–27): a.sl.eccl. i–že (rel), ide ‘dove’, jegda ‘se’, jako ‘che’; got. jabai ‘se, quando’; lit. jéi/jéigù ‘se’, jóg ‘che’. Dal momento che molti complementatori si basano sul tema del relativo (cfr. lat. quod ‘il fatto che’, ‘poiché’), questo sembrerebbe un ulteriore argomento per supporre l’esistenza di un relativo *(H)io– in i.e. Tuttavia, nonostante gli indizi di germ. e baltosl., ̑ il maggior argomento a favore di questo pronome è l’isoglossa congiuntiva ario–greco– celtica (che costituisce geolinguisticamente l’area maggiore): infatti la scoperta delle iscrizioni del celtiberico di Botorrita ha posto una seria riserva all’ipotesi nel frattempo avanzata che *(H)io– fosse un’innovazione orientale rispetto ad un supposto più antico u u ̑ *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o–, ad es: (39)

iomui lisTaś TiTaś sisonTi śomui [. . . ]¹⁸ REL–DATSG ACCPL ACCPL V3PL DIM–DAT SG ‘A chi. . . a colui. . . ’

2a ipotesi: *kȗ i–/kȗ o– u u Il maggior argomento che *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– fosse già pronome relativo in i.e. è basato sulla sua presenza in anatolico e in latino–sabellico (Probert 2015: 27–32). Altrove lo stesso tema compare come indefinito e interrogativo, funzione, quest’ultima, da cui può tipologicamente derivare quella di relativo. Come i pronomi originati da *(H)io–, anche u u ̑ quelli derivati da *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– compaiono storicamente attestati in strutture correlative.

18 Citato da Ziegler (1993, 252).

470 | Massimo Vai 3a ipotesi: compresenza di *(H)io– e *kȗ i–/kȗ o– ̑ Altri pensano che i due temi potessero coesistere nella protolingua, ma con funzioni u u differenziate: *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– in relative di tipo correlativo e *Hio– in relative appositive ̑ (Probert 2015, 32 ss.). La presenza di abbondante documentazione in greco e in vedico di relative posposte all’antecedente e di valore non restrittivo sembra avvalorarne l’arcaicità, mentre è tipologicamente inusuale che le non restrittive precedano la principale. Se si accetta questa ipotesi, allora in greco e in indo–iranico *Hio– avrebbe sostituito u u ̑ *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– nelle funzioni di correlativo. Che questo possa accadere sembra confermato dal fatto che, in greco omerico, anche il dimostrativo–anaforico ὁ, ἡ, τό è usato in relative, soprattutto posposte alla principale, ma talvolta prende anche il posto di ὅς, ἥ, ὅ in strutture correlative (v. Probert 2015, 47). La difficoltà dell’ipotesi di due tipi di relative introdotte rispettivamente dai due diversi pronomi sta nel fatto che (quasi) u u nessuna lingua i.e. avrebbe mantenuto l’originaria distribuzione di *Hio– e *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– u u ̑ (Hettrich 1988, 770–771 menziona alcuni probabili casi di *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– entro il territorio di *Hio, ad es. tess. κις). Si deve comunque notare che in greco la distinzione tra il ̑ relativo ὅς, ἥ, ὅ < *Hio– e il dimostrativo–anaforico ὁ, ἡ, τό < *so–/to– non è sempre ̑ esente da problemi: Probert (2015, 121–122; 127) osserva che, data la recenziorità dell’uso dell’accento, è spesso difficile distinguere tra i due pronomi, tranne che nelle forme non ambigue a prescindere dall’accento. Inoltre la distinzione fra restrittive e non restrittive, che talvolta è affidata alla sola presenza della virgola, dipende anche in questo caso dalle scelte dell’editore del testo.

4.2 Correlative La frase correlativa è ampiamente rappresentata nelle fasi arcaiche di molte lingue i.e. e rappresenta con tutta probabilità un modello sintattico conservativo ascrivibile alla protolingua. In particolare, le correlative di interpretazione restrittiva, sia nelle u u lingue che usano *Hio– sia in quelle che usano *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o–, si caratterizzano per essere ̑ preposte alle rispettive principali e per avere testa interna. Particolarmente chiari sono alcuni casi del vedico: (40)

yám .i quale–ACC aˉˊ ditya¯ ¯ Aditya–VOC prá vah. PREV voi–ACC

yajñám .i sacrificio–ACC rjúna¯ ˚ retto–STRUM sái quello–NOM

náyatha¯ conducete

nara Signori–VOC pathaˉˊ percorso–STRUM

dh¯itáye attenzione–DAT

naśat RV 1.41.5 raggiunga–ING

¯ ‘Il sacrificio che voi conducete, Signori Aditya, per la retta via, quello raggiunga la vostra (benevola) attenzione’.

Struttura informativa della frase in greco omerico |

ya–NOM

mártyah. mortale–NOM

śíś¯ite áty affila PREV

aktúbhir notti–STRUM

maˉˊ nah. NEG noi–GEN

sá quel–NOM

ripúr ingannatore–NOM

¯ıśata RV 1.36.16 signoreggi–ING

(41) yó

471

‘Il mortale che affila (le armi) nelle notti, quell’ingannatore non abbia potere su di noi’. Anche nel greco omerico si trovano queste strutture: (42)

αἳ γὰρ ὑπ᾿ ἠελίῳ τε καὶ οὐρανῷ ἀστερόεντι ναιετάουσι πόληες ἐπιχθονίων ἀνθρώπων, τάων μοι περὶ κῆρι τιέσκετο ῎Ιλιος ἱρὴ Il. 4.44–46 ‘Perché quante città di uomini terrestri che si trovano sotto il sole e il cielo stellato, fra queste Ilio sacra mi onorava di cuore’.

Tuttavia esistono, sia in vedico sia in greco, relative a testa interna posposte: (43)

h

sá g a¯ quel ptc

v¯iró uomo–nom

ná ris.yati neg è–danneggiato

yám rel–acc

índro Indra–nom

bráhman.as pátih. Brahman.aspati–nom

sómo Soma–nom

hinóti favorisce

mártyam RV 1.18.4 mortale–acc

‘Quel mortale non è danneggiato, colui che Indra, Brahman.aspati e Soma favoriscono’. (44)

νήπιος, οὐδὲ τὰ ᾔδη ἅ ῥα Ζεὺς μήδετο ἔργα: Il. 2.38; ‘Stolto! Non sapeva quali opere Zeus meditava’

(45) εἰς ὅ κε τοὺς ἀφίκηαι, οἳ οὐκ ἴσασι θάλασσαν/ ἀνέρες Od. 11.122/123. ‘Finché tu arrivi a uomini che non conoscono il mare’.

4.3 Collocazione delle correlative nella periferia sinistra della frase Probert (2015, 311–312) osserva che la struttura delle correlative si presta particolarmente alla collocazione in posizione di topic. Questo si nota sia in vedico, sia in greco omerico:

472 | Massimo Vai

(46)

ágne Agni–VOC

yám . ya–ACC

yajñám cerimonia–ACC

adhvarám . sacrificale–ACC

viśvátah. da–ovunque

ˉˊ r ási paribhu circondante–NOM sei

sá quello–NOM

íd devés.u PTC dèi–LOC

gachati RV 1.1.4s va

‘Agnì, quella cerimonia sacrificale che tu circondi da ogni parte, proprio quella va agli dèi’. (47)

ὅς τις ἀιδρείῃ πελάσῃ καὶ φθόγγον ἀκούσῃ Σειρήνων, τῷ δ᾿ οὔ τι γυνὴ καὶ νήπια τέκνα οἴκαδε νοστήσαντι παρίσταται οὐδὲ γάνυνται Od. 12.39–43 ‘Colui che, per non saperlo, approda e sente la voce delle Sirene, quello mai più la moglie e i figli infanti, tornato a casa, festosi lo attorniano’.

(48) ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν πολίων ἐξεπράθομεν, τὰ δέδασται Il. 1.125 ‘quelli [scil. ξυνήϊα] delle città che abbiamo distrutto, quelli sono già stati divisi’ (49)

ὃς δέ κ᾿ ἀνὴρ ἀπὸ ὧν ὀχέων ἕτερ᾿ ἅρμαθ᾿ ἵκηται ἔγχει ὀρεξάσθω, ἐπεὶ ἦ πολὺ φέρτερον οὕτω. Il. 4.306–307 ‘L’uomo che possa dal proprio carro raggiungerne un altro, balzi in avanti con la lancia, perché così sarà molto meglio’.

In 46) – 49) le correlative sono collocate in posizione di topic nella periferia alta della frase. La frase correlata è introdotta in entrambe le lingue dal pronome sá/tá. In 48) si osserva che anche la correlativa è introdotta dallo stesso pronome sá/tá, mentre in 49) la principale è pro–drop. Inoltre, in 48) la prima occorrenza di τὰ potrebbe essere sostituita da ἃ, ed entrambe u u potrebbero aver sostituito *k ̑ i–/k ̑ o– nella sua funzione originaria di correlativo.

5 Conclusioni L’approccio pragmatico fa del greco antico una lingua FWO (free word order), nella quale l’ordine dei costituenti è determinato da ragioni comunicative e non è legato a fattori sintattici. Nel modello adottato anche da Dik (1995) il Focus deve precedere il Verbo; Focus e Verbo, inoltre, devono essere adiacenti. Matić (2003) ha modificato questo quadro incrementando questo schema con l’aggiunta di un’ulteriore proiezione nella periferia sinistra della frase e distinguendo fra un focus ristretto (narrow), che deve precedere il verbo flesso e un focus esteso (broad), che comprende il verbo flesso e un focus postverbale. Inoltre ha individuato un’ulteriore posizione di topic in sede

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immediatamente postverbale. Quest’analisi può utilmente essere confrontata con lavori di indirizzo generativo (Rizzi 1997, Benincà 2001) che hanno individuato anche per altre lingue una periferia sinistra “alta” articolata in field di frame, topic e focus e, a partire da Belletti (2004), un’ulteriore periferia bassa, anch’essa articolata in proiezioni di topic e di focus. Dal momento che questi ultimi studi prevedono, nelle diverse zone individuate, la collocazione di proiezioni massimali di vario tipo, è possibile pensare che anche costituenti di livello proposizionale, non solo nominale, siano adatti a occupare proiezioni di topic, focus, ecc. Si vede così che, ad es. anche le proposizioni relative possono essere pensate occupare posizioni dedicate nella periferia sinistra, in particolare qui si è considerato il caso delle correlative, la cui collocazione è in stretta associazione con la struttura informativa dell’intero periodo in cui compaiono.

Bibliografia Belletti, A. 2004: Aspects of the Low IP Area, in The Structure of CP and IP – The Cartography of Syntactic Structures vol 2, ed. L. Rizzi, Oxford – New York, 16–51. Benincà, P. 2001: The Position of Topic and Focus in the left periphery, in Current Studies in Italian Syntax offered to Lorenzo Renzi, eds. G. Cinque & G. Salvi, Amsterdam, 39–64. Benincà, P. & Poletto, C. 2004: Topic, Focus, and V2: Defining the CP Sublayers, in The Structure of CP and IP – The Cartography of Syntactic Structures vol 2, ed. L. Rizzi, Oxford – New York, 52–75. Berenguer Sánchez, J. A. 2000: Estudio sobre las partículas indoeuropeas con base consonántica y laringal, Madrid. Bertrand, N. 2010: L’ordre des mots chez Homère, Doct–Thèse, Université de Paris–Sorbonne. Cognola, F. 2008: OV/VO Syntax in Mòcheno Main Declarative Clauses, «RGG», 33, 79–93. Dal Lago, N. 2010: Fenomeni di prolessi (pro)nominale e struttura della periferia sinistra nel greco di Senofonte, Doct–Th, Università di Padova. Delbrück, B. 1888: Altindische Syntax, Halle. Dik, H. 1995: Ancient Greek Word Order, Amsterdam. Dik, H. 2007: Word Order in Greek Tragic Dialogue, Oxford. Dunkel, G. E. 1990: J. Wackernagel und die idg. Partikeln *só, *ke, *kem und *an, in: Sprachwissenschaft und Philologie: Jacob Wackernagel und die Indogennanistik heute, eds. by H. Eichner & H. Rix, (Kolloquium der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft) Wiesbaden, 100–130. Hale, M. 1987: Notes on Wackernagel’s Law in the language of the Rigveda, in Studies in Memory of Warren Cowgill (1929–1985). Papers from the Fourth East Coast Indo–European Conference, Cornell University, June 6–9, 1985, ed. C. Watkins, Berlin – New York, 38–50. Hoffner, H. A. & Melchert, C. 2008: A Grammar of the Hittite Language. Part I: Reference Grammar, Winona Lake, Indiana. Hettrich, H. 1988: Untersuchungen zur Hypotaxe in Vedischen, Berlin – New York. Lühr, R. 2009: Information Structure in Ancient Greek, in The discourse potential of underspecified structures, ed. A. Steube, Berlin – New York, 487–512. Matić, D. 2003: Topic, focus, and discourse structure, «Studies in Language», 27/3, 573–633. Poletto, C. 2014: Word Order in Old Italian, Oxford – New York. Probert, P. 2015: Early Greek Relative Clauses, Oxford.

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Progovac, L. 1996: Clitics in Serbian/Croatian: Comp as the Second Position, in Approaching Second. Second Position Clitics and Related Phenomena, eds. A. L. Halpern & A. M. Zwicky, Stanford, California, 411–428. Rizzi, L. 1997: The fine structure of the left periphery, in Elements of Grammar, ed. L. Haegeman, Dordrecht, 281–337. Vai, M. 2003: Alcune osservazioni sull’enclisi in serbocroato, «Quaderni Patavini di Linguistica», 19, 71–113. Wackernagel, J. 1892: Über ein Gesetz der indogermanischen Wortstellung, «Indogermanische Forschungen», 1, 333–436. Ziegler. S. 1993: Zur Entwiklung der Relativsätze mit dem Relativpronomen *[E03A?]o– in den keltischen Sprachen, «MSS», 54, 251–270.

Rodrigo Verano

Linguistic paraphrase in Platonic dialogue: a first approach Abstract: This paper approaches the form and function of paraphrase as a discourse phenomenon in Ancient Greek, using as corpus the Republic of Plato. According to the data provided by this Platonic dialogue, paraphrases mostly appear as mere appositions, being loose appositions with extra–clausal nature. Other procedures are also possible but less frequent. As regards the functions of paraphrases, they establish a semantic equivalence between terms or expressions and usually play different roles in discourse coherence.

1 Introduction Paraphrase is a polysemic term that refers to various realities. On the one hand, paraphrases are literary compositions adapting or recreating a hypertext into a new form, either for educational, hermeneutic or simply artistic purposes. On the other hand, paraphrasing is a rather common activity in everyday use of language by means of which speakers and writers allow themselves to reformulate a part of their previous speech. Both types of paraphrase are obviously related but blend into different contexts and respond to different intentions. In this paper I will focus exclusively on the latter, as in the following English sample text: (1)

When the writer is thinking too “locally,” person, number and tense can switch unnecessarily. In other words, the writer is failing to keep track of all of the sentence parts across phrase and clause boundaries (from S. Behrens’ column «Grammatically Speaking» at The New York Times, August 23rd 2013).

In the text, the lexical sequence “in other words” is used to connect both backward and forward linguistic units and make them equivalent for this particular context. The analysis of this kind of moves in Platonic Dialogue is the aim of this study. Thus understood, paraphrase is currently considered as a part of the so–called reformulative operations, by means of which a speaker can successfully rephrase, correct, clarify or even deny his/her own previous words.¹ Such phenomena have been barely attended within Ancient Greek Linguistics. In my view, there are two reasons 1 The label reformulation includes several operations taking place within the process of formulation or discourse production. Approaches to reformulation in modern languages have focused chiefly on discourse markers such as English ‘in other words’, ‘rather’, ‘I mean’; Spanish ‘es decir’, ‘esto eso’, ‘mejor dicho’; French ‘c’est–à–dire’, ‘autrement dit’, etc. Cf. Gülich – Kotschi (1983); Roulet (1987); Rossari

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-487

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which explain this oversight: one is the close relation of the study of reformulation in modern Linguistics to the spoken face of language, a domain which precises a sui generis approach in classical languages; the other is that, as I will try to show in the following pages, the formal procedures which introduce paraphrases in Ancient Greek are quite elusive and avoid the regular patterns for the marking of discourse functions – usually involving particles – on which the main streams of linguistic research have thorough and eminently focused. I will therefore approach paraphrase as a discourse activity. Paraphrases set up predications of identity – cf. Mortureux (1987), Fuchs (1994) – between linguistic units in discourse. Unlike synonymy and other system–bound semantic ties between words and expressions, paraphrases are attached to context: they introduce equivalences that are born and die as they are uttered. Based on this definition, this paper examines the formal procedures used to paraphrase in Plato’s Republic, which is the corpus of this study. After that, it undertakes a functional description of these contexts, taking into account the integration of paraphrases into different strategies regarding information structure and interaction. The analysis is preceded by some remarks on methodology and corpus and followed by conclusions.

2 Corpus and methodological remarks This is a functional study based on an onomasiologic methodology, meaning that no formal items have been previously selected. Thus, the instances of paraphrastic reformulation to be shown in these pages have been sought and found through a thorough and reiterated reading of the entire Republic in the original Ancient Greek. As a result of this rather qualitative methodology, the quantitatve data provided in table 1 might not be as reliable as those coming from studies of specific lexical items, since no searchable database can be used to trace back paraphrases introduced by mere apposition of terms.² The Platonic Republic has great advantages that make it a suitable work to study reformulation in Ancient Greek. Firstly, it is one of the best examples of standard classical Attic Greek. Secondly, it is large enough to provide a sufficient amount of data.

(1997); Archakis (2001); Saz (2007); Garcés Gómez (2003; 2005; 2006; 2008; 2009; 2010); Vassiliadou (2004; 2008). Form–independent studies of reformulation as a discourse function are Gülich – Kotschi (1995); Koschi (2001); López Serena – Borreguero Zuloaga (2010). In Ancient Greek, cf. Verano Liaño (2014) and (2015). 2 I have used the editions of Burnet (1900–1907) and Slings (2003). The text used in the examples is the one from Burnet’s editio magna. Some translations have been also very helpful (English by Jowett 1892, Shorey 1930 and Emlyn Jones – Preddy 2013, which is the one I use over the examples of this paper, with slight adaptations; French by Chambry 1932; Spanish by Pabón – Fernández Galiano 1949), as well as Adam’s 1902 critical notes).

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Thirdly, it probably is the most accurate portrait of Ancient Greek conversation that we have, which gives us access to study reformulation in a context of talk–in–interaction, as it has been also the case in modern languages. Finally, though it is a single work, the Republic displays many different text types and styles within its dialogical frame.³

3 Paraphrase in Plato’s Republic: formal description Paraphrase occurs in Republic 148 times. As I said before, numbers must not be taken absolutely, for some formal procedures are quite elusive and it is likely that a number of them have gone unnoticed. In any case, these data show clearly that apposition is by far the commonest formal way to paraphrase in Ancient Greek, according to the data provided by this dialogue. Table 1: Paraphrase in Plato’s Republic. Form Apposition (no marker) Verbum dicendi Disyunction Other expressions Total

Occurrences

%

117 23 4 4 148

79 15,5 2,75 2,75 100%

3.1 Paraphrastic apposition Paraphrase can be introduced in Ancient Greek by mere juxtaposition of both the original and refomulated expressions, as in (2): (2)

601b–c. ῎Ιθι δή, τόδε ἄθρει· ὁ τοῦ εἰδώλου ποιητής, ὁ μιμητής, φαμέν, τοῦ μὲν ὄντος οὐδὲν ἐπαΐει, τοῦ δὲ φαινομένου· οὐχ οὕτως· ‘Come on, then, consider this: we’re saying that the maker of an image, our imitator, understands nothing of reality, but only about appearance. Isn’t that so?’

The equivalence between ὁ τοῦ εἰδώλου ποιητής and ὁ μιμητής emerges in discourse from a solidary combination of informational context, syntax and intonation. A specific lexical marker (v.g. English ‘I mean’; French ‘c’est–à–dire’; Spanish ‘es decir’) is

3 Cf. Thesleff (1967) on the various types of text and styles in Plato’s Republic. The study is outstanding and it combines perfectly with new linguistic approaches in order to describe discourse phenomena.

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not required, though it can be easily supplied and it appears frequently in modern translations. I have labeled these cases as paraphrastic appositions, using a term that tries to highlight the coincidence of these paraphrases with the category of apposition, a traditional morpho–syntactic constituent «in which a referential element (the ‘appositive’ noun) is paratactically connected to another one (the ‘anchor’, which may be a noun or a pronoun) with which it shares the same referent and the same syntactic relationship to the rest of the clause» (Bertrand 2014, 143). Studies so far have distinguished between free and close apposition.⁴ The main difference between the two types has to do with autonomy: free appositions (3b) are prosodically and syntactically independent, whereas close appositions (3a) form a tighter unit with the nouns they are attached to: (3)

(a) Close Apposition: lat. Garumna Flumen; gr. Σωκράτης ὁ φιλόσοφος. (b) Free Apposition: lat. Cicero, homo clarissimus; gr. ἓν ζῷον φαίνεσθαι, ἄνθρωπον [588d–e].

Our so–called paraphrastic appositions belong to the latter category – free or loose appositions–, as in (4): (4)

614b. ᾿Αλλ΄ οὐ μέντοι σοι, ἦν δ΄ ἐγώ, ᾿Αλκίνου γε ἀπόλογον ἐρῶ, ἀλλ΄ ἀλκίμου μὲν ἀνδρός, ᾿Ηρὸς τοῦ ᾿Αρμενίου, τὸ γένος Παμφύλου· [. . . ]. ‘Mind you, I’m not going to tell you an Alcinous tale, I said, but the story of a brave man, Armenius’ son Er, by race from Pamphylia.’

Intonational autonomy is marked in (4) typographically, but it is confirmed by the possibility of right–dislocation of the constituent, as in (5): (5)

578c. Ναί, ἦν δ΄ ἐγώ, ἀλλ΄ οὐκ οἴεσθαι χρὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα, ἀλλ΄ εὖ μάλα τῷ τοιούτῳ λόγῳ σκοπεῖν· περὶ γάρ τοι τοῦ μεγίοτου ἡ σκέψις, ἀγαθοῦ τε βίου καὶ κακοῦ. ‘Yes, I said. But we musn’t assume such things, but examine a person carefully by an argument such as this, because, I tell you, about a most important subject is our inquiry: the good and the bad life.’

In (5), the appositive member ἀγαθοῦ τε βίου καὶ κακοῦ revealing what is ‘a most important thing’ (τοῦ μεγίστου) to Socrates is not strictly adjacent to the original expression, but lightly right–dislocated.⁵ This peripheral character of both syntactic

4 Cf. Spevak (2014, 163); also close/loose apposition in Bertrand (2014, 143). Cf. Longrée (1990, 11–12), who distinguishes between those appositions which «pour conserver une étiquette plus traditionnelle, nous les dénommerons ‘épithètes’, dénomination qui, dans les grammaires scolaires, recouvre le complément du nom réalisé par un adjectif» and those which are «simplement un énoncé incis». 5 See Fuentes Rodríguez (2012) and Spevak (2013) on right dislocation in modern Spanish and Latin respectively.

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and prosodical nature of loose apposition in general, brings paraphrastic apposition closer to the so–called extra–clausal–constituents in Functional Grammar. Grammars usually describe three semantic values or functions in free appositions: identification, atribution and inclusion.⁶ Paraphrastic apposition would be embraced within the first type – though this does not mean that every loose apposition carrying identification meaning has to be considered a paraphrase. Cognation of paraphrases and this kind of appositions has been noticed in grammatical descriptions of Ancient Greek and Latin: first, by signaling the proximity of these constructions with parenthetical remarks using λέγω: «Competing with such identifying appositions is the use of légo ‘I mean’, either as a full–fledged parenthetical clause, or as a mere marker, with its complement N[oun]P[hrase] behaving as an appositive NP» (Bertrand 2014, 145).⁷

Second, by pointing out the possibility of including a paraphrastic marker with no semantic consecuences: «Free appositions can be explicitly marked as such, for example by hoc est ‘that is’ [. . . ]. The second element in apposition paraphrases the content of the first element [. . . ]. Adverbs such as scilicet ‘of course, I mean’, are used as explicit indicators of appositions introducing a qualification assumed to be obvious, or the explanatory videlicet ‘that is to say, namely’ [. . . ] These markers introduce a further specification of a phrase that has just been expressed» (Spevak 2014, 325).

As it was previously said, loose appositions in general are peripheral constituents, and it is worth wondering if they could be considered extra–clausal constituents.⁸ According to S. Dik’s Functional Grammar description, ECCs have three prototypical properties: (a) they are usually autonomous units, prosodically isolated by means of pauses and bracketted off from the clause; (b) they can be omitted without causing lack of grammaticality to the clause; (c) they are not sensitive to clause–internal grammatical rules, though they can be related to one element in the clause by correference, paralelism or antithesis (Dik 1997, II, 381).

6 Cf. Bertrand (2014), Quirk et al. (1985). 7 Cf. also Crespo et al. (2003, 2009: «La aposición equivale desde el punto de vista semántico a las siguientes construcciones, en las que hay indicadores explícitos de aposición: (a) un sintagma explica a otro mediante una forma de λεγω ‘decir’: Τελαμῶνι δείξει μητρί τ΄, ᾿Εριβοίᾳ λέγω (S., Aj. 569) ‘se lo mostrará a Telamón y a mi madre, a Eribea me refiero’». 8 In keeping with the definition of extra–clausal constituents (ECCs) provided by Functional Grammar: «Especially in spoken discourse, we often produce a variety of expressions which can be analysed neither as clauses nor as fragments of clauses. These expressions may stand on their own, or precede, follow and even interrupt a clause, being more loosely associated with it than those constituents with belong to the clause proper. These expressions will here be called extra–clausal constituents (ECCs.)» (Dik 1997, II, 379).

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In principle, these properties might account very well for the status of the paraphrastic appositions. S. Dik’s Functional Grammar also assigns four different functions to ECCs.⁹ Among these functions, paraphrastic appositions could fit into the category of ‘tails’: «Just as a clause may be preceded by an Orientation which, in a sense, “sets the scene” for the interpretation of the clause, so it may be followed by loosely adjoined constituents which add bits of information which may be relevant to a correct understanding of the clause. Such constituents may also be added to parts of a clause, for example, to terms. To such constituents we assign the pragmatic function Tail, defined in general as characterizing constituents which present information meant to clarify or modify (some constituent contained in) the unit to which they are adjoined» (Dik 1997, II, 401).

Some features of tails are relevant to confront with those of paraphrastic appositions: first, tails may be related to specific parts of the clause, such as particular items; second, tails may appear both parenthetically or right–dislocated, as paraprhases in apposition do. It seems, therefore, clear that, as regards the instances examined in this paper, there exists a certain overlapping between what some approaches call loose apposition (among others, Bertrand 2014 and Spevak 2014) and S. Dik’s Functional Grammar extra–clausal constituent.¹⁰ These points of overlap could be resumed as follows: (a) Paraprhastic appositions belong to the category of extra–clausal constituents. They are syntactically clause–independent, though they prototypically relate to a specific element in the clause. (b) Paraphrastic appositions can be considered a subtype of the so–called tails in Functional Grammar classification of extra–clausal constituents. As tails, they can appear parenthetically or right–dislocated. (c) Paraprhastic appositions are metadiscursive procedures of reformulation. As such, they compete with other constructions–sometimes involving extra–clausal constituents as well–which explicit the reformulative activity by means of verba dicendi or specific markers.

9 Cf. Dik (1997, II, 385): such functions are interaction management, attitude specification, discourse organization and discourse execution. Tails belong to the category of discourse organization. 10 On the other hand, and in the same way in which other grammars noticed the proximity of loose appositions and parenthetical remarks introduced by λέγω, Functional Grammar considers similar instances of tail the following utterances (a) and (b): (a) “I saw John hand it–the money I mean–to the girl”; (b) “He pretended that it was there–in the library– that the whole thing took place”.

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3.2 Paraphrase with verba dicendi As any other metalinguistic operation, paraphrases may be introduced in Ancient Greek using verba dicendi which explicit the formulating activity of discourse production. Here, the use of λέγω is functionally identical to the introduction of a discourse marker:¹¹ (6)

491b. ῝Ο μὲν πάντων θαυμαστότατον ἀκοῦσαι, ὅτι ἓν ἕκαστον ὧν ἐπῃνέσαμεν τῆς φύσεως ἀπόλλυσι τὴν ἔχουσαν ψυχὴν καὶ ἀποσπᾷ φιλοσοφίας. λέγω δὲ ἀνδρείαν, σωφροσύνην καὶ πάντα ἃ διήλθομεν. ‘It would be unbelievable to hear that each one of the qualities in that nature which we praised corrupts the soul which possesses it and drags it away from philosophy. I mean courage, temperance and everything we discussed.’

These instances of paraphrases are close to what Conversation Analysis has called repair, an activity that takes place in talk–in–interaction when the speaker has to rephrase a part of his/her speech either at the request of the interlocutor or on his/her own initiative. Paraphrases introduced by verba dicendi are recurring strategies to accomplish a request of repair. Other frequent instances of the use of the verb λέγω introducing paraphrases are those of other–reformulation, when the speaker proposes a new formulation of his/her interlocutor’s words, by paraphrasing them. In these cases, it is usual to find the form λέγεις: (7)

425e. Εἰ δὲ μή γε, ἦ δ΄ ὅς, πολλὰ τοιαῦτα τιθέμενοι ἀεὶ καὶ επανορθούμενοι τὸν βίον διατελοῦσιν, οἰόμενοι ἐπιλήψεσθαι τοῦ βελτίστου. Λέγεις, ἔφην ἐγώ, βιώσεσθαι τοὺς τοιούτους ὥσπερ τοὺς κάμνοντάς τε καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλοντας ὑπὸ ἀκολασίας ἐκβῆναι πονηρᾶς διαίτης. Πάνυ μὲν οὖν. ‘If not, he said, they will spend their lives for ever passing such laws and amending them thinking that they are going to get the best. So you are saying, I said, that these sorts of people will live like those who are ill and unwilling to escape from a life of poor quality through a lack of self–discipline. I certainly am.’

Explicit reformulation of the interlocutor’s words is an act of ‘invasion’ of the other’s discourse–space that often requires mitigation. Consequently, it is understandable that

11 Cf. Luján (2005) for an account of the progressive bleaching of λέγω and its evolution into a self– correction marker in Ancient Greek. Traces of the loss of semanic or syntactic features pointed out by Luján are not yet visible in Plato’s Republic. Some antecedents appear, however, in other Classical texts such as tragedy, where λέγω–reformulative utterances may appear in mere (appositive) juxtaposition, without any connective particle. Cf. A.Ag.1035 εἴσω κομίζου καὶ σύ, Κασσάνδραν λέγω.

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the speakers choose interrogative modality, as in (8), or use modal adverbs to reduce the assertiveness of the reformulated statement, as in (9), in both cases placing in the interlocutor’s hands the final decision on the validity of the proposed paraphrase: (8)

333a. Τί δὲ δή· τὴν δικαιοσύνην πρὸς τίνος χρείαν ἢ κτῆσιν ἐν εἰρήνῃ φαίης ἂν χρήσιμον εἶναι· Πρὸς τὰ συμβόλαια, ὦ Σώκρατες. Συμβόλαια δὲ λέγεις κοινωνήματα ἤ τι ἄλλο; Κοινωνήματα δῆτα. ‘So what about justice, now? For what need, or for producing what would you say it was useful in peace–time? It’s useful in connection with business contracts, Socrates. By business contracts you mean partnerships, or something else? Yes, I mean partnerships.’

(9)

353b–c. ῎Εχε δή· ἆρ΄ ἄν ποτε ὄμματα τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον καλῶς ἀπεργάσαιντο μὴ ἔχοντα τὴν αὑτῶν οἰκείαν ἀρετήν, ἀλλ΄ ἀντὶ τῆς ἀρετῆς κακίαν; Καὶ πῶς ἄν· ἔφη· τυφλότητα γὰρ ἴσως λέγεις ἀντὶ τῆς ὄψεως. ῞Ητις, ἦν δ΄ ἐγώ, αὐτῶν ἡ ἀρετή· οὐ γάρ πω τοῦτο ἐρωτῶ, ἀλλ΄ εἰ τῆ οἰκείᾳ μὲν ἀρετῆ τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον εὖ ἐργάσεται τὰ ἐργαζόμενα, κακίᾳ δὲ κακῶς. ‘Well then: could the eyes ever perform their function well if they didn’t have their own particular excellence, but instead a defect? Why, how could they, he said,; for I suppose you mean blindness instead of sight. Whatever their excellence may be, I said; for I’m not asking that yet, but only whether anything will perform its function well by virtue of its particular excellence, and badly by virtue of its particular defect.’

3.3 Paraphrasing disyunction Besides the afore–mentioned cases, the analysis of the Republic reveals some interesting instances, where a paraphrase seems to be introduced by means of a disjunctive sequence, as in (10): (10)

335a. Κελεύεις δὴ ἡμᾶς προσθεῖναι τῷ δικαίῳ ἢ ὡς τὸ πρῶτον ἐλέγομεν, λέγοντες δίκαιον εἶναι τὸν μὲν φίλον εὖ ποιεῖν, τὸν δ΄ ἐχθρὸν κακῶς· νῦν πρὸς τούτῳ ὧδε λέγειν, ὅτι ἔστιν δίκαιον τὸν μὲν φίλον ἀγαθὸν ὄντα εὖ ποιεῖν, τὸν δ΄ ἐχθρὸν κακὸν ὄντα βλάπτειν; ‘So you’re telling us to make an addition to the just or, in other words, to the just as we stated it before, when we said that it was just to do good to a friend and harm to an enemy. Now we have to add: that it is just to do good to a friend who is good, and to harm an enemy who is bad.’

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The passage is certainly difficult, but the interpretation of a paraphrase clarifying the reference of τῷ δικαίῳ seems the most suitable one.¹² Examples in Republic are few, but a coincidence between paraphrase and disjunction is well attested in modern languages (cf. Talma 1987).

3.4 Other expressions Finally, it is worth mentioning some instances in which actual predications of identity take place, as in (11): (11)

576b. Κεφαλαιωσώμεθα τοίνυν, ἦν δ΄ ἐγώ, τὸν κάκιστον. ἔστιν δέ που, οἷον ὄναρ διήλθομεν, ὃς ἂν ὕπαρ τοιοῦτος ᾖ. Πάνυ μὲν οὖν. ‘So let’s sum up, I said, the worst sort. That is the one who is in waking life such as we described in a dream.’

In (11), the sequence ἔστιν δέ που serves to introduce a denomination or a definition, expanding a definite segment in the former sentence. There is no reformulation in discourse here, but a real predication of identity, providing the equivalence of two elements beyond the limits of the comunicative context. However, since these contexts are always suitable for hosting reformulative operations (though not necessarily vice versa), it is likely that some of these predications of identity actually relate to discourse activity, as in (12): (12) 588b. Ε᾿ῖεν δή, ε᾿ῖπον· ἐπειδὴ ἐνταῦθα λόγου γεγόναμεν, ἀναλάβωμεν τὰ πρῶτα λεχθέντα, δι’ ἃ δεῦρ’ ἥκομεν. ᾿ῆν δέ που λεγόμενον λυσιτελεῖν ἀδικεῖν τῷ τελέως μὲν ἀδίκῳ, δοξαζομένῳ δὲ δικαίῳ· ἢ οὐχ οὕτως ἐλέχθη; ‘Well now, I said, as we’ve reached this point in our discussion, let’s pick up the first arguments we made through which we got here. I think someone said that it was profitable for a completely unjust man who is reputed to be just to do wrong: or was that not the claim?’ This overlap may explain how frequent is to find discourse markers of reformulation developped from this kind of forms.¹³

12 Cf. also J. Adam’s critical notes: «[. . . ] ἤ after τῷ δικαίῳ must mean ‘or in other words’: [. . . ] The late expression Φαίδων ἤ περὶ ψύχης involves essentially the same use of ἤ. [. . . ] The whole sentence means: ‘do you wish us to make an addition to our account of justice, or in other words to say now –in addition to our original definition where we said it was just to do good to friends and harm to enemies– that it is just to do good to friends, if they are good etc.» (Adam 1902, 20). 13 As the Ancient Greek marker τουτέστι, from the grammaticalization process of τοῦτο (δ΄)έστι(ν). The form is absent in Plato, rare – and probably spurious – in Aristotle, and frequent in Plutarch.

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4 Functions of paraphrase Discourse is a multifunctional domain and, therefore, discourse units tend to perform simultaneously more than one role in its organization and execution. Thus, a primary function of paraphrase in discourse appears to be the setting–up of a semantic or referential equivalence between discourse units. However, the analysis of Plato’s Republic revelas the fact that contexts in which a paraphrase is used only for the sake of making two expressions equivalent, as in (13), are quite rare: (13)

546d–e. ἐκ δὲ τούτων ἄρχοντες οὐ πάνυ φυλακικοὶ καταστήσονται πρὸς τὸ δοκιμάζειν τὰ ῾Ησιόδου τε καὶ τὰ παρ΄ ὑμῖν γένη, χρυσοῦν τε καὶ ἀργυροῦν καὶ χαλκοῦν καὶ σιδηροῦν· [. . . ]. ‘The rulers chosen from them will prove themselves not very efficient guardians when it comes to the scrutiny of Hesiod’s and your four races, that is, gold, silver, bronze, and iron.¹⁴’

In most cases, the paraphrasing activity cooperates with other resources to achieve discourse coherence, by improving the assignment of pragmatic functions, as in the following passages: (14)

571a. Τὸ τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν, οἷαί τε καὶ ὅσαι εἰσίν, οὔ μοι δοκοῦμεν ἱκανῶς διῃρῆσθαι. ‘About our desires, I mean their nature and number, has not been adequately defined, in my opinion.’

(15)

605d–e. ῞Οταν δὲ οἰκεῖόν τινι ἡμῶν κῆδος γένηται, ἐννοεῖς αὖ ὅτι ἐπὶ τῷ ἐναντίῳ καλλωπιζόμεθα, ἂν δυνώμεθα ἡσυχίαν ἄγειν καὶ καρτερεῖν, ὡς τοῦτο μὲν ἀνδρὸς ὄν, ἐκεῖνο δὲ γυναικός, ὃ τότε ἐπῃνοῦμεν. ‘But whenever a private affliction arises in any of us, do again notice that we are proud of ourselves on doing the opposite, that is, if we can stay calm and resolute, as this is the manly thing to do, while what we approved before is what women do.’

Whereas in (14) the paraphrase helps to delimitate the constituent with the topic function, in (15) the introduction of a paraphrase allows the speaker to maintain the first expression – ἐπὶ τῷ ἐναντίῳ– in the regular focus position, inmediatly before the verb; after the clause is closed, the expression can be expanded by adding a right– dislocated paraphrase.¹⁵

14 Such instances are, on the contrary, frequent in Aristotle’s prose. Cf. Arist. De anima 424b: ῞Οτι δ’ οὐκ ἔστιν αἴσθησις ἑτέρα παρὰ τὰς πέντε (λέγω δὲ ταύτας ὄψιν, ἀκοήν, ὄσφρησιν, γεῦσιν, ἁφήν), ἐκ τῶνδε πιστεύσειεν ἄν τις. 15 Cf. H. Dik (1995; 2007) for a complete pragmatic account of Ancient Greek word order. Cf. also Matić (2013); Bertrand (2010).

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Apart from its participation in information structure, paraphrases can reinforce interpersonal coherence when they reelaborate the interlocutor’s speech in other– reformulation instances, as in (16): (16)

455a. Τάχα τοίνυν ἄν, ὅπερ σὺ ὀλίγον πρότερον ἔλεγες, εἴποι ἂν καὶ ἄλλος, ὅτι ἐν μὲν τῷ παραχρῆμα ἱκανῶς εἰπεῖν οὐ ῥᾴδιον, ἐπισκεψαμένῳ δὲ οὐδὲν χαλεπόν. ‘Perhaps then, the other person could say as well what you were saying a little while ago, that it is not easy to give adequate expressions to one’s opinion on the spot, but after some reflection it is not difficult.’

Finally, they are usually employed in repair situations, both self– and other–initiated. See for the former the example (5) above; the following passage illustrates the latter: (17)

429b–c. Καὶ ἀνδρεία ἄρα πόλις μέρει τινὶ ἑαυτῆς ἐστι, διὰ τὸ ἐν ἐκείνῳ ἔχειν δύναμιν τοιαύτην ἣ διὰ παντὸς σώσει τὴν περὶ τῶν δεινῶν δόξαν, ταῦτά τε αὐτὰ εἶναι καὶ τοιαῦτα, ἅ τε καὶ οἷα ὁ νομοθέτης παρήγγελλεν ἐν τῇ παιδείᾳ. ἢ οὐ τοῦτο ἀνδρείαν καλεῖς· Οὐ πάνυ, ἔφη, ἔμαθον ὃ εἶπες, ἀλλ΄ αὖθις εἰπέ. Σωτηρίαν ἔγωγ΄, εἶπον, λέγω τινὰ εἶναι τὴν ἀνδρείαν. ‘That means that a state is also corageous in a part of itself because it has such power within that part which will preserve through everything its teaching about things to be feared: these things and the sort of things which the lawgiver has laid down in our system of education. On the other hand isn’t this perhaps what you call courage? I didn’t exaclty get what you said, he replied, just tell me again. I mean that courage is a kind of guarantee of safety.’

5 Conclusions This study has tried to elucidate the phenomenon of paraphrase in Ancient Greek, using as corpus the Republic of Plato. The dialogical nature of the corpus provides us a context in which the results of the analysis can be framed: the uses of paraphrase found in this work respond, therefore, to the conventions of talk–in–interaction, as long as a literary dialogue can account for practices used in everyday conversation. Thus, according to the data provided by this Platonic dialogue, Ancient Greek paraphrases take mostly the form of mere apposition, being loose appositions with extra–clausal nature. Other –and more explicit– procedures are possible, but less frequent in this dialogue. Paraphrases establish a semantic equivalence between terms or expressions. This predication of identity is only valid in the context for which it is produced. Semantic equivalence, however, does not appear to be the most relevant point of using a

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paraphrase in many occasions. Paraphrase seems to have a role in the performance of different functions in discourse. This kind of functional overlapping is not exclusive of paraphrase or reformulation, but rather appears to be a constant in discourse.

Bibliography Achenberg, H. & Loureda Lamas, Ó. 2011: Marcadores del discurso: de la descripción a la definición, Madrid. Adam, J. 1902: The Republic of Plato, Cambridge. Archakis, A. 2001: On Discourse Markers: Evidence from Modern Greek, «Journal of Pragmatics», 33, 1235–1261. Bakker, E. J. 2010: Pragmatics: Speech and Text, in A Companion to the Ancient Greek Language, ed. E. J. Bakker, Malden, 151–167. Bazzanella, C. 1993: Dialogic Repetition, in Dialoganalyse IV, ed. H. Löffler, Tübingen, 285–294. Bazzanella, C. 1997: Functions of «Dialogic Repetition» in different interactional settings, in Analisi della conversazione e prospettive di ricerca in etnometodologia, ed. A. Marcarino, Urbino, 135– 150. Bertrand, N. 2010: L’ordre des mots chez Homère: structure informationnelle, localisation et progression du récit, PhD, Université de Paris–Sorbonne. Bertrand, N. 2014: Apposition in Brill’s Encyclopaedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, eds. G. K. Giannakis et al., I, 143–147. Beversluis, J. 2000: Cross–examining Socrates: a Defense of the Interlocutors in Plato’s Early Dialogues, Cambridge. Burnet, J. 1900–1908: Platonis Opera, Oxford. Chambry, É. 1932: Platon. La République. Paris. Crespo Güemes, E., Conti Jiménez, L. & Maquieira Rodríguez, H. 2003: Sintaxis del griego clásico, Madrid. Dik, H. 1995: Word Order in Ancient Greek: A Pragmatic Account of Word Order Variation in Herodotus, Amsterdam. Dik, H. 2007: Word Order in Greek Tragic Dialogue, Oxford. Dik, S. C., 1997: The Theory of Functional Grammar I–II, Berlin. Emlyn Jones, C. & Preddy, W. 2013: Plato’s Republic, Cambridge MA – London. Fuchs, C. 1982: La paraphrase, Paris. Fuchs, C. 1994: Paraphrase et énonciation, Paris. Garcés Gómez, M. P. 2006: Las operaciones de reformulación, in Actas del XXXV Simposio Internacional de la Sociedad Española de Lingüística, ed. M. Villayandre Llamazares, León, 654–672. Garcés Gómez, M. P. 2003: Los marcadores de recapitulación y de reconsideración del discurso, «Revista de Investigación Lingüística», 6/1, 111–41. Garcés Gómez, M. P. 2005: Reformulación y marcadores de reformulación, in Estudios sobre lo metalingüístico (en español), eds. M. Casado Velarde, R. González Ruiz & Ó. Loureda Lamas, Frankfurt am Main, 47–66. Garcés Gómez, M. P. 2008: La organización del discurso: marcadores de ordenación y de reformulación, Madrid – Frankfurt. Garcés Gómez, M. P. 2009: La reformulación del discurso en español en comparación con otras lenguas (catalán, francés, italiano, inglés, alemán e islandés), Madrid.

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Garcés Gómez, M. P. 2010: Marcadores de corrección y rectificación en los textos escritos, «Revista de Investigación Lingüística», 13, 87–105. Gülich, E. & Kotschi, T. 1995: Discourse Production in Oral Communication. A Study Based on French, in Aspects of Oral Communication, ed. U. M. Quasthoff, Berlin – New York, 30–66. Gülich, E. & Kotschi, T. 1983: Les marqueurs de reformulation paraphrastique, «Cahiers de Linguistique Française», 5, 305–351. Hossbach, S.1996: Zur Redewiederaufnahme im Diskurs, Münster. Hutchby, I. & Wooffitt, R. 2008: Conversation analysis, Cambridge UK. Jowett, B. 1892: The Dialogues of Plato, Oxford. Kotschi, T. 2001: Formulierungspraxis als Mittel der Gesrpächsaufrechterhaltung, in Text– und Gesrpächslinguistik. Ein internazionales Handbuch zeitgenössischer Forschung, eds. K. Brinker et al., Berlin – New York, 1340–1348. Longrée, D. 1990: À propos du concept d’«apposition»: les constructions rex Ancus et urbs Roma, «L’Information Grammaticale», 45/1, 8–13. López Serena, A. 2007: Oralidad y escrituralidad en la recreación literaria del español coloquial, Madrid. López Serena, A. Recreating Spoken Syntax in Fictive Orality: an Analytical Framework, in The Translation of Fictive Dialogue, eds. J. Brunne & A. Espunya, Amsterdam, 167–183. López Serena, A. & Borreguero Zuloaga, M. 2010: Los marcadores del discurso y la variación lengua hablada vs. lengua escrita, in Los estudios sobre marcadores del discurso en español, hoy, eds. Ó. Loureda Lamas & E. Acín Villa, Madrid, 415–496. López Serena, A. & Loureda Lamas, Ó. 2013: La reformulación discursiva entre lo oral y lo escrito: una aproximación teórica y experimental, «Oralia», 16, 221–258. Matić, D. 2003: Topic, Focus, and Discourse Structure: Ancient Greek Word Order, «Studies in Language», 27/3, 573–633. Mortureux, M. F. 1982: Paraphrase et métalangage dans le dialogue de vulgarisation, «Langue Française», 53/1, 48–61. Pabón Suárez de Urbina, J. M. & Fernández Galiano, M. 1949: Platón. La República, Madrid. Pons Bordería, S. 2013: Un solo tipo de reformulación, «Cuadernos AISPI», 2, 151–170. Rijksbaron, A. 1997: New Approaches to Greek Particles, Amsterdam. Roulet, E., 1987: Complétude interactive et connecteurs reformulatifs. «Cahiers de Linguistique Française», 8, 111–140. Sacks, H., 1989: Lectures 1964–1965 (eds. G. Jefferson & G. Psathas), «Human Studies», 12/3–4. Saz Rubio, M. M. 2007: English Discourse Markers of Reformulation, Bern. Shalev, D. 2010: «Mimesis», «diegesis», style: Socrates’ paraphrase of Homer Iliad 1.11–42 (Plat. rep. 393d8–394a6), in Papers on grammar 11, ed. G. Calboli, Rome, 233–272. Shorey, P. 1930: Plato. The Republic, London. Spevak, O. 2013: La dislocation à droit en latin, «Glotta», 89, 195–221. Spevak, O. 2014: The Noun Phrase in Classical Latin Prose, Leiden. Thesleff, H. 1967: Studies in the Styles of Plato, Helsinki. Vassiliadou, H. 2004: Les connecteurs de reformulation c’est–à–dire en français et ðilaði en grec, «Linguisticae Investigationes», 27/1, 125–46. Vassiliadou, H. 2008: Quand les voies de la reformulation se croisent pour mieux se séparer: à savoir, autrement dit, c’est–à–dire, en d’autres termes, in La reformulation. Marqueurs linguistiques. Stratégies énonciatives, ed. M. C. Le Bot, M. Schuwer & E. Richard, Rennes, 35–50. Verano Liaño, R. 2014: La hetero–reformulación en los diálogos platónicos, in Ardua Cernebant Iuvenes. Actas Del I Congreso Nacional Ganimedes de Investigadores Noveles de Filología Clásica, eds. V. Gómis, A. Pardal & J. De La Villa, Madrid, 153–60.

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Verano Liaño, R. 2015: La reformulación discursiva en griego antiguo. Un estudio sobre la República de Platón, Sevilla. Vives Cuesta, A. 2008: Decir en griego: esquemas constructivos de los verbos de expresión en ático clásico, in Actas del XXXVII Simposio Internacional de la Sociedad Española de Lingüística (SEL), eds. I. Olza Moreno, M. Casado Velarde & R. González Ruiz, Pamplona, 865–880.

| Part V: Syntax, thematic roles and their morpho–lexical interface

Marina Benedetti

Quale avere? Sulla sintassi di ἔχειν Abstract: In Ancient Greek, forms of ἔχειν occur in a variety of constructions, largely paralleled by have verbs in different languages. Starting from the analysis of constructions sharing as common feature the combination of ἔχειν with kinship terms, two main types of “possessive” constructions are identified and described on a syntactic and semantic basis. In both types, the occurrence of ἔχειν is related to the projection of an asymmetric relationship between two nominal elements onto clause syntax. A new hypothesis is formulated – as an alternative to the traditional grammaticalization model – in order to account for the diachronic relationship between the two types.

Quid est tempus? Si nemo a me quaerat, scio; si quaerenti explicare velim, nescio. (S. Agostino, Confessioni, XI, 14)

1 Avere in greco antico È osservazione ricorrente che, in ambito indoeuropeo, la stabilità lessicale del verbo essere (*h1 es–) contrasta con l’estrema instabilità, cioè con la variabilità lessicale, dei verbi avere (per es. Meillet 1923; Isačenko 1974; Creissels 1996; Heine 1997, 139 f.; Baldi – Cuzzolin 2005; Le Feuvre – Petit 2011). Se ne ricava che l’indoeuropeo comune non disponesse di un verbo avere (che appartenesse, insomma, al tipo delle “be–languages”, secondo la nota distinzione tra “have–” e “be–languages”)¹. L’osservazione, che può apparire scontata, comporta in realtà implicazioni tutt’altro che banali. L’etichetta avere, intesa in senso metalinguistico, rinvia, evidentemente, a una funzione. Ipotizzare che l’indoeuropeo non disponesse di un verbo avere significa ipotizzare che l’indoeuropeo non disponesse di un mezzo lessicale correlato a tale funzione. Diverse varietà indoeuropee si sarebbero dotate di tale strumento, attraverso

1 L’asimmetria e la complementarità di essere e avere hanno ricevuto una notevole attenzione negli ultimi decenni, come risulta dall’impressionante quantità di studi (anche se ci si limita alla produzione di ambito strettamente linguistico). Ci piace qui ricordare, oltre al noto lavoro di Benveniste (1960), la raccolta di saggi in Rouveret (1998) e nel numero 31 della rivista Lalies (2011).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-503

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percorsi paralleli², attingendo a risorse lessicali diverse: per un processo frequentemente descritto in termini di grammaticalizzazione, un verbo lessicalmente “pieno” (con significato del tipo ‘prendere, afferrare, trattenere’) avrebbe acquisito uno statuto “leggero”, entrando in rapporto oppositivo e complementare all’ausiliare essere³. Se poi, all’interno di questo panorama generalmente condiviso, andiamo a definire la funzione avere, il quadro si fa, tuttavia, incerto. Il tradizionale riferimento alla nozione semantica di “possesso”⁴ offre una soluzione apparentemente comoda, imponendo tuttavia una serie di distinzioni, per cui tale nozione si disperde in molteplici sfaccettature (in funzione, per esempio, del tipo di rapporto – alienabile? inalienabile? – tra possessore e posseduto, del tipo di posseduto – astratto? concreto? animato? inanimato?– e così via). Come il tempo nella famosa formulazione agostiniana in epigrafe, insomma, anche avere sembra nozione allo stesso tempo evidente e inafferrabile. Un tema così ampiamente trattato – in chiave sia storica che tipologica –, e denso di implicazioni teoriche, offre all’indagine molteplici spunti di approfondimento. Nell’ambito del presente lavoro – in linea con le competenze e gli interessi di chi scrive – il tema sarà trattato secondo una prospettiva decisamente parziale e limitata, sia in rapporto alla varietà linguistica (il greco antico) sia in rapporto al dominio sperimentale (v. oltre). In Greco antico, come è noto, il verbo che entra in correlazione con εἶναι, guadagnandosi così lo statuto di verbo avere, è ἔχειν, a sua volta riconducibile alla radice 2

´ ‘überwältigen, in den Griff bekommen’ (LIV s.v.). La varietà di impieghi di ἔχειν, *segh– e il suo complesso statuto di verbo “leggero” (ausiliare), da un lato, e di verbo “pesante” dall’altro, sono stati oggetto di accurate analisi (cf. Mader 1970, 57–144; Kulneff Eriksson 1999; Bortolussi – Guilleux 2011). Gli studi lasciano emergere un quadro molto articolato e complesso: talora anche per effetto della sovrapposizione di criteri eterogenei, gli usi di ἔχειν sembrano frammentarsi in una varietà irriducibile. Si ripropone qui, insomma, la consueta tensione tra identità e diversità, tra variazione e invarianza, che l’analisi linguistica si trova continuamente a fronteggiare. A quali proprietà attribuire pertinenza? Come inquadrare la varietà in un sistema coerente di opposizioni? Nel presente contributo, al fine di una migliore comprensione di alcuni aspetti legati all’uso di ἔχειν, si opera, come si è accennato, una drastica limitazione del campo d’indagine. Il campione iniziale di riferimento è costituito da costrutti in cui ἔχειν si

2 Nelle parole di Antoine Meillet, «l’existence d’un verbe „avoir” souple et largement employé est l’un des traits qui caractérisent les langues indoeuropéennes occidentales, l’un de ceux qui en marquent le parallélisme de développement» (Meillet 1923, 9). 3 È impossibile in questa sede citare adeguatamente i lavori che, a partire da quello, famosissimo, di Antoine Meillet (1912), hanno trattato delle vicende di avere in termini di grammaticalizzazione. Ci sia consentito richiamare semplicemente gli studi di Heine (1997, 1998). 4 Per un inquadramento generale si rinvia ai classici studi di Seiler (1983), Heine (1997), Stassen (2001) e agli studi raccolti nel vol. 7 di «Faits de langue» (1996).

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combina con nomi di parentela in funzione di oggetto (o, quantomeno, dotati dalla marca formale di oggetto, cioè il caso accusativo)⁵: in particolare, nell’esemplificazione qui proposta si farà principale – ma non esclusivo – riferimento a θυγάτηρ ‘figlia’. L’approfondimento di un dominio sperimentale così ristretto e ben delimitato può offrire, riteniamo, spunti utili per osservazioni di ordine più generale⁶. Come è lecito attendersi – e come vedremo nei nostri dati – un’apparente omogeneità semantico–lessicale dell’elemento in posizione di “oggetto” (se vogliamo, il ‘posseduto’) non garantisce identità di costrutti, anzi consente di mettere in luce cruciali differenze sintattiche e interpretative⁷. In quel che segue si descriveranno, in termini oppositivi, due tipi diversi (§§ 2–4) e, infine, ci si cimenterà con un’ipotesi diacronica che li mette in relazione (§ 5). L’analisi si basa su una semplice osservazione di proprietà combinatorie e distribuzionali; nelle linee essenziali, e nei presupposti teorici e metodologici, essa si ispira a lavori di Nunzio La Fauci (tra cui La Fauci 2005; 2006; 2013).

2 Modi diversi di avere figlie Osserviamo innanzitutto, comparativamente, i passi da (1) a (4): (1)

Νηλεὺς [. . . ] ἔχων θυγατέρα Πηρῶ τοὔνομα, κάλλει εὐπρεπεστάτην, οὐδενὶ ταύτην ἐξεδίδου πρὸς γάμον (Pherecydes, Fragm. K. Müller 75.2) ‘Neleo [. . . ], che aveva una figlia di nome Pero, estremamente attraente, non la dava in matrimonio a nessuno’

(2)

Δαυρίσης δὲ ἔχων Δαρείου θυγατέρα καὶ ῾Υμαίης τε καὶ ᾿Οτάνης, ἄλλοι Πέρσαι στρατηγοί, ἔχοντες καὶ οὕτοι Δαρείου θυγατέρας, [. . . ] τὰς πόλις ἐπόρθεον (Hdt. 5. 116. 5) ‘Daurise, che aveva una figlia di Dario, e Imea e Otane, altri generali persiani, che avevano anch’essi figlie di Dario, saccheggiavano le città’

5 Si tratta di una classe di nomi frequentemente presi in considerazione nella letteratura su avere, in virtù della loro natura tipicamente relazionale, comunemente rilevata nella produzione antica e moderna: nomi come ‘padre’ e ‘figlio’ ricorrono a illustrazione della “specie” dell’ ὄνομα πρός τι ἔχον già nella Τέχνη γραμματική dello Pseudo–Dionisio Trace; cf. Swiggers – Wouters (2007, 26 ss.) Su avere con nomi di parentela cf., per es., Keenan (1987, 305); Tellier (1991, 154 ss.); Hengeveld (1992, 39); Barker (1995); Jensen – Vikner (1996). 6 I materiali sono tratti da uno spoglio elettronico del TLG (http://www.tlg.uci.edu/), in un corpus completo di autori dall’VIII al III sec. a.C. 7 Ciononostante, tassonomie basate su classificazioni semantico–lessicali dei nomi che entrano in combinazione con ἔχειν sono piuttosto comuni; cf., per es., Mader (1970); Kulneff Eriksson (1999).

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(3)

καὶ ἐγὼ ταῦτα ὑπηρέτησα αὐτῷ, ὁ τὴν Εὐβουλίδου θυγατέρα ἔχων (D. Contra Macartatum 13. 2) ‘e fui io a rendergli questo servigio, io che avevo la figlia di Eubulide’

(4)

Πολύβιον δὲ τὸν τὴν θυγατέρα ἔχοντα [. . . ] καὶ ἄλλους τῶν μαθητέων διέπεμπεν ἐς ἑτέρας ἑτέρων καὶ ἀγορὰς καὶ ὁδοὺς πορευσομένους, ὅπως ὅτι πλείστοις ἐπαρῆξαι (Hp. Ep. 27.177) ‘(Ippocrate) mandò in missione Polibio, che aveva la figlia, insieme con altri discepoli, perché andassero in varie piazze e strade a portare aiuto al maggior numero di persone’

I passi citati condividono la presenza di una proposizione, di forma participiale, in cui ricorrono il verbo ἔχειν e l’acc. θυγατέρα; in tutti, inoltre, il soggetto di ἔχειν – cioè l’elemento cui il part. ἔχοντ– rinvia tramite gli accordi – è animato (maschile). A questi tratti comuni si aggiungono elementi di differenziazione formale, che riguardano, tra l’altro, la combinazione di θυγατέρα con l’articolo determinativo (che ricorre negli ultimi due esempi ma non nei primi due), e la presenza di un genitivo dipendente da θυγατέρα (che si osserva in (2) e (3) ma non in (1) e (4)). Quale valore funzionale attribuire a tali differenze? In particolare, quali tipi di costrutti abbiamo di fronte? Si può facilmente individuare un contrasto tra il costrutto in (1) e tutti gli altri. L’espressione Νηλεύς ἔχει θυγατέρα ‘Neleo ha una figlia’ (ricavabile, per semplificazione, da (1)⁸) designa una relazione di parentela. Abbiamo qui un tipo di costrutti interlinguisticamente assai diffuso, e ampiamente studiato, tra l’altro, nella sterminata letteratura sull’espressione del “possesso”. La natura di tale “possesso” è determinata non da ἔχειν, bensì dalla relazione sintattica e semantica che si instaura tra i due elementi nominali: più precisamente, tra un nome in funzione di predicato (θυγάτηρ) e l’argomento che esso legittima come suo Soggetto (nell’esempio, Νηλεύς). ῎Εχειν funge da ausiliare: esso consente al Soggetto legittimato dal nome predicativo di proiettarsi come soggetto del costrutto, fornendo il supporto morfosintattico necessario per la finitura della proposizione⁹. Se rappresentiamo convenzionalmente con x il valore dell’argomento legittimato dal nome di parentela (semanticamente variabile in funzione del nome stesso: ‘dotato di figlia / di sorella / di figli’ etc.: cf. ἀδελφὴν ἔχειν ‘avere una sorella’, τέκνα ἔχειν

8 Per semplice trasposizione del costrutto participiale in costrutto con verbo finito. 9 L’iniziale maiuscola distingue qui la funzione Soggetto assegnata da un predicato legittimatore (in questo caso, il nome predicativo) dalla funzione di soggetto (grammaticale) della proposizione; come è ben noto, le due funzioni non coincidono necessariamente. Sulla valenza dei predicati di forma nominale e sulla loro capacità di ospitare funzione predicativa (eventualmente in coincidenza con funzione argomentale) si rinvia, oltre che ai lavori di La Fauci citati nel testo, a Rosen (1987). Per la nozione di ausiliare cui si fa qui riferimento cf. Rosen (1997, 192): «Auxiliaries are a lexically designated closed class of verbs whose defining property is that they inherit a 1» [dove 1 = subject].

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‘avere figli’ etc.), possiamo affermare che ἔχειν si presta a ricorrere in costrutti in cui il suo soggetto ha valore x. Così, in (1), si predica, di Neleo, il suo essere dotato di figlia. Un quadro diverso si presenta in tutti gli altri brani citati, nei quali il valore x non è in rapporto con il soggetto di ἔχειν (rappresentato, rispettivamente, da Δαυρίσης in (2), ἐγώ in (3) e Πολύβιος in (4)). Anche negli esempi da (2) a (4) è possibile identificare un elemento associabile con il valore x (un partecipante cui è attribuita una figlia), ma esso si presenta sotto altre forme. In (2) e in (3), l’elemento x assume la forma di una dipendenza al genitivo all’interno dei nessi nominali Δαρείου θυγατέρα ‘una figlia di Dario’ e τὴν Εὐβουλίδου θυγατέρα ‘la figlia di Eubulide’. In (4), invece, x non ha manifestazione esplicita; di chi sia la figlia in questione, lo si ricava anaforicamente dall’evidenza contestuale: si tratta della figlia di Ippocrate, che Polibio ‘ha (in sposa)’. Qui x coincide con il soggetto di διέπεμπεν, che a sua volta è il predicato della frase principale: in sostanza, Ippocrate mandò in missione Polibio, il quale era suo genero¹⁰. In termini sintattici, e con riferimento alle proprietà del soggetto grammaticale, nei brani citati si possono individuare due tipi differenti: a. un tipo in cui si ha coincidenza funzionale tra il Soggetto legittimato dal nome di parentela e il soggetto della proposizione; cf. (1); b. un tipo in cui ciò non avviene; (2) – (4).

3 Avere figlie: cose di genitori (il tipo a) Nel tipo a, illustrato in (1), come si è visto, θυγάτηρ costituisce il nucleo predicativo della proposizione. ῎Εχειν interviene nel processo sintattico che consente all’argomento legittimato dal predicato nominale di proiettarsi come soggetto grammaticale. Qui ἔχειν entra in alternanza oppositiva con εἶναι, secondo il noto schema suppletivo essere a ∼ avere (in funzione dell’opposizione sintattica medio ∼ non–medio; cf. La Fauci 2005): (5)

ἔστι [..] μοι, ἔφη, καὶ θυγάτηρ παρθένος ἀγαπητὴ γάμου ἤδη ὡραία (X. Cyr. 4.6.9.4) ‘Inoltre – disse – ho anche una figlia, una fanciulla amabile e già matura per il matrimonio’

10 Altrove, x può coincidere con altri elementi presenti nel testo; cf., per es., Hom. Il. 11.739 s., in cui l’elemento a valore x si ricava dal genitivo Αὐγείαο: γαμβρὸς δ΄ ἦν Αὐγείαο,/ πρεσβυτάτην δὲ θύγατρ΄ εἶχε ξανθὴν ᾿Αγαμήδην (Hom. Il. 11.739 s.) ‘era genero di Augia, [ne] aveva la figlia maggiore, la bionda Agamede’.

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La particolare configurazione sintattica di (1) comporta una serie di condizioni restrittive (alcune delle quali ovvie) in merito alle possibilità combinatorie del nome θυγάτηρ. Tra queste, l’impossibilità di modificare (1) con l’inserimento di un genitivo (“soggettivo”) dipendente da θυγατέρα, come mostrato nell’esempio (6). (6)

Νηλεὺς ἔχων Δαρείου θυγατέρα [. . . ] ‘Neleo, avendo una figlia di Dario, [. . . ]’

L’inserimento, in (1), del genitivo Δαρείου introdurrebbe un’ulteriore manifestazione di x, già rappresentata qui da Νηλεύς, determinando dunque un conflitto funzionale con quest’ultimo. Una sequenza come (6) può certo ricorrere in greco, ma non come variante di (1). Dissociando il valore x dal soggetto di ἔχειν, l’exemplum fictum in (6) sarebbe da ascrivere, eventualmente, al tipo b. Restrizioni analoghe riguardano, per la stessa ragione, la possibilità di inserire, in (1), un possessivo. Una sequenza come (7) (7)

Νηλεὺς ἔχων τὴν ἐμὴν θυγατέρα [. . . ] ‘Neleo, avendo mia figlia, [. . . ]’

può certo ricorrere in greco, ma non come variante di (1). Essa sarebbe invece ascrivibile, ancora una volta, al tipo b, per il quale non mancano esempi con aggettivo possessivo (in alternativa al dipendente in genitivo) come manifestazione di x: (8)

τί οὖν· ἀναίνει τὴν ἐμὴν ἔχειν θυγατέρα; (Men. Fab. Inc. 18) ‘Che? Dunque rifiuti di avere mia figlia?’

Un’ulteriore restrizione cha caratterizza il tipo a riguarda la possibile ricorrenza dell’articolo determinativo. Come si è osservato sopra, θυγάτηρ si presenta senza articolo sia in (1) che in (2). Ma l’assenza dell’articolo ha valore ben diverso nei due casi. In (1) non si danno le condizioni per un gioco oppositivo tra presenza e assenza dell’articolo. Una modifica di (1), come proposto in (9) (9)

Νηλεὺς ἔχων τὴν θυγατέρα [. . . ]

non risulta possibile ceteris paribus (cioè senza effetti sull’intera configurazione sintattica)¹¹. Nel tipo illustrato in (2) – e esaminato più a fondo qui sotto (§ 4) si danno, invece, le condizioni per un gioco oppositivo tra presenza e assenza dell’articolo. Il contrasto tra

11 Diverso è il caso in cui il nome compare accompagnato da una modificazione predicativa come in Φῶκος [..] τὴν θυγατέρα ἔχων ἐπίγαμον ‘Foco avendo la figlia in età da marito’ (Plu. Prov. Alex. 2.23.2); qui si dà, in sostanza, una duplice predicazione: ‘Foco ha una figlia’ e ‘la figlia di Foco è in età da marito’.

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θυγατέρα τινὸς ἔχειν ‘avere una figlia di qualcuno’ (come in (2)) e τὴν θυγατέρα τινὸς ἔχειν ‘avere la figlia di qualcuno’ (come in (3)) rientra nel quadro delle opposizioni di definitezza all’interno del sintagma nominale: esso ha per così dire, una portata “locale”, senza effetti rilevanti per la sintassi della proposizione. Senza approfondire, qui, la questione dell’articolo greco¹², è sufficiente ricordare che la presenza dell’articolo (con effetti oppositivi pertinenti) appare legata alla condizione di finitura sintattica di un nesso nominale, con “saturazione” delle posizioni argomentali interne, e ne rappresenta la manifestazione esplicita¹³. Tale condizione non si dà nel nostro tipo a, ove ricorre, invece, la condizione – marcata – di un nome la cui funzione predicativa si satura a livello proposizionale¹⁴.

4 Avere figlie di x (il tipo b) La varietà combinatoria che, in opposizione al tipo a, caratterizza il comportamento di θυγάτηρ nel tipo b (varietà di cui si è data parziale illustrazione nei passi da (2) a (4)) è quella attesa nel caso – funzionalmente non marcato – in cui un nome funge da nucleo di un nesso nominale, nell’ambito del quale si esaurisce la sua portata predicativa. Il fatto che, nel tipo b, la portata predicativa del nome θυγάτηρ non abbia pertinenza a livello proposizionale trova conferma in varie ulteriori osservazioni. Per esempio, l’intero nesso nominale può commutare con un nome semplice, come mostra il passo omerico (10) οὕνεκ΄ ἔχεις ῾Ελένην (Hom. Od. 4.569) ‘dal momento che hai Elena’ A parità di interpretazione, e senza effetti destabilizzanti per la sintassi proposizionale (certo non così per il metro), ῾Ελένην può essere posto in alternanza con il nesso nominale Πριάμοιο θυγατέρα; cf. (10b) οὕνεκ΄ ἔχεις Πριάμοιο θυγατέρα ‘dal momento che hai la figlia di Priamo’ Commutazioni di questo genere non sono, evidentemente, ammesse nel tipo a. A ulteriore conferma del contrasto tra i due tipi, si osservi che il tipo b non offre le 12 Cf., su vari aspetti e secondo diverse prospettive, Sansone (1993); Parenti (1997); Lombardi Vallauri (2002); Manolessou & Horrocks (2007); Napoli (2009); Guardiano (2011) e (2013). 13 Sul parallelismo funzionale tra presenza dell’articolo nel nesso nominale e presenza di un soggetto espresso nel nesso proposizionale cf. La Fauci (2013). 14 Nella prospettiva del presente lavoro, essenziali sono i riferimenti a Mirto (1990); La Fauci – Loporcaro (1997); La Fauci (2011, 81 ss.). Di restrizioni analoghe a quelle qui rilevate per il greco si ha diffusa evidenza interlinguistica; sul fenomeno – spesso posto in relazione con il cosiddetto “definiteness effect” – cf., per es., Keenan (1987, 306); Jensen – Vikner (1996); Heine (1997, 31); Partee (2004); Tham (2006).

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condizioni per l’alternanza ἔχειν ∼ εἶναι. L’eventuale opposizione diatetica tra un tipo non–medio e un tipo medio è manifestata, nella morfologia verbale, dall’opposizione tra flessione attiva e flessione mediale. Si veda, per il tipo medio, il passo in (11): (11)

τοῦ [..] θυγάτηρ ἔχεθ’ ῞Εκτορι χαλκοκορυστῇ (Hom. Il. 6.398) ‘la figlia di costui era “avuta” da Ettore corazza di bronzo’

Si deve tuttavia aggiungere che in linea generale – anche al di fuori dei confini del nostro dominio d’indagine – un uso medio di ἔχειν è assai raro (come comunemente osservato, cf. ad es. Mader 1970; Kulneff Eriksson 1999). Quest’ultimo accenno induce un’osservazione più generale. Nel tipo a, lo si è visto, ἔχειν funge da ausiliare di un nome predicativo; esso eredita l’argomento x, legittimato dal nome di parentela, consentendo a tale argomento di proiettarsi come soggetto della proposizione. Più incerta appare la caratterizzazione del tipo b. Si tratta di un “normale” costrutto transitivo? Rispetto alle proprietà che si è soliti attribuire ai costrutti transitivi, il tipo b presenta in effetti alcune peculiarità: così, esso mostra una scarsissima disponibilità a entrare nel quadro oppositivo medio ∼ non–medio (in cui, come è noto, il medio include, oltre al passivo, una varietà di costrutti cui il nostro tipo b non partecipa); appare inoltre difficile associare alla ricorrenza di ἔχειν un contenuto interpretativo determinato. È una circostanza ben nota, che si riflette nel lungo elenco di significati comunemente attribuiti a ἔχειν. In questo come in molti altri casi, l’apparente sovrabbondanza di significati è, in realtà, effetto paradossale di una circostanza opposta: ovvero l’assenza di un significato specifico (La Fauci 2013, 47). Negli esempi da (2) a (4) citati sopra, il rapporto che, tramite ἔχειν, si instaura tra soggetto e oggetto della proposizione è il rapporto tra un uomo e la sua sposa (o compagna). È questo che lega Daurise e la figlia di Dario in (2) e così via; ἔχειν vale qui, pressappoco, ‘avere in moglie’. Tuttavia, questa interpretazione nasce dalle specifiche condizioni contestuali (facendo appoggio anche su uno sfondo di conoscenze condivise) piuttosto che da uno specifico significato di ἔχειν. Di fatto, nei testi greci a noi pervenuti, spesso un costrutto del tipo avere la figlia di x si riferisce a una situazione di questo tipo (evidentemente, il tipo di parentela qui implicata, cioè l’essere genero di x, è culturalmente rilevante in rapporto con le situazioni descritte nei testi). Ma altri brani presentano condizioni differenti. Anche restando nell’ambito dei nomi di parentela, possiamo osservare che il rapporto manifestato da ἔχειν può essere di altro genere: così, nel passo omerico in (12), il soggetto di ἔχες (riferito a Ettore), è chi protegge le spose e i figli; nei passi in (13) e (14), ἔχειν si presta a essere reso come portare con sé: (12)

ἦ γὰρ ὄλωλας ἐπίσκοπος, ὅς τέ μιν αὐτὴν ῥύσκευ, ἔχες δ’ ἀλόχους κεδνὰς καὶ νήπια τέκνα (Hom. Il. 24.729 s.) ‘perché tu sei morto, il custode, tu che la difendevi, e proteggevi le mogli devote e i figli bambini’

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(13)

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κᾆτα, ὥσπερ δαίμονές τινες, προσελθόντες οἱ παιδαγωγοί, ὅ τε τοῦ Μενεξένου καὶ ὁ τοῦ Λύσιδος, ἔχοντες αὐτῶν τοὺς ἀδελφούς (Pl. Lys. 223.a.3) ‘Ma ecco che, come demoni, si fanno avanti i pedagoghi di Liside e Menesseno, portando con sé i fratelli dei ragazzi’

(14) ὡς δὲ ἡ ἱπποδρομία ἔληξεν, ἔχων τόν τε Αὐτόλυκον καὶ τὸν πατέρα αὐτοῦ ἀπῄει εἰς τὴν ἐν Πειραιεῖ οἰκίαν (X. Symp. 1.2.4) ‘quando la corsa finì, (Callia) se ne andò alla casa del Pireo portando con sé Autolico e il padre di quello’ Se si tenta di cogliere un valore costante di ἔχειν dobbiamo dunque ricorrere a un valore assai generico. È opportuno richiamare, a questo proposito, alcune osservazioni che Diego de Acosta (nel suo studio sul lat. habeo) dedica alla nozione di “relazioni di pertinenza” (“relations of pertaining”, che includono al loro interno, come caso specifico, le relazioni di “possesso”): «[Relations of pertaining] link an entity (i.e. a noun) or a situation (a noun plus a predicate) to another entity. Relations of pertaining are subjectively created, abstract, and noetic [. . . ]. They are also asymmetrical: something belongs to or befalls the ‘major’ member of the relation, but not vice versa» (de Acosta, 2011, 165). Una condizione del genere si può riconoscere nei nostri costrutti, sia del tipo a che del tipo b. Nel tipo a, lo si è visto, ciò nasce della relazione che si instaura tra un nome predicativo (‘figlia (di)’, ‘sorella (di)’ etc.) e il suo Soggetto, con effetti semantici facilmente prevedibili e comunemente etichettati come “possesso”. E nel tipo b? È il verbo, qui, il nucleo predicativo della proposizione, da cui dipende l’introduzione della nozione – più generale – di “pertinenza”? Oppure il nucleo predicativo è, ancora una volta, un elemento nominale? In questa seconda prospettiva, l’elemento che funge da soggetto di ἔχειν rappresenterebbe, per così dire, un’espansione argomentale non, ovviamente, del nome di parentela, bensì del nesso nominale proiettato dal nome di parentela: Δαρείου θυγατέρα, ἀλόχους κεδνάς e νήπια τέκνα, αὐτῶν τοὺς ἀδελφούς etc. In tale quadro, ἔχειν fungerebbe dunque, ancora una volta, da ausiliare, anche se in condizioni sintattiche diverse da quelle che caratterizzano il tipo a, e tali da rendere più variabile sul piano interpretativo, più sensibile al contesto, la relazione tra i due elementi nominali. Un’ipotesi del genere è in grado di rendere conto dell’apparente varietà dei significati veicolati da ἔχειν, la cui natura, come si è detto, si precisa di volta in volta in funzione delle proprietà semantico–lessicali degli elementi nominali coinvolti, delle specifiche situazioni contestuali e delle conoscenze condivise: di Daurise si predica di essere in rapporto con la figlia di Dario¹⁵; di Ettore si predica di essere in rapporto con

15 Un’espressione come Δαυρίσης ἔχει Δαρείου θυγατέρα ‘Daurise ha una figlia di Dario’, sarebbe, insomma, parafrasabile grosso modo così: ‘esiste una relazione tra Daurise e la figlia di Dario tale che, data l’esistenza di una figlia di Dario, Daurise ne è il principale correlato sintattico in funzione argomentale’ (la formulazione è direttamente ispirata a La Fauci 2013, 116, n. 26).

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le mogli e i figli dei Troiani (nel contesto in cui la vedova ne piange la morte e teme per la sorte di Troia); dei pedagoghi si predica di essere in rapporto con i fratelli di Liside e Menesseno (nel contesto in cui si descrive la loro entrata in scena) e così via¹⁶. Gli effetti interpretativi che scaturiscono da queste combinazioni non lasciano intravedere, insomma, un contenuto semantico specifico di ἔχειν, cioè una capacità di assegnare ruoli tematici agli argomenti della proposizione¹⁷. Tramite ἔχειν, la relazione tra due elementi nominali si proietta nella sintassi proposizionale. L’asimmetria che, sul piano interpretativo, si determina tra i due elementi («something belongs to or befalls the ‘major’ member of the relation», per riprendere la citazione precedente) è un correlato dell’asimmetria sintattica tra un nesso nominale con funzione predicativa (oltre che argomentale) e l’argomento che esso legittima come suo Soggetto.

5 Un ponte tra i due tipi? Nel quadro qui delineato, affinità e contrasti tra il tipo a e il tipo b si precisano in termini sintattici e semantici. Riassumendo: a. Nel tipo a, ἔχειν eredita il Soggetto (a valore x) legittimato dal nome di parentela, proiettandolo come soggetto della proposizione. Interpretativamente, in Νηλεὺς ἔχει θυγατέρα si predica l’esistenza di una figlia in rapporto con Neleo (una relazione, se vogliamo, di tipo “possessivo”). b. Nel tipo b, per contrasto, ἔχειν eredita – e proietta come soggetto della proposizione – il Soggetto legittimato da un nesso nominale, all’interno del quale è confinata la portata predicativa del nome di parentela. In Δαυρίσης ἔχει [xgen/poss/Ø θυγατέρα] si predica l’esistenza di una figlia di x (internamente al nesso nominale) e si predica, a livello proposizionale, una relazione (che possiamo qualificare genericamente come “pertinenza”) tra la figlia di x e Daurise. Si veda la sintesi nei diagrammi che seguono, in cui Ν1 rappresenta il soggetto della proposizione e x l’argomento legittimato da θυγάτηρ (il suo Soggetto); la direzione della freccia indica la relazione tra il predicato nominale (vale a dire θυγατέρα ‘figlia’ nel primo caso, [(x) θυγατέρα] ‘figlia (di x)’ nel secondo) e l’argomento che esso legittima. I diagrammi mettono in evidenza la presenza/assenza di coincidenza funzionale tra Ν1 e x:

16 Si noti, tra parentesi, che nel tradurre le espressioni participiali ἔχοντες αὐτῶν τοὺς ἀδελφούς e ἔχων τόν τε Αὐτόλυκον etc., rispettivamente in (13) e (14) non è affatto necessario ricorrere a una forma verbale; cf., per il secondo passo, la traduzione Loeb: ‘When the racing was over, Callias proceeded on his way to his house in the Peiraeus with Autolycus and the boy’s father’ (corsivo nostro). 17 Cf. Creissels (1996, 157): «un verbe avoir n’est pas essentiellement un verbe dénotant un rapport de possession, mais plutôt un verbe dont la caractéristique essentielle est de permettre de poser avec le minimus de précision le rattachement d’une entité à la sphère personnelle d’un individu».

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Se, seguendo un’opinione generalmente condivisa, supponiamo che il tipo a sia più recente del tipo b, e si sia sviluppato da quello, dobbiamo chiederci quali condizioni possono aver favorito tale processo. Due osservazioni ci sembrano pertinenti al proposito: nel tipo b, l’argomento x non è necessariamente manifesto; inoltre, non è esclusa una coincidenza referenziale tra x e Ν1 . Della prima circostanza si è già data illustrazione in precedenza: come si è visto, qui un elemento a valore x può comparire sotto varie forme (genitivo, aggettivo possessivo), o, eventualmente, non essere manifestato affatto, come in (4) e nel passo citato alla n. 10 (dove l’identificazione di x avviene per rinvio anaforico a elementi del contesto) o in (12) (dove x non è in alcun modo specificato: è comunque implicito che le spose e i figli che Ettore protegge sono quelli dei Troiani). D’altra parte, la distinzione funzionale di Ν1 da x non esclude una coincidenza referenziale tra i due. È il caso che si presenta, ad esempio, in (15) ὁ γέρων [..] ἔχων τὴν θυγατέρ’ αὐτὸς ζηι μόνος / καὶ γραῦν θεράπαιναν (Men. Dysc. 30 s.) ‘il vecchio vive tutto solo, tenendo con sé la figlia e una vecchia serva’ In (15), la figlia che il vecchio tiene presso di sé è, lo si evince, la propria figlia. Il referente dell’espressione ὁ γέρων (Ν1 ) coincide, nella scena descritta, con il referente di x. Tuttavia, la manifestazione di tale coincidenza non è affidata a ἔχειν¹⁸. ῎Εχειν esprime qui una relazione di altro tipo (uno ‘stare con’, una relazione di “pertinenza”, se si vuol darle un’etichetta) tra ὁ γέρων e il nesso nominale all’interno nel quale ricorrono, coordinati, τὴν θυγατέρα e γραῦν θεράπαιναν¹⁹. 18 Potremmo immaginare di sostituire ἔχειν con un altro verbo, poniamo κρύπτειν ‘nascondere’ (‘il vecchio vive da solo, nascondendo la figlia e una vecchia serva’) senza che la sostituzione blocchi coincidenza referenziale tra Ν1 e x. Casi del genere sono in effetti ben documentati: cf., ad es., προπετῶς ἀπάγω τὴν θυγατέρ΄, ἱερόσυλε γραῦ· (Men. Epitrep. 1064) ‘troppo precipitosamente porto via la figlia, vecchia sacrilega?’. La figlia che il personaggio porta via è la propria figlia. Il fenomeno è tradizionalmente noto come uso possessivo dell’articolo; cf. per es. Schwyzer (1950, 22); Bakker (2009, 180, che rileva la sua frequenza con nomi di parentela). 19 Sotto questo profilo, il quadro non cambia se apportiamo a (15) modifiche che dissociano il valore x dal soggetto ὁ γέρων, come mostrato in (15a) e (15b); le modifiche, pur con evidenti effetti semantici, non cambiano la configurazione della proposizione e il tipo di relazione tra soggetto e oggetto:

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Il passo in (15) mostra come, in determinate condizioni, la distinzione formale tra il tipo b e il tipo a appaia sensibilmente ridotta, fino ad annullarsi se ci riferisce a una fase del greco precedente alla nascita dell’articolo (che, una volta costituito, viene a caratterizzare la finitura del nesso nominale, opponendo dunque in modo più evidente a e b anche sul piano formale). La nascita del tipo a si colloca, in effetti, in fase preistorica, precedente a quella della costituzione dell’articolo. In tale fase, una sequenza del tipo “Ν1 ἔχει [(x Ø ) θυγατέρα]” (con x non manifestato, e potenzialmente coincidente, sul piano referenziale, con Ν1 ) poteva offrire condizioni idonee a una rianalisi, con nascita di un nuovo tipo, in cui la coincidenza referenziale tra Ν1 e x diventa coincidenza funzionale, cioè sintattica, e la struttura, per così dire, si compatta. In assenza di indizi contrari, l’interpretazione più facilmente associabile al soggetto della proposizione, era, insomma, x; cf.

Con la costituzione del tipo a, il greco – come altre lingue indoeuropee – si dota di una struttura (sintatticamente non–media) alternativa a quella ereditata (media), con εἶναι, che già consentiva la proiezione dell’elemento x come argomento della proposizione (in presenza di εἶναι, come è noto, x appare in caso dativo, mentre al nome predicativo appaiono assegnate proprietà di soggetto). La nascita del tipo a estende così la portata dell’opposizione diatetica medio ∼ non–medio (cf. § 3.1) – ben assestata nell’ambito dei costrutti con predicato verbale – anche all’ambito dei costrutti con predicato nominale. È il momento di trarre alcune conclusioni. Ci si è posti qui in una prospettiva diversa rispetto a modelli consacrati da una illustre tradizione – come quelli basati sulle nozioni di grammaticalizzazione, o di possesso. L’analisi proposta non è tuttavia in conflitto con quelli. Si è convinti, anzi, che approfondire modi diversi di porre i problemi possa contribuire ad arricchirne la comprensione.

(15a) ὁ γέρων [. . . ] ἔχων τὴν Δαρείου θυγατέρ΄ αὐτὸς ζηι μόνος / καὶ γραῦν θεράπαιναν ‘il vecchio vive tutto solo, tenendo con sé la figlia di Dario e una vecchia serva’ (15b) ὁ γέρων [. . . ] ἔχων τὴν ἐμὴν θυγατέρ΄ αὐτὸς ζηι μόνος / καὶ γραῦν θεράπαιναν ‘il vecchio vive tutto solo, tenendo con sé mia figlia e una vecchia serva’

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Un pregio del punto di vista qui adottato è la possibilità di afferrare in modo chiaro somiglianze e differenze, rendendo facilmente comparabili i costrutti. La capacità di ἔχειν di porre in relazione un predicato di forma nominale con l’argomento che questo legittima come Soggetto, consentendo a tale argomento di proiettarsi come soggetto della proposizione, costituisce il tratto comune ai costrutti qui esaminati. La differenza è data dal tipo di predicato nominale: da un lato, un nesso nominale “finito” (all’interno del quale risulta saturata la valenza del nome che ne costituisce il nucleo), dall’altro, un nome la cui valenza si satura solo a livello proposizionale. Un correlato interpretativo di tale opposizione è la distinzione tra diversi tipi di “possesso” (o, se vogliamo, di “pertinenza”). Questa sistemazione chiarisce alcuni aspetti di ordine diacronico: la nascita del tipo ritenuto più recente non rappresenta una radicale frattura, non introduce un dato del tutto nuovo rispetto a una situazione precedente, ma si inscrive nel quadro di un ampliamento delle capacità combinatorie di ἔχειν in quanto ausiliare di predicazioni nominali²⁰. Costruita sulla base di un campione ben delimitato – che, riducendo l’ambito di variazione lessicale, offre un buon terreno per cogliere identità e diversità – l’analisi è tuttavia applicabile oltre l’ambito ristretto dei costrutti con nomi di parentela: la capacità di ospitare funzione predicativa, dunque di legittimare argomenti, è propria di qualsiasi elemento nominale. La prospettiva tradizionale, che pone l’accento su una presunta natura multiforme di ἔχειν (traendo sostegno da una più generale e interlinguisticamente accertata multiformità – o duplicitಹ – di avere) appare, in un certo senso, rovesciata. La molteplicità non sembra risiedere tanto nella natura di ἔχειν, quanto piuttosto nell’operatività sintattica del predicato nominale cui esso funge da supporto.

Bibliografia Bakker, S. J. 2009: The Noun Phrase in Ancient Greek: A Functional Analysis of the Order and Articulation of NP Constituents in Herodotus, Amsterdam Studies in Classical Philosophy, Leiden – Boston.

20 Un tale percorso non sarebbe privo di paralleli. Dinamiche non dissimili emergono, mutatis mutandis, in un ambito linguistico diverso ma vicino, nella nascita di perifrasi perfettive con habeo (ancora un processo che interessa avere, dunque!) nella diacronia latino–romanza; si veda l’analisi proposta in La Fauci (2011, 104) (al quale si rinvia anche per la visione del processo di rianalisi non come procedura meramente sintagmatica, ma come attivazione di circuiti funzionali secondo potenzialità inscritte nel sistema). 21 Cf. Jensen – Vikner (1996). Visione cui ci si atteneva ancora in Benedetti (2010) e (2011).

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Baldi, Ph. & Cuzzolin, P. 2005: Considerazioni etimologiche, areali e tipologiche dei verbi di ‘avere’ nelle lingue indeuropee, in Latin et langues romanes. Études József Herman, eds. S. Kiss, L. Mondin & G. Salvi, Tübingen, 27–35. Barker, Ch. 1995: Possessive descriptions. Diss. CSLI Pub. Benedetti, M. 2010: Omogeneità formale e varietà funzionale in costrutti con ἔχειν in greco antico, in Quae omnia bella devoratis. Studi in memoria di Edoardo Vineis, eds. R. Ajello, P. Berrettoni, F. Fanciullo, G. Marotta & F. Motta, Pisa, 75–87. Benedetti, M. 2011: Linguistik und alte Sprachen: „Experimente“ zu altgr. ἔχειν, in Indogermanistik und Linguistik im Dialog. Akten der XIII. Fachtagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft (Salzburg, 21 – 27 Sept. 2008), Wiesbaden, 59–68. Benveniste, E. 1966: «Être» et «avoir» dans leurs fonctions linguistiques, «Bulletin de la Societé de Linguistique de Paris», 55, 1960, 113–134 (poi in Problémes de linguistique générale, Paris, 187–207). Bortolussi, B. & Guilleux, N. 2011: “Être” et “avoir” dans les langues classiques, «Lalies», 31 (Actes de la session de l’association CLELIA, Evian, 23 27 août 2010), 241–251. Creissels, D. 1996: Remarques sur l’émergence de verbes avoir au cours de l’histoire des langues, «Faits de langues», 7, 149–158. de Acosta, D. 2011: Rethinking the genesis of the Romance periphrastic perfect, «Diachronica», 28, 143–185. Guardiano, C. 2011: Parametric changes in the history of the Greek article, in Grammatical Change: Origins, Nature, Outcomes, eds. D. Jonas, J. Witman & A. Garrett, Oxford, 179–197. Guardiano, C. 2013: The Greek definite article across time, «Studies in Greek Linguistics», 33, 76–91. Heine, B. 1997: Possession: Cognitive Sources, Forces and Grammaticalization, Cambridge. Heine, B. 1998: On explaining grammar: the grammaticalization of have–constructions, «Theoretical Linguistics», 24/1, 29–42. Hengeveld, K. 1992, Non–verbal predication: theory, typology, diachrony (Functional Grammar Series 15), Berlin. Isačenko, A. V. 1974: On ‘Have’ and ‘Be’ Languages (A Typological Sketch), in Slavic Forum: Essays in linguistics and literature, ed. M. S. Flier, The Hague – Paris, 43–77. Jensen, P. A. & Vikner, C. 1996: The double nature of the verb have, «Lambda», 21 (OMNIS Workshop 23–24 Nov. 1995, Institut for Datalingvistik, Handelshøjskolen i København), 25–37. Keenan, E. 1987: A semantic definition of “Indefinite NP”, in The representation of (in)definiteness. Papers from the Fifth Groningen Round Table, eds. E. Reuland & A. Meulen, Cambridge MA, 286– 317. Kulneff Eriksson, K. 1999: On ‘have’ in Ancient Greek. An investigation of ἔχω and the construction εἶναι with a dative as expressions for ‘have’, Lund. La Fauci, N. 2005: Il fattore HABEO. Prolegomeni a una nuova considerazione delle genesi del perfetto e del futuro romanzi, in Latin et langues romanes. Études József Herman, eds. S. Kiss, L. Mondin & G. Salvi, Tübingen, 441–451. La Fauci, N. 2006: Dinamiche sistematiche. Perifrasi perfettive e futuro sintetico: dal latino al romanzo, in Atti della “Giornata di Linguistica Latina” (Venezia, 7 maggio 2004), eds. R. Oniga & L. Zennaro, Venezia, 101–131. La Fauci, N. 2011: Relazioni e differenze. Questioni di linguistica razionale, Palermo. La Fauci, N. 2013: Rimodulazioni morfosintattiche latino–romanze in prospettiva sistematica, in Dal mondo antico all’universo medievale, eds. R. B. Finazzi & P. Pontani, Milano, 39–60. La Fauci, N. & Loporcaro, M. 1997: Outline of a theory of existentials on evidence from Romance, «Studi Italiani di Linguistica Teorica e Applicata», 26/1, 5–55. Le Feuvre, C. & Petit, D. 2011: « Être » et « avoir » en slave et en baltique, «Lalies», 31 (Actes de la session de l’association CLELIA, Evian, 23 27 août 2010), 253–277.

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LIV2 = H. Rix (Leitung), Lexikon der indogermanischen Verben2 , Wiesbaden 2001. Lombardi Vallauri, E. 2002: L’articolo greco fra identificabilità ed esclusività del referente, «Studi Italiani di Linguistica Teorica e Applicata», 31/1, 7–33. Mader B. 1970: Untersuchungen zum Tempusgebrauch bei Homer (Futurum und Desiderativum), Hamburg (Diss. Hamburg 1967). Manolessou, I. & Horrocks, G. 2007: The development of the definite article in Greek, «Studies in Greek Linguistics», 29 (Proceedings of the annual meeting of the department of linguistics, school of philology, Aristotele University of Thessaloniki, May 6–7, 2006), 224–236. Meillet, A. 1912: L’évolution des formes grammaticales, «Scientia (Rivista di scienza)», 12, 384–400 (poi in Linguistique historique et linguistique générale, Paris 1921, 130–148). Meillet A. 1923: Le développement du verbe „avoir”, in Antidoron. Festschrift J.Wackernagel, Göttingen, 9–13. Mirto, I. M. 1990: Nouns as auxiliated predicates, in Grammatical Relations: A Cross–theoretical Perspective, eds. K. Dziwirek, P. Farrell & E. Mejias Bikandi, Stanford, 279–303. Napoli, M. 2009: Aspects of definiteness in Greek, «Studies in Language», 33/3, 569–611. Parenti, A. 1997: Note sulla sintassi dei dimostrativi greci, in Studi di linguistica greca. II (Atti del Secondo incontro internazionale di linguistica greca, Trento, 29–30 settembre 1995), ed. E. Banfi Milano, 175–191. Partee, B. H. 2004: Weak NP’s in HAVE sentences, in Compositionality and formal semantics. Selected papers by Barbara H. Partee, Oxford, 282–291. Rosen, C. G. 1987: Possessors and the internal structure of nominals, ms., Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y. Rosen, C. G. 1997: Auxiliation and Serialization: on Discerning the Difference, in Complex Predicates, eds. A. Alsina, J. Bresnan & P. Sells, Stanford, 175–202. Rouveret, A. (a cura di) 1998: « Être » et « avoir ». Syntaxe, sémantique, typologie, Saint– Denis. Sansone, D. 1993: Towards a new doctrine of the article in Greek: some observations on the definite article in Plato, «Classical Philology», 88/3, 191–205. Schwyzer, E. 1950: Griechische Grammatik. 2. Syntax und syntaktische Stilistik, München. Seiler, H. 1983: Possession as an Operational Dimension of Language, Tübingen. Stassen, L. 2001: Predicative possession, in Language Typology and Language Universals. An International Handbook, 2, eds. M. Haspelmath, E. König, W. Österreicher & W. Raible, Berlin–New York, 954–960. Swiggers, P. & Wouters, W. 2007: Transferts, contacts, symbiose: l’élaboration de terminologies grammaticales en contact bi/plurilingue, in Bilinguisme et terminologie grammaticale, eds. L. Basset, F.Biville, B. Colombat, P. Swiggers & A. Wouters, Leuven, 19–36. Tellier, Ch. 1991: Licensing Theory and French Parasitic Gaps, Dordrecht. Tham, Sh. W. 2006: The definiteness effect in English Have sentences, in Proceedings of the 2004 Texas Linguistic Society Conference, eds. D. Pascal et al., Somerville MA, 137–149.

Maria Carmela Benvenuto & Flavia Pompeo

Abstract possession and experiential expression. Some preliminary remarks Abstract: Recent years have seen increasing attention paid to experiential constructions in Ancient Greek, above all in Homeric Greek, and various studies based on different approaches have been published (see, for example, Dahl 2014, and Luraghi – Sausa 2015). One of the interesting characteristics of experiential expressions is the variety of encoding not only cross–linguistically and diachronically, but also synchronically from an intralinguistic point of view. This is evidenced by typological data (e.g. Verhoeven 2007). Consistent with this scenario, Ancient Greek texts also testify a variety of experiential constructions with different argument structures and encodings of both the Experiencer and the Stimulus role. This paper presents the preliminary results of an examination of experiential constructions with a copular/existential verb in the domain of the so–called abstract possession. In this it draws on a study of possessive predicative constructions with “εἶναι plus genitive” and “εἶναι plus dative” in Ancient Greek, discussed in detail elsewhere (Benvenuto – Pompeo 2012 and 2015). In this respect, syntactic, semantic, and communicative factors are analyzed following a constructional approach in line with the work of Adele Goldberg (1995; 2006) and William Croft (2001).

1 Introduction The concept of “possession” is an exceptionally complex notion which is difficult to define in a uniform way. For the purposes of this paper, we assume a general characterization of possession as a semantic concept associated with cognitive entities known as “relations”, as was noted, for the first time, it seems, by Aristotle (Cat. 7, 6 b34–35). The nature of the possessive relation can be seen in general terms as an asymmetrical relationship between the two entities of Possessor (henceforth Pr) and Possessee (henceforth Pe) (see Seiler 1983, Lehmann 2002). These have a different role or status in terms of empathy (see Lehmann 2002), control and/or agentivity as well as a pragmatic–cognitive salience. Drawing on a study of possessive predicative constructions in Ancient Greek, which have been discussed in detail elsewhere (Benvenuto – Pompeo 2012; 2015), we will

Note: In the present paper, Maria Carmela Benvenuto is responsible for sections 2.1, 4, and 5, and Flavia Pompeo for sections 2.2 and 3; sections 1 and 6 are in common.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-519

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restrict ourselves to the examination of existential constructions with a copular/existential verb in the domain of what is known as abstract possession. This paper presents the preliminary results of this analysis. To this effect, the paper is organized as follows: section 1 introduces the issue and presents the corpus investigated, while section 2 is devoted to some introductory general remarks both on abstract possession and the experience domain. Section 3 describes experiential possessive patterns in Ancient Greek and presents the empirical analysis of these expressions in the corpus selected; section 4 examines the argument structure of both abstract possessive and experiential constructions, adopting a constructional approach. Section 5 provides some considerations on diachronic issues and section 6 offers concluding remarks. Finally, it should be noted that in this study we have only taken into account two– constituent constructions, that is, “subject εἶναι dative” and “subject εἶναι genitive”¹, with reference to a corpus comprising: Homer, Iliad, Books 1, 2, 3, 20, 21, 22 and 23; Odyssey, Books 1, 2, 3, 12, 13, 22 and 23; Herodotus, The Histories, Books 1 and 3; Euripides, Hippolytus, Bacchae; Aristophanes, Acharnians, Peace; Xenophon, Anabasis, Books 1 and 2; Lysias, Speeches 1, 3 and 12; Plato, Symposium, Phaedrus. This corpus is thus made up of texts previously examined by Benvenuto – Pompeo (2012), but which now returns new data regarding the constructions in question.

2 Relevant notions 2.1 Abstract possession According to its most basic definition, abstract possession involves a non–concrete, non–physical object as Pe (Heine 1997, 34; Stassen 2009, 19–20). This definition is sufficiently flexible to cover a whole range of relationships such as illness, a feeling, or some other psychological state, or an activity as in (1). This is maximally different from prototypical possession which normally has an animate Pr accompanied by a [+ concrete, ± animate] Pe capable of being governed by the Pr.

1 We excluded sentences where a form of the verb εἶναι appears with three nominal items, as well as occurrences where the dative may depend on an adjective, a participle or a verbal adjective.

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(1)

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a. He has no time/idea. b. I have headaches nearly every day. c. We had no difficulty at all. d. He had the strong impression that someone was watching him. e. I have a cold.

In the examples above the values regarding the two properties typically associated with prototypical possession, i.e. control and permanent contact (Heine 1997, 39; Stassen 2009, 17), are missing. Indeed, in the abstract possession situation the Pr is a human non–volitional participant involved in non–controlled relations that is often only a Theme, but in many contexts can be an Experiencer. According to Stassen (2009, 20) the physico–mental states or activities which function as possessions are generally temporary beyond the control of the Pr. In Ancient Greek the abstract subdomain is encoded by the competing constructions. As is well known, possession and a range of related meanings can be expressed by the predicative constructions of verbs with highly specialised possessive meanings, e.g. ἔχειν, as well as by constructions with a copular/existential verb in combination with accompanying morphosyntactic encoding (genitive and dative) on the Pr². In this paper, we take into particular consideration the encoding of a specific type of abstract possession, the so–called experiential construction expressed via the verb εἶναι, as in example (2). (2)

σοὶ δ΄ αὖ νέον ἔσσεται ἄλγος (Hom. Il. 6.462)³ ‘and to thee shall come fresh grief’.

Typological data shows that the extension of possession constructions to experiential constructions is relatively frequent and can be explained by a dual metaphor: Experiencers are Possessors of sensations and Sensations are things possessed (Fedriani – Manzelli – Ramat 2013; Luraghi 2014, 113).

2.2 The heterogeneous domain of experience Experience is a broad domain which includes several specific types of occurrence. From both a cognitive and an anthropological perspective, most of these types can be considered universal since they strictly relate to the anatomy and physiology of the human being (but also of some animals), and in particular to the nervous system

2 The predicative possessive construction in Ancient Greek has been thoroughly investigated in a number of studies, see references in Benvenuto – Pompeo (2012; 2015). For an overview of the range of expressions of possession in Ancient Greek, see also Benvenuto (2014). 3 Greek examples are taken from Oxford Classical Text editions, whereas English equivalents are taken from Greek–English Loeb editions. In some cases, the translations have been adapted.

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which processes inner and outer stimuli⁴. Obviously, this does not imply that they have identical meanings at a linguistic level, where the contribution of both social and cultural components in the conceptualization of experience is significant, albeit to varying degrees. With this in mind, we follow Verhoeven (2007) and distinguish five subdomains within the experiential domain. To a certain extent, there is some overlapping due to the ambiguity of some types of experience, which cannot be ascribed exclusively to one specific subdomain particularly when complex and culture–specific concepts are involved. For this reason, an acceptable solution, in accordance with Verhoeven (2007, 42), is to recognize that the various subdomains have fuzzy boundaries. The subdomains of experience are⁵: 1. Bodily sensation concerns stimuli directly relating to the human body, such as to be hungry, be thirsty, feel hot, and similar experiences such as to feel tired, feel good/bad, etc. 2. Emotion, comprising a broad range of thought–related feelings, is more heterogeneous. According to Verhoeven (2007, 44), the emotions most frequently identified by scholars are: happiness, sadness, fear, anger, disgust, shame and surprise; to these, feelings such as love, like, sympathy, hate and dislike which are addressed to other human beings can be added, as well as more complex feelings which involve a social component, e.g. envy or worry. 3. Cognition includes experiences deriving from inner mental functions, such as know, understand, remember, forget, suppose, imagine, think and believe, but also teach, show and similar verbs. 4. Volition comprises both conscious (intend, plan etc.) and unconscious (like, wish, desire etc.) forms of will. 5. Perception regards experiences we perceive through the senses, which may be active, such as watch, listen etc., or inactive, such as see and hear. From a linguistic perspective, we will take a fairly broad definition as our starting point, assuming that «experiential constructions are constructions which contain a verbal predicate that denotes a situation involving an Experiencer argument, i.e. a physical state or a mental state or activity [. . . ]» (Dahl 2014, 585). In particular, the Experiencer is a semantic role denoting a sentient entity involved in an event or state which is expressed by the predicate in the experiential expression. According to Verhoeven (2007, 52), we call the core of the experience (sensation, feeling, perception etc.) the expertum, which is usually coded by the predicate. Besides the Experiencer, an experiential

4 For an overview of the debate on this, rather controversial, topic, see Verhoeven (2007, 39–41). 5 The following list is based on Verhoeven (2007, 42–51). In this paper only some of the more significant aspects are briefly considered; for a detailed comprehensive discussion of the theoretical issues and bibliographical references, the reader is referred to Verhoeven’s study.

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predication usually – but not always – implies a second member, the Stimulus role, which is the entity (or proposition) that determines the event or the state involving the Experiencer. The Stimulus is generally the other argument in experiential constructions and comprises very different types. This definition of experiential constructions successfully encompasses the variety of encodings which characterizes this kind of expression, not only cross–linguistically, but also within a single language⁶. For our purposes, it is especially worth noting that, as Verhoeven (2007, 11) observes, these constructions «draw largely on more general construction types such as person part constructions, the existential construction, the transitive construction, etc. and most of their properties are inherited from these». The same phenomenon can be observed in the encoding both of the Experiencer and of the Stimulus. In particular, as far the Experiencer is concerned, the lack of a distinct case for the encoding of this role is fairly widespread in world languages, which generally use the same means of expression which primarily encode other roles (e.g. Agent, Patient or Recipient)⁷. Similar considerations apply to the Stimulus role. As a consequence, the existence of several formal means of expressing these roles contemporaneously is a phenomenon that is common not only cross–linguistically and diachronically, but also synchronically from an intralinguistic point of view. This scenario is even more striking when compared with the substantial homogeneity observed for roles such as Agent or Patient and Theme. The variety of encodings, however, basically mirrors the heterogeneity of possible conceptualizations which depends both on the type of experiential situation and on the properties of its participants. Suffice to say here that the various encodings can not only be determined by a variation in the degree of transitivity, and of parameters such as control and affectedness, but may also depend, for example, on differences in time stability and relationality, and in particular on the directionality of the relationship between Experiencer and Stimulus⁸. As far as Ancient Greek is concerned, recent years have seen increasing attention paid to experiential constructions, above all in Homeric Greek, and various studies based on different approaches have been published⁹. Experiential expressions in Ancient Greek also include a variety of constructions, with different argument structures, as illustrated, for example, in Dahl’s (2014) survey. The choice between the various

6 For a recent overview of experimental constructions in Ancient Greek, see Dahl (2014). 7 On the possibility for a number of languages to express experiential situations and the Experiencer role in particular grammaticalized ways, see, among others, Verhoeven (2007, 1–2). The latter also contains further references. 8 For an exhaustive survey of these issues, most of which are still much debated, see Verhoeven (2007), among others. 9 See, among others, Dahl – Fedriani (2012), Dahl (2014), Luraghi – Sausa (2015). Papers by Tronci (2009), Benedetti (2010), and Benedetti – Bruno (2012) examine the issue from the Relational Grammar perspective. For other references on research into experiential constructions, see Verhoeven (2007, 35–38). Finally, useful considerations on this matter are found in Kulneff Eriksson (1999).

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structures available is determined by different elements, not all of which are context dependent¹⁰.

3 The features of the experiential possessive in Ancient Greek: an initial survey of the data In Ancient Greek, one of the possible expressions of the experiential situation within abstract possession involves an expertum noun, which has the subject function of an existential predicate (εἶναι), while the Experiencer (or its body part¹¹) is coded by the dative case. It is the combination of the existential predicate with the expertum noun that attributes an experiential meaning to the whole expression, the different experiential subdomains being determined by the type of experience denoted by the noun phrase. In this kind of construction the Stimulus role is not necessarily present. In any case, when it is expressed, it is not an argument of the experiential construction but syntactically depends on the expertum noun. It is worth noting that this type of encoding it is not restricted to Ancient Greek but is fairly widespread in Indo–European, as well in non–Indo–European, languages¹². Let us briefly consider the data that emerges from an analysis of the corpus selected. Firstly we need to specify that there are no occurrences of the “εἶναι plus genitive” construction to express experiential situations. As regards the “εἶναι plus dative” construction, table 1 shows that on the whole there are few occurrences of experiential expressions with the bi–argumental structure “X (expertum) exists for Y (Experiencer)” and they represent a little more than a third of the total instances of abstract possession¹³. Moreover, some of the experiential expressions considered can be interpreted in various ways for various reasons that we will briefly discuss below.

10 See also Dahl – Fedriani (2012) and, on the subdomain of emotions in Homeric Greek, Luraghi – Sausa (2015). 11 There are constructions where the affectedness of the person part sympathetically designates the affectedness of the (human) Pr. As Verhoeven observes (2007, 92), this structural means is fairly widespread cross–linguistically. 12 See, among others, Verhoeven (2007), Bubenik (2012), and Fedriani (2014, 107–114). 13 In Benvenuto – Pompeo (2012), we observed that out of a total of approximately 150 occurrences of the “εἶναι plus dative” possessive construction, half have concrete Pe’s, while half have abstract Pe’s.

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Table 1: Occurrences of the “εἶναι plus dative” possessive construction for abstract possession and experiential expressions¹⁴ Abstract Possession Construction

Homer, Iliad, Books 1, 2, 3, 20, 21, 22 and 23 Odyssey, Books 1, 2, 3, 12, 13, 22 and 23 Herodotus, The Histories, Books 1 and 3 Euripides, Hippolytus, Bacchae Aristophanes, Acharnians, Peace Xenophon, Anabasis, Books 1 and 2 Lysias, Speeches 1, 3 and 12 Plato, Symposium, Phaedrus

Abstract Possession Expressions (excluding Experiential Expressions)

Experiential Expressions

10

9

10

4

3

1

4

5

7

1

3

4

4 6 47

2 2 28

The decreasing trend which can be observed in table 1 is consistent with Kulneff Eriksson’s (1999) conclusions concerning the reduced usage of the construction with the dative to the advantage of the possessive transitive construction with ἔχειν (see, infra, § 5). As a matter of fact, compared to the situation observable in the Homeric poems – in particular, in the Iliad –, occurrences of the abstract possessive construction significantly decrease in the later Greek authors, above all in Herodotus¹⁵. As for the types of experience expressed, that is, the subdomains involved in the predication, the overwhelming majority of occurrences (17 out of a total of 28) fall into category II (emotion). To a certain extent this datum is not unexpected, since, according to Verhoeven (2007, 44), the subdomain of emotion is the most heterogeneous one from a semantic as well as formal point of view. In Ancient Greek it also involves a variety of constructions (see, among others, Dahl – Fedriani 2012; Luraghi – Sausa, 2015). Examples (3) and (4) are representative of this type of experiential expression: (3)

ἀλλὰ μάλ᾿ οὐκ ᾿Αχιλῆϊ χόλος φρεσίν, ἀλλὰ μεθήμων (Hom. Il. 2.241) ‘Of a surety there is naught of wrath in the heart of Achilles; nay, he heedeth not at all’;

15 This datum, considered alongside the figures pertaining to the whole domain of possession presented in Benvenuto – Pompeo (2012), allows us to conclude that in Herodotus the constructions with εἶναι and dative and genitive respectively are mostly used for the expression of concrete possessions.

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(4)

μεγίστη εὐδαιμονία ἂν τῷ ἀνθρωπείῳ γένει εἴη (Plat. Sym. 189d3) ‘There would be the greatest happiness for the human race’.

Furthermore, we find four occurrences of experiential expressions which can be included in the cognition subdomain (examples 5 and 6). (5) οὐδέ τις ἡμῖν δόρπου μνῆστις ἔην (Hom. Od. 13.279–280) ‘nor had we any thought of supper’; (6)

τοῖς δὲ ὑποψία μὲν ἦν ὅτι ἄγει πρὸς βασιλέα, ὅμως δὲ ἐδόκει ἕπεσθαι (Xen. Anab. 1.3.21) ‘and they [the soldiers], while suspecting that Cyrus was leading them against the King, nevertheless thought it best to follow him’.

Three other occurrences probably belong to the volition subdomain, and all contain the noun θυμός, which, depending on the context, can be interpreted as ‘courage’, ‘will’ or ‘desire’ (see examples 7 and 8). While the volitional component in example (8) is quite clear, in (7), where such an interpretation is less immediate, its belonging to this subdomain – and not to that of the emotions – seems to be confirmed by the encoding of the Stimulus as a proposition, a typical feature of volition predicates (see, for example, Verhoeven 2007, 48). (7)

ἐρρέτω: οὔ οἱ θυμὸς ἐμεῦ ἔτι πειρηθῆναι ἔσσεται [. . . ] (Hom. Il. 20.349–350) ‘Let him go his way! no heart shall he find to make trial of me again’;

(8)

ταύτας στάσας κατά πρύμνην τῆς νεὸς ὠνέεσθαι τῶν φορτίων τῶν σφι ἦν θυμός μάλιστα (Hdt. 1.1.4) ‘As these stood about the stern of the ship bargaining for the wares they liked’.

Furthermore, a small group of occurrences were classified as ambiguous for various reasons. First of all, the occurrence in (9) – where the nurse is asking Phaedra for an explanation of her unease – is difficult to classify since the meaning ‘worry’ is a culture–specific concept, so any interpretation might vary between emotion, volition and cognition. However, given the context, the most plausible choice appears to be to ascribe this expression to the emotion subdomain. (9)

τί κυνηγεσίων καί σοι μελέτη; (Eur. Hipp. 224) ‘Why concern yourself with hunting?’.

Finally, three expressions of uncertain classification, the interpretation again fluctuating between emotion and volition, involve the word ἐλπίς ‘hope’. Of these occurrences, one is a negative sentence with the Stimulus encoded by a genitive (example 11), while the other two are positive expressions where the Stimulus is either absent (example 10), or a proposition.

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(10) μυρίαι δ᾿ ἔτι μυρίοις εἰσὶν ἐλπίδες (Eur. Bacch. 907–908) ‘There are innumerable hopes to innumerable men’; (11)

εἰ δέ τοι μηδεμία σωτηρίας ἐστὶν ἐλπὶς ἄκοντος βασιλέως (Xen. Anab. 2.1.19) ‘but if you have no hope of deliverance without the King’s consent’.

There are very few occurrences in our corpus as far as the Stimulus role is concerned. As a matter of fact, we have only 11 occurrences where a Stimulus is expressed, it being encoded by an objective genitive (see examples 5, 9 and 11 above), a prepositional phrase (example 12 below), an anaphoric pronoun, or a sentence (see examples 6 and 7 above). (12) νυνὶ δὲ παρὰ τῶν φευγόντων χρὴ πυνθάνεσθαι ἥτις ἦν αὐτοῖς πρὸς τὴν πόλιν ἔχθρα (Lys. 12.2) ‘but in the present case inquiry must be made of the defendants as to the motive of their enmity towards the city’. Moreover, on the basis of this initial analysis we find no occurrences of bodily sensation or perception. Regarding the first type, this is not unexpected and has already been observed by Bubenik, who maintains that in ancient Indo–European languages the possessive construction «with the experiencer in the dative and the ‘possessed’ state of coldness (warmth, etc.) is not found. Ancient Greek expressed the same experience by the personal construction featuring the middle–voice form psukhrό–etai [. . . ]» (Bubenik 2012, 41). Finally, it is worth noting that – as established in recent studies¹⁶ – the types of experience encoded by the construction in question, i.e. emotions, volitions and cognitions, are different as regards the parameter of control. Generally speaking, volitions and cognitions more often involve a controlled activity, while emotions – even though they mostly seem to imply a lack of control of the Experiencer – actually allow for a varying degree of control. This leads us to surmise that the parameter of control is not relevant in this construction.

4 Grammatical coding of abstract possession and experience This section focuses on the features of the grammatical coding of the abstract possession domain and the related subdomain of experience. In this respect, we analyzed syntactic, semantic, and communicative factors following a constructional approach

16 The literature on this topic is vast. See, among others, Verhoeven (2007) for discussion and references, and Luraghi – Sausa (2015).

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in line with the work of Adele Goldberg (1995; 2006) and William Croft (2001). In this approach constructions are considered symbolic units equipped with conventionalized configurations, at varying levels of complexity and abstraction, and with a non–compositional meaning. Constructions represent the abstract generalization (type) over the actual token expressions, the so–called constructs, that instantiate constructions in discourse. A further assumption of Construction Grammar is that constructions are organized in a structured inventory (Croft 2001, 25–26), through so–called inheritance relations. Every construction incorporates, to a greater or lesser extent, detailed information about its form, such as syntax and morphology, and its meaning function, such as discourse function and semantics. Abstract possession constructions with εἶναι show most properties of more general construction types such as the copula construction with genitive Pr as in (13–14) and the intransitive existential construction with dative Pr as in (15–16 below). (13) τὸ γὰρ κακὸν τοῦτ᾿ ἐστὶ τῆς Λακωνικῆς (Aristoph. Peace 245) ‘This is a blow for the Laconian side’; (14) ὃ δὲ ἀκούσας συνέγνω ἑωυτοῦ εἶναι τὴν ἁμαρτάδα καὶ οὐ τοῦ θεοῦ (Hdt. 1.91.6) ‘and when he heard it, he confessed that the sin was not the god’s, but his own’. The genitive construction is intrinsically stative with a semantically underspecified one–place predicate which is semantically subsidiary to the nominal complement that carries most of the lexical–semantic load of the predication and receives focus. This subsidiary status of the verb and the “predicate” status of the genitive constituent are supplied by contrastive focus (as in 14). In this construction, the verb εἶναι can be considered the copula, filling the slot [Cop] in the schematic copular construction [NPnom Cop NPgen ]. Even though the primary function of this construction is to designate ownership relations (permanent possession) and ascending kinship relations (Benvenuto – Pompeo 2015), it is also used on rare occasions for notions other than ownership. According to our data, this construction is consistent with abstract possession as long as the Pe’s do not have a conceivable temporal limit, while the domain of experience, being transitory by nature, is excluded, as already mentioned above (§3). On the contrary, the dative construction expresses a wide range of possessive relations, including abstract possession as in (15) as well as feelings and emotions as in (16). (15)

νῦν δὲ δὴ ἐνθάδ᾿ ἐμοὶ κακὸν ἔσσεται (Hom. Il. 21.92) ‘and now even here shall evil come upon me’;

(16)

καὶ οὔτε ἔχθρα ἐμοὶ καὶ ἐκείνῳ οὐδεμία ἦν πλὴν ταύτης (Lys. 1.4) ‘I had no other motive for hostility (to the accuser) and he did not have any enmity (against me) except for this’.

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From examining the features of the possessive clauses with “εἶναι plus dative”, it is possible to state that they are presentative–existential clauses of the kind ‘there is a YPe to XPr ’/‘to XPr exists a YPe ’. As far as the predicate is concerned, the verb εἶναι not only introduces an entity into the discourse, but also asserts the existence of the Pe explicitly, as do proper existential sentences, with respect to a Pr. Indeed, focused subjects are typical of existential– presentative clauses (cf. Benvenuto – Pompeo 2012; 2015). They are syntactically intransitive, the intransitive predicate filling the slot ([V]) in the schematic existential construction [NPNOM V NPDAT ]. The Pe, constructed as the grammatical subject of the predicate, is depicted as a Theme, i.e. the argument whose existence is asserted with reference to the Pr, which is an internal Obligatory Participant (IOP) of predication and is encoded as a locative/adessive complement. This state of affairs is represented in table 2. Table 2 NPDAT

ExistentialV

SubjNPNOM

IOP Pr [locative/adessive complement; +definite]

Exist [+aspect;+tense; +mood]

Pe [Theme; –definite]

Topic

Focus

4.1 Experiencer–as–Possessor constructions As mentioned above, the dative possessive construction can be exploited in order to express feelings and emotions as in (17 = 4). (17)

μεγίστη εὐδαιμονία ἂν τῷ ἀνθρωπείῳ γένει εἴη (Plat. Sym. 189d3) ‘There would be the greatest happiness for the human race’.

In this sentence the Subject of the sentence is an expertum noun in possessive relation to the Experiencer conceived of in terms of Pr in the dative case. The experiential predication is realized by the verb εἶναι combined with the expertum to express experiential states. In many cases the existential value of the verb ‘to be’ is reinforced by a spatio–temporal element as in (18). (18)

αἰεί τοι τοιοῦτον ἐνὶ στήθεσσι νόημα (Hom. Od. 13.330) ‘You are always taking something of that sort into your head’.

In (18), the presence of a temporal adverb as well as the locative element and the subject in the assertive focus domain requires an existential reading of the sentence. The

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experiential clauses have the same features as the more general existential possessive construction types: a non–topic marking of the subject and a lexical expression of the subject argument; in other words, they share the same pragmatic profile. The Stimulus, when it is expressed, is in an adnominal relation to the subject of the sentence or is an adjunct. In other words, an experiential construction via existential possessive constructions is a metaphorical extension of an existential construction implying a spatial landmark as in (19), which expresses the existence of a theme at a location: (19)

a. ἐν ταύτῃ γὰρ δὴ τῇ πόλι ἐστὶ μέγιστον ῎Ισιος ἱρόν (Hdt. 2.59.2) ‘there is in this city a very great temple of Isis’; b. εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ περὶ ᾿Ιωνίην δύο τύποι ἐν πέτρῃσι (Hdt. 2.106.2) ‘Also there are in Ionia two figures of this man carven in rock’.

In (19) the existential predicate introduces the referent of its primary argument into the discourse by ascribing a domain of instantiation to it. That is, a certain entity is introduced as existing with respect to a location, which functions as a reference point. Therefore, the experiential constructions with εἶναι regard an extended sense of the abstract possession construction, and both relate to the existential construction implying a spatial landmark. This is represented schematically in the following figure.

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5 A diachronic overview Finally, some words should be said with regard to the gradual reduction in the frequency of use of the construction in question (see above §3). This phenomenon can be linked to the competition between alternative constructions within the wider set of predicative possession. Kulneff Eriksson (1999) already noticed a tendency for the dative construction to decrease over time. She convincingly asserts that the increase in the use of ἔχειν (denoting ‘have’) occurs at the expense of the dative construction. On the contrary, as stated in Benvenuto – Pompeo (2012), the genitive possessive construction, having a very definite, functional area that is contextually restricted and semantically specialized, is relatively stable over time despite being noticeably less frequent. In particular, the construction with εἶναι plus dative is more frequent than ἔχειν in earlier texts, as in the archaizing language of poetry, where the verb ἔχειν still has its primary physical meaning of ‘to hold’ as shown in (20) by the presence of the dative encoding the instrumental role: (20)

παλάμῃ δ᾿ ἔχε χάλκεον ἔγχος (Hom. Od. 1.104) ‘with her hand she held the lance of bronze’.

On the other hand, the semantic bleaching of concrete possession is evident even in the earliest occurrences (Kulneff Eriksson 1999), where the possessive construction with ἔχειν can also be used to express abstract concepts such as ownership, emotion and so on (see no 21, 22, 23). (21)

τιμὴν δ΄ αὐτὸς ἔχοι καὶ κτήμασιν οἷσιν ἀνάσσοι (Hom. Od. 1.117) ‘and himself win honour and rule over his own house’;

(22) καὶ αὐτοὶ σφῇσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγε΄ ἔχουσιν (Hom. Od. 1.33–34) ‘through their own blind folly, have sorrows beyond that which is ordained’; (23)

ἀλλά τε καὶ μετόπισθεν ἔχει κότον, ὄφρα τελέσσῃ, ἐν στήθεσσιν ἑοῖσι (Hom. Il. 1.82–83) ‘yet thereafter he cherishes resentment in his heart till he bring all to pass’.

In time, the verb ἔχειν expands its functional domain, and also becomes more dominant with abstract Pe’s, while the dative type decreases considerably because of the high degree of semantic overlap that makes both constructions synonymous. This situation can be considered a result of the varying degrees of polysemy within constructions and the partial synonymy between the two constructions. Even though constructions with the possession–based verb ἔχειν and with the verb ‘to be’ plus dative differ in the choice of verb and in argument structure, as well as in the morphosyntactic encoding of the two participants involved in the situation of possession, in both constructions the Pe is a largely indefinite element that represents the assertive

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part of the proposition, whereas the Pr is the topic of the sentence (Benvenuto 2014). In other words, both constructions have the same pragmatic profile and structure: .

Indeed, according to data from Kulneff Eriksson (1999), it is evident that ἔχειν is more commonly used in expressions of prototypical possession with a predominance of a [+human] feature in the Pr and concrete or inanimate features in the Pe. The latter is largely indefinite, and it forms, together with the predicate, the focus domain, as in (24). Nevertheless the ἔχειν–construction can also occur with a definite Pe and a focus on the Pr, as in (25): (24)

καὶ οἱ πεζοὶ ἔχουσι μὲν γέρρα καὶ κοπίδας καὶ σαγάρεις (Xen. Cyr. 8.8.23) ‘The infantry still have their wicker shields and bills and sabres’;

(25) ᾿Εξαπολομένων δὲ τούτων ἔχουσι τὴν χώρην οἱ Νασαμῶνες (Hdt. 4.173.7) ‘So they perished utterly, and the Nasamones have their country’. An alternative indefinite focal/definite topical Pe is made possible because a transitive sentence can have more than one focus reading. This potential for alternative strategies of information structuring, apart from transitive syntax patterns, makes this construction more flexible than existential constructions that are generally limited to indefinite Pe’s. Over the course of time, the “ease of processing” (Hawkins 2004) abstract transitive schema favoured an increase in construction type–frequency and consequently the gradual extension of ἔχειν–constructions at the expense of the sphere of the dative– construction. This change in the semantic structure of ἔχειν–constructions, which extends beyond its functional core to cover less prototypical meanings such as abstract possession and experience, can, following Traugott – Trousdale (2010, 26), be defined a constructional change.

6 Concluding remarks The analysis of experiential expressions through the abstract possession construction has identified the patterns and constraints regarding experiential constructions. In particular, we have noticed that: – the construction with the genitive cannot encode experiential situations, while it can express abstract possession as long as the Pe’s do not have conceivable temporal limits; – from the earliest literary evidence, the unmarked expression to encode both abstract and experiential possession is the construction with the dative. However, not every type of experience can be expressed by this construction but only those

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belonging to the subdomains of emotions – the most numerous in our corpus – and, albeit to a very limited extent, of volition and cognition; – the Stimulus role does not occur frequently, and consequently we can infer that it is not an essential element in this type of conceptualization of experience; – the parameter of control is probably not relevant in this construction. Given the above, an initial hypothesis, which needs to be confirmed by further, more detailed research, is that the abstract possession construction can also express experiential situations because the abstract possession relationship does not require control or, in any case, this property is not significant and mandatory. It follows that the abstract possession construction was well suited to the expression of various types of experience and, in particular, emotions, which often imply a lack of control on the part of the Experiencer. To conclude, in line with Creissel (2013), we can say that this type of experiential expression chiefly characterizes the expertum/Pe as something that is within the personal sphere of an individual (the Experiencer/Pr). Indeed, «what makes the unity of the situations encoded by possessive constructions is the notion of personal sphere of an individual, but the relationships between an individual and the entities that can be viewed as included in his/her personal sphere are very diverse with respect to the notion of control [. . . ]» (Creissels 2013, 474).

Bibliography Benedetti, M. 2010: Omogeneità formale e varietà funzionale in costrutti con ἔχειν in greco antico, in Quae omnia bella devoratis. Studi in memoria di Edoardo Vineis, eds. R. Ajello, P. Berrettoni, F. Fanciullo, G. Marotta & F. Motta, Pisa, 75–87. Benedetti, M. & Bruno, C. 2012: A proposito di alcuni costrutti con ἔχειν nel greco antico, in Discontinuità e creolizzazione nell’Europa linguistica, eds. M. Mancini & L. Lorenzetti, Roma, 7–27. Benvenuto, M. C. 2014: Possession, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics (EAGLL), III, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Leiden – Boston, 115–122. Benvenuto, M. C. & Pompeo, F. 2012: Expressions of predicative possession in Ancient Greek: “εἶναι plus dative” and “εἶναι plus genitive” constructions, «AION», n.s. 1, 77–103. Benvenuto, M. C. & Pompeo, F. 2015: Verbal semantics in Ancient Greek possessive constructions with eînai, «JGL», 15/1, 3–33. Bubenik, V. 2012: On the reconstruction of experiential constructions in (Late) Proto–Indo–European, in Historical Linguistics 2009: Selected papers from the 19th International Conference on Historical Linguistics, Nijmegen, 10–14 August 2009, eds. A. van Kemenade & N. de Haas, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 31–48. Creissels, D. 2013: Control and the evolution of possessive and existential constructions, in Argument Structure in Flux. The Naples–Capri Papers, eds. E. van Gelderen, J. Barðdal & M. Cennamo, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 461–476. Croft, W. 2001: Radical Construction Grammar: Syntactic Theory in Typological Perspective, Oxford. Dahl, E. 2014: Experiential constructions, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, Vol.1 (A–F), ed. G.K. Giannakis, Leiden – Boston, 585–588.

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Dahl, E. & Fedriani, C. 2012: The Argument Structure of Experience: Experiential Constructions in Early Vedic, Homeric Greek and Old Latin, « TPhS», 110/3, 342–362. Fedriani, C. 2014: Experiential Constructions in Latin, Brill, Leiden – Boston. Fedriani, C., Manzelli, G. & Ramat, P. 2013: Gradualness in contact–induced constructional replication: The Abstract Possession construction in the Circum–Mediterranean area, in Synchrony and Diachrony: A dynamic Interface, eds. A. Giacalone Ramat, C. Mauri & P. Molinelli, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 391–418. Goldberg, A. E. 1995: Constructions: A Construction Grammar Approach to Argument Structure, Chicago – London. Goldberg, A. E. 2006: Constructions at Work: The Nature of Generalization in Language, Oxford – New York. Hawkins, J. A. 2004: Efficiency and Complexity in Grammars, Oxford. Heine, B. 1997: Possession: Cognitive Sources, Forces, and Grammaticalization, Cambridge. Kulneff Eriksson, K. 1999: On ‘have’ in Ancient Greek. An investigation on ἔχω and the construction εἶναι with a dative as expressions for ‘have’, Lund. Lehmann, Ch. 2002: Possession in Yucatec Maya (2nd, rev. edn.) [ASSidUE 10], Seminar für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität, Erfurt. Luraghi, S. 2014: Plotting diachronic semantic maps: The role of metaphor, in Perspectives on Semantic Roles, eds. S. Luraghi & H. Narrog, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 99–150. Luraghi, S. & Sausa, E. 2015: Hate and anger, love and desire: The construal of emotions in Homeric Greek, in Historical Linguistics 2013: Selected papers from the 21st International Conference on Historical Linguistics, Oslo, 5–9 August 2013, ed. D.T.T. Haug, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 233– 256. Seiler, H. 1983: Possession: As an Operational Dimension of Language, Tübingen. Stassen, L. 2009: Predicative Possession, Oxford. Traugott E.C. & Trousdale G. 2010: Constructionalization and Constructional Changes, Oxford. Tronci, L. 2009: Sur les expressions de sentiment en grec ancien, «Lingvisticæ Investigationes», 32/2, 226–237. Verhoeven, E. 2007: Experiential Constructions in Yucatec Maya: A Typologically Based Analysis of a Functional Domain in a Mayan Language, Amsterdam – Philadelphia.

Carla Bruno

Dietro la maschera. Apparizioni della prima persona nell’Antigone di Sofocle Abstract: Il presente lavoro intende dare una rassegna di alcune delle circostanze che, nei tragici, possono legarsi all’apparizione della prima persona. Si tratterà, nello specifico, delle occorrenze delle forme del plurale, in un quadro che ne colga la relazione con i contesti caratterizzati invece da quelle del singolare e del duale. L’Antigone di Sofocle¹ costituirà, in particolare, il perimetro di una serie di considerazioni che prendono le mosse da uno spoglio completo delle forme pronominali, aggettivali e verbali che, in questo testo, del plurale della prima persona possono costituire un riflesso e a cui, nel seguito, ci si riferirà complessivamente con l’etichetta ἡμεῖς.

1 Riflessi del plurale della prima persona Non sono invero molti i contesti in cui, nell’Antigone, il plurale della prima persona riesce a trovare spazio. Si tratta in tutto di una sessantina di forme, di cui poco più di un terzo appaiono addensate in due brani significativi per la dimensione corale della scena descritta. Si tratta, da un lato, della rievocazione, da parte di una delle guardie preposte alla sorveglianza del cadavere di Polinice, della cattura di Antigone, colta nel darne nuova sepoltura; dall’altro, della descrizione, da parte di un messaggero, degli onori funebri che Creonte, insieme ai suoi, a Polinice tardivamente tributa. Gli estratti in (1) e in (2) ne danno di seguito esemplificazione: (1)

τοιοῦτον ἦν τὸ πρᾶγμ᾿. ὅπως γὰρ ἥκομεν, | πρὸς σοῦ τὰ δείν᾿ ἐκεῖν᾿ ἐπηπειλημένοι, | πᾶσαν κόνιν σήραντες, ἣ κατεῖχε τὸν | νέκυν, μυδῶν τε σῶμα γυμνώσαντες εὖ, | καθήμεθ᾿ ἄκρων ἐκ πάγων ὑπήνεμοι, | ὀσμὴν ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ

Nota: Un grazie a Nunzio La Fauci, che ha letto e commentato una precedente versione di questo scritto, con suggerimenti e spunti di riflessione che, per come si è saputo, si è cercato di raccogliere. Il contributo rientra in una delle linee di ricerca del Progetto di Ricerca di Interesse Nazionale Rappresentazioni linguistiche dell’identità. Modelli sociolinguistici e linguistica storica (PRIN 2010 HXPFF2_001) co– finanziato dal Ministero dell’Istruzione, Università e Ricerca. 1 Il testo greco riproduce quello curato da A. Dain and P. Mazon per Les Belles Lettres (Paris) nel 1955 (ed in particolare la ristampa del 1967), Sophocle, 1, 72–122. Le traduzioni dei passi selezionati sono tratte da quella di F. Ferrari in Antigone, Edipo re, Edipo a Colono (Milano, 1982), opportunamente corredata da una versione letterale, più congeniale all’analisi linguistica, là dove la resa dell’autore si discostasse in modo significativo dall’originale.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-535

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μὴ βάλοι πεφευγότες, | ἐγερτὶ κινῶν ἄνδρ᾿ ἀνὴρ ἐπιρρόθοις | κακοῖσιν, εἴ τις τοῦδ᾿ ἀκηδήσοι πόνου. (vv. 407–414) ‘I fatti si sono svolti così. Arrivati sul posto, ancora atterriti dalle tue minacce, spazzammo via tutta la polvere che ricopriva il cadavere e mettemmo a nudo con ogni cura il corpo già putrescente. Poi ci trasferimmo sulla cima del poggio, al riparo del vento (lett. ‘riparati dal vento’), per non essere investiti dal fetore che emanava il corpo. Ci pungolavamo l’un l’altro (lett. ‘l’uno pungolava l’altro’) a stare all’erta, coprendo d’insulti chi trascurasse il suo compito.’ (2)

ἐγὼ δὲ σῷ ποδαγὸς ἑσπόμην πόσει | πεδίον ἐπ᾿ ἄκρον, ἔνθ᾿ ἔκειτο νηλεὲς | κυνοσπάρακτον σῶμα Πολυνείκους ἔτι: | καὶ τὸν μέν, αἰτήσαντες ἐνοδίαν θεὸν | Πλούτωνά τ᾿ ὀργὰς εὐμενεῖς κατασχεθεῖν | λούσαντες ἁγνὸν λουτρόν, ἐν νεοσπάσιν θαλλοῖς ὃ δὴ λέλειπτο συγκατῄθομεν, | καὶ τύμβον ὀρθόκρανον οἰκείας χθονὸς | χώσαντες αὖθις πρὸς λιθόστρωτον κόρης | νυμφεῖον ῞Αιδου κοῖλον εἰσεβαίνομεν. (vv. 1196–1206) ‘Io scortavo il tuo sposo verso il fondo della pianura, dove tuttora giaceva il corpo di Polinice, impietosamente dilaniato dai cani. Invocammo la dea delle vie e Plutone di esserci benevoli, smorzando la propria ira; poi lavammo il cadavere con acque pure lustrali e ne bruciammo i resti con rami appena divelti. Alzammo un tumulo alto di terra nativa e quindi ci dirigemmo verso il pietroso talamo, la funebre caverna, della ragazza.’

Non sorprende d’altronde che le cose stiano così in un teatro, quello di Sofocle, in cui si racconta la dissociazione dell’individuo dallo spazio della comunità.² Una tale circostanza ha riflessi cruciali sulla portata del fenomeno sotto osservazione: i caratteri sofoclei si presentano infatti come individualità restie a quella convergenza con l’altro che il plurale della prima persona può innescare.³ La prima persona si lega infatti indissolubilmente all’atto con cui il locutore si appropria della lingua imponendosi come soggetto del discorso e da ciò dipendono alcune singolarità nell’interazione con la categoria grammaticale del numero. Il plurale della prima persona – che scaturisce da una istanza puramente soggettiva – esclude infatti una moltiplicazione di entità, contemplando piuttosto (senza però esaurirsi in questo) la congiunzione di una persona – la prima – con un’altra.⁴ A seconda che si tratti

2 Si tratta di un aspetto che viene efficacemente messo in luce da Di Benedetto (1980, 123): «È questo [. . . ] il modo nuovo, specifico con cui Sofocle recepisce l’antico, tradizionale filone culturale, che raccontava [. . . ] all’uomo del suo destino di infelicità. Di fronte a questa infelicità l’uomo è solo, e non ha altro modo di contrastarla che non sia l’affermare e il porre con forza questa solitudine». 3 La deissi personale viene in questa sede trattata nel quadro della teoria dell’enunciazione, così come formulata in una serie di saggi, poi raccolti nei Problèmes de linguistique générale 1 (1966) e 2 (1970), da É. Benveniste (1946; 1956; 1958; 1970), con un particolare riferimento alle recenti riformulazioni in La Fauci – Tronci (2014), La Fauci (2016), e Pieroni (2010; 2014). 4 Il dato, inquadrato da É. Benveniste nella sua teoria dell’enunciazione, è d’altra parte ricorrente nella riflessione metalinguistica sui pronomi. «Τὰ γοῦν πληθυντικὰ τοῦ πρώτου προσώπου ἐμπεριεκτικὰ

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della seconda o della terza persona si generano due tipi di combinatorie rispettivamente valorizzate dalla tradizione linguistica nell’opposizione “inclusivo” vs. “esclusivo”,⁵ fondata appunto sulla possibilità che il locutore, nel plurale, includa o meno il suo destinatario.⁶ È ad esempio fondato sull’inclusione della seconda persona il primo ἡμεῖς in cui si incorre nella tragedia. È Ismene che parla e esprime con il plurale la comunione con Antigone, a cui si rivolge in un momento in cui i loro destini appaiono non ancora divaricati. (3)

ἐμοὶ μὲν οὐδεὶς μῦθος, ᾿Αντιγόνη, φίλων | οὔθ᾿ ἡδὺς οὔτ᾿ ἀλγεινὸς ἵκετ᾿, ἐξ ὅτου | δυοῖν ἀδελφοῖν ἐστερήθημεν δύο, | μιᾷ θανόντοιν ἡμέρᾳ διπλῇ χερί (vv. 11–14) ‘Nessuna notizia mi è giunta, Antigone, dei nostri cari, né lieta né triste, da quando noi due abbiamo perduto i nostri due fratelli (lett. ‘siamo state private dei nostri due fratelli’), caduti nello stesso giorno l’uno per mano dell’altro’

Al numerale δύο (v. 13), in un brano in cui col duale è rievocato pure il destino di Eteocle e Polinice (δυοῖν ἀδελφοῖν, v. 13), è affidato il compito di ridisegnare i confini tra le due entità, locutore – Ismene – e destinatario – Antigone –, confuse nel plurale della forma del verbo ἐστερήθημεν (v. 13), ad enfatizzare la perdita condivisa dalle due sorelle. Il contrasto anticipa quello – ancora giocato sulla grammatica del numero – al verso seguente, legato all’evocazione della morte dei fratelli, dove è invece ciò che è singolo ad essere opposto a ciò che doppio (μιᾷ θανόντοιν ἡμέρᾳ διπλῇ χερί, v. 14).⁷ Di diversa natura, legato all’esclusione del suo interlocutore, appare, invece, lo ἡμεῖς con cui Tiresia, indovino cieco, annuncia il suo ingresso in scena, accompagnato da un ragazzo che ne guida il cammino.⁸

δύναται εἶναι καὶ παντὸς προσώπου» (‘Il plurale della prima persona può essere anche comprensivo di ogni persona’) recita ad esempio Apollonio Discolo nel suo trattato sui pronomi (cfr. Apollonios ¯ Dyskolos, Perì antonumías, Grammatici Graeci I, 19, 9 ss.). 5 È noto che la distinzione funzionale tra plurale inclusivo ed esclusivo della prima persona, coperta nella famiglia delle lingue indoeuropee, è invece altrove soggetta a opposizione formale. Cfr. Siewierska (2004, 82 ss.) per un esame della variazione interlinguistica correlata alla sua manifestazione con una tassonomia dei tipi più diffusi. 6 L’opposizione classica è discussa e ripensata in termini di marcatezza – inclusivo vs. non–inclusivo – in La Fauci (2016). 7 La consonanza–opposizione tra le due sorelle da una parte e i due fratelli dall’altra, evocata dalle battute iniziali di Ismene, introduce alla serie di dualismi attorno a cui si sviluppa il dramma. I conflitti che ne derivano non sono negoziabili: «Uomini e donne, vecchi e giovani, individuo e comunità o stato, vivi e morti, mortali e immortali si definiscono nel processo conflittuale della definizione reciproca» (Steiner 1990, 260). 8 Inaspettato e insolito il «self–announcement» (Griffith 1999, 297) con cui il personaggio si introduce in scena in cui i commentatori riconoscono un’implicita didascalia. Cfr., tra gli altri, anche Susanetti (2012, 344): «il vecchio Tiresia [. . . ] fa il suo ingresso [. . . ] senza che il suo arrivo sia oggetto di annuncio. Così era successo nel primo episodio anche per la guardia; gli interventi che segnano svolte fondamentali dell’azione irrompono inattesi».

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Θήβης ἄνακτες, ἥκομεν κοινὴν ὁδὸν | δύ᾿ ἐξ ἑνὸς βλέποντε: τοῖς τυφλοῖσι γὰρ | αὕτη κέλευθος ἐκ προηγητοῦ πέλει. (vv. 988–990) ‘Signori di Tebe, insieme siamo venuti, ma uno solo vedeva per due: i ciechi hanno bisogno di una guida.’

Ancora, al duale (δύο, βλέποντε, v. 989) tocca rendere discreto ciò che è nel plurale (ἥκομεν, v. 988) indistinto. Qui, è però il legame del locutore con una terza persona – la sua guida – che il duale ribadisce, ritagliando fuori dalla coppia non solo il Coro degli Anziani, a cui Tiresia si rivolge (Θήβης ἄνακτες, v. 988), ma anche un’altra (terza) persona, Creonte. Il sovrano è infatti presente sulla scena, ma ignorato da Tiresia al suo ingresso, anche se, forse, semplicemente perché l’indovino, cieco, non lo può vedere. L’isolamento sulla scena di Creonte, la cui parabola discendente è ormai avviata, ne risulta tuttavia enfatizzato.⁹ Dallo spazio di ἥκομεν (v. 988) non risulta quindi escluso solo il Coro (destinatario del discorso), ma anche il sovrano, la cui estromissione è in particolare legata all’elezione da parte di Tiresia, nell’area della terza persona, della guida a cui affida i suoi passi. Ci sono, poi, contesti in cui, il plurale ἡμεῖς può ospitare, accanto alla prima, anche una seconda ed una terza persona.¹⁰ In chiusura del suo discorso ad Emone, ad esempio, Creonte raccoglie sotto uno stesso ἡμεῖς sé stesso, il figlio e tutto genere maschile, di cui sta enunciando la predominanza sul femminile. (5) οὕτως ἀμυντέ᾿ ἐστὶ τοῖς κοσμουμένοις, | κοὔτοι γυναικὸς οὐδαμῶς ἡσσητέα. | κρεῖσσον γάρ, εἴπερ δεῖ, πρὸς ἀνδρὸς ἐκπεσεῖν, | κοὐκ ἂν γυναικῶν ἥσσονες καλοίμεθ᾿ ἄν. (vv. 677–680) ‘Perciò bisogna sostenere le disposizioni dell’autorità, e a nessun costo lasciarsi vincere da una donna. È pur sempre preferibile soccombere ad un uomo se necessario: almeno nessuno dirà che siamo più deboli di una donna (lett. ‘almeno non saremo detti più deboli delle donne’).’ Diverse appaiono dunque le istanze funzionali che la stessa forma, ἡμεῖς, può ospitare, così che, a dispetto dell’invarianza formale, l’accostamento di ἡμεῖς funzionalmente diversi può determinare un repentino mutare dei punti di vista. In questo passo, ad esempio, dove è ancora Ismene a prendere la parola, il succedersi di due ἡμεῖς aperti a interpretazioni funzionalmente diverse – il primo inclusivo solo della seconda persona, il secondo allargato anche ad una terza – suggerisce una progressiva dilatazione dei confini del destinatario di Ismene, che da Antigone (ἔφυμεν, v. 62) può andare ad abbracciare il genere femminile tutto (ἀρχόμεσθα, v. 63).

9 Lo osserva Griffith (1999, 297), che in tale circostanza riconosce «a first step towards the ‘demotion’ of Kreon to a mere co–ruler». Fin dalla sua prima apparizione Tiresia si pone, dunque, in linea con un filone del teatro ateniese, come figura in contrasto con il potere (cfr. Susanetti 2012, 346). 10 Il caso, in talune lingue soggetto a specifica manifestazione formale, viene riconosciuto, in aggiunta alle altre due combinatorie, come un «augmented inclusive» (cfr. Siewierska 2004, 85). Si tratterebbe, in altre parole, di un sottotipo dell’inclusivo allargato alla terza persona.

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ἀλλ᾿ ἐννοεῖν χρὴ τοῦτο μὲν γυναῖχ᾿ ὅτι | ἔφυμεν, ὡς πρὸς ἄνδρας οὐ μαχουμένα. | ἔπειτα δ᾿ οὕνεκ᾿ ἀρχόμεσθ᾿ ἐκ κρεισσόνων, | καὶ ταῦτ᾿ ἀκούειν κἄτι τῶνδ᾿ ἀλγίονα. (vv. 61–64) ‘No, dobbiamo ricordarci (lett. ‘si deve considerare’) che siamo due donne, incapaci di tener testa a degli uomini (lett. ‘per cui non facciamo guerra agli uomini’); e poi, che siamo governate dai più forti e quindi è nostro dovere obbedire a questi ordini, e ad altri ancora più ingrati.’

Se infatti la referenza di ἔφυμεν (v. 62), plurale inclusivo, per così dire, “stretto”, è ancorata ad Ismene e ad Antigone dalle ricorrenti forme di duale (cfr. γυναῖχε al v. 61, μαχουμένα al v. 63), che fin dal prologo si fanno significante della tragedia condivisa dalle due figlie di Edipo, la portata di queste forme si esaurisce col periodo, senza investire ἀρχόμεσθα (v. 63), dove Ismene alla voce sua e di Antigone unisce quella di tutte le donne. La vicenda individuale delle due sorelle si trasfigura così in quella collettiva, esistenziale, del genere femminile. È paradossalmente questo passaggio, in cui la sorte della coppia Antigone–Ismene viene a confondersi con il destino femminile, che segna il dissolversi del legame tra le due sorelle. Il plurale prelude infatti al rifiuto di Ismene a condividere con la sorella la cura per il cadavere di Polinice, in cui si frantuma la dimensione fusionale del duale: nei turni di battuta immediatamente successivi, le due riemergono così, riappropriandosi della propria identità, come singolarità disgiunte, in reciproca opposizione. Sotto il segno di ἐγώ prendono così forma il rifiuto di Ismene (cfr. 7) e l’accalorata replica di Antigone (cfr. 8). (7)

ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν αἰτοῦσα τοὺς ὑπὸ χθονὸς | ξύγγνοιαν ἴσχειν, ὡς βιάζομαι τάδε, | τοῖς ἐν τέλει βεβῶσι πείσομαι (vv. 65–67) ‘Perciò io chiedo agli spiriti dei morti di perdonarmi in quanto subisco violenza; ma obbedirò a chi detiene il potere’

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οὔτ᾿ ἂν κελεύσαιμ᾿ οὔτ᾿ ἄν, εἰ θέλοις ἔτι | πράσσειν, ἐμοῦ γ᾿ ἂν ἡδέως δρῴης μέτα. | ἀλλ᾿ ἴσθ᾿ ὁποῖά σοι δοκεῖ, κεῖνον δ᾿ ἐγὼ | θάψω: καλόν μοι τοῦτο ποιούσῃ θανεῖν. (vv. 69–72) ‘Non cercherò più il tuo aiuto (lett. ‘non ti forzerei’) e anche se in futuro ti deciderai ad agire, non gradirò la tua collaborazione (lett. ‘non agiresti con la mia approvazione’). Resta pure quale vuoi essere: è bello per me morire in questa impresa (lett. ‘io lo seppellirò: sarà bello per me morire compiendo quest’impresa’).’

Il singolare emerge dunque come indicatore di «una rottura forzata con l’unisono della parentela, della collettività familiare» (Steiner 1990, 238). Lo sottolinea pure la posizione del pronome ἐγώ nelle battute delle due eroine: all’inizio di verso accompagnato

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dalla particella μέν, sospesa, senza l’attesa δέ, nelle parole di Ismene,¹¹ in posizione finale (in combinazione con la particella δέ) nei versi attribuiti a Antigone, con un enjambement che rompe l’unità con la forma verbale correlata (θάψω, v. 72).¹² Se nel duale le figlie di Edipo si presentano dunque come «saldate in un unico essere risoluto» (Steiner 1990, 237), nel rifiuto iniziale di Ismene si disgrega tale unità. Ciò viene suggerito anche visivamente allo spettatore: alla fine del prologo, le due figure abbandonano la scena con un movimento che le vede prendere direzioni opposte, e mai più disposte a convergere in una forma di duale o plurale.¹³

2 Oltre l’opposizione di numero La ricerca della pertinenza di ἡμεῖς nel dramma ci conduce, infine, a considerare un’ulteriore serie di contesti in cui le ragioni del plurale appaiono diverse da quelle dei casi fin qui discussi. Così, ad esempio, nel passaggio che segue, dove Creonte accoglie l’ingresso in scena del figlio introducendosi con le forme di ἡμεῖς. (9)

ὦ παῖ, τελείαν ψῆφον ἆρα μὴ κλύων | τῆς μελλονύμφου πατρὶ λυσσαίνων πάρει; | ἢ σοὶ μὲν ἡμεῖς πανταχῇ δρῶντες φίλοι; (vv. 632–634) ‘O figlio, forse ti avvicini pieno d’ira a tuo padre perché hai udito il verdetto inappellabile che ha condannato la tua fidanzata? Oppure conservo il tuo affetto qualunque cosa io faccia (lett. ‘Oppure ti (siamo) noi cari qualunque cosa facciamo?’)’

Nessuna persona grammaticale diversa dalla prima affianca qui il locutore: lo spazio di ἡμεῖς coincide di fatto con quello del singolare, di cui il plurale rappresenterebbe una semplice variante. Il traduttore, nella resa dall’originale, può così permettersi di tralasciarne l’occorrenza senza effetti sull’interpretazione globale del discorso di Creonte, la cui enfasi risulta tuttavia attenuata.

11 Ciò, secondo Griffith (1999, 134), contribuirebbe ad evocare implicitamente un contrasto con l’interlocutore: «There is no answering δέ for μέν, though an implied contrast must be felt with ‘you’». Il contrasto viene, d’altra parte, suggerito pure dalla posizione simmetrica dei pronomi con cui Ismene e Antigone si oppongono. 12 «Tale configurazione metrico–sintattica dà pieno risalto al ruolo – oramai solitario e idiosincratico di un “io” monumentale che si oppone a tutto e a tutti, come avviene per altri protagonisti sofoclei» (Susanetti 2012, 172). 13 Lo osserva anche Steiner (1990, 237): «Dopo il rifiuto iniziale di Ismene di aiutare Antigone a seppellire Polinice, Antigone non farà più ricorso a forme di duali».

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L’aspro confronto tra Creonte e Emone, preludio della disgregazione di un’altra unità familiare,¹⁴ offre ulteriori esempi di questo uso, come illustrano (10) e (11), riportati di seguito, dove è ancora il sovrano a pronunciarsi. (10) οἱ τηλικοίδε καὶ διδαξόμεσθα δὴ | φρονεῖν ὑπ᾿ ἀνδρὸς τηλικοῦδε τὴν φύσιν; (vv. 726–7) ‘Alla mia età (lett. ‘alla nostra età’), dovrò sentire una predica (lett. ‘saremo educati’) da un ragazzo?’ (11)

πόλις γὰρ ἡμῖν ἁμὲ χρὴ τάσσειν ἐρεῖ; (v. 734) ‘Sarà dunque la città a suggerirmi (lett. ‘la città ci suggerirà dunque’) gli ordini che devo dare?’

Non è d’altra parte infrequente che le forme del singolare e del plurale si avvicendino nello stesso contesto senza apparente ragione. Il dato è scrupolosamente segnalato dai commentatori, e annotato come variazione puramente formale tipica della lingua della tragedia. A proposito di (11), ad esempio, Griffith (1999, 248) osserva come nella battuta di Creonte «the switch from plural to singular (ἐμέ) is not significant».¹⁵ Un analogo inatteso cambiamento di numero si osserva pure nel passaggio in (12), nelle parole del messo che ad Euridice annuncerà il suicidio del figlio, dove, dopo l’apertura al singolare (cfr. ἐγώ, v. 1192), il soggetto passa alla designazione plurale (ψεῦσται φανούμεθ(α), v. 1194). (12) ἐγώ, φίλη δέσποινα, καὶ παρὼν ἐρῶ | κοὐδὲν παρήσω τῆς ἀληθείας ἔπος. | τί γάρ σε μαλθάσσοιμ᾿ ἂν ὧν ἐς ὕστερον | ψεῦσται φανούμεθ᾿; ὀρθὸν ἁλήθει᾿ ἀεί. (vv. 1192–5) ‘Amata regina, tutto ho visto e tutto ti dirò senza sottrarre (lett. ‘Io, amata regina, pure presente ai fatti, parlerò e non sottrarrò’) nulla alla verità. Perché mai illuderti (lett. ‘ti blandirei’) con parole che si rivelerebbero false (lett. ‘per cui ci riveleremmo infine bugiardi’)? La verità è sempre la cosa più sicura.’ Anche il finale dell’ultima rheˊˉsis di Antigone, di cui è dato un saggio in (13), offre un’esemplificazione del fenomeno. In tutto il dramma si tratta della sola evenienza di prima plurale nelle battute dell’eroina, quasi a significare, nella sua ultima apparizione in scena, in contrasto col singolare, lo «sgranarsi» della sua dimensione monologica (Susanetti 2012, 172). (13)

ἀλλ᾿ εἰ μὲν οὖν τάδ᾿ ἐστὶν ἐν θεοῖς καλά, | παθόντες ἂν ξυγγνοῖμεν ἡμαρτηκότες: | εἰ δ᾿ οἵδ᾿ ἁμαρτάνουσι, μὴ πλείω κακὰ | πάθοιεν ἢ καὶ δρῶσιν ἐκδίκως ἐμέ. (vv. 925–28)

14 Nello scontro si evocano alcune significative costanti dicotomiche del dramma: quella tra padri e figli (cfr. 9), vecchi e giovani (cfr. 10), governanti e governati (cfr. 11) e uomini e donne (cfr. 5). 15 Così, ad esempio, ancora Griffith (1999, 247) a proposito di (10): «The plural may include the Chorus, or may be merely formal».

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‘Ebbene, se così par giusto agli dei, dopo aver sofferto riconoscerò il mio errore (lett. ‘dopo aver sofferto ci riconosceremo colpevoli’); ma se i colpevoli sono loro, non abbiano a soffrire pene maggiori di quelle che ingiustamente mi infliggono.’ Che, nella prima persona, il plurale, in certe circostanze, possa sostituirsi al singolare è noto. Il fenomeno è comune tra le lingue della famiglia indo–europea,¹⁶ e si deve ad una preponderanza della componente soggettiva nel complesso disegnato dal plurale della prima persona: «dans “nous”, c’est toujours “je” que prédomine puisqu’il n’y a des “nous” qu’à partir de “je”» (Benveniste 1966 [1946], 233). Quando la preponderanza di tale componente diviene assoluta, il plurale può così prendere il posto del singolare. La maestà e la modestia sono tradizionalmente riconosciute come i principali correlati interpretativi di questa circostanza,¹⁷ variamente attribuite – non senza qualche forzatura – anche ai casi appena considerati. Così, una sfumatura di solennità è stata colta nelle esternazioni di Creonte, sovrano in carica, di umiltà nelle parole della giovane Antigone, e un tono dimesso nel discorso del messaggero.¹⁸ A margine di ciò, restano ovviamente da precisare le condizioni legate all’insorgenza del fenomeno. Spunti per un chiarimento delle circostanze in cui possa aver luogo la sostituzione del plurale al singolare giungono proprio da quei contesti, in cui, le due varianti, ἐγώ e ἡμεῖς, alternano in uno stesso passaggio. Il finale della rheˊˉsis di Antigone (vv. 925–928), in (13), si presenta, da questo punto di vista, ricco di suggestioni. Al di là di alcune difficoltà interpretative – legate alle accezioni possibili di ξυγγνοῖμεν e alla sintassi dei participi παθόντες e ἡμαρτηκότες (v. 926)¹⁹ – l’argomentazione è qui chiara: Antigone, disposta a riconoscere, agli occhi degli dei, il proprio errore (vv.

16 Sul greco cfr. in particolare Wackernagel (1926, 99 ss.), Slotty (1927a; 1927b), Zilliacus (1953). Gli autori la interpretano come una tendenza soprattutto letteraria (così anche Schwyzer 1950, 242 ss.), ma la portata del fenomeno è più ampia, cfr. Bruno (2017) per una disamina delle variazioni del numero della prima persona in un corpus di papiri privati di epoca tolemaica. 17 «D’une part, le “je” s’amplifie par “nous” en une personne plus massive, plus solennelle et moins définie; c’est le “nous” de majesté. D’autre part, l’emploi de “nous” estompe l’affirmation trop tranchée de “je” dans une expression plus large et diffuse: c’est le “nous” d’auteur ou d’orateur» (Benveniste 1966 [1946], 235]). 18 Così ad es., tra gli altri, Jones (1909, 134–138). Simili inattese apparizioni del plurale, sarebbero, per una parte della letteratura, da ricondurre ad un valore, per così dire, “sociativo” della prima persona plurale: il sovrano viene dunque a identificarsi con la città, la fanciulla col genere femminile, il messo con la sua classe. Da tale tratto discenderebbero dunque, in ultima analisi, i valori di modestia e di maestà (cfr., tra gli altri, Zilliacus 1953). 19 Su questi due aspetti, cfr. Croop (1997, 140). La forma di ξυγγνοῖμεν potrebbe infatti evocare, da una parte, la consapevolezza di Antigone della propria pena (‘recognize/become aware’) e, dall’altra, la sua accettazione (‘aknowledge, agree’, ‘forgive’). Dall’interpretazione dei participi, dipendono poi diverse accezioni del passo: «‘after/through suffering I shall recognize to I have transgressed’, [. . . ] or ‘I shall aknowledge that I have suffered for having transgressed [i.e., deservedly]’ [. . . ], or ‘after suffering I am prepared to forgive, having [if that it is the gods’ judgement] trasgressed’» (ibid.).

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925–6), evoca la possibilità che Creonte, se colpevole, incorra in una punizione pari alla sua (vv. 927–8). Le forme di ἡμεῖς ricorrono nella prima parte, là dove Antigone esplora l’ipotesi – «sicuramente falsa» (Di Benedetto 1980, 83) – che gli dei approvino ciò che le è toccato. In questo caso – dice – dopo aver sofferto (παθόντες, v. 926) riconoscerà di aver sbagliato (ἂν ξυγγνοῖμεν ἡμαρτηκότες, v. 926), con una ironica riformulazione del modulo arcaico del páthei máthos (dove la consapevolezza si accompagna alla sofferenza).²⁰ Il singolare (ἐμέ, v. 928) appare invece nella seconda coppia di versi, in chiusura di discorso, dove è invece Creonte ad essere presentato come colpevole e degno di punizione: ἐγώ segna in particolare il ritorno di Antigone alla realtà, al confronto con il suo ingiusto (ἐκδίκως, v. 928) destino.²¹ Analogamente, anche in (12), il messo, rivolgendosi ad Euridice, abbandona il singolare (ἐγώ, ἐρῶ, v. 1192; παρήσω, v. 1193; μαλθάσσοιμι, v. 1194) per il plurale (ψεῦσται φανούμεθα, v. 1195) nel prospettare la remota possibilità di poter mentire alla sua signora. E Creonte, in (11), si introduce al plurale (πόλις [. . . ] ἡμῖν [. . . ] ἐρεῖ, v. 734) là dove «rigetta come assurda l’ipotesi che sia la città a “comandare”, a “dare ordini” a chi governa, invertendo la consueta distinzione tra governanti e governati» (Susanetti 2012, 299). Apparentemente, dunque, è in contesti in cui si prefigurino scenari non attuali, che trascendano la realtà dei fatti, che le forme della prima persona plurale ricorrono al posto del singolare, là dove più debole si faccia il raccordo con la figura del locutore (quest’ultima indissolubilmente legata alla dimensione dell’hic et nunc). Ciò potrebbe valere pure per i passaggi in (9) e (11), dove, nel dibattito con Emone, è ancora nell’esplorazione dell’impossibile che Creonte passa a ἡμεῖς: nella debole speranza che il padre sarà in ogni caso caro al figlio, e che i vecchi non debbano imparare dai giovani. La valenza gnomica insita nei moniti del sovrano non fa poi che accrescere la distanza tra enunciato e origine deittica, proiettandolo nell’atemporalità tipica dell’exemplum. Inoltre, anche sul piano morfo–sintattico, nei contesti considerati, si presentano alcune condizioni ricorrenti, come la correlazione con predicazioni che comportino marche non fattuali, che contribuiscono a sfocare le coordinate deittiche dell’enunciazione. In (13), ad esempio, alternando singolare e plurale, Antigone alterna rispettivamente i modi indicativo ed ottativo. Nei quattro passaggi in (9) – (12), poi, ἡμεῖς si associa costantemente al formato della frase interrogativa. In (10), (11) e (12) si combina invece

20 Al verso 926, nella successione ξυγγνοῖμεν/παθόντες, si stratificano i rimandi ad Omero, Esiodo ed Eschilo (cfr. Griffith 1999, 281; Di Benedetto 1980, 83; Cropp 1997, 141). 21 La grammatica del numero si presta ancora da significante agli aspri conflitti che percorrono il dramma. Ad accentuare la singolarità dell’eroina, contribuisce, insieme alla posizione finale del pronome ἐμέ, la designazione, plurale, dei suoi antagonisti (Creonte ed il Coro degli Anziani innanzi a tutti).

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con il futuro. E in (9), infine, ricorre in una frase nominale, per sua natura al di là delle coordinate attuali dell’enunciazione, che ἡμεῖς emerge.²² Nei passaggi osservati, pertanto, lo slittamento da ἐγώ ad ἡμεῖς sembra riflettere un disallineamento tra la dimensione (attuale) dell’enunciazione, in cui il locutore si appropria del discorso, e quella dell’enunciato (non necessariamente attuale), in cui il locutore può proiettarsi e raccontarsi. In particolare, ἡμεῖς apparirebbe disponibile come variante di ἐγώ, laddove, il personaggio esiti nel presentarsi come il soggetto del discorso, mettendo così in secondo piano il suo ruolo di locutore.²³ Una simile attitudine del soggetto viene ad esempio anticipata in (9) dall’uso della terza persona: nell’approcciare il figlio, prima di scivolare nel plurale ἡμεῖς, Creonte si nasconde dietro la maschera della “non persona” (πατρὶ, v. 633): un “io” che prende le distanze da sé. In (13), poi, la straniante sospensione dell’accordo di genere dei participi (παθόντες e ἡμαρτηκότες, v. 926) con cui Antigone si designa,²⁴ nell’enfatizzare la portata non referenziale del plurale, accresce la divaricazione tra il locutore e la sua proiezione nell’enunciato.

3 Per concludere Non sono molte, dunque, le apparizioni del prima persona plurale nell’Antigone. Non tutti i caratteri messi in scena da Sofocle sono infatti disposti a scendere a patti con una forma – ἡμεῖς – tra le cui prerogative possa rientrare la congiunzione con l’altro. Non lo fanno mai Emone, Euridice e Antigone: la logica del plurale è rigettata dai campioni della legge degli affetti di fronte alla ragion di stato, messa in scena da Creonte. Per converso, sono proprio le figure che gravitano attorno al potere che si lasciano scivolare nel plurale: Ismene, gli Anziani,²⁵ la sentinella, Tiresia, il messaggero.

22 «La phrase nominale en indo–européen asserte une certaine “qualité” (au sens le plus général) comme propre au sujet de l’énoncé, mais hors de toute détermination temporelle ou autre et hors de toute relation avec le locuteur» (Benveniste 1966 [1950], 159). 23 Analoghe sono d’altra parte le circostanze registrate alla base di simili alternanze nei papiri privati d’Egitto (cfr. Bruno 2017) dove non è inusuale che il mittente alterni nell’introdursi (anche nella stessa lettera) la prima singolare al plurale. Cfr. anche Pieroni (2010), che riconosce un simile meccanismo alla base dell’emergenza, in latino, di un «expanded nos» in una selezione delle lettere a Attico di Cicerone. 24 L’uso del plurale per il singolare da parte delle eroine tragiche è comunemente notato in letteratura (Schwyzer 1950, 242 ss.). In quest’impiego, «the particular is sunk in the generic, the individual in the class, the woman in her male kindred» (Gildersleeve 1900, 27). Assume dunque un valore generico il maschile di queste forme. «In der abstrakten Begriffe der Vielheit verliert sich der Unterschied des Geschlechts, und so tritt an die Stelle der Femininform die Maskulinform, als die allgemeinere Bezeichnung der Persönlichkeit überhaupt» (Kühner – Gerth 1898, 83). 25 Sulle alternanze di numero nel riferimento al coro, cfr. Kaimio (1970): «there is a basic inconsistency in the personality of the chorus: it can react and express itself as an individual in spite of its outward

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Ma ἡμεῖς non è solo il significante della convergenza con l’altro, e dell’ “io” può diventare espressione assoluta, così che la forma plurale può configurarsi come una variante del singolare. È questo lo ἡμεῖς di Antigone, che lungi dal significare la crisi della propria identità monolitica, ne rappresenta piuttosto l’affermazione assoluta. Diverse dunque le istanze funzionali ospitate dalla stessa forma, la cui pertinenza è di volta in volta da determinare in uno spazio linguistico in cui l’ambiguità stessa può diventare pertinente.

Bibliografia Benveniste, É. 1966 [1946]: Structure des relations de personne dans le verbe, in Problèmes de linguistique générale, 1, Paris, 225–235. Benveniste, É. 1966 [1950]: La phrase nominale, in Problèmes de linguistique générale, 1, Paris, 151– 167. Benveniste, É. 1966 [1956]: La nature des pronoms, in Problèmes de linguistique générale, 1, Paris, 251–257. Benveniste, É. 1966 [1958]: De la subjectivité dans le langage, in Problèmes de linguistique générale, 1, Paris, 258–266. Benveniste, É. 1974 [1970]. L’appareil formel de l’énonciation, in Problèmes de linguistique générale, 2, Paris, 79–88. Bruno, C. (2017): Variations of the First Person: Looking at the Greek private letters of Ptolemaic Egypt, in Linguistic Representations of Identity. Sociolinguistic Models and Historical Linguistics, ed. P. Molinelli, Berlin, 49–64. Cropp, M. 1997: Antigone’s Final Speech (Sophocles, Antigone 891–928), «Greece & Rome», 44/2, 137–159. Di Benedetto, V. 1980: Moduli di una nuova soggettività nell’Antigone, «Annali della Scuola Superiore di Pisa», 10/1, 79–124. Gildersleeve, B. L. 1900: Syntax of Classical Greek from Homer to Demosthenes, New York.

plurality, and, on the other hand, appear as a group emphasizing its collective nature. [. . . ] These different aspects [. . . ] are reflected in the person and number used. The chorus employs both the first person singular and the first person plural, and so does the chorus–leader» (ibid., 10–11). Nell’Antigone, il coro, in accordo con i moduli della drammaturgia sofoclea, assume la statura di un vero e proprio personaggio. Si presenta così generalmente al singolare, e le occorrenze del plurale rientrano facilmente nelle tipologie illustrate, in funzione dell’inclusione (cfr. i) o esclusione (cfr. ii) dell’interlocutore o di un valore assoluto in contesti non attuali (cfr. iii). i. ἐπιστάμεσθα δ᾿, ἐξ ὅτου λευκὴν ἐγὼ | τήνδ᾿ ἐκ μελαίνης ἀμφιβάλλομαι τρίχα, | μή πώ ποτ᾿ αὐτὸν ψεῦδος ἐς πόλιν λακεῖν (vv. 1092–4) ‘E ben sappiamo, fin da quando questi miei capelli da neri sono diventati grigi, come non abbia mai vaticinato il falso alla nostra città’. ii. νόμῳ δὲ χρῆσθαι παντί που πάρεστί σοι |καὶ τῶν θανόντων χὠπόσοι ζῶμεν πέρι (vv. 213–214) ‘Certo tu hai il potere di adottare qualsiasi misura, sia verso i morti che verso i vivi’ (lett. ‘quanti viviamo’). iii. ἡμῖν μέν, εἰ μὴ τῷ χρόνῳ κεκλέμμεθα | λέγειν φρονούντως ὧν λέγεις δοκεῖς πέρι (vv. 681–682) ‘Se la vecchiaia non c’inganna (lett. ‘se non siamo stati derubati dal tempo’), ci sembra che tu abbia parlato con saggezza’.

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Griffith, M. 1999: Sophocles: Antigone. Cambridge. Jones, H. L. 1909: The poetic plural of the Greek tragedy in the light of the Homeric usage, Ithaca, N. Y. Kaimio, M. 1970: The Chorus of Greek Drama within the Light of the Person and Number Used, Helsinki. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 1898: Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Hannover und Leipzig. La Fauci, N. & Tronci, L. 2014: Noi in Se questo è un uomo, in Noi – Nous – Nosotros. Studi romanzi – Études romanes – Estudios románicos, eds. M. C. Janner, M. A. Della Costanza & P. Sutermeister, Bern, 95–125. La Fauci, N. 2016: Noi, persona politica, in L’italiano della politica e la politica per l’italiano, Atti dell’XI Convegno ASLI (Napoli, 20–22 novembre 2014), eds. R. Librandi & R. Piro, Firenze, 387–400 Pieroni, S. 2010: Nos as expression of the ‘ego’ in Cicero’s Letters to Atticus (books I–IV), in Latin Linguistics Today, Akten des 15. Internationalen Kolloquiums zur Lateinischen Linguistik (Innsbruck, 4–9 April 2009), eds. P. Anreiter & M. Kienpointner, Innsbruck, 595–607. Pieroni, S. 2014: Persone e testi. Sulla correlazione tra «io» e «tu», specialmente in latino. Pisa. Schwyzer, E. 1950: Griechische Grammatik, II, Syntax und syntaktische Stilistik, München. Siewierska, A. 2004: Person, Cambridge. Slotty, F. 1927: Der sog. Pluralis modestiae, «Indogermanische Forschungen», 44, 155–90. Slotty, F. 1927: Die Stellung des Griechischen und anderer idg. Sprachen zu dem soziativen und affektivischen Gebrauch des Plurals der ertsen Person, «Indogermanische Forschungen», 45, 155–90. Steiner, G. 1990: Le Antigoni, Milano. Susanetti, D. 2012: Sofocle. Antigone, Roma. Wackernagel, J. 1926: Vorlesungen über Syntax, I, Basel. Zilliacus, H. 1953: Selbstgefühl und Servilität. Studien zum unregelmässigen Numerusgebrauch im Griechischen, Helsingfors.

Jesús de la Villa

Verbal alternations in Ancient Greek as an interface between lexicon and syntax Abstract: This paper offers a first attempt to systematically describe verbal alternations in Ancient Greek. It is shown that some of the alternations present in Ancient Greek are also present in other languages, but that the coincidence is not total, because some Greek alternations have not been described for other languages. Additionally, given the regular presence of some alternations with certain lexical groups of verbs, it is argued that the possibility for certain verbs to be associated with alternating argument structures cannot be considered simply as an idiosyncratic characteristic of each verb. On the contrary, following a constructional model, the author proposes to recognize a grammatical component formed with all the argument possibilities in Greek; each verb, according to its semantic characteristics, could match with one or more of those possibilities. This would be part of the lexical–syntactic interface of this language.

1 Introduction¹ A verbal alternation is the regular possibility of variation in a verb’s valency. So, for example, a verb like to clear in English can be linked to two different argument structures, as exemplified in (1) and (1’). (1)

John cleared dishes from the table (1’) John cleared the table of dishes

Additionally, it has been shown that alternations are not an idiosyncratic phenomenon for each single verb, but that there are whole groups of verbs that share the same type of alternation. So, for example, the same alternation of to clear of (1)–(1’) is also present in other verbs, such as those in (2) and (3) (Levin 1993, 51–53): (2)

John cleaned the dust from the table (2’‘) John cleaned the table of dust

(3)

John emptied the books from the bag (3’) John emptied the bag of books

The first and most important theoretical consequence of this is that alternations cannot be described simply as characteristics of each verb and, as a result, stored in the lexicon

1 The research presented in this article has been financially supported by the Spanish Government through research project FFI2013–47357–C4–1–P (Problemas de rección en griego y latín).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-547

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with the other lexical and combinatory features of lexical entries.² Instead, they should be described as a particular component of the language’s grammar. The study of verbal alternations is therefore important for both the study of the internal organization of the lexicon, in that it provides us with independent proof of the semantic proximity or differentiation of verbs, but also for our understanding of the interface between lexicon and syntax (see below section 4). Alternations have been systematically explored and described for different languages.³ With regards to Ancient Greek, alternations are sporadically mentioned in general manuals⁴, and some of them have received attention in particular studies⁵. However, they have never been systematically studied as a general phenomenon. We currently have no complete perspective of the importance of the phenomenon in Ancient Greek and an analysis of its cognitive and semantic bases. To this end, three main aspects should be investigated: – What systematic alternations exist in Ancient Greek? – Is it possible to establish distributional patterns for each alternation? – Are they similar or different from those already described for other languages? A comprehensive answer to these three questions is far beyond the limits of this paper. I will, however, give a partial answer for each one by offering some results obtained from on–going research on the subject. In this sense, this paper aims to be a first attempt at describing the complex field of verbal alternations in Ancient Greek. The paper will present different alternations already identified in Ancient Greek. This will prove that the phenomenon is as wide–spread in this language as it is in others. I will try to establish some basic patterns for all of the alternations in terms of their distribution among groups of verbs, thus shaping an answer for the second question. For the purposes of clarity, in my organisation of the material I will use as a sort of template the encompassing proposal of Levin (1993) for English. This will answer, at least partially, the third question. In section 2, I will, therefore, discuss some cases in which English and Ancient Greek coincide. In section 3, I discuss alternations that are apparently not present in English but are in Ancient Greek. In the fourth section I will then discuss some of the theoretical implications of the acknowledgment of the alternations as a grammatical phenomenon. Finally, I will finish with some conclusions.

2 Valency Grammar (Happ 1976) and Functional Grammar (Dik 1989, 78–84), for example, treats complementation structures as idiosyncratic for each verb. 3 E.g. for English Levin (1993); for Spanish Cifuentes (2006), Matera & Medina (2007); for German Michaelis – Ruppenhofer (2001). 4 For instance, Kühner – Gerth (1898, 91–95; 308–309; 323). 5 For example, Moreux (1978), De Boel (1988), Revuelta (1997; 2002), Jiménez Delgado (2008), De La Villa (2008; forthcoming).

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2 Alternations described by Levin (1993) that are also present in Ancient Greek 2.1 Causative alternation (Levin 1993, 25–32) = transitive/intransitive alternation This alternation is recognised when a verb, without changing its morphological diathesis, can be used with either two arguments, an agentive Subject and a Direct Object, or with just one argument, the Subject, which coincides referentially with the Object of the previous construction. This is probably the most studied alternation in all languages.⁶ An example for English can be seen in (4)–(4’) (4)

The boy broke the window (4’) The window suddenly broke

In Greek, this alternation has been identified alongside many verbs.⁷ Some examples are in (5)–(5’) and (6)–(6’). (5)

χαλκόκροτον λαβοῦσα νεκρῶν πάρα φάσγανον εἴσω σαρκὸς ἔβαψεν (E. Phoi. 1577–1578) ‘Having taken the bronze–beaten sword from the dead she plunged it into her body’ (5’) καὶ ναῦς γὰρ ἐνταθεῖσα πρὸς βίαν ποδί / ἔβαψεν (E. Or. 706–707)⁸ ‘For a ship too, with its sail vigorously tightened, sank’

(6) καὶ τὰ δίκτυα τεινέτω ἐν ἀπέδοις ‘Let him stretch the seines on level ground’ (X. Cyn. 6.9) (6’) (ὁ ᾿Αγησίλαος) αἱρεῖ τὰ ἐπὶ τὸ Λέχαιον τείνοντα τείχη ‘(Agesilaus) captured the walls leading to Lechaeum’ (X. Ages. 2.17) As in English, the common feature identified so far in these verbs is the causative semantic content of the verbs. This means that there is an Agent or Force that manipulates or forces another participant to act or to change its previous situation. We do not have examples of this alternation for all Greek verbs that could be classified as causative. We

6 E.g. Levin (1993, 25–26), Haspelmath (1993), Levin – Rappaport Hovav (1995), Härtl (2003). 7 This alternation is mentioned, for example, in Kühner – Gerth (1898: 91–95). De Boel (1988, 128) offers some examples for βάλλω; Revuelta (2002, 209–210) for οἰκέω; Jiménez Delgado (2008) examples in Herodotus for an important number of verbs; De La Villa (2008) for ἔχω; De La Villa (forthcoming), for ἐσβάλλω, τελευτάω. Magni (2004; 2008) describes the suffixed verbal forms with the element –θ– as the expression of the intransitive element of the same type of alternation. 8 The element directly affected by the action, ναῦς, appears in this sentence as the Subject of a passive construction.

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therefore do not know the real extent of its distribution. Nevertheless, it is interesting to note that not all causative verbs admit this alternation in other languages (Levin 1993, 30). Actually, it is associated to the lexical possibilities of verbs to describe events which can result either from an external causation or an internal spontaneous development (Levin – Rappaport Hovav 1995, 102; Magni 2008, 175–176) We could therefore expect the same kind of limitations in Greek. More research is needed on this point.

2.2 Locative preposition drop alternation (Levin 1993, 43–44) This alternation offers the speaker the possibility to express a spatial referent using either the bare accusative or through a prepositional phrase. A typical example for English is: (7)

Martha climbed the mountain (7’) Martha climbed up the mountain

For Greek, clear cases have only been identified so far for verb like οἰκέω in pairs such as (8)–(8’)⁹. (8)

πολλάς τε καὶ εὐδαιμόνας καὶ μεγάλας πόλεις οἰκοῦσιν ‘They inhabit many large and prosperous cities’ (X. An. 3.2.23) (8’) ὅστις δὲ μὴ ὢν τοῦ δήμου εἵλετο ἐν δημοκρατουμένῃ πόλει οἰκεῖν μᾶλλον ἢ ἐν ὀλιγαρχουμένῃ ‘Whoever is not a man of the people and yet prefers to live in a democratic city rather than in an oligarchic one’ (X. Ath. 2.20)

In Homer, apparently similar examples are frequently found, as we can see in (9)–(9’). (9)

παρ᾿ δέ οἱ ᾿Αντήνωρ περικαλλέα βήσετο δίφρον (Il. 3,262) ‘By his side, Antenor occupied the wonderful seat’ (9’) ἐς δ᾿ὄχεα φλόγεα ποσὶ βήσετο (Il. 5,745) ‘Then she stepped upon the flaming car’

However, these instances are problematic because the bare accusative could also be interpreted as directional since we know this was still possible at that stage of the language.¹⁰ In this case, the bare accusative and prepositional phrases can be considered as simple allomorphs to mark the same semantic relationship and, as a result, there is no real alternation. Other instances, found in poetic texts from the Classical period, such as in (10)– (10’), are dubious: they may be reminiscent of the Homeric texts or represent real alternations as in (8)–(8’). 9 Revuelta (2002). 10 E.g. Kühner – Gerth (1898, 311–312).

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(10) ἤπειρον ἥξεις ᾿Ασιάδα (A. Pr. 735) ‘You will reach at the continent of Asia’ (10’) ἄψορρον ἥξεις εἰς φάος (A. Pr. 1021) ‘You will reach a light which is coming back’ The distribution of this alternation in English has sometimes been associated with total/partial alternation (Levin 1993, 44): the use with the accusative would mean that the place is totally affected, whereas with a prepositional expression the place would be only partially affected. Despite the limited evidence still available to us, a pair as (8)– (8’) could indicate this is also the case for Ancient Greek. This interpretation, however, would not be possible for (10)–(10’) if we accept it as a real instance of alternation. Our current level of understanding of the topic means that we can only be sure that this kind of alternation seems to affect non–causative verbs where a certain relationship between the Subject of the event and a certain place is described. In (8)–(8’) the occupation of the space is referred to. In (10)–(10’), we see the subject approaching a certain place/object. Given that there are no particular characteristics in the spatial referents, the possible distribution of this alternation depends exclusively on the particularities of the lexical meaning of the verbs, without any consideration of the context.

2.3 Dative alternation (Levin 1993, 45–48) This alternation typically appears in contexts where there is a transfer from the Subject to another participant of the event. The Object can be a concrete entity, such as an object, or an abstract entity, such as a word, thought etc. For English, this type of alternation can be seen in the pair (11)–(11’). (11)

Bill sold Tom a car (11’) Bill sold a car to Tom

The construction can be identified with Greek alternations where it is possible to find either a construction with an accusativus personae and an accusativus rei (12) or a construction with an accusativus rei and a dativus personae (12’):¹¹ (12) τά με θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι κελεύει (Il. 7.68) ‘What the heart in my breast orders me’ (12’) ἀμφιπόλοισιν περίκλυτα ἔργα κέλευε (Il. 6.324) ‘She appointed to the serving–women their glorious handiwork’ (13)

σύ γ΄ . . . σοφιστὴν ἐπονομάσας ἑαυτόν . . . (Pl. Prt. 349a) ‘You have yourself proclaimed with the title of sophist’

11 Kühner – Gerth (1898, 323–329).

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(13’) ὅτι πᾶσι ταὐτὸν ἐπονομάζειν ἔσχες ὄνομα (Pl. Plt. 263c) ‘You were able to call them all by the same name’ The distribution of this type of alternation seems to be associated, as we have mentioned, to cognitive contexts of transfer. A necessary condition seems to be that the receptor of the transfer can be understood either as affected by the impulse from the Subject, and in this case the accusative is the expected form, or as a real receptor, in which case the dative is usually present. This distribution depends on the particular meaning of the verb, but since there are other constructions with a double accusative that do not present this alternation, it may be that the referential characteristics of the participants (namely, the typically animated content of the receptor) also condition the existence of this alternation.

2.4 Locative alternation (Levin 1993, 49–55) This alternation offers the speakers the possibility to express the same event through either an Object–Instrument construction or an Object–Locative expression, where the Object of the first construction coincides referentially with the Locative expression of the second construction and the Instrument of the first is the Object of the second. One example is that of (13)–(13’). (13)

Jack sprayed the wall with paint (13’) Jack sprayed paint on the wall

This alternation is present in many languages (Levin 1993, 49–50). For Greek, de Boel (1988, 124–128) offers examples for βάλλω (14)–(14’), and examples for παίω are offered by the dictionary LSJ (15)–(15’). (14)

ὁ δ᾿ ᾿Ασκάλαφον βάλε δουρί (Il. 13.518) ‘He struck Ascalaphus with his spear’ (14’) μή τις Δαναῶν . . . /χαλκὸν ἐνὶ στήθησσι βαλὼν (Il. 5.345–346) ‘Lest any of the Danaans . . . might hurl a spear of bronze into his breast’

(15) τὸν δ᾿. . . / παίει λιγυρᾷ μάστιγι διπλῇ (S. Aj. 241–242) ‘He thrashed the other with doubled flexible rein’ (15’) ναῦς ἐν νηὶ χαλκήρη στόλον / ἔπαισεν (A. Pers. 408–409) ‘One ship began to strike another with its projecting bronze beak’ There is a semantic difference between the two alternative constructions depending on the total/partial extent to which the entity that is not manipulated is affected. In the first member in the pairs, this is, the construction with Object and Instrument, there is no indication of the degree to which the Object is affected by the action, but the whole Object may well be affected, as is the case in (15). On the contrary, the second

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construction, with the Object and prepositional phrase, necessarily implies a partial affectation of the Object: only a part of the ship is affected by the beak (15’). In Greek at least, this construction seems possible with some causative verbs, where someone impulses something to get a goal. Additionally, the two participants different from the Agent involved in the event must be affected –and not effected– by the event in question. A third characteristic is that one of the participants must be tangible in order to be interpreted either as Instrument or Locative. This is, probably, the main difference with the Dative alternation, where the third participant must be animate, to being interpreted as a Receptor, something that is excluded here. In conclusion, besides the lexical meaning of the verb, the other participants in the event must possess referential characteristics to permit the alternation.

2.5 Reciprocal alternation (Levin 1993, 62–63) This type of alternation appears related to events in which at least two entities are involved and their participation in the event is similar, but takes place in such a way that the action of one element affects the other and vice versa. An English example is the following: (16)

Brenda agreed with Molly (16’) Brenda and Molly agreed

In English, this type of alternation can be split into several subtypes depending on whether the reciprocal relation is established between elements that can be interpreted as subjects of the event, as in (16)–(16’), or is established between objects, as in (17)– (17’). (17)

I separated the yolk from the white (17’) I separated the yolk and the white

There are also different possibilities of expression of the reciprocal relationship by means of diverse prepositions: from, into, with (Levin 1993, 60). The data described for Ancient Greek so far are similar (Revuelta 1997, 2002). This alternation is present in pairs such as in (18)–(18’) and (19)–(19’). Each one of these pairs represents one of the two modalities of this alternation: when the Subject is affected (19) or when the Object is affected (20)¹² (19)

σύ νυν διάφερε τῶν κακῶν (E. Or. 251) ‘Take care then to be different from the wicked’ (19’) ἆρ᾿ οἱ τεκόντες διαφέρουσιν ἢ τροφαί; (E. Hec. 599) ‘Is it parentage or nurturing that makes the difference?’

12 Examples with in συνοικέω are offered by Revuelta (2002).

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(20)

τοῦτο . . . γάλακτι συμμισγόντες πίνουσι (Hdt. 4.23.3) ‘They drink it mixed with milk’ (20’) συμμίσγων μυρίκας καὶ μυρσιονειδέας ὄζους (hMerc. 81) ‘He mixed together tamarisk and myrtle–twigs’

The obvious lexical restriction for this alternation is that the same event could be considered as either developed in only one direction or as a reciprocal intercourse between two actors. It depends exclusively on the meaning of the verb.

2.6 Instrument–Subject alternation (Levin 1993, 80–81) This alternation occurs when the entity presented as the Instrument in one of the two constructions appears as the Subject in the other. An example of its occurrence in English can be seen as follows: (21)

David broke the window with the hammer (21’) The hammer broke the window

For Ancient Greek, it is present in pairs such as (22)–(22’)¹³ and (23)–(23’). (22) βάλλον δ΄ ἀλλήλους χαλκήρεσιν ἐγχείῃσιν (18.534) ‘They were ever smiting one another with bronze–tipped spears’ .

(22’) Πάτροκλος τοῦ δ’ ἅλιον βέλος ἔκφυγε χειρός, / ἀλλ’ ἔβαλ’ ἔνθ’ ἄρα φρένες ἔρχαται ἀμφ’ ἁδινὸν κῆρ. (Il. 16.480–1) ‘. . . Patroclus; and not in vain did the shaft speed from his hand, but smote his foe where the midriff is set close about the throbbing heart’ (23)

οἱ δὲ . . . τοῖσι σκυτάλοισι ἔπαιον τοὺς Πέρσας (Hdt. 3.137) ‘But others . . . beat them with their clubs’ (23’) τηνικαῦτα ἐκύλινδον οἱ βάρβαροι ὀλοιτρόχους . . . οἳ φερόμενοι πρὸς τὰς πέτρας παίοντες διεσφενδονῶντο (X. An. 4.2.3) ‘At that moment the barbarians began to roll down round stones . . . which came down with a crash upon the rocks below’

In (23’) it is hardly conceivable that any instrument could be added to παίοντες, because the stones themselves crashed upon the rocks. The distribution of this alternation seems to be associated with physical actions where the instrument of the first construction, because of its lexical characteristics, appears as only a prolongation of the impulse given by the animate actor. Of course, this context depends on the lexical meaning of the verb, but is probably also in some extent dependent on the nature of the entity which can be presented either as Subject or as Instrument. 13 Taken from de Boel (1988, 128).

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2.7 Cognate Object construction (Levin 1993, 95–96) = internal complement This is a well–known and largely described construction in Ancient Greek, although it has not been presented as an alternation. It affects those verbs traditionally classified as intransitives, but that in certain conditions can be used with an Object that is semantically –and sometimes also etymologically– related to the verb. Many examples can be found in grammars and dictionaries.¹⁴ Some examples are given in (24)–(24’) and (25)–(25’). (24)

ἴθι σὺ μὲν ταχέως δραμών . . . (Ar. Plu. 222) ‘Now you run off quickly. . . ’ (24’) ἐγὼ τοῦτον . . . ποιήσω δακεῖν τὴν καρδίαν καὶ τὸν περὶ ψυχῆς δρόμον δραμεῖν (Ar. V. 375) ‘I will force him to bite his own heart and to run a race for his soul’

(25) καὶ εὐθὺς ἐναυμάχησαν αὖθις Λακεδαιμόνιοι καὶ ᾿Αθηναῖοι (X. Hell. 1.1) ‘and thereupon the Lacedaemonians and the Athenians fought another naval battle’ (25’) οἱ . . . τὴν ἐν Σαλαμῖνι ναυμαχίαν ναυμαχήσαντες ‘Those who had fought in the sea–battle at Salamis . . . ’ (D. 59,97) In this case, instead of thinking of an alternation in the construction, we could rather think of a single construction, where the slot for the second argument usually remains unspecified because of its referential similarity to the verb. It would be specified, however, when a particular kind of referent is at issue, as τὸν περὶ πυχῆς δρόμον in (24’) or τὴν ἐν Σαλαμῖνι ναυμαχίαν in (25’).¹⁵ The groups of verbs that can present this alternation are very wide–ranging in English, but it seems impossible at least with the verbs of State. Similarly, no examples have been found in Greek for verbs such as εἰμί or γίγνομαι.

3 Alternations not described by Levin So far, we have described alternations that have been identified for English and that seem to be also present in Ancient Greek. We will now tackle alternations present in Ancient Greek that are not present in English.

14 Kühner – Gerth (1898, 303–311). 15 Cf. De La Villa – Polo (2014) for similar constructions of Latin.

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3.1 The whole–and–part alternation This construction is typical of the epic poems, but is also present in later texts (Kühner– Gerth 1898, 289–290). The verb takes, at the same time, an Object in the Accusative, typically referring to a physical entity, and another complement that indicates the point or part of the previous entity affected by the action. This second element can be expressed using simple Accusative, as in (26) (27) (28), or a directive PP, as in (26’) (27’) (28’). (26)

ἐπὶ δ᾿ ὄρνυτο δῖος ᾿Επειός, / κόψε δὲ παπτήναντα παρήιον (Il. 23,689–690) ‘But on him noble Epeius rushed as he peered for an opening and struck him on the cheek’ (26’) ὅς τίς σ΄ ἀμφὶ κάρη κεκοπὼς χερσὶ στιβαρῇσι . . . (Od. 18,335)¹⁶ ‘He has beaten both sides of your head with heavy fists. . . ’

(27)

γαστέρα γάρ μιν τύψε (Il. 21,180) ‘He struck him in the belly beside the navel’ (27’) Αἴας δ᾿ αὖ Φόρκυνα μέσην κατὰ γαστέρα τύψε (Il. 17,313) ‘And Aias struck Phorcys in the middle of the belly’

(28)

λωποδύτης παίει ῥοπάλῳ με τὸν νῶτον (Ar. Av. 497) ‘A footpad struck me in the back with his bludgeon’ (28’) ὃς . . . Κλέων᾿ ἔπαισ᾿ εἰς τὴν γαστέρα (Ar. Nu. 549) ‘. . . who . . . struck Cleon in the belly’

This alternation is present with a clearly delimited semantic group of verbs: those that mean to hit, to beat, to strike etc., and which largely overlaps with those of the Locative alternation and the Instrument–subject alternation (see above). The main difference with those other two groups is that the goal of the movement is twice specified: the usually human being as a whole and the particular part of his body or armor that the projectile reaches. In English this alternation appears in a different form (Levin 1993, 71–72): the alternation is between a locative expression and a possessive expression: (29)

Selina touched the horse on the back (29’) Selina touched the horse’s back

To conclude, this is one clear case in which the alternating constructions in Ancient Greek and English differ, although the referential contexts where it appears are identical.

16 This sentence, quoted by the dictionary LSJ s.v. κόπτω, is interpreted as an example of double accusative construction. Nevertheless, in spite of the ambiguous situation in the Homeric text of the terms which will became full prepositions, I think that here ἀμφί is tightly associated with κάρη.

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3.2 Source alternation Although similar to the Dative alternation (see above section 2.3), in this case the alternation is established between a double accusative construction (personae and rei) (30) and a construction with an accusativus rei and a prepositional phrase referring to the person from whom something is demanded (30’).¹⁷ (30) πέμψας Καμβύσης ἐς Αἴγυπτον κήρυκα αἴτεε ῎Αμασιν θυγατέρα (Hdt. 3.1.1) ‘Cambyses had sent a herald to Egypt asking Amasis for his daughter’ (30’) ἅτε δὲ τειχέοντος ἤδη ἱστιαίου τοῦ Μιλησίου τὴν παρὰ Δαρείου αἰτήσας ἔτυχε μισθὸν δωρεὴν . . . (Hdt. 5.23.1). ‘Histiaeus the Milesian was by this time fortifying the place which he asked from Dareius as his reward. . . ’ The distribution of this alternation is similar to that of Dative alternation, with the difference that the direction of the action is not uni–directional, but bi–directional: the person referred to by the Subject addresses another person (justifying the double accusative construction), but, at the same time, expects a reaction from the addressee (justifying the source expression). Therefore, the semantic basis for the alternation, in this case, is the specific meaning of the verb.

3.3 Complement of the Object alternation This alternation is established between the presence or the absence of a Complement of the Object, typically a predicative, as in (31)–(31’). (31)

ἄλλ᾿ ἴθι νῦν Αἴαντα καὶ ᾿Ιδομενῆα κάλεσσον (Il. 10,53) ‘But go now and call hither Aias and Idomeneus’ (31’) . . . ῎Ολυμπον, /ὃν Βριάρεων καλέουσι θεοί (Il. 1,402–403) ‘. . . Mount Olympus, whom the gods call Briareus’

(32) δεικνύουσι τοῖσι κομίσασι παραδείγματα νεκρῶν ξύλινα (Hdt. 2.86.1) ‘They show those who brought wooden models of corpses’ (32’) προθυμίαν δὲ καὶ πολὺ τολμηροτάτην ἐδείξαμεν (Th. 1.74.2) ‘And we showed our courage as being much bolder’ The construction is present with many verbs and was typically employed with verbs of speaking or expression as καλέω, λέγω, γράφω, φημί, but also with causative verbs as ἄγω, as in (33)–(33’).

17 Kühner – Gerth (1898, 328).

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(33) οἱ μὲν ἐφ᾿ ὑμᾶς ἦγον τὰ πράγματα (D. 9,57) ‘Some of them were for handing the government over to you’ (33’) . . . ἐλευθέραν ἦγε τὴν ῾Ελλάδα (D. 9,36) ‘. . . which kept Greece free’ In Levin (1993, 78–79) an alternation is also described for English which includes predicative expressions; it is called the “as alternation”: (34)

The president appointed Smith press secretary (34’) The president appointed Smith as press secretary

But this is different from the Greek alternation, because, in English, there is a Complement of the Object in both members of the pair and the sole difference between them is the absence or presence of the comparative as. The absence of the Complement of the Object is not grammatical (35)

*The president appointed Smith

Additionally, the distribution of this alternation is different in English and Ancient Greek. In English, it is restricted to verbs of nomination or presentation. In Ancient Greek, the semantic range of verbs seems to be much wider. In principle, the fact that the Complement of the Object in sentences as (31’)–(33’) can be analysed as an adjunct and not as an argument could be used to refute this type of alternation. As such, all the uses of these verbs could be reduced to a single argument structure. However, it is clear that the presence of the Complement of the Object not only gives additional information about the event, but also changes the characteristics of the event described by the verb: to call someone, for example, to make him or her to go to a certain place is not only a verb of speaking, but also carries characteristics of a causative verb, since the Subject is inducing someone to do something, which is typically a physical action. By contrast, “to call somebody something” is only a verb of speaking; it is not causative at all, and no physical action is involved whatsoever. Something similar could be said for the verb ἄγω. In conclusion, the two constructions, without and with Complement of the Object, are different and alternating argument structures.

4 A constructional proposal for alternations In the preceding sections I have shown how the phenomenon of verbal alternation is common in Ancient Greek, as it is in other languages. Given that these alternations affect more than one verb and, very often, entire semantic groups of verbs in a regular way, it seems clear that we cannot just consider alternations as idiosyncratic characteristics associated with each single verb. If we do so, we will not be able to capture

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the regular repetition of certain alternations with different verbs. Moreover, as we have seen, in Ancient Greek, as in English and other languages, it is possible to establish some distributional limits in the presence of each type of alternation. Verbal alternation should therefore be described as both a syntactic phenomenon because we deal with syntactic structures that recurrently appear in certain contexts, and as a lexical phenomenon, because the distribution of the alternations seems to be lexically restricted. We are thus at an interface between lexicon and syntax. In my opinion, the best way to formulate a grammatical description for alternations is to take a constructional approach. If we consider the proposals of Goldberg (1995, 2006) and others on constructions, we could assume, on the one hand, the existence of a syntactic component formed by all the possible argument structures in Greek. On the other hand, the different verbs, as lexical entries, with their semantic characteristics and the semantic characteristics of the entities that can take part of the event referred to by the verb. According to these characteristics, each verb will match one or more of the argument structures available in the syntactic stock, that is, the list of possible constructions. This matching would be the core of the syntactic–lexical interface in the formation of clauses. So far, to the best of my knowledge, the gathering together of all the argument structures possible in Ancient Greek is a task that has not been seriously undertaken. The data in this paper provides a number of these constructions. I present them in the list in (36). Here, the different structures are described according to the semantic roles and, where relevant, to the lexical restrictions of their constituents.¹⁸ (36) 1. 2. 3. 4.

Some constructions involved in alternations in Ancient Greek¹⁹

Actor (24) (25) Actor – Undergoer (8) (20’) (24’) (25’) (31) (32) (33) Actor – Location (8’)²⁰ Actor – Source (19)²¹

18 For the list of semantic roles, I follow Crespo (1997) and Luraghi (2003). I also add the notion of macro–role, following Van Valin – LaPolla (1989, 139–147). The notion of macro–role was originally proposed by Dowty (1991) as a generalisation to capture the shared characteristics of participants in different events which, nevertheless, have also important differences according to the meaning of the verb. Two macro–roles are assumed: Actor and Undergoer. The macro–role Actor generalizes the common features of Agent–type arguments (Agent, Experiencer, Recipient, Force etc.); Undergoer refers to Patient–type arguments (Patient, Theme, Goal etc.) (Van Valin – LaPolla 1898, 140–141). 19 I present them in order or increasing complexity. I indicate the examples given in the paper for each construction. 20 To simplify the description, I do not differentiate between different types of locative expressions such as Direction or Position, which would, nevertheless, be relevant for more accurate description of complementation structures. 21 Conventionally, I assume that genitives that accompany as second arguments verbs which express abstract difference have an ablative character.

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5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Actor – Receptor (20)²² Undergoer – Location (6’) (22’) (23’) Actor – Undergoer (effected) – Undergoer (affected) (12) (13)²³ Actor – Undergoer (Patient) – Undergoer (Goal) (30) Actor – Undergoer (total) – Undergoer (partial) (26) (27) (28) (30) Actor – Undergoer – Location (6) (14’) (15’) (26’) (27’) (28’) Actor – Undergoer – Receptor (12’) (13’) Actor – Undergoer – Instrument (14) (15) (22) (23) Actor – Undergoer –Source (30’) Actor – Undergoer – Complement of the Undergoer (31’) (32’) (33’)²⁴

As we have seen, in the groups and types of verbs presented in this paper, some groups –such as causative verbs– can choose from a high number of constructions to describe the nature of the participants in the events they refer to. In other cases, as in the verbs of asking or demanding, only two possibilities are available: to either analyse the third argument as a Goal (30) or as a Source (30’). This difference, as we have said, depends on the semantic idiosyncrasy of the verb and, sometimes, also of the participants in that event. Further research will surely provide many more constructional possibilities and a more detailed map of the combinatory possibilities of each verb and groups of verbs.

5 Conclusions At the beginning of this paper, I formulated three questions. Following the analysis presented in the body of this paper, I can now answer these questions: – We have identified a certain number of regular alternations or verbal complementation in Ancient Greek.

22 Conventionally, I assume that datives which accompany verbs which express proximity or physical contact express the nature of Receptor or the impulse of the Actor towards them. 23 When two Undergoers are present in the same structure, there must be some cognitive differences between them. One typical difference is between Affected Undergoer (pre–existent to the event) and Effected Undergoer (produced as a result of the conclusion of the event), as in (12’) and (13’). In other cases, the difference is between a Patient Undergoer (directly physically affected by the event) and a Goal Undergoer (the entity towards which the event is directed), as in (30). In cases as the whole–and– part alternation, both Undergoers are Affected, because they refer to the same entity (26) (27) (28). The difference here is between the reference to the whole of the referent or just to a part of it. 24 Complement of the Undergoer typically corresponds to predicative uses of nouns, adjectives or participles.

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– It is possible, although still in a very provisional way, to determine their distribution among groups of verbs. – It has been shown that some of the alternations proposed for other languages, in particular for English, are also present in Ancient Greek, but that languages do not coincide fully since there seem to be alternations in Greek that are not present in English. Reversely, we can assume that some of the alternations present in other languages were not probably used in Greek. Nevertheless, given the current stage of our research, we are not yet able to identify them. Additionally, it has been argued that alternations cannot be considered just as idiosyncratic characteristics of the behavior of each singular verb. On the contrary, it seems that the regularity in the form and in the distribution of alternations justifies their inclusion in grammar, where all the possible clausal combinations are stored. The different verbs, according to their lexical content and the sort of entities they are connected with, match one or more of the argument structures available in each language. As we can see, then, there is a new chapter on the horizon of the interface between semantics and syntax in Ancient Greek.

Bibliography De Boel, G. 1988: Goal accusative and object accusative in Homer. A contribution to the theory of transitivity, Brussel. De La Villa, J. 2007: Léxico y alternancias sintácticas. El caso del griego antiguo, in Actas del XXXV Simposio de la SEL, eds. M. Villandre et alii, León, 1916–1939. De La Villa J. (forthcoming): Alternancias verbales en griego antiguo: transitiva/intransitiva, in Conuentus Classicorum. Actas del XIV Congreso de Estudios Clásicos, ed. J. De La Villa, Madrid. De La Villa, J. & Polo, J. 2014: Internal complement in Latin: more on their semantic, syntactic, and pragmatic status, in Acta XIV Colloquii Internationalis Linguisticae Latinae, eds. C. Cabrillana & Ch. Lehmann, Madrid, 453–463. Cifuentes Honrubia, J. L. 2006: Alternancias verbales en español, «Revista Portuguesa de Humanidades», 10, 107–132. Crespo, E. 1997: Sintaxis de los elementos de relación, in Actas del IX Congreso Español de Estudios Clásicos, eds. F. Rodríguez Adrados & A. Martínez, Madrid, SEEC, II 3–42. Dik, S. C. 1997: The Theory of Functional Grammar, Berlin – New York. Dowty, D. 1991: Thematic proto–roles and argument selection, «Language», 67, 547–619. Goldberg, A. E. 1995: Constructions. A construction grammar approach to argument structure, Chicago. Goldberg, A. E. 2006: Constructions at Work: the nature of generalization in language, Oxford. Happ, H. 1976: Grundfragen einer Dependenz–Grammatik des Lateinischen, Göttingen. Härtl, H. 2003: Conceptual and Grammatical Characteristics of Argument Alternations: The Case of Decausative Verbs, «Linguistics», 41, 883–916. Haspelmath, M. 1993: More on the typology of inchoative/causative verb alternations, in Causatives and Transitivity, eds. B.Comrie & M. Polinsky, Amsterdam, 87–120.

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Jiménez Delgado, J. M. 2008: Construcciones en activa en lugar de medio–pasiva en Heródoto, «Habis», 38, 7–24. Kühner, R. & Gerth, B. 1898: Ausführiliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache II, Hannover. Levin, B. 1993: English Verb Classes and Alternations, Chicago. Levin, B. & Rappaport Hovav, M. 1995: Unaccusativity: At the Syntax–Lexical Semantic Interface, Cambridge (MA). LSJ = Lidell, H. G., Scott, R. & Jones, H.S. 19402 : A Greek–English Lexicon, Oxford. Luraghi, S. 2003: On the Meaning of Prepositions and Cases, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Magni, E. 2004: ‘Doppioni’ e alternanze nel greco omerico: il presente in –θω, in Dialetti, dialettalismi, generi literari e funzioni sociali (Atti del V Incontro internazionale di linguistica greca. Milano 12– 13 settembre 2002), ed. G. Rocca, Alessandria, 329–342. Magni, E. 2008: Contiguità e continuità nelle categorie verbali: le forme in –θ– del greco, «Archivio Glottologico Italiano», 93, 1–55. Matera, M. & Medina, R. 2007: Las estructuras argumentales y las alternancias en español, «Lingua americana», 20, 22–32. Michaelis, L. A. & Ruppenhofer, J. 2001: Beyond Alternations. A Constructional Model of the German Applicative, Standford. Moreux, B. 1978: Cas ou tours prépositionnels dans la langue des orateurs attiques. Étude sur la cohésion des syntagmes verbaux, Lille. Revuelta, A. 1997: Predicados simétricos en griego: semejanzas y diferencias, in Actas del IX Congreso Español de Estudios Clásicos, eds. F. Rodríguez Adrados & A. Martínez, Madrid, II 202–207. Revuelta, A. (2002): Verbos con marcos predicativos alternantes en griego antiguo: algunos factores de elección, in Presente y futuro de la lingüística en España. La Sociedad de Lingüística 30 años después, Actas del IX Congreso Español de la Sociedad Española de Lingüística (Madrid 11–15 de diciembre de 2000), eds. A. Bernabé et alii, Madrid, II 259–267. Revuelta (forthcoming): Multiple Clause Reciprocity in Latin and Greek: A Comparative and Typological Perspective, in Linguistics and Classical Languages, ed. A. Pompei. Schäfer, Florian (2009): The causative alternation, «Language and Linguistics Compass», 3, 641–681. Van Valin, R. D. & LaPolla, R. J. 1997: Syntax. Structure, meaning and function, Cambridge.

Richard Faure

Argument participial clauses viewed as abstract objects in Classical Greek Abstract: This article addresses the question of the motivation for using such or such argument clause type with such or such predicate in Classical Greek. I focus on participial clauses. They cannot be said to only show up in veridical environments (i.e. in environments where they denote true propositions). Rather, their distribution is constrained by the (semantic) selectional requirements of the embedding predicates. I claim that they denote events, on the basis of the fact that they are the only possible complements with perception verbs. These events can then be coerced to denote propositions (with knowledge verbs) and facts (with emotive and evaluative predicates). This coercion is possible because holders of the knowledge/emotion attitudes have access to an event that grounds their knowledge/emotion. In nonveridical contexts, it is this access to an event that is denied or uncertain.

1 Introduction Classical Greek¹ has many types of argument clauses, both finite (ὅτι, ὡς, ὅπως, ὁθούνεκα, interrogative, exclamative, etc.) and non–finite (infinitive clauses, participial clauses). There has been many attempts to account for this variety and find what motivates the usage of each type of clause (De Boel, 1980, Cristofaro, 1996, Faure, 2014, Jacquinod 1999). The difficulty resides in the fact that the distribution of these clauses does not give a straightforward account. If we look at the table under (1), we can see that each of the three most attested types of argument clauses non–uniformly distributes between at least two semantic types of predicates. (1)

The distribution of a subset of argument clauses in Classical Greek

1 By Classical Greek I mean Attic Greek spoken and written in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries BCE. This study was run on Lysias’s speeches, extended to other authors to check relevant structures thanks to the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae® Digital Library. ed. Maria C. Pantelia, University of California, Irvine. http://www.tlg.uci.edu (access Septembre 16th 2015).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-563

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Kind of predicates

Examples

Verbs of speaking Knowledge predicates Perception predicates Verbs of thinking Analysis

λέγω ‘say’

Participial clauses

οἶδα ‘know’

X

ὁράω ‘see’

X

ὅτι/ὡς

Infinitive clauses

X

X

X

νομίζω ‘think’

X Certainty, presupposition

Underspecified

Doubt, unverifiable

What do knowledge predicates share with verbs of speaking that allows both types to embed ὅτι–clauses, but excludes verbs of perception? Most hypotheses focus on the veridical/informational status of the subordinate clause, as sketched in the last row of the table. For example, participial clauses are taken to denote presupposed (true) or realis propositions. However, this does not account for the full range of their uses. The , sentence (2)² ³ does not entail the truth of the proposition denoted by the participial clause με βουλεύσαντα (i.e. that the speaker sat on the Council). Actually, the speaker points towards the opposite conclusion in his speech. (2)

Οὐδείς μεi ἀποδείξει [ti βουλεύσαντα]. (Lys. 25.14.4) ‘Neither, again, will anyone prove that I sat on the Council’ (tr. Lamb)

In this article, I shall explore another type of explanation, namely that each type of Classical Greek embedded clauses corresponds to an abstract object, i.e. depends on the semantic selectional requirements of the embedding predicates, and not on the veridical/informational status of the clause in the context. For reasons of space, I shall concentrate on participial clauses and postpone the study of other types of clauses to future research. The article is organized as follows: in section 2, I introduce the abstract objects; in section 3, I look at the syntactic distribution and specificities of participial clauses; in section 4, I focus on the variation of their semantic properties depending on the verbs that embed them; in section 5, I try to give a uniform account of participial clauses. Finally, section 6 draws some conclusions from the study and comes back to counterexample (2).

2 Translations with no further mention than the translator’s name are taken from the Perseus website. Author names are abbreviated according to the conventions of Liddell – Scott – Jones (1996), henceforth LSJ. Relevant phrases in examples (and in translation) are in boldface. 3 ti in the example is the trace of the pronoun με. It is only used as a descriptive device to show that the reader has to reconstruct the clause [με βουλεύσαντα]. Here, we need not wonder whether the word order is generated by movements or otherwise.

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2 Abstract objects Before going any further, let us introduce the notion of abstract object. The philosophy of language has addressed the questions of what the language speaks about and of our relations towards the various entities we refer to. These relations might depend on the nature of the entity. There are many classifications of entities, one of which is that found in Lyons (1977) and sketched here under (3). (3)

a. First order entities: Entities that exist in space and time. E.g. cars, stones, etc. b. Second order entities: Entities that happen, take place, are located in space and time = Abstract objects 1. E.g. parties, wedding, situations etc. c. Third order entities: Entities that somehow escape space and time = Abstract objects 2. E.g. colors, propositions, qualities etc.

If we limit ourselves to third order entities, we notice that the expressions denoting abstract objects tend to be more analytical, as in (4)a, which uses a clause (in boldface) to refer to a proposition. (4)

a. That Achilles is a coward is false. b. I believe that Achilles is a coward.

Actually, if we go deeper into a classification of abstract objects, we face many difficulties, such as the variety of the natures of these objects (what is common between colors and propositions?), or the difference with second order entities (events or facts are somehow located in time). However, there are means to have a clearer picture. For example, not every type of abstract objects is referred to with the same pronouns or nominal terms. Another way to tease apart the different abstract objects is to examine the propositional attitude predicates they are embedded under. Propositional attitude predicates are predicates used to describe the position of a subject with respect to an abstract object. For example, (4)b describes a belief attitude of the speaker towards the proposition that Achilles is a coward. Asher (1993) or Moltmann (2013) are recent attempts of classification. (5) gives a simplified view of Asher’s classification. (5)

Asher’s (1993) classification of abstract objects a. Situation–like objects: Events, Eventualities, Situations, States of affairs b. Proposition–like objects: Propositions, Facts, Possibilities

In this article, I shall explore the idea that participial clauses refer to a class of abstract objects by mostly looking at the semantic selection of the main predicate. But before going in this direction, we need to have a clearer view of what these predicates are and what syntactic relation participial clauses entertain with these predicates.

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3 The distribution of participial clauses In this section, I analyze the distribution of argument participial clauses. They appear with perception, knowledge, and emotive/evaluative predicates, three subcases that we shall look at in turn.

3.1 Perception predicates Syntactically, the participial clause is assigned case by the main verb (except when the subject of the main verb is the controller of the participle, a case that we examine last). Perception predicates mostly assign the accusative as in (6), except for ἀκούω under specific circumstances.⁴ (6)

Τὸν ἀνδροφόνονi ὁρᾷ [ti περιιόντ’ ἐν τοῖς ἱεροῖς καὶ κατὰ τὴν ἀγοράν]. (D. 23.80) ‘He sees the homicide frequenting places of worship or the market’ (tr. Murray)

There are two debates around participial clauses with perception verbs. The first debate is around the interpretation of the main verb. It changes depending on the tense of the participle. The necessary simultaneity between the perceived event⁵ and the perception induces a “determined time reference” of the participial clauses. That is why only present and perfect participles are used with perception verbs, as in (6). Interestingly, when past or future tenses show up, perception predicates cannot describe a process of perception, since perception requires direct contact. They describe a mental operation on a non–perceived, nor perceptible event, and therefore have a knowledge predicate interpretation. In (7), the process of seeing described by ἑώρα only metaphorically bears on events that have not taken place yet (future participle συμβησόμενα). If Philippus kept on gaining ground, that would be a disaster for Athens (7)

ἃi ἑώρα [ti συμβησόμενα], . . . (D. 18.63) ‘lit. (aggressions) which (Athens) saw that were going to happen’ ‘(there are aggressions) which (Athens) must have long foreseen’ (tr. Vince, modified)

The second debate concerns the syntactic interpretation of the participial clause as an argument clause. Recently, Basset (1999) has claimed that we are dealing with a 4 See LSJ (s.v.): ἀκούω is followed by the genitive when the noun phrase describes the source of the perceived sound and by the accusative when the noun phrase describes the content of the sound (“c. acc. of thing heard, gen. of person from whom it is heard”). 5 Event is taken here as a generic term. What is said of them is probably applicable to states, and maybe to situations. But we need not go into this level of detail here.

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perception of a first order entity (see section 2), to which a modifying participle is adjoined rather than with an argument clause. Duhoux (2000) argues against this view and suggests that participial clauses are rather structures cognate to small clauses, i.e. to predicative structures. Semantically, this latter claim is more satisfactory, since the perception is perception of an event more than perception of a first order entity. An argument for that is that you can perceive an event without perceiving the entity that carries out the event. (8) displays such a situation. Electra holds in her hands the alleged funeral urn of her brother, and is talking (somewhat ironically) about the peace of the dead, from the experience of the quiet in which she perceives that Orestes is. (8)

τοὺς γὰρ θανόνταςi οὐχ ὁρῶ [ti λυπουμένους]. (S. El. 1170) ‘since I see that the dead are relieved of pain’ (tr. Jebb)

Let us try to roughly formalize the meaning of this sentence. Basset’s position would be reflected by (9)a, but this is not accurate, since (9)a does not say that there is visual perception. (9)a also states that there are dead who are sad (λυπουμένους), which is not implied by (8). (9)

a. ∃x[¬see (speaker, x) & x = σy [dead(y) & sad(y)] b. ∃x[see (speaker, x) & x = σy [dead(y) & ¬sad(y)]] c. ∃x[x = σy dead(y) & ¬∃e[sad(e, x) & see (speaker, e)]]

Rather the negation οὐχ semantically bears on the participle λυπουμένους. However, (9)b is not accurate, either, since the perception would only pick up the dead that are not sad, while (8) means that all the dead are devoid of sorrow. (9)c seems closer to the meaning of (8), stating that considering all the dead, the speaker does not perceive an event where they are sad.⁶

3.2 Knowledge predicates Knowledge predicates assign the accusative (e.g. οἶδα ‘know’, μανθάνω ‘know, understand’, see (10)) or (more rarely) the genitive (e.g. πυνθάνομαι in its knowledge sense ‘know, be aware of’). They come in two types: veridical (entailing the truth of their complement, when they are not negated, e.g. ἀποδείκνυμι ‘show’, δῆλον ‘be clear/obvious’) and cognitive factive (always presupposing the truth of their complement,⁷ e.g. οἶδα ‘know’). With these predicates, participial clauses compete with ὅτι/ὡς clauses without noticeable meaning difference. (10) ᾿Εκ δὴ τοῦ αὐτοῦ λόγου [τήν τε δίκην οὐκ εἰσαγώγιμον οὖσαν] μαθήσεσθε. (D. 32.2) 6 For an interesting account of the relation between perceptions, events and situations, see Barwise – Perry (1983), discussed in Higginbotham (1983). 7 With some reservations, see Beaver (2010).

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‘The same speech will suffice to prove to you that his action is not maintainable’ (tr. Murray)

3.3 Emotive/evaluative predicates Emotive/evaluative predicates assign the dative (e.g. ἥδομαι ‘be pleased’, as in (11)), or more controversially the genitive. (11)

Χίοισινi ἥσθην [ti πανταχοῦ προσκειμένοις]. (Ar. Av. 880) ‘The dwellers in Chios! Ah! I am delighted they should be thus mentioned on all occasions’ (tr. O’Neill)

The status of argument clauses with such predicates has been challenged. First of all, the same demonstration as with perception verbs can be done for this type of predicates, namely that we are not dealing with a participle adjoined to an NP, but with a participial clause. The second point is that such clauses are often analyzed as causal adjuncts rather than as arguments. But this issue cannot be easily settled (see Faure 2014; forthcoming), and is not important here, since we are concerned in this article with the semantics of participial clauses and not with their syntax. Be they arguments or adjuncts, they still denote what the emotion/evaluation bears on, i.e. an abstract object whose nature is under discussion here.

3.4 Coreference between the main subject and the controller of the participle This situation arises with all types of predicates ((12) is an example of knowledge veridical predicate, (13) is an example of an emotive predicate). In this case, the controller is not expressed and the participle agrees with the subject of the main verb (Rijksbaron, 2002). Still, we will consider that these structures are complete participial clauses and eligible to the same analysis as those we reviewed so far. (12)

Δῆλος δ΄ ἦν [οὕτω διακείμενος]. (Is. 12.231.1) ‘lit. I was clear being in such state’ ‘Manifestly I was in such a state of mind’ (tr. Norlin)

(13) οὐκ ἄχθομαί [pro σ΄ ἰδών τε καὶ λαβὼν φίλον]. (S. Phil. 671) ‘I am not sorry that I found you and have gained your friendship’ (tr. Jebb)

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3.5 Intermediate Summary In this section we saw that participial clauses may be arguments of three types of predicates. Syntactically, they vary in case, which may be due to the semantic role assigned by the embedding predicate (accusative would be related to the role THEME, dative to the role CAUSE, genitive to the role SOURCE). This difference in semantic role is probably tied to a difference in terms of semantic selection, something that is under discussion in the next section.

4 Semantic properties of participial clauses In this section, we shall try to find tests to understand what abstract object participial clauses could denote. We shall look at the semantic selection of the three classes of verbs that syntactically select for participial clauses. By semantic selection, I mean the restrictions that a predicate imposes to its arguments. For example, with an agentive verb, the semantic role [AGENT] cannot be borne by anything. It is limited to [+ animate] entity. That is why, we can say that cats or men eat, but not that #tables eat.

4.1 Perception predicates The determined time reference DTR /present/ of the argument of a perception verb (see above section 3. 1) indicates that it denotes a second order entity or a situation–like object. It is arguably an event, since events happen and we can see or hear something happening, taking place.

4.2 Knowledge predicates Contrary to perception, knowledge bears on something more abstract, since it is detached from space and time. We cannot say that what they bear on “happens”. Rather, they are factive or veridical, i.e. they are related to truth (see section 3. 1). This relation to truth is confirmed by the compatibility of such predicates with adverbials such as ὀρθῶς, and with embedded interrogatives. First, in (14), the function of ὀρθῶς is to assess the relation of knowledge between the addressees (controller of εἰδότες καὶ μεμαθηκότες) and τὰ δίκαια ‘the rights of the case’. It states that the content of the knowledge regarding τὰ δίκαια is true (in a metaphorical sense, ὀρθός means ‘right, true, correct’ (LSJ s.v.)). (14) ἀνάγκη δ΄ ἐστὶν τοῖς ἐπιτηδείοις ἡμῖν, ἃ σύνισμεν πολλάκις τούτου διεξιόντος ἀκηκοότες, λέγειν καὶ διδάσκειν ὑμᾶς, ἵν΄ εἰδότες καὶ μεμαθηκότες ὀρθῶς τὰ δίκαια παρ΄ ἡμῶν, ἃν ᾖ δίκαια καὶ εὔορκα, ταῦτα ψηφίσησθε. (D. 36.1)

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‘It is necessary for us, his friends, to state and set forth for you the facts, which we know full well from having heard him often relate them; in order that, when you have duly learned from us and have come to know the rights of the case, you may give a verdict that is both just and in harmony with your oaths’ (tr. Murray) Second, the same knowledge predicates embedding participial clauses also embed interrogatives, as in (15). Answers to interrogatives are famously true or false, as shown by the brief dialogue under (16). The comment of C on B’s answer is clearly about the truth value that B assigns to the proposition ‘Peter is coming’. (15)

Τί γὰρ ᾔδειν [εἴ τι κἀκεῖνος εἶχε σιδήριον]· (Lys. 1.42.3) ‘For how could I tell whether he too had some weapon?’ (tr. Lamb)

(16)

A: Is Peter coming? B: Yes. C: You’re lying!

To explain this relation to truth, I argue that participial clauses with knowledge predicates denote propositions.

4.3 Emotive predicates Regarding emotive predicates, we cannot say that what they bear on is something that happens or takes place. This cannot be an event, since it does not have a determined time reference. This cannot be a proposition, either, since truth is not involved. First, emotive predicates do not embed interrogatives. Second, they have not the same relation to adverbs bearing on truth like ὀρθῶς. (Μηδ΄) ὀρθῶς ἄχθεσθαι in (17) does not mean that the object of anger is (not) true, but that the anger itself is (not) grounded, as shown by the three translations taken from Perseus. (17)

μηδ΄ οὕτως ἡγήσηται [ὀρθῶς ἄχθεσθαι]. (Thuc. 6.89.3–4) ‘He must not think that their dislike is any better founded’ (tr. Dent) ‘let him acknowledge that here too there is no real ground of offence’ (tr. Jowett) ‘let him acknowledge that therein also he is offended without a cause’ (tr. Hobbes)

We saw in 3.3 that emotive predicates mostly take participial clauses in the dative. Here, I will argue, the dative is instrumental. The embedded clauses with emotive predicates denote the cause of the emotion, which can be shown with examples like (18), where the ὅτι subordinate clause is announced by διὰ ταῦτα ‘because of that’. (18)

ἤδη δέ τινων ᾐσθόμην, ὦ βουλή, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα ἀχθομένων μοι, [ὅτι νεώτερος ὢν ἐπεχείρησα λέγειν ἐν τῷ δήμῳ]. (Lys. 16.20.1)

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‘I have had occasion to observe, gentlemen, that some people are annoyed with me merely (for this reason) [for attempting at too early an age to speak before the people]’ (tr. Lamb) This suggests that the abstract objects denoted by participial clauses have a causal force. That is why I am going to argue that we are here dealing with facts. First, this is confirmed by cross–linguistic data. In many languages, an ‘abstract’ NP like the fact may be inserted between the emotive predicate and the subordinate clause (contrary to knowledge and perception verbs), as in English (19). (19)

I regret (the fact) that she got drunk at the party.

Second, the causal force of facts is what distinguishes them from propositions (Asher 1993). Look at (20), where the verb result underlines the causal force of the fact that John is crabby. (20)

John’s crabbiness resulted in everyone avoiding him.

Look now at (21), where a that–clause denotes a proposition (it is embedded under believe, a verb uncontroversially related to truth). (21)

John believed [that Mary was going out with another boy]. That made him morose and prone to sulking.

The that–clause seems to be referred to in the following sentence by the means of that. However, that cannot refer to the proposition believed by John. Otherwise, *this proposition made him morose would be fine in this context. On the other hand, this fact made him morose is perfectly good. I shall then consider that emotive verbs embed participial clauses denoting facts.

4.4 Intermediate Summary We saw in this section that (argumental) participial clauses can denote events, facts or propositions. We also saw that facts and propositions can also be denoted by ὅτι– clauses (example (18)). At this point, it seems that our attempt has failed. We did not find a one–to–one relationship between participial clauses and a type of abstract object. However, we shall see in the next section that it can be rescued if we take into account the links between the three types of objects (events, facts and propositions).

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5 What abstract objects do participial clauses denote? In this section, I shall pursue the view that events, facts and propositions are objects that are logically related and that the facts and propositions that can be expressed by a participial clause rest on events. Events are then the pivot of the explanation.

5.1 Propositions with knowledge predicates Let us start with knowledge predicates. If they actually embed propositions, this means that they are related to the same type of objects as believe. That would be confirmed by some theories where know is taken to mean ‘correctly believe’ (Égré, 2008). However they can be shown to be two different attitudes on the basis of examples like (22)a/b. (22)

a. Michalis correctly thinks that Petros visited Sri Lanka. b. Michalis knows that Petros visited Sri Lanka.

In (22)a, Michalis makes a conjecture and thinks that this conjecture is true. Michalis may have a clue (say, he saw a statue of Buddha at Petros’s place). Then the sentence states that this conjecture is correct. (22)b states that Michalis has a proof (say, he was K in Sri Lanka with Petros). This means that propositions with knowledge predicates are B possibly some other kind of entities than propositions with believe (cf. also Moltmann 2013).⁸ I claim that the requirement for a proof with knowledge predicates indicates K that propositions are based on facts or events, while beliefs are based on conjecture. That is why knowledge predicates entail the truth of their complement (i.e. are factive).

5.2 Facts Emotive predicates are factive too (Kiparsky and Kiparsky, 1970), i.e. their complement denotes a true proposition, or, we argued in section 4. 3, a fact.⁹ I assume that the truth or the factuality of the complement comes from the direct access to an event on which it is based. We have clues from sentences like (23), where the grievance (ἀγανακτῶ) is directly connected to the act of viewing (ὁρῶν). There is little difference between grieving to see that p and grieving that p, except for the precision of the source of the grieving.¹⁰ K

8 I shall henceforth use propositions to refer to the object that knowledge predicates select for. 9 A cognate, although different approach is found in Ginzburg (1995), Ginzburg – Kolliakou (1995) on English and Modern Greek. 10 For examples with ὅτι–clauses, see X. Cyr. 3.1.31., 4.1.14.3.

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᾿Αγανακτῶ γὰρ ὁρῶν [τὴν συκοφαντίαν ἄμεινον τῆς φιλοσοφίας φερομένην], καὶ [τὴν μὲν κατηγοροῦσαν], [τὴν δὲ κρινομένην]. (Is. 15.312.1) ‘For I am grieved to see the sycophant’s trade faring better than philosophy – the one attacking, the other on the defensive’ (tr. Norlin)

5.3 Back to participial clauses We are still left with the issue we met in section 4. There is no one–to–one relationship between participial clauses and a type of abstract object. However, we took a step towards an explanation. Participial clauses do not denote a type of abstract objects, but abstract objects that are somehow related in the following manner (where > means ‘is based on’): K

Proposition > Fact > Event Interestingly enough, this hierarchy is independently found in Hegarty (2003, 901– 908). The author uses the test of the plural/singular reference to a sum of abstract objects. A sum of propositions can be referred to by both a plural and a singular demonstrative pronoun or noun phrase (like this (proposition)); a sum of events can only be referred to by a plural noun phrase (like these incidents, and exceptionally by this all). Facts share with propositions the capacity to be referred to by a singular demonstrative pronoun, and with events the incapacity to be referred to by a singular noun phrase, thus being “intermediate in some way between propositions and events” (p. 908). Therefore, participial clauses would be clauses that denote an abstract object whose existence is (directly or not) based on the existence of an event. However, that would also be the case for the ὅτι–clauses mentioned in example (18) and in Fn 10. Nonetheless, there are two main differences between participial clauses and ὅτι– clauses. First ὅτι–clauses do not appear with perception predicates (or the predicate gets a knowledge interpretation). Second, they are compatible with verbs of speaking, which participial clauses are not. The complement of verbs of speaking is not necessarily true. Then it cannot be said to be based on events. Rather we might tentatively say here that ὅτι may be nothing but a quotation marker. The presuppositional value that ὅτι–clauses sometimes get comes from their association with a factive verb. But this is a matter for future research. Given that participial clauses are the only possible complement of perception verbs, I claim that participial clauses denote events that are coerced to denote facts or K propositions in relevant environments, à la Pustejovsky 1993. This is borne out by the variety of complements with knowledge predicates, which can only be accounted for in terms of coercion. Knowledge predicates embed NP as well as exclamative, interrogative, ὅτι (declarative?)–clauses, i.e. clauses that arguably denote respectively exclamations,

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questions and speech acts. However, it can be shown that they all denote propositions when embedded under knowledge predicates: they are all dependent on truth, and they allow for every type of coordination between them, as in (24), where an interrogative and a ὅτι–clause are coordinated. Adimantos has defended the utilitarian view of justice to induce Socrates to defend the opposite view (24)

Μὴ ἡμῖν μόνον ἐνδείξῃ τῷ λόγῳ [ὅτι δικαιοσύνη ἀδικίας κρεῖττον], ἀλλὰ [τί ποιοῦσα ἑκατέρα τὸν ἔχοντα αὐτὴ δι’ αὑτὴν μὲν κακόν, ἡ δὲ ἀγαθόν ἐστιν]. (Pl. R. 367b) ‘Do not merely show us by argument that justice is superior to injustice, but (make clear to us) what each in and of itself does to its possessor, whereby the one is evil and the other good’ (tr. Shorey)

On the other hand, knowledge (and emotive) predicates are not compatible with infinitival clauses since the infinitive signals a doubt on the reliability of the source (Kurzová, 1968).¹¹ Participial clauses are not compatible with verbs of thinking or speaking, since they signal a reliable source (a perceptible event).

6 Conclusion In this article, I addressed the question of the motivations for using such or such type of complement clauses. For space reasons, I focused on participial clauses. Starting from their distribution, I showed that the relevant factor is not pragmatic. It is not the informational status of the complement clause, either. Rather, I pursued the hypothesis that complement clauses denote abstract objects and found that participial clauses denote events. They thus match the selectional requirements of perception verbs. Given that emotion and knowledge are based on reliable sources, events can also be coerced K to be used as facts or propositions . That is why we find participial clauses with emotion and knowledge predicates. This is also the reason why we do not find them with verbs of speaking and thinking (lack of reliability). (25) is how the meaning of know is usually formalized (in words, ‘knowing that p’ is ‘believing that p’, p being true). I propose to amend it as in (26)¹² (in words ‘knowing that p’ is ‘having access to an event that grounds the truth of the proposition p, and believing p’). (25)

[[know p]] = λws .λxe .λp ∀w’s [w’ ∈ Doxx (w) → p(w’)] & p(w) = 1

11 That does not mean that the types of complement clauses are evidential markers. See Aikhenvald (2004), on evidentiality and the (very strict) conditions for being an evidential marker. 12 ev is the type of events.

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(26)

[[know p]] = λws .λxe .λp ∃P ∃eev [access(x, e) (w) & p(w) = P(e)(w) = 1 & ∀w’s [w’ ∈ Doxx (w) → p(w’)]]

Now we can come back to the counterexample to the previous approaches, repeated here for convenience as (27). (27)

Οὐδείς μεi ἀποδείξει [ti βουλεύσαντα] (Lys. 25.14.4) ‘Neither, again, will anyone prove that I sat on the council.’ (tr. Lamb)

I propose to formalize it as in (28). (28)

w0

[[27]] = ¬∃xe ∃eev [sit–at–the–Council(e)(s)(w0 ) & perceive(x, e) (w0 ) & ∃p p(w0 ) = sit–at–the–Council(e)(s) (w0 ) = 1 & prove(x, p) (w0 )] NB: s = the speaker K

What the speaker intends to say is that the proposition ‘the speaker sat on the council’ is not grounded, and its truth value cannot then be established because the event ‘speaker sitting on the council’ was not perceived by the subject of the verb ἀποδείξει, and cannot be said to exist. In a nutshell, in nonveridical contexts, it is the access to an event grounding a proposition or a fact that is denied or uncertain, not the truth of the proposition or of the fact.

Bibliography Aikhenvald, A. 2004: Evidentiality, Oxford. Asher, N. 1993: Reference to abstract objects in discourse, Dordrecht. Barwise, J. & Perry, J. 1983: Situations and attitudes, Cambridge. Basset, L. 1999: Des participiales parmi les complétives, in Les Complétives en grec ancien. ed. B. Jacquinod, Saint–Etienne, 33–44. Beaver, D. I. 2010: Have you noticed that your Belly Button Lint colour is related to the colour of your clothing? in Presuppositions and Discourse: Essays Offered to Hans Kamp. eds. R. Bäuerle, U. Reyle, & T. E. Zimmerman, Bingley, 65–99. Cristofaro, S. 1996: Aspetti sintattici e semantici delle frasi completive in greco antico, Florence. De Boel, G. 1980: Towards a Theory of the Meaning of Complementizers in Classical Attic, «Lingua», 52, 285–304. Duhoux, Y. 2000: Le verbe grec ancien: éléments de morphologie et de syntaxe historiques, Louvain– la–Neuve. Égré, P. 2008: Question–Embedding and Factivity, «Grazer Philosophische Studien», 78, 85–125. Faure, R. 2014: Argument clauses. in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, vol. 1, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Amsterdam, 172–178. Faure, R. (forthcoming): Εἰ + futur: un cas atypique de proposition complétive en grec classique. in Le futur grec et son histoire, ed. Lambert, F. Ginzburg, J. 1995: Questions, Queries and Facts: A Semantics and Pragmatics for Interrogatives, Cambridge. Ginzburg, J. & Kolliakou, D. 1995: Events and Facts: a Semantics of pu and oti Clauses, «Greek Linguistics», 95, 459–470.

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Hegarty, M. 2003: Semantic types of abstract entities, «Lingua», 113, 891–927. Higginbotham, J. 1983: The Logic of Perceptual Reports: An Extensional Alternative to Situation Semantics, «The Journal of Philosophy», 80, 100–127. Jacquinod, B. (ed.) 1999: Les complétives en grec ancien. Problèmes et perspectives. Actes du colloque international de Saint–Etienne (3–5 septembre 1998), Saint–Etienne. Kiparsky, P. & Kiparsky, C. 1970: Fact, in Progress in linguistics, eds. K. E. Heidolph & M. Bierwisch, La Haye, 143–173. Kurzová, H. 1968: Zur syntaktischen Struktur des Griechischen: Infinitiv und Nebensatz, Amsterdam – Prague. Liddell, H. G. & Scott, R. 1996: A Greek–English Lexicon. With a revised supplement, revised and augmented by Henry S. Jones, with the assistance of Roperick McKenzie, Oxford. Lyons, J. 1977: Semantics, Cambridge – New York – Melbourne. Moltmann, F. 2013: Abstract objects and the semantics of natural language, Oxford. Pustejovsky, J. 1993: Type coercion and lexical selection, in Semantics and the Lexicon, ed. J. Pustejovsky, Dordrecht, 73–94. Rijksbaron, A. 20023 : The Syntax and Semantics of the Verb in Classical Greek: An Introduction, Amsterdam.

José Marcos Macedo

Noun apposition in Greek religious language: a linguistic account Abstract: Nouns are not seldom apposed to divine names in Greek religious language. Besides the widespread use of generic appellatives such as πατήρ, ἄναξ, θεός etc., two other noun types may figure in apposition to theonyms: abstract or concrete nouns (like Artemis Εὐπραξία, Zeus Κεραυνός, etc.) and divine names employed as epiclesis (like Zeus Ares, Aphrodite Hera, etc.). In this paper I provide a unified linguistic account of these different types of noun apposition, which have not been so far dealt with as a group. First I offer a classification according to four basic semantic classes, thereby comparing the Greek examples with similar instances in other Indo–European languages. Then I move on to hint at their syntactic status, highlighting the role played by pragmatics in their employment.

1 Introduction In Greek religious language there is a pattern of divine epithet use consisting in the apposition of a concrete or abstract noun – and not an adjective – to the deity’s name. A few examples: Aphrodite Ψίθυρος ‘Whisper’, Demeter ῾Ομόνοια ‘Concord’, Artemis Εὐπραξία ‘Welfare’, Athena Νίκη ‘Victory’, Zeus Κεραυνός ‘Lightning Bolt’. As far as noun appositives referring to divine names are concerned, there are basically three types: 1. concrete and abstract apposed nouns; 2. generic appellatives such as θεός (this type also includes words for profession like ἰατρός, kinship terms like πατήρ, and general terms of address like ἄναξ)· 3. divine names employed as epiclesis, e.g. Artemis Eileithyia, Zeus Ares, Aphrodite Hera. My aim in this paper is to provide a unified account, preliminary though it may be, of the different types of noun apposition in Greek religious language. To this purpose I shall first classify them according to semantic classes. Secondly, I will hint at their syntactic status in the hope of shedding light on the syntactic relationship between divine name and epithet, thus putting forward a provisional linguistic explanation, as regards both semantics and syntax, for the three types of appositives under consideration. Hitherto,

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as far as I can see, they have not been dealt with as a group, nor have they been adequately compared with similar examples in other Indo–European languages.¹

2 Semantic classes Following the lead of Michèle Noailly’s book Le substantive épithète (1990), where she studies the phenomenon in Modern French, one may classify the fair amount of data scattered through literary, epigraphic (from Classical to Imperial times) and lexicographic Greek documents in four main semantic classes – qualification, complementation, identification, and coordination. As for the examples I provide in what follows, I lay no claim whatsoever to being exhaustive and am rather interested in pointing out that they may fall under the relevant four headings.

2.1 Qualification 2.1.1 Semantics Qualification involves a paraphrase with the verb “to be”.² The apposed noun epithet, which may be referred to as N2 within a nominal group of the type N1 N2 where N1 is the divine name, may consist of an abstract or a common noun. Gender agreement is not mandatory. When a common noun is involved, the relationship is either metaphorical or else most of N2 ’s defining elements are left aside in favor of a specific trait. The epithet ‘lioness’ in Aphrodite Λέαινα, for instance, may stand for slyness or mischievousness: most of the noun’s defining elements are abstracted in favor of a specific trait, similarly to Fr. talon aiguille, where only the shape of the needle matters, or manteau pêche, where only the color of the fruit is at issue.³ ‘Bull’ in Poseidon Ταῦρος may stand for fierceness, and so forth. N2 is akin to a functional adjective specifying the god’s sphere of action (e.g. Athena Σάλπιγξ, Demeter Χλόη). One may compare Poseidon ῾Ιπποκέλευθος ‘Horse–Way’ which I regard neither as a verbal compound nor as a

1 This paper was funded by FAPESP (São Paulo Research Foundation), grant #2014/18996–8. Apposition is of common Indo–European age, but not necessarily proto–Indo–European, cf. Schwyzer (1947, 13). 2 Cf. Noailly (1990, 36): «Je dis que N2 «qualifie» N1 dans les cas où on peut faire sur le groupe le commentaire suivant: (ça veut dire que) N1 est un N2 . [. . . ] Un livre événement est un livre qui est un événement, un mot agrafe, un mot qui est une agrafe». In other words, there is an implicit predicative relation N1 be N2 . Further examples of qualification: des spectacles symboles, la justice escargot, une vallée cathédrale, une maison mémoire. 3 Cf. Noailly (1990, 54–55).

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possessive compound adjective, but rather as an apposed noun of the ἱππόδρομος type,⁴ as against e.g. Athena κελεύθεια ‘of the road’ (Paus. 3.12.4). The divine name, it may be noted, would not be promptly understood as a natural equivalent of the apposed noun: N2 comprises a multiple membership class of which N1 is not a natural member. As to an abstract noun apposed to the divine name, it may act as a superlative of the envisaged quality: “the quintessence of. . . ” (e.g. Demeter ῾Ομόνοια, Athena Θερσυς, Artemis Εὐλοχία). The abstraction might convey the idea that the quality is no longer relative, but absolute.

2.1.2 Sample of attestations Mycenaean Hermes a–re–ja /Aleiya/ ‘Defense, Protection’ (PY Tn 316), cf. Macedo (2016b); Artemis Εὐπορία ‘Plenty’ (Hsch. ε 7079); Artemis Εὐλοχία ‘Good Delivery’ 2

(Gonnoi II 173 [c. 300 bc]);⁵ Aphrodite Εὔπλοια ‘Fair Voyage’ (IG II 2872 [c. 97 bc]); 2 Demeter ῾Ομόνοια ‘Concord’ (IG II 1261 [302 bc]); Artemis Εὐπραξία ‘Welfare’ (IG XIV 375); Artemis Εὔκλεια ‘Good Repute’ (SEG 15.517); Hera Εὐεργεσία ‘Good Deed’ (Hsch. ε 6796); Aphrodite Πειθώ ‘Persuasion’ (SEG 12.423 [4th bc]); Athena ῾Υγίεια ‘Health’ (SEG 3

55.69 [5th bc]); Athena Νίκη ‘Victory’ (IG I 596 [6th bc] and quite commonly afterwards, also in literary texts);⁶ Aphrodite Πρᾶξις ‘Sexual Intercourse’ (Paus. 1.43.6); Aphrodite ῎Αρμα ‘Accord, Understanding’ (Plut. Amat. 769a); Iris ᾿Αγγελίη ‘Message’ (Hes. Th. 781);⁷ Athena Πρόνοια ‘Foresight’ (Aeschin. In Ctes. 108.6);⁸ Aphrodite Συμμαχία ‘Alliance’ (Paus. 8.9.6); Demeter ᾿Ερυσίβη ‘Rust’ (Etym. Gud. 210.25) = ‘averting rust’;⁹ Aphrodite ῾Εταίρα ‘Courtesan’ (Apollod. 224 F 112 Jacoby); Aphrodite Πόρνη ‘Whore’ (Ath. 572 e–f); Zeus Κεραυνός ‘Lightning Bolt’ (IG V.2 288);¹⁰ Zeus Κτησις ‘Property’ (MAMA VI 87);¹¹ Athena Θερσυς ‘Boldness’ (Iscr. Gr. Centrale 9,1 [3rd bc]);¹² Demeter 4 See Macedo (2016a). 2

5 Cf. Artemis Λοχία ‘of the childbirth’ (IG II 4547; E. IT 1097, Supp. 958) and Artemis Εὔλοχος ‘of the good childbirth’ (E. Hipp. 166). 6 Cf. E. Ion 1529, S. Phil. 134. Should Πειθώ, ῾Υγίεια, and Νίκη be counted among the goddesses, these would be better described as cases of identification (see 2.3.2). 7 Obelized or variously emended by editors, but might stand as it was transmitted in view of the apposition pattern in divine epithets: “Iris the message” would promptly be recognized as “messenger”. 8 Πρόνοια may well be the result of a misunderstanding, since Athena Προναία ‘before the temple (of 2

Apollo at Delphi)’ is fairly common (cf. e.g. IG II 1126; AD 3 36,2; CID 4.1), but it attests nonetheless to the established pattern of apposing an abstract noun to a given theonym. 9 An intriguing epithet, but healthy crops are certainly one of the goddess’ concern. 10 But this may be considered as an example of coordination (see 2.4.2). 11 Misspelling of the common Κτήσιος? ¯ of the ἰσχύς or ἰθύς type. A different explanation 12 I take θερσύς to be an abstract noun in –ύς– (–u–) is given by García Ramón (2008, 327–328).

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Εὐετηρία ‘Good Season’ (IG IV 203 [2nd ad]); Poseidon ῾Ιπποκέλευθος ‘Horse–Way’ (Stesichorus S14.5 PMGF); Apollo †Πανορμίη† ‘Safe Port (?)’ (Hsch. π 374);¹³ Aphrodite Λέαινα ‘Lioness’ (Democh. 3.9); Zeus Νεῖλος ‘Nile’ (Σ. Pi. P. 4.97b, 99); Zeus Θαλλός ‘Young Shoot’ (SEG 32.1282 [Roman period]);¹⁴ Zeus Μανδραγόρας ‘Mandrake’ (Hsch. 2

μ 226); Aphrodite Βλαύτη ‘Sandal’ (IG II 5183);¹⁵ Apollo Κοῖτος ‘Bed’ (Lycoph. 426);¹⁶ Poseidon Ταῦρος ‘Bull’ (Hsch. τ 253);¹⁷ Athena ᾿Αηδών ‘Nightingale’ (Hsch. α 1504); Athena Αἴθυια ‘Shearwater’ (Paus. 1.5.4); Athena ᾿Εγκέλαδος (m.) ‘a buzzing insect’ [LSJ] (Hsch. ε 215); Dike Βάθρον (nt.) ‘(Solid) Base’ (Pi. O. 13.6–7); Athena Σάλπιγξ ‘War–Trumpet’ (Σ. Lyc. 915); Apollo Κόρυθος ‘Helmet’ (Paus. 4.34.7); Artemis ᾿Αστρατεία ‘Immunity from invasion’ (Paus. 3.25.3); Artemis ᾿Εκβατηρία ‘Landing–Place’ 2

(Hsch. ε 1288);¹⁸ Demeter Χλόη ‘Green Shoot’ (IG II 1356 [4th bc]).

2.1.3 Comparanda As for the comparative material, I limit myself to a few illustrative examples. In Latin, ¯ ¯ ‘Liberty’ (CIL XI 657), Jupiter Juuentus ¯ (f.) ‘Youth’ one may mention Jupiter Libert as (CIL IX 5574), and Juno Mon¯eta ‘Memory’.¹⁹ In Avestan, the divine name Ahura Mazda ¯ may mean ‘Lord Wisdom’.²⁰ In the Rig Veda, (ahuro¯ mazdaˉ˚ , Old Persian Auramazda) ¯ (f.) ‘reality’,²¹ and Indra as prámati– (f.) ‘solicitude’.²² Agni is addressed as satyatati

13 Daggers in Hansen but absent in Schmidt. One may recall λιμένες τε πάνορμοι ‘harbors always fit for mooring’ (Hom. Od. 13.195) and Apollo Πανλίμνιος ‘of all harbors (?)’ (SEG 29.515). If so, Πανορμίη (f.) means ‘safe port’; for παν– as a superlative prefix, cf. Zeus πανομφαῖος ‘most prophetic’ (Hom. Il. 8.250). 14 When the context is missing, it is difficult to say whether the relevant example is better explained as a case of complementation (see 2.2). 15 Cf. Pirenne – Delforge (1994, 60–62). 16 Σ. ὅτι σπερμογόνος ἥλιος καὶ συνουσίας αἴτιος ὡς ζωογόνος. 17 Cf. IG VII 1787. This may be also a case of complementation, if we take ‘Bull’ as a sacrifice to Poseidon, or even as an instance of coordination (see 2.4). 18 Granted, ἐκβατηρία may be an adjective, but nothing precludes taking it as a noun. The same can be said, for instance, of Athena Ξενία ‘Hospitality’ (Paus. 3.11.11) and Aphrodite ᾿Επιστροφία ‘who turns toward’ (Paus. 1.40.6), ᾿Αποστροφία ‘who turns away’ (Paus. 9.16.3), Κατασκοπία ‘who spies’ (Paus. 2.32.3). 19 Cf. Livingston (2004, 23–30), but see Brachet (2003). ¯ (Iir. *mazdha–, ¯ cf. Ved. medhaˊˉ –) is employed as a feminine abstract noun in YH 20 The word mazda– 40.1: see Narten (1982, 62–3) and Pinault (1997, 133). ¯ ¯ ‘Sweeten both of the lauds, (you who are) reality (itself)’. 21 RV 4.4.14c ubhaˊˉ śám satyatate . sa¯ sudaya 22 RV 4.16.18c tu vaˊˉ m [=Indra] ánu prámatim aˊˉ jaganma ‘we have come after you, (who are) solicitude (for us)’.

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An interesting example is RV 10.168.1a: va ˉˊ tasya nú mahimaˊˉ nam . ráthasya ‘the ¯ [=Wind–God], of the chariot, (I praise) now’.²³ Rátha– may either be greatness of Vata ¯ (a case of qualification), or as interpreted as a common noun (‘chariot’) apposed to Vata a synecdoche meaning “charioteer” (whereby chariot and chariot driver are conceived of as a whole) – in which case it would be an example of identification. Or else one could either assume an asyndeton between both genitives, with no apposition (‘the ¯ [and] of his chariot’), or even construe them together (‘the greatness greatness of Vata ¯ of Vata’s chariot’) – in which case it would be an instance of complementation.²⁴ ¯ ¯ a Further examples: RV 10.92.13c atm ˉˊ nam ˉˊ tam arcata ‘Chant to Vata, . vásyo abhí va the lifebreath, all the more’ (Jamison); RV 4.3.10ab vrs.abháś cid aktáh. púma¯ m ˘˙ agníh. ˚ ¯ vrs.abha ‘even the bull, the man, Agni, was anointed’;²⁵ RV 4.16.20a índraya ˉˊ ya vŕs.n.e ˚ ˚ ‘to the bull–strong bull’ (Jamison), or rather ‘to Indra the bull bull’ (=‘Bull with a capital B’!);²⁶ Usas (=Dawn) cáks.us– [nt.] ‘eye’ (RV 1.92.9ab). ˙ Non–divine referents are fairly common, e.g.: Μάρδων, Θάρυβις, λόγχης ἄκμονες ¯ . kavíbhih. pavítraih. [nt.] (A. Pers. 51) ‘anvils of the spear’;²⁷ RV 3.1.5b krátum punanáh ‘purifying his resolve through the poets, the (purifying) filters’.

2.2 Complementation 2.2.1 Semantics The appositive N2 denotes origin, destination, possession or any other logical relationship with the divine name N1 .²⁸ Zeus Λίθος ‘stone’, for instance, refers to the stone one swears with; Dionysus Λαμπτήρ ‘torch’ hint at the festal torches carried in his honor; Aphrodite Κύπρος ‘Cyprus’ alludes to one of her main cult centers, and so on. Each term

¯ 23 Geldner translates ‘Die Macht von Vata’s Wagen’, but adds a footnote: «Oder vaˊˉ tasya und ráthasya ¯ wäre dann der rátha, indem wie im Epos Wagen und Wagenfahrer als Einheit gedacht koordiniert. Vata sind». Jamison’s translation: ‘Now (I shall proclaim) the greatness of Wind and of his chariot’. 24 See 2.3 for identification and 2.2 for complementation. 25 Jamison: ‘the male Agni’. 26 Cf. Fr. “un café–café”, as opposed to decaf coffee (Pinault 1997, 133). See also Noailly (1990, 46–7). As to our example, both vrs.abhá– and vŕsan– mean ‘bull’; the latter is a fairly widespread epithet both ˚ – and things; ˚ ˙ it might be taken as a case of substantivation of an adjective, of gods – especially of Indra but not necessarily so. 27 Cf. Hom. Il. 3.229 Αἴας. . . ἕρκος [nt.] ᾿Αχαιῶν ‘fence’. 28 Cf. Noailly (1990, 94): «[. . . ] N2 fonctionne comme «complément» de N1 au sens tout à fait ordinaire où la tradition parle de «compléments du nom». La seule différence avec des compléments du nom habituels, c’est que ceux–ci sont construits directement: au lieu de le centre de la ville, on a le centre– ville; au lieu de la stratégie de Mitterand, la stratégie Mitterand». Further examples: un roman photos, une image haute précision, la génération Fabius, les gâteaux–apéritif .

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of the binomial tends to retain its relative autonomy. Yet when the context is missing it is not easy to tell apart cases of complementation and of qualification.

2.2.2 Sample of attestations Zeus Λίθος ‘Stone’ [=Iuppiter lapis] (Polyb. 3.25.7);²⁹ Aphrodite Κύπρος ‘Cyprus’ (GIBM IV.2 975); Zeus Ναός ‘Temple’;³⁰ Aphrodite and Eros Ψίθυρος ‘Whisper’ (Harpocr. s.v. Ψιθυριστής ῾Ερμῆς);³¹ Dionysus Λαμπτήρ ‘Torch’ (Paus. 7.27.3);³² Bacchus Παντελίη 2

‘Panteleia’ [name of a festival] (IG IV .1 551);³³ Artemis Κόρδαξ ‘Cordax’ [a type of dance] (Paus. 6.22.1); Demeter Κίδαρις [an Arcadian dance] (Paus. 8.15.3); Artemis Μουνυχία ‘Munichia’ [after the name of the harbor or the hill upon which her temple stood] (Paus. 1.1.4); Aphrodite Κωλιάς ‘Colias’ [after the name of the Attic promontory where women held a festival for the goddess] (Paus. 1.1.3); Dionysus Κάδμος (Paus. 9.12.4).³⁴ As said earlier, many examples of qualification might be interpreted as instances of complementation, but often the absence of the specific context of attestation prevents us from taking a stance.

2.2.3 Comparanda Comparative material is meager. Rig Veda 10.168.1a va ˉˊ tasya nú mahimaˊˉ nam . ráthasya ¯ [=Wind–God], of the chariot, (I praise) now’ might be an example ‘the greatness of Vata

29 ἔστι δὲ τὸ Δία λίθον τοιοῦτον· λαβὼν εἰς τὴν χεῖρα λίθον ὁ ποιούμενος τὰ ὅρκια περὶ τῶν συνθηκῶν, ἐπειδὰν ὀμόσῃ δημοσίᾳ πίστει, λέγει τάδε· “εὐορκοῦντι μέν μοι εἴη τἀγαθά· εἰ δ‘ ἄλλως διανοηθείην τι ἢ πράξαιμι, πάντων τῶν ἄλλων σῳζομένων ἐν ταῖς ἰδίαις πατρίσιν, ἐν τοῖς ἰδίοις νόμοις, ἐπὶ τῶν ἰδίων βίων, ἱερῶν, τάφων, ἐγὼ μόνος ἐκπέσοιμι οὕτως ὡς ὅδε λίθος νῦν.” καὶ ταῦτ‘ εἰπὼν ῥίπτει τὸν λίθον ἐκ τῆς χειρός. 30 Quite common in the oracular lamellae of Dodona. But see Lhôte (2006, 407–20). 31 It is not entirely clear who whispers, the goddess or her worshippers. Cf. Pirenne Delforge (1994, 47): «En ce qui concerne la traduction des épiclèses, certains ont estimé que le sens de Ψίθυρος était passif puisque les fidèles chuchotaient, les dieux devenant ceux “a qui l’on murmure”. Mais l’épiclèse peut être active lorsque le dieu ou la déesse chuchote son décret. Dès lors Aphrodite devient “murmurante”.» Ψίθυρος may stand for an adjective – but I doubt it. 32 τούτῳ καὶ Λαμπτήρια ἑορτὴν ἄγουσι, καὶ δᾷδάς τε ἐς τὸ ἱερὸν κομίζουσιν ἐν νυκτί. 33 Παντελίῃ Βάχχῳ τε καὶ αὐτῇ Φερσεφονείῃ. LSJ [Suppl.] considers Παντελίη [f.] ‘a name for Demeter’. See Parker (2003, 178 n.44). 34 A personal name of a mortal used as epithet is not unusual, cf. Artemis ᾿Ιφιγένεια (Paus. 2.35.1); Artemis ᾿Ευρυνόμη (Paus. 8.41.4); Asclepius Δημαίνετος (Paus. 6.21.4); Heracles Μάντικλος (Paus. 4.23.10). See note 52.

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¯ if one takes it to mean ‘the greatness of Vata’s chariot’, but it might as well be a case of qualification (see 2.1.3). I wasn’t able to identify further instances where a deity is at issue, but this type of apposition is not uncommon outside of my corpus, e.g. RV 1.68.10a ví ra ˉˊ ya aurn.od dúrah. ‘he [=Agni] has opened wide the wealth, the doors’.³⁵

2.3 Identification There are two main types of identification: (a) class membership apposition (hyponyms– hypernyms) and (b) divine name apposition.

2.3.1 Class membership apposition 2.3.1.1 Semantics The appositive refers to a class composed of several individuals of which the divine name is promptly understood as a member, either by nature or by function (e.g. Gk. ἡγεμόνη, ἀγήτωρ; Lat. regina, dominus; Ved. nár– ‘hero’, gópati– ‘master of cows’).³⁶ The divine name is the hyponym, while the epithet is the hypernym. Class membership may also involve a certain degree of qualification, specifying the deity’s sphere of action. Here we are dealing with a descriptionally identifying use of the epithet: the descriptive element provides information allowing the hearer to relate the divine name to his or her common knowledge, according to the several activities or characteristics of the deity. Some of N1 ’s inherent functions are given by N2 according to an increasing degree of markedness: general terms of address (master, etc.) > kinship terms (mother, man, etc.) > social status or profession (king, god, etc.) (see Hackstein 2003, 147). In contradistinction to a semantically qualifying epithet (see 2.1.1), here the N2 comprises a multiple membership class of which N1 is a member by nature or function. 2.3.1.2 Sample of attestations Hera θεά ‘Goddess’ (Hom. Il. 1.55); Artemis ῎Αγγελος ‘Messenger’ (Hsch. α 391); Eirene Βασίλεια (Ar. Pax 974); Aphrodite Βασιλίς ‘Queen’ (Hsch. β 285); Apollo ᾿Αρχηγέτης ‘Founder’ (Paus. 1.42.5);³⁷ Zeus Βασιλεύς ‘King’ (Hes. Th. 886);³⁸ Apollo ᾿Ιατρός ‘Physi-

35 36 37 38

¯ dúrah. ‘doors of wealth’; see Pinault (1997, 127). Cf. RV 1.72.8b rayó There are of course many examples outside Indo–European, see e.g. Rahmouni (2008). Cf. Asclepius ᾿Αρχαγέτας ‘id.’ (Paus. 10.32.12). Poseidon βασιλεύς (Paus. 2.30.6).

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cian’ (Hsch. ι 96);³⁹ Athena Παρθένος ‘Maiden’ (Paus. 5.11.10); Artemis ῾Ηγεμόνη ‘Leader’ (Paus. 3.14.6); Artemis ῾Ιέρεια ‘Priestess’ (Paus. 8.44.2); Athena ᾿Εργάνη ‘Arti2

san’ (IG II 4318); Athena Μήτηρ ‘Mother’ (Paus. 5.3.2);⁴⁰ Rhea and Demeter ᾿Αμμάς ‘(Foster–)Mother’ (Hsch. α 3692); Hera Χήρα ‘Widow’ (Paus. 8.22.2); Helios Δεσπότης ‘Master’ (S. fr. 535.1); Heracles Παραστάτης ‘Assistant’ (Paus. 5.8.1); Artemis Δέσποινα ‘Lady’ (S. El. 626); Apollo ῎Αναξ ‘Lord’ (Hom. Il. 1.36); Zeus Κοσμήτης ‘Orderer’ (Paus. 3.17.4); Dionysus Αὐξίτης ‘Increaser’ (Paus. 8.26.1); Hestia Ταμία ‘Steward’ (ASAtene 41/42 158.1);⁴¹ Dionysus Θεός (E. Ba. 84); Zeus Πατήρ ‘Father’⁴² (Hom. Il. 1.503); Hera Πότνια ‘Mistress’ (Hom. Il. 551); Zeus Παιδέρως ‘Pederast’ (Telecl. fr. 52 K/A); Poseidon ᾿Ελάτης ‘Charioteer’ (Hsch. ε 1890); Zeus ᾿Ελατήρ ‘Charioteer’ (Pi. O. 4.1); Hermes ᾿Αγήτωρ ‘Leader’ (Paus. 8.31.7); Dionysus Αἰσυμνήτης ‘Judge’ (Paus. 7.20.1); Heracles ῾Ιπποδέτης ‘Binder of Horses’ (Paus. 9.26.1); Zeus ᾿Επωπετής ‘Surveyor’ (SEG 21.541);⁴³ Pan ᾿Αγρεύς ‘Hunter’ (Hsch. α 773); Zeus Μηχανεύς ‘Contriver’ (Paus. 2.22.2);⁴⁴ Aphrodite Νύμφα ‘Nymph’ (Paus. 2.32.7). 2.3.1.3 Comparanda There is a wealth of examples; I confine myself only to a few. Latin: Juno domina ‘Mistress’ (Prop. 2.5.17); Mars deus ‘God’ (App. Met. 7.10.14); Mars pater ‘Father’ (Cato d

Agr. 141.2).⁴⁵ Hittite: utu–e šarkui lugal–ue ‘O Sungod, heroic king’ (KUB 31.127 i d

d

d

15); utu–e išha=mi ‘O Sungod, my lord’ (KUB 31.127 i 1); Katahha utu–aš ‘Sungod ˘˘ d d Katahhaš’ (KUB 51.57); halmašuiz šiuš=miš ‘my god halmašuiz’ (CTH 1.46–7); iškur– ˘˘ ˘ ˘ d ta atta=šu[mmi] ‘O Tarhunta, ou[r] father’ (KUB 33.66). Cuneiform Luwian: utu–ti¯ ˘ ¯ dat ¯ i¯ ‘Father Sungod’ (KUB 35.107 Rs. iii 10); Hieroglyphic Luwian: (DOMI[=Tiwati] NUS)na–ní–i–sa (. . . ) (DEUS)TONITRUS–sa (DEUS)kar–hu–ha–sá (DEUS)ku+AVIS– pa–pa–sa–ha ‘lord Tarhunza, Karhuha and Kubaba’.⁴⁶ Umbrian: ařmune iuve patre ‘to ¯ ¯ Jupiter Ařsmo’ (IT IIb7). Tocharian B: yamor ñikte ‘god Karma’ (B 496.5).⁴⁷ Vedic: sóma ¯ rajan ‘king Soma’ (RV 8.48.7c); Agni dámpati– ‘lord of the house’ (RV 1.127.8ab); Agni ¯ ‘mistress, wife’ (RV 4.5.13cd); va ˉˊ japati– ‘lord of the prize’ (RV 4.15.3ab); Usas pátni– ˙ 39 Cf. the Roman temple of Apollo Medicus and Asclepius ᾿Ιατρός (Paus. 2.26.9). ¯ 40 Cf. the divine name Δη–μήτηρ = ‘mother Da’. 41 Cf. Pi. O. 13.7 Εἰρήνα, τάμι΄ ἀνδράσι πλούτου ‘Peace, steward of wealth for men’. 42 Epiclesis of Poseidon as well (Paus. 1.38.6). Cf. Lat. Iuppiter [voc.] < *d(i)ieu ph2 ter. ̑ ̑ 43 Cf. Poseidon ᾿Επόπτης ‘Overseer’ (Paus. 8.30.1). There are of course many other nomina agentis, too numerous to be quoted here in full, commonly used as divine epithets, e.g. Apollo ᾿Ακέστωρ ‘Healer’ (E. Andr. 900) and Σωτήρ ‘Savior’, which is applied to various deities (Zeus, Apollo, Hermes, Asclepius), even to feminine ones: Τύχη σωτήρ (A. Ag. 664), as against Τύχη σώτειρα (Pi. O. 12.2). Πολίτης ‘Citizen’, an epithet of Dionysus (Paus. 8.26.1), need not be considered an adjective. 44 Cf. Aphrodite and Athena Μαχανῖτις ‘Contriver’ (Paus. 8.31.6, 36.5). 45 Cf. Schwyzer (1947, 3). 46 Hawkins (2000, 103). On apposition in Hieroglyphic Luwian see Bauer (2014, ch.5). 47 Cf. Hackstein (2006, 104).

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¯ ¯ Agni dámunas– ‘(Domestic) Ally’ (RV 4.11.5); RV 4.3.15ab agne. . . śura. . . ‘o lord [or: ˊ ¯ ¯ ¯ sunávamét ¯ ˉ champion] Agni’; RV 4.25.4cd yá índraya ha náre náry aya nŕtamaya a i n¯rn.aˊˉ m ‘who says, “Let us press soma for Indra” – for the manly man, for the ˚best man of˚ men’ (Jamison);⁴⁸ RV 4.1.10d di yaús. pita ˉˊ janita ˉˊ ‘Father Heaven begetter’; RV 4.13.1d út su ˉˊ r i yo jyótis.a¯ devá eti ‘the Sun, the god, goes up with his light’; RV 4.1.17b úd devi ya ˉˊ ¯ us.áso bhanúr arta ‘the brilliance of goddess Dawn arose’.⁴⁹

2.3.2 Divine name apposition 2.3.2.1 Semantics As opposed to the descriptionally identifying use of the former class, here one has to do with a functionally identifying use of the epithet. The apposed divine name serves to indicate that the denoting element (e.g. Artemis Eileithyia) does not appear in its prototypical function: divine names are normally used to refer to the selfsame deity rather than to another god or goddess.⁵⁰ The apposed theonym has a disambiguating function – Artemis Eileithyia means ‘Artemis whose attributes most resemble Eileithyia’, whereby the hearer is assumed to know that Eileithyia’s defining features are already present in Artemis.⁵¹ As we have pointed out (2.3.1.1 above), some of N1 ’s inherent functions are given by N2 according to an increasing degree of markedness. Interestingly, the divine name apposition type displays the highest possible degree of markedness⁵² and the lowest possible degree of hypernymity. N2 as a theonym selects just one individual, a fellow member of the same deity class of the referent, although it brings to the fore an inherent function of N1 .

48 Cf. RV 4.22.3a devó devátamah. ‘the god (who is) the most god’. ¯ ˉˊi 49 This type of apposition is not unusual with non–divine referents, e.g.: RV 4.26.6a–c rjip ˚ śyenó. . . śakunó mandrám mádam sómam bharad ‘Flying straight, the falcon, the bird. . . brought from afar the gladdening soma, the exhilaration’ (where mádam sómam ‘soma. . . exhilaration’ is also an example of identification, but I will not dwell on this point here). Cf. αἰετὸς ὄρνις ‘eagle bird’ (Hom. Od. 19.548): the pattern referent + generic (animal/plant), among other, is common also in non–Indo– European languages, cf. Hackstein (2010, 16). 50 A distant parallel would be the following examples: the number four, the name Isis – cardinal numbers are typically used as quantifiers, not as nouns; proper names normally refer to a person rather than to the name itself, although it may be taken for granted that ‘four’ is a number and ‘Isis’ is a name. See Keizer (2005, 449–51). 51 Cf. Parker (2005, 225). 52 Apart from personal pronouns, proper names are at the top of the referential scale. It should be noted that cases of a theonym used as N2 are different from human proper names playing the same role (which I classify as complementation, e.g. Dionysus Cadmus = ‘(somehow) related to Cadmus’, see 2.2.2). The type Mastroianni–Casanova (cf. Noailly 1990, 40–41), where N1 designates an actor and N2 the role he plays, is rather a case of qualification (Casanova functions as an attribute).

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N2 is thus a one member class of which N1 is not a member. Gender agreement is apparently the rule in binomials of this type – male god name apposed to male deity and female goddess name apposed to female deity; when a male god name is apposed to a female deity, or vice–versa, the relevant adjective is normally employed.⁵³ But there are exceptions, for instance Zeus ῎Αρειος (Paus. 5.14.6). I have not come across an apposition of male god name to a female theonym, or vice–versa – at least not in Greek, where this might point to some constraint.⁵⁴ 2.3.2.2 Sample of attestations Aphrodite Πειθώ; Athena Νίκη; Athena ῾Υγίεια;⁵⁵ Zeus ῎Αρης (IG V.2 343 [4th bc]); Enyalios ῎Αρης (ibid.); Artemis Εἰλείθυια (IG VII 3410);⁵⁶ Hera Εἰλείθυια (Hsch. ε 3

862); Demeter ᾿Ερινύς (Paus. 8.25.6); Artemis ῾Εκάτη (SEG 42.785 [c. 470 bc]; IG I 383 2

[429/8]); Artemis ᾿Ορθία (IG V.1 599 [Roman period]); Athena ᾿Αλέα (IG V 50 [165 ad]; Artemis ᾿Εν(ν)οδία (IG IX.1 281 [2nd bc], SEG 48.658 [2nd bc].);⁵⁷ Hecate Εἰνοδία (S. fr. 535.2); Aphrodite ῞Ηρα (Paus. 3.13.9);⁵⁸ Heracles Παλαίμων [=a minor sea god] (Hsch. π 131); Asclepius, Dionysus, Apollo Παιάν (Ar. Pl. 636; Paus. 1.34.3; Orph.H.52.11). 2.3.2.3 Comparanda Apart from one Oscan example (iúveís lúvfreís ‘[property of] Jupiter Liber’: Fr 5 Rix = ImIt Histonivm 5 [ca. 200 bce]),⁵⁹ the examples I have found are mainly Vedic: ¯ . ‘God Tvastar Savitar, who RV 3.55.19a (=10.10.5b) devás tvás.ta¯ savita ˉˊ viśvárupah ˙ śubhrám agním ávase havamahe ¯ ˙ ˙ | vaiśvanarám ¯ makes all forms’;⁶⁰ RV 3.26.2a–c tám . ¯ ¯ ¯ mataríśv anam ukthí yam | bŕhaspátim mánus.o devátataye ‘We invoke the beautiful ¯ ˚ the praiseworthy Matariśvan, ¯ Agni for help, the Vaiśvanara, the Brhaspati for the di˚ ¯ áditir yajñíyan ¯ am ¯ . | víśves vine assembly of Manu’;⁶¹ RV 4.1.20 víśves.am . ãm átithir maˊˉ ¯ ¯ . am ¯ | agnír devaˊˉ nam ¯ . | sumrlikó bhavatu jatáved ¯ áva avr ¯ n.anáh ¯ ¯ . ‘The Aditi of all nus.an ah ˚ ˚˙ 2

53 E.g. Zeus ῾Ηραῖος ‘of Hera’ (IG I 840.21) as opposed to Aphrodite ῞Ηρα, and Athena ᾿Αρεία ‘of Ares’ (IG V.2 343) as opposed to Zeus ῎Αρης. Cf. Parker (2005, 219–221). 54 I will not go into the cases – in principle analogous ones – where the name of a deity is apposed to the name of a hero (cf. for instance Pi. P. 9.64–5); cases of sheer syncretism, as Zeus ῎Αμμων (IK Central Pisidia 5), or Artemis Βενδῖς (Hsch. β 514), or Aphrodite Σαλαμβώ (Hsch. σ 102), do not interest me here. 55 For the examples of personified abstractions, see 2.1.2. 56 See Schachter (1981–94, I 94–106). 57 Cf. Artemis ᾿Εινοδίη, the attendant (?) of Artemis (Hes. fr. 23a.26 M/W). 58 See Pirenne Delforge (1994, 209–10). ¯ 59 Cf. Latin Iuppiter Liber. 60 Differently Geldner, who translates ‘Gott Tvastr, der Bestimmter‘ and adds a footnote: «Tvastr Savitr ˙ ˙˙˙ ˙˙˙ sind hier in einer Person vereinigt, so daß man den letzten besser als Bestimmungswort übersetzt». Cf. Tichy (1995, 201): «Das Simplex savitár– bezeichnet im rgveda ausschließlich den zuständigen Gott ˚ [. . . ]». Jamison’s translates ‘God Tvastar, the impeller’; Witzel, ‘der “Antreiber”’. ˙˙ 61 Cf. Schmidt (1968, 68 and 71).

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¯ those worthy of sacrifice, the guest of all the sons of Manu, let Agni Jatavedas, choosing the aid of the gods, become very gracious’ (Jamison, with modifications);⁶² RV 4.3.1 aˊˉ vo ¯ ¯ . satyayájam raˊˉ janam adhvarásya rudrám . ródasi¯yoh. | agním puraˊˉ tanayitnór . | hótaram ¯ ¯ acíttad | dhíran.yarupam ávase krn.udhvam ‘Make [=ignite] him here, the king, the Rudra ˚ of your ceremony, the Hotar whose sacrifice comes true in the two world–halves, Agni of golden form – (make him) for help for you in the face of unexpected thundering’ (Jamison).

2.4 Coordination 2.4.1 Semantics A binomial of the type Fr. enseignant–chercheur, les domages–intérêts, la physique– chimie, where each member retains its autonomy and the combination makes up a new hole, designating a single being. Within our corpus, it is not always easy to pin down a case of coordination. Consider the very first strophe of the Rig Veda: ‘I invoke Agni, the one placed to the fore [puróhita–], god (and) priest [rtvíj–] of the sacrifice, the Hotar’.⁶³ Agni is either ‘god and priest’ (an instance of class˚membership apposition) or he is ‘god–priest’ (=coordination), a third type of priest alongside the puróhita– and the hótr– to whom he is identified.⁶⁴ Some examples listed under qualification might belong˚ here, e.g. Poseidon Ταῦρος ‘Bull’, if one is ready to ascribe a theriomorphic trait to the god. Along similar lines, in a famous ritual song by the women of Elis (PMG 871), the god Dionysus and the bull being led to sacrifice are arguably addressed as a single unity.⁶⁵

2.4.2 Sample of attestations I circumscribe myself to a single example, the Arcadian Zeus Κεραυνός ‘Lightning Bolt’ (IG V.2 288 [5th bce]). As a storm–god, Zeus may throw from afar his characteristic weapon, the thunderbolt, or come down to earth riding it or even adopting its shape.⁶⁶ In Arcadia itself, according to Pausanias, the lightning bolt was worshipped with sacri-

¯ 62 Aditi is a goddess, mother of the Adityas, so there is no gender agreement. Cf. RV 4.2.11d, where Agni is asked to ‘grant Diti [= Giving] and make wide space for Aditi [= ‘Boundlessness’]’: dítim . ca raˊˉ sva á ditim urus . ya. ¯ . ... 63 RV 1.1.1 agním ¯ıle puróhitam . | yajñásya devám rtvíjam | hótaram ˙ ˚ 64 Pinault (1997, 113). 65 ἐλθεῖν, ἥρω Διόνυσε, ᾿Αλείων ἐς ναὸν [. . . ] τῷ βοέῳ ποδὶ θύων. ἄξιε ταῦρε, ἄξιε ταῦρε. Cf. Furley – Bremer (2001, I 372). 66 See Macedo (forthcoming).

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fices,⁶⁷ and it may well be the case that Zeus Κεραυνός was viewed as an incarnation of the downward darting bolt. However this may be, the epithet might also be considered a case of qualification.

2.4.3 Comparanda Latin Ioui Fulguri Fulmini (CIL XII 1807) might be quoted, although fulgur and fulmen are probably better interpreted as qualifications. The same can be said of Agni tanyatú– ‘Thunder’.⁶⁸ The Vedic Maruts are not theriomorphic horse–gods, and so the following passage where one of the words for horse (sápti–) is used in apposition to their name is better taken as an instance of qualification, not of coordination: RV 1.85.1a–c prá yé ¯ śúmbhante jánayo ná sáptayah. . . . rudrásya sunávah . . . . marútah. ‘those who (go) forth embellishing themselves like wives, the horses. . . the sons of Rudra. . . the Maruts. . . ’.⁶⁹

3 Syntax 3.1 Restrictive and non–restrictive apposition Usually two types of apposition are referred to in the literature: non–restrictive (“my cat, Philby, is fat”, “Paris, the capital of France”, “Chaucer, the medieval genius”)⁷⁰ and restrictive (“my cat Philby is fat”, “Madonna the singer” [=contrastive use], “the noun house”, “the poet Burns” [=introductory use]).⁷¹ A succinct definition is given by Loock and O’Connor (2013, 336): «Restrictive apposition limits the possible reference of U1, whereas nonrestrictive apposition does not, in that the referent of U1 can be identified independently of the presence of U2».⁷² As Heringa (2012, 554 n.1) puts it, when restrictive apposition is at issue, we are dealing with head–modifier constructions where only the whole refer, and not each element separately. The meaning of the noun–apposition combination is more restricted than the meaning of each part taken by itself and results from the intersection of their meanings. In non–restrictive appositions there is also a head or anchor linked by coordination (specifying coordination) and subordination (expressed by predication)

67 Paus. 8.29.1. As to the alleged evolution from κεραυνός to κεραύνιος, cf. Jost (1985, 270). 68 RV 6.6.2. 69 Jamison has a different translation: ‘Those who go forth [. . . ] spanned together on their journey [. . . ]’. 70 Note the commas, the non–essential information. 71 Note the absence of commas, the essential information. For further details see Schwyzer (1947, 9); Acuña Fariña (1996; 1999); Heberlein (1996); Meyer (1989; 1992); Burton Roberts (1975). 72 What the authors refer to as U1 and U2 I call N1 and N2 respectively.

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at the same time.⁷³ I regard the divine name always as the head element.⁷⁴ As for the divine name as epiclesis, word order factors (second theonym modifies the first)⁷⁵ and semantic ones (the greater deity is normally the head) seem to be decisive.

3.2 Pragmatic factors It may be assumed that most of our corpus is made up of restrictive appositions, since in the Greek cult epithet system the double name points not only to different facets of the same deity but also to distinct deities altogether (cf. X. An. 7.8.1–7, where Zeus Meilikhios and Zeus Basileus are regarded as two independent gods).⁷⁶ Yet more importantly, many of the instances of noun apposition may be said to follow not only an identifying purpose, but a “maximalizing” one: each deity, unique though he or she is, is described by means of an apposed noun as a deity to whom certain properties belong, therefore being identified as the one to whom these selfsame properties belong. In that sense restrictive apposition acts very much like restrictive relative clauses as analyzed by Probert (2015, 34–38).⁷⁷ If so, what would then be the difference between adjectives and apposed nouns to qualify, in broad terms, a certain god? I would tentatively suggest that, as regards the particular feature described by its lexical meaning, apposed nouns generalize over individuals as against over occasions in which this feature manifests itself. Adjectives, on the other hand, as the unmarked member of the opposition, are either indifferent to this distinction or generalize across situations of the relevant kind they describe. Athena Νίκη, for instance, associates the goddess with victory independently of the particular points at which victory arises by her good offices, whereas Athena Νικηφόρος might be assumed to generalize the same characteristic across temporal occasions (or cases) in which victory was achieved and her attribute was made manifest.⁷⁸ Apposed 73 Cf. Heringa (2012). 74 Not all scholars may agree on that. Hackstein (2010, 29–31), for example, claims that the apposed noun is the head of the construction, based among other things on the fact that appositions may determine the gender of a co–referential relative pronoun, as in Latin: flumen [nt.] Axonam [f.], quod [nt.] est in extremis Remorum finibus (Caes. BG 2.5.4) ‘the river Axona, which is situated in the border area of the Remi’. Greek evidence may point in the opposite direction, as e.g. in the following example, Τύχη δὲ σωτὴρ ναῦν θέλουσ‘ ἐφέζετο ‘Savior Fortune chose to sit aboard our ship’ (A. Ag. 664), where the feminine participle agrees in gender with the divine name, and not with the apposed masculine ¯ er. noun sot¯ 75 But cf. Hsch. π 42 Παιὰν Ζεὺς· τιμᾶται ἐν ῾Ρόδῳ. 76 In oaths it is common to a single god to be invoked under several epithets, cf. Parker (2011, 67). The distinction between restrictive and non–restrictive apposition is not always clear–cut. Prosodic factors may be involved, as argued by Ziegler (2009, 523–524) based on Vedic examples. 77 See Loock (2010, ch.5) for the relationship between appositive relative clauses and nominal appositives, one of its main “allostructures”. Cf. also Loock – O’Connor (2013). 78 For generalization over occasions and individuals in relative clauses, see Probert (2015, 86–97).

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nouns are thus arguably chosen on pragmatic grounds, whenever some deity, to whom many attributes belong, is to be identified as the unique deity to whom one of these attributes belongs regardless of the occasion in which it might be disclosed. Accordingly, as to the syntactic relationship between N1 and N2 , it may be said that the internal dependency structure is based on semantic and pragmatic factors: on the one hand semantic anchorage (whereby a deity is identified with an attribute whose meaning is maximalizing, i.e. which defines him or her as the one to whom a certain property belongs), and on the other hand pragmatic generalization of the relevant feature over individuals, as against across particular occasions it comes to the fore.⁷⁹

4 Conclusion To sum up, noun apposition may be regarded as the marked member in contrast to the employment of an adjective, and it might be shown to be a feature of poetic syntax in Greek and Indo–European, whereby a surplus of meaning is attained with a minimum of morphological marking. Syntactically it may be argued that a noun phrase involving an apposition displays a head–dependent relationship whose structure rests upon semantic and pragmatic factors. That is to say that semantic anchorage (according to the four semantic classes discussed above) and pragmatic generalization over individuals govern the internal dependency structure of theonym and apposed noun.

Bibliography Acuña Fariña, J. C. 1996: The puzzle of apposition, Santiago de Compostela. Acuña Fariña, J. C. 1999: On apposition, «ELaL», 3, 59–81. Bauer, A. H. 2014: Morphosyntax of the Noun Phrase in Hieroglyphic Luwian, Leiden. ¯ Brachet, J. P. 2003: Moneta, in Chronique d’étymologie latine nº1, eds. A. Blanc et al., «RPh», 77, 328–329. Burton Roberts, N. 1975: Nominal apposition, «Foundations of Language», 13, 391–419. Corazza, E. 2005: On epithets qua attributive anaphors, «JL», 41, 1–32. Furley, W. D. & Bremer, J. M. 2001: Greek Hymns, 2 vols., Tübingen. García Ramón, J. L. 2008: Mykenische Personennamen und griechische Dichtung und Phraseologie: i–su–ku–wo–do–to und a–re–me–ne, a–re–i–me–ne, in Colloquium Romanum, eds. A. Sacconi ˙ et al., Rome, 323–336.

79 Cf. Corazza (2005) who equates apposed epithets with attributive anaphoric pronouns involving a background proposition based on a pragmatic presupposition.

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Geldner, K. F. 2003 [1951]: Der Rig–Veda. Aus dem Sanskrit ins Deutsche übersetzt und mit einem laufenden Kommentar versehen, 2nd ed., Cambridge, MA. Hackstein, O. 2003: Apposition and word–order typology in Indo–European, in Language in Time and Space, eds. B. Bauer & G. J. Pinault, Berlin, 131–152. Hackstein, O. 2006. La langue poétique indo–européenne: archaïsme et renouvellement dans les théonymes, in La langue poétique indo–européenne, ed. G. J. Pinault, D. Petit, Leuven, 95–108. Hackstein, O. 2010. Apposition and nominal classification in Indo–European and beyond, Vienna. Hawkins, J. D. 2000: Corpus of Hieroglyphic Luwian Inscriptions, Berlin. Heberlein, F. 1996: Über ‘enge’ Appositionen, in Aspects of Latin. Papers from the Seventh International Colloquium on Latin Linguistics, ed. H. Rosén, Innsbruck, 343–359. Heringa, H. 2012: A multidominance approach to appositional constructions, «Lingua», 122, 554– 581. Jamison, S. W. & Brereton, J. P. 2014: The Rigveda. The Earliest Religious Poetry of India, New York. Jost, M. 1985: Sanctuaires et cultes d’Arcadie, Paris. Keizer, E. 2005: The Discourse Function of Close Appositions, «Nph», 89, 447–467. Lhôte, E. 2006: Les lamelles oraculaires de Dodone, Geneva. Livingston, I. 2004: A linguistic commentary on Livius Andronicus, New York. Loock, R. 2010: Appositive Relative Clauses in English. Discourse functions and competing structures, Amsterdam. Loock, R. & O’Connor, K. M. 2013: The Discourse Function of Nonverbal Appositives, «JEL», 41, 332– 358. Macedo, J. M., 2016a: Two Divine Epithets in Stesichorus: Poseidon ἱπποκέλευθος and Aphrodite ἠπιόδωρος, «CPh», 111, 1–18. Macedo, J. M., 2016b: Hermes a-re-ja (PY Tn 316): A New Interpretation, «Kadmos», 55/1–2, 67–82. Macedo, J. M. (forthcoming): Zeus as (Rider of) Thunderbolt: A Brief Remark on Some of His Epithets, «HSCP». Meyer, C.F. 1989: Restrictive Apposition: An Indeterminate Category, «ES», 70, 147–166. Meyer, C.F. 1992: Apposition in Contemporary English. Cambridge. Narten, J. 1982: Die Aməsa Spəntas im Avesta, Wiesbaden. ˙ ˙ Noailly, M. 1990: Le substantive épithète, Paris. Parker, R. 2003: The Problem of the Greek Cult Epithet, «OAth», 28, 173–183. Parker, R. 2005: Artémis Ilithye et autres: le problème du nom divin utilisé comme épiclèse, in Nommer les dieux. Théonymes, épithètes, épiclèses dans l’antiquité, eds. N. Belayche et al., Turnhout, 219–226. Parker, R. 2011: On Greek Religion, Ithaca. ˙ a, ¯ in Syntaxe des langues Pinault, G. J. 1997: Le substantif épithète dans la langue de la rk–Samhit ˚ indo–iraniennes anciennes, ed. É. Pirart, Barcelona, 111–141. Pirenne Delforge, V. 1994: L’Aphrodite grecque, Liège. Probert, P. 2015: Early Greek Relative Clauses, Oxford. Rahmouni, A. 2008: Divine Epithets in the Ugaritic Alphabetic Texts, Leiden. Schachter, A. 1981–1994: Cults of Boeotia, 4 vols., London. Schmidt, H. P. 1968: Brhaspati und Indra. Untersuchungen zur vedischen Mythologie und Kul˙ turgeschichte, Wiesbaden. Schwyzer, E. 1947: Zur Apposition, «ADAW», 3, Jahrgang 1945/6, Berlin, 3–16. Tichy, E. 1995: Die Nomina agentis auf –tar– im Vedischen, Heidelberg. Witzel, M. et al. 2013: Rig–Veda – Das heilige Wissen. Dritter bis fünfter Liederkreis, Berlin. Ziegler, S. 2009: Vokativakzentuierung im rgveda, in Protolanguage and Prehistory, eds. R. Lühr & S. ˚ Ziegler, Wiesbaden, 513–526.

Rafael Martínez & Emilia Ruiz Yamuza

Word order, adverb’s scope and focus On the position of modality and focus adverbs in Ancient Greek Abstract: This paper presents the outlines of a quantitative study of modality and focus adverbs in ancient Greek. The analysis proposed accounts for the correlation of the (multifunctional) adverb’s position and its function, while it also examines the adverb’s position relative to its scope. The study focuses on the adverbs μάλιστα, ‘mostly’ and ἴσως, ‘perhaps’, both deemed to be focus–sensitive. The corpus includes 323 instances of μάλιστα in Thucydides’ work, and 193 instances of ἴσως, namely 10 in Thucydides, 118 in Xenophon and 65 in Polybius. The analysis shows that the adverbs behave in quite opposite ways, but according to the same principles. The adverb μάλιστα has five different functionally productive uses: as conjunctive adverb, predicate adjunct, approximator, particularizer and sentence adjunct. The position of the adverb contributes to the identification of the adverb’s function, but not to the identification of its scope. As for ἴσως, the function as modality adverb is highly dominant (90%). A tendency has been observed for the adverb to immediately precede its focus, thus contributing to its identification. This behavior is explained with reference to a general principle for adverb’s position to indicate function, when the adverb is poly–functional, and to signal other categories, such as scope, once it becomes mono–functional.

1 Introduction During the past decades theories and studies of discourse particles have provided a source of inspiration for the description and explanation of both the periphery of the sentence and the layers above the predication, giving rise to many studies and publications. This paper presents an empirical study of two of these particles that explores specific facets of their functional properties. The study focuses on word order, particularly, on the position of the adverb relative to its scope. The research questions addressed in the study are the following. 1) Does the position of an adverb contribute to the identification of the adverb’s function? 2) Does the position of the adverb contribute to the identification of its (scopal) focus? We deem these questions to be relevant for the following reasons. The first question obviously applies only to multifunctional adverbs. It seems likely for such adverbs to be marked by some syntactic device, such as word order, when performing one specific

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-593

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function or another. The second question may apply to adverbs showing scope effects in particular and, in general, to all focus sensitive expressions¹.

1.1 Position and function Multifunctional adverbs tend to appear at different positions as they perform different functions. Thus, they are typically restricted to initial position when they act as conjunctive adverbs (Quirk et al. 1985, 643). In fact, linking adverbials are most often used in initial position, so that the connection between the connects is clearly signaled as the reader moves from the first to the second connect (Lenker 2011). The instances of again in (1.a–c) exemplify the way an adverb’s position may help to identify its function. In (1.a) it is conjunctive and must stand in initial position. In (1b) it is a focusing NP modifier (subjunct) and stands right after its scope, the subject. In both it is equivalent to also. On the contrary, in (1c) it acts as a temporal modifier (adjunct) and accordingly stands between the auxiliary and the verb. (1)

a. Again (/also), the psychologist can observe the child at work and at play. b. The psychologist, again, (/also) can observe the child at work and at play. c. The psychologist can again observe the child at work and at play. (Greenbaum 1969, 47)

Initial position may be considered a mark of the conjunctive function exerted by the adverb. Other positions such as medial, are only «quite normal for several of the conjuncts that could not be misinterpreted in this position» (Quirk et al. 1985, 643). It has been observed that, as a result of historical evolution, conjunctive adverbs may become unambiguous in their connector function, and that their mono–functionality allows them to be placed at different positions in the sentence, thus becoming a particularly apt means for fulfilling additional discourse functions, like focusing attention on particular sentence elements or their use as partitioners explicitly separating the rheme from the theme. Such is the case for nevertheless and therefore in Modern English (Lenker 2011).

1.2 Position, scope and (scopal) focus Conjunctive (connective) adverbs, as well as sentence adjuncts and disjuncts expressing domain, modality, evaluation and speech act style are focus sensitive expressions, that is, their contribution to the content of the sentence depends on the term within their semantic scope², the term they modify semantically. We will call this term the (scopal)

1 On focus sensitivity, see Beaber – Clark (2003; 2008). On the relevance of the position of the adverbs see Haselgård (2014, 4). 2 On the scoping properties of sentence adverbs, see Koktová (1985, 2).

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focus (Huddleston et al. 2002, 589) or simply its focus. We are aware that the scopal focus of these expressions is not always the informative focus of the sentence, but only tends to be so by default. Now, many of these adverbs are clause oriented and take the whole clause under their scope (Huddleston et al. 2002, 576). But they can also have narrow scope over a part of the clause. So do both focusing and modality adverbs. In some cases, the position of the adverb is restricted by the focus. In other terms, the position of the adverb is used to delimit the extension of the focus (actual focus), or the extension of the segment where the focus is included (potential focus³). In other cases, the adverb is focus sensitive, but the identification of the focus depends on other factors, such as intonation and context. While clause oriented adverbs can appear at almost any place in clause structure, the normal position for them is initial (Quirk et al. 1985, 627), as a mark of their broad focus⁴. Examples in (2.a–c) show that the linear position of an adverb in English can be, but not always is an indication of its function and scope. In (2.a) the adverb is sentence initial and has scope over the entire clause. In (2.b) it has the same broad scope but stands in medial position. In (2.c) the sentence initial adverb may take either the whole clause or just the subject NP under its scope (Huddleston et al. 2002, 436). (2)

a. Certainly, you would have missed the train. b. You would have probably missed the train. c. Possibly the best actress in the world will play the role of Emma.

Accordingly, we will register initial position (I–) as potentially active in the (broad) focus construction. In the narrow focus construction the relevant point is the position of the adverb relative to its scopal focus. The position is defined in terms of precedence and adjacency (Quirk et al. 1985:604 ff.; Huddleston et al. 2002, 586 ff.). When an adverb is adjacent to its scope, it signals the beginning of its focus and identifies it. In (3.a–b) examples are offered of preceding adjacent adverbs and in (3.c) of a following adjacent adverb⁵. (3)

a. [At least ten workers] reported sick yesterday. b. [Even Bob] was there. c. [I too] think the proposal has merit. (Huddleston et al. 2002, 593)

Examples in (4) show how additive focusing adverbs in final position may modify their scopal foci either directly or at a distance. So, they offer no clue to identify their focus.

3 We follow Bertrand (2014) in using these terms, originally proposed by Van Valin. 4 We will use a dual distinction between a “broad focus” (predicate and sentence foci) and a “narrow focus” (argument and adjunct foci), following Matić (2003). 5 In brackets, we insert the segment where the adverb is modifier, that is, the adverb plus its syntactic scope (potential focus) or the part of the clause where its focus is included.

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(4)

We bought some beer as well. i. [We bought some beer as well / also / too.] ii. [We bought some beer as well / also / too.] iii. [We bought some beer as well / also / too.]

Examples in (5) illustrate how a single adverb may behave in different ways, depending on its position. In (5.a–b) it immediately precedes the segment that is thus marked as its focus. In (5.c.i–iii) the adverb immediately precedes the potential focus segment, but can modify its focus at a distance (ii–iii). Its position’s contribution is: “the focus stands to my right and it is not the subject”, the focus being identified by stress. (5)

a. John could [only see his wife from the doorway.] b. John could see his wife [only from the doorway] c. John could [only see his wife from the doorway.] i. John could [only see his wife from the doorway.] ii. John could [only see his wife from the doorway.] iii. John could [only see his wife from the doorway.]

In the following sections we offer the results of a corpus⁶ study on two ancient Greek adverbs, namely ἴσως ‘perhaps’ and μάλιστα ‘above all’. We have registered the following positions:

A– AF A. . . F FA F. . . A F. . . A. . . F

Adverb in absolute initial position Adverb preceding and adjacent to focus Adverb preceding and non–adjacent to focus Adverb following and adjacent to focus Adverb following and non–adjacent to focus Adverb inserted in a discontinuous focus

2 The adverb μάλιστα In this section we present the results of the investigation on μάλιστα. First, we investigate the relation between the position and the function of the adverb. Later, we examine the relation between the adverb’s position and its scopal focus. The adverb μάλιστα is a clear instance of a poly–functional adverb. The details of each function are explained in the corresponding sub–section. As a general overview,

6 The corpus for the study of ἴσως is constituted by Thucydides’, Xenophon’s and Polibius’ works and by Thucydides’ works for μάλιστα.

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we show in Table 1 the numbers of the occurrences of each function. The data prove that all uses are functionally productive. Table 1: Functions of μάλιστα (323 instances in Th.) Conjunctive Predicate adjunct Approximator Particularizer Sentence adjunct Excluded

33 48 56 24 72 90

Paradoxically, the number of excluded occurrences is by far the largest group. We have not taken into account up to 90 instances where the position of the adverb is irrelevant, either because its focus is not explicit, as with substantive participles and participia coniuncta, or because the focus appears in a fixed position, as in relative clauses with the relative as focus and always preceding the adverb.

2.1 Conjunctive adverb The adverb μάλιστα appears in collocations with the particles μέν (11 instances⁷), δέ (13) or καί (4). In such locutions, the adverb does never per se function as a conjunctive adverb, but has been classified as such in studies on other languages⁸. Obviously, the adverb is not a full blown conjunctive adverb but its function is nearby and, as an element signaling a two–place relation it can be considered a connector (Lenker 2011, 32). We have classified all instances (28/323) as “conjunctive”, taking them as part of an additive conjunctive locution. The position is fixed in initial, except for καὶ μάλιστα, which we have counted as initial as well, since *μάλιστα καί would render a different construction. (6)

a. Th. 1.75.3 ἐξ αὐτοῦ δὲ τοῦ ἔργου κατηναγκάσθημεν τὸ πρῶτον προαγαγεῖν αὐτὴν ἐς τόδε, [μάλιστα μὲν ὑπὸ δέους], ἔπειτα καὶ τιμῆς, ὕστερον καὶ ὠφελίας. ‘And the case itself first compelled us to advance our empire to its present status; mainly for fear, though later also for honor and afterwards for interest.’

7 The construction μάλιστα μέν . . . εἰ δὲ μή appears in 10 of them. 8 Kovacci (1999, 769). For a different analysis, see Huddleston et al. (2002, 1319–1320), according to whom the connector marks the coordination relation and the adverb is a modifier within the second coordinate. They refer to the principle «only one coordinator per coordinate» (2002, 1292), thus merely suggesting that the conjunctive adverbs are not pure coordinators, as conjunctions are. On a gradual distinction between the adjunct and the conjunctive functions, see Martínez – Ruiz Yamuza (2011).

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b. Th. 3.95.1 ὁ δὲ τῶν Μεσσηνίων χάριτι πεισθεὶς [καὶ μάλιστα νομίσας ἄνευ τῆς τῶν ᾿Αθηναίων δυνάμεως τοῖς ἠπειρώταις ξυμμάχοις μετὰ τῶν Αἰτωλῶν δύνασθαι ἂν κατὰ γῆν ἐλθεῖν ἐπὶ Βοιωτοὺς]. ‘Demosthenes consented, not only to please the Messenians, but above all because he thought that with his continental allies together with the Aetolians he would be able, without the Athenians’ army, to march against the Boeotians.’ c. Th. 8.4.1 παρεσκευάζοντο δὲ καὶ ᾿Αθηναῖοι, ὥσπερ διενοήθησαν, ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ χειμῶνι τούτῳ τήν τε ναυπηγίαν, ξύλα ξυμπορισάμενοι, καὶ Σούνιον τειχίσαντες, ὅπως αὐτοῖς ἀσφάλεια ταῖς σιταγωγοῖς ναυσὶν εἴη τοῦ περίπλου, καὶ τό τε ἐν τῇ Λακωνικῇ τείχισμα ἐκλιπόντες ὃ ἐνῳκοδόμησανπαραπλέοντες ἐς Σικελίαν, καὶ τἆλλα, εἴ πού τι ἐδόκει ἀχρεῖον ἀναλίσκεσθαι, ξυστελλόμενοι ἐς εὐτέλειαν, [μάλιστα δὲ τὰ τῶν ξυμμάχων διασκοποῦντες ὅπως μὴ σφῶν ἀποστήσονται]. ‘The Athenians were also, as they had determined, during this same winter, pushing on their ship–building and contributing wood, and fortified Sunium to enable their corn–ships to round it in safety, and evacuated the fort in Laconia which they had built on their way to Sicily; while they also, for economy, cut down any other expenses that seemed unnecessary, and above all kept an eye on their confederates, lest they would revolt. The function is clearly marked by the adverb’s position and collocation with the connecting particle. The adverb immediately precedes its focus in all instances. And it may take scope over the entire clause (6.b–c) or over a single term, as the cause adjuncts in (6.a).

2.2 Predicate adjunct⁹ We take the adverb as predicate adjunct when it modifies the predicate and quantifies over a scale that includes different degrees of the process expressed by that predicate. In this use, the alternative (ἐς) τὰ μάλιστα is found, as well as ὡς / ὅτι / ὅσον μάλιστα, eventually with forms of δύναμαι (7.a) or may be modified by another adverb (7.b). As for adjacency and position of the adverb relative to its focus, there is a strong tendency to pre–posing and placing the adverb adjacent to the verb. (7)

a. h. 2.22.1 . . . τήν τε πόλιν ἐφύλασσε καὶ δι΄ ἡσυχίας [μάλιστα ὅσον ἐδύνατο εἶχεν]. ‘Accordingly, he kept the defense of the city, and stood as quiet as possible.’

9 Total instances are 47/323; positions registered: a–: 0; av: 23 (48%); a. . . v: 11 (23%); va: 9 (19%); v. . . a: 4 (9%).

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b. Th. 4.92.3 ᾿Αθηναίους δὲ καὶ προσέτι ὁμόρους ὄντας [πολλῷ μάλιστα δεῖ]. ‘And when those invaders are Athenians and also neighbours, it is much more necessary to do so.’ Interestingly, sentence initial position is excluded. Thus, the use as a predicate adjunct of degree and the use as conjunctive adverb are in complementary distribution, which proves that the position is relevant as a mark of their respective functions.

2.3 Approximator¹⁰ In 56 out of 323 passages the adverb is used with quantified noun phrases to imply that the account given is the best practicable approximation, though it may be either more or less. It functions, then, as an approximate NP modifier (Huddleston et al. 2002, 431), normally formed by a substantive and a numeral adjective. The positions of the adverb relative to the substantive and numeral adjective are exemplified in (8). (8)

a. Th. 1.54.2 Κερκυραῖοι δὲ [τριάκοντα ναῦς μάλιστα] διαφθείραντες. ‘Having sunk about seventy vessels.’ b. Th. 3.113.3 ὁ δ΄ ἔφη [διακοσίους μάλιστα]. ‘He replied «about two hundred».’ c. Th. 1.13.3 [ἔτη] δ΄ ἐστὶ [μάλιστα τριακόσια] ἐς τὴν τελευτὴν τοῦδε τοῦ πολέμου. ‘It is nearly three hundred years to the end of this war.’ d. Th. 1.63.2 ἀπέχει δὲ [ἑξήκοντα μάλιστα σταδίους]. ‘It is about sixty stadia off.’

The relation between the adverb and the adjective is clearly marked by both precedence and adjacency. In 95% of the occurrences it either immediately follows the NP (FA) as in (8.a–b) or is inserted in the NP (FA. . . F), as in (8.c–d).

2.4 Particularizer As a restrictive focusing adverb (König 1991, Sudhoff 2010), μάλιστα always (24 instances) participates of the same construction, exemplified in (9). The adverb stands immediately before an NP that is coordinated by δέ or καί to a previous NP¹¹. The previous NP expresses a more general value and the particularizer restricts the application of the utterance predominantly to the referent of the second NP.

10 Total instances are 56/323; positions registered: fa: 29 (52%); fa. . . f: 24 (43%); a. . . f: 3 (5%). 11 On particularizers as non–restrictive appositives of inclusion, see Quirk et al. (1985, 1308) and Heringa (2002, 28 ff.). Discussion at length on the syntactic status of μάλιστα in this and the other functions may be found in Martínez (2016).

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(9)

Th. 8.73.6 βοηθησάντων πάντων τούτων, [μάλιστα δὲ τῶν Παράλων]. ‘All these came to the rescue, and above all the people of the Paralus.’

The position is steady and, therefore, relevant as a mark of the adverb’s function in the construction.

2.5 Focus sensitive sentence adverb As a superlative quantifier, μάλιστα sometimes does not quantify over the verb’s referent, but over a set that includes the subject’s (10.a), object’s (10.b) or an adjunct’s (20.c) referent. (10)

a. Th. 3.17.3 καὶ [τὰ χρήματα τοῦτο μάλιστα ὑπανήλωσε μετὰ Ποτειδαίας]. ‘It was this, with Potidaea, that most exhausted her revenues.’ b. Th. 3.62.1 φασὶ μόνοι Βοιωτῶν οὐ μηδίσαι, καὶ [τούτῳ μάλιστα αὐτοί τε ἀγάλλονται καὶ ἡμᾶς λοιδοροῦσιν]. ‘Τhey say that they were the only Boeotians who did not Medise; and this is where they most glorify themselves and abuse us.’ c. Th. 1.102.2 [μάλιστα δ΄ αὐτοὺς ἐπεκαλέσαντο ὅτι τειχομαχεῖν ἐδόκουν δυνατοὶ εἶναι]. ‘They called them mainly because they were reputed skillful in siege operations.’

The adverb is then deemed to function as a focus sensitive sentence modifier¹², since its semantic contribution to the contents of the sentence depends on its focus, that is, on the segment of the sentence that is semantically modified by the adverb. According to the collected data (Table 2), the difference between the predicate adjunct and the sentence adjunct is not determined by the adverb’s position relative to the verb of the sentence. There is only a stronger tendency for the adjunct to be attached to the verb it modifies, but both do appear adjacent to the verb quite frequently. Table 2: Relative position of adverb and verb for adjunct and focusing adverb

Predicate adjunct Focusing adverb

Adv–Vb

Adv. . . Vb

Vb–Adv

Vb. . . Adv

48 33

23 41

19 13

9 11

One important difference, nevertheless, is that, while the predicate adjuncts never appear in sentence initial position, subjuncts do appear in that position 23 out of 71

12 On sentence adverbs, see Ramat – Ricca (1999).

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occurrences¹³. In such cases, the sentence adjunct is distinguished from the conjunct by the latter’s collocation with a connector. Again, the adverb’s position appears as an indicator of its function. As regards the position of the adverb relative to its focus, neither precedence nor adjacency seems to be relevant. Table 3 shows the registered positions for the adverb, the term under its scope and the verb. There is a tendency for the adverb to appear earlier in the sentence than the verb, and thus verb–final constructions predominate. But the adverb can equally precede (29/70) or follow (40/70) its focus. Therefore, precedence does not delimit the scope of the adverb as a focusing modifier of the NP, PP or subordinated clause under its scope would do. It is likely for the interlocutors to have relied on intonation, but readers, especially modern readers, must rely on context to determine the adverb’s focus. Table 3: Relative position of adverb, its scope and verb

Focusing

AVF

AFV

FAV

FVA

FAFV

VAF

VFA

10

11

30

4

1

8

6

As far as adjacency is concerned, again the position does not appear to be quite significant (Table 4). The adverb is placed adjacent to its focus only in 44 out of 71 instances, while in 29 occurrences it modifies its focus at a distance. It appears attached to the verb in 32 against 37 occurrences. Again, a stronger tendency is shown for the adverb to appear closer to its focus than to the verb, but adjacency is not determinant in absolute terms. Table 4: Adjacency of adverb and its scope/verb

Adv– Adv. . .

A–V

V–A

A–F

F–A

23 29

9 8

16 18

28 11

2.6 Final remarks on μάλιστα: its position, function and focus To sum up this section on μάλιστα, we present Table 5, which shows the relation between the position of the adverb and its function. One can appreciate that the position

13 Participle and relative clauses excluded, as indicated supra.

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is determinant for the function in some cases and quite significant in others. On the contrary, it may be observed that the position of the adverb is indifferent to the placement of its focus. Table 5: Position of μάλιστα (%)¹⁴

Conjunctive Predicate adjunct Approximator Particularizer Sentence adverb

A–

A–F

F–A

FA(_)F

100 0 1

100 71 5 100 23

0 13 95 0 40

0 0 43 0 0

32

3 The adverb ἴσως The adverb ἴσως also appears in the corpus as a poly–functional adverb. First, it makes combinations with text structuring particles, μέν – δὲ acting as a linking device, near to the class of conjunctive adverbs. In this case it takes scope over the entire unit. As predicate adjunct it is a manner adverb keeping its original meaning. It develops functions as a modifier of a quantified NP, rendering an approximate content. As a modality adverb, rendering a probability content, it can sometimes be considered a sentence adverb taking scope over the entire clause¹⁵, but at times it proves to be focus sensitive. Not all the values mentioned are present in a particular author. Polybius offers the highest variety of functions, followed by Xenophon. An account of all instances found is given in Table 6. Table 6: Functions of ἴσως

Thucydides Xenophon Polybius

Modality

Manner

Approximator

Conjunctive

10 109 55

0 0 3

0 0 6

0 9 1

15 Ramat – Ricca (1998, 195) point to the fact that similar epistemic modal adverbs in different languages cannot be ascribed automatically to the same layer in the sentence. For example, surely in English is a pure σ3 but sicuramente in Italian works as a σ2 and a σ3.

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3.1 The functions of ἴσως 3.1.1 Conjunctive adverb In Xenophon and in Polybius it combines with μέν and δέ to form the conjunctive locutions ἴσως μέν / δέ. The locution may take scope over the entire clause (11.a) or over a single term, as the degree adjunct in (11.b)¹⁶. (11)

a. X. HG 7.2.20 ἡγησόμεθα μὲν οὖν ἡμεῖς οἱ ἱππεῖς καὶ τῶν ὁπλιτῶν οἱ ἐρρωμενέστατοι· σὺ δὲ τὸ ξενικὸν ἔχων ἐὰν ἀκολουθῇς, [ἴσως μὲν διαπεπραγμένα σοι καταλήψῃ], [ἴσως δὲ ἐπιφανεὶς σὺ τροπήν], ὥσπερ ἐν Πελλήνῃ, ποιήσεις. ‘Now therefore we will lead the way, the horsemen and the stoutest of the hoplites; and if you will follow us with your mercenary force, perhaps you will find the business already settled for you, and perhaps your appearance will make a change, as at Pellene.’ b. X. Cyr. 4.3.7. εἰ δ΄ οὕτω ταῦτ΄ ἔχει, οὐκ εὔδηλον ὅτι οἱ νῦν παρόντες ἡμῖν ἱππεῖς νομίζουσι πάντα τὰ ὑποχείρια γιγνόμενα ἑαυτῶν εἶναι οὐχ ἧττον ἢ ἡμέτερα, [ἴσως δὲ νὴ Δία καὶ μᾶλλον]; ‘And if this is so, is it not evident that the horsemen who are now with us consider that everything that has fallen into our hands is theirs no less than ours, and perhaps, by Zeus, even more so?’

Again, the position is significant, since the adverb immediately precedes its focus in all instances.

3.1.2 Predicate adjunct Interestingly, only in Polybius –the most recent author and last in the evolutionary chain– the adverb keeps its original meaning as a manner adverb, in at least three instances¹⁷. From a semantic point of view, it is a prototypical manner adjunct specifying Quality/Manner. Its status is clearly identified by the syntax, either by the coordination with a manner adverb, as in ἴσως καὶ πρεπόντως, or by the presence of a negation taking scope over the adverb, as in οὐκ ἴσως¹⁸. Only three instances have been registered. The order AF appears twice, and F. . . A once.

16 The example (11.b) can be considered an example of epitaxis. Epitaxis or epitactical structures introduce some rhematic elements as an extension of a syntactically saturated and informationally complete sentence (Rosén 2008, 205). As for the present paper, the exact classification of the adverb is less relevant than its focus sensitivity. 17 Namely, 3.76.13, 6.11.11 and 23.2.7. 18 Cf. Greenbaum’s (1969) and Quirk’s (1985, 504–505) behavioral properties of adjuncts.

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(12)

Plb. 6.11.11 οὕτως δὲ πάντα κατὰ μέρος [ἴσως καὶ πρεπόντως συνετέτακτο]. ‘In all the respects (the three kinds of government) were drawn up in such a fair and appropriate way.’

3.1.3 Approximator Only in Polybius’ text the adverb plays a role as a modifier of an NP. There are 6 occurrences. In three cases, the adverb precedes its focus (AF), and in the other three it is between numeral and head (FAF). (13)

Plb. 1.18.6 [πέντε] μὲν οὖν [ἴσως μῆνας] ἐπὶ τῶν αὐτῶν διέμενον. ‘So for five months or so matters were at a standstill.

3.1.4 Modality (sentence) adverb In the majority of cases¹⁹, ἴσως acts as a modality adverb. It can combine with the modal particle ἄν and adverbs of similar content, such as τάχα or τύχον in Polybius. (14) Th. 2.20.2.2–3.1 τοὺς γὰρ ᾿Αθηναίους ἤλπιζεν, ἀκμάζοντάς τε νεότητι πολλῇ καὶ παρεσκευασμένους ἐς πόλεμον ὡς οὔπω πρότερον, [ἴσως ἂν ἐπεξελθεῖν καὶ τὴν γῆν οὐκ ἂν περιιδεῖν τμηθῆναι]. ‘He hoped that the Athenians, flourishing in youth and prepared to war as never before, might possibly be tempted to come out to battle and attempt to stop the devastation of their lands.’

3.2 Μodality adverb: position and focus As a modality adverb, ἴσως displays different positions and scopes. It appears in sentence initial position²⁰, adjacent to the verb, or adjacent to a term of the sentence. After examining the proper interpretation in each context, we have determined that in some passages it has wide scope over the entire sentence²¹, and in others it has narrow scope over a single term, as illustrated in (15). In (15.b) only the cause adjunct falls within the scope of the modality adverb, the rest of the clause belonging with a factual

19 10 out of 10 in Thucydides, 109 out of 118 in Xenophon and 55 out of 65 in Polybius. 20 The adverb has initial position in 78 examples, about half of the modality examples. 21 It shows broad scope over the entire sentence in about a half of the examples: in 46 out of 109 examples in Xenophon; in 27 out of 55 in Polybius, and in 5 out of 10 in Thucydides.

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assertion: ‘you do never say such and such, and this is probably so because such and such’. In other words, the first part of the sentence is an assertion and the second part is a presupposition. (15)

a. X. Mem. 3.5.21 [ἴσως γάρ, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, ἐν τούτοις οἱ ἥκιστα ἐπιστάμενοι ἄρχουσιν αὐτῶν]. ‘Probably, Socrates said, among our generals the less instructed ones are in command.’ b. X. Mem. 4.4.6. καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης, ῝Ο δέ γε τούτου δεινότερον, ἔφη, ὦ ῾Ιππία, οὐ μόνον ἀεὶ τὰ αὐτὰ λέγω, ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν· [σὺ δ’ ἴσως διὰ τὸ πολυμαθὴς εἶναι περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν οὐδέποτε τὰ αὐτὰ λέγεις]. ‘Yes, Hippias, –he replied, and –what is more astonishing– not only always the same but on the same topics too! You, probably because you are so learned, never say the same thing on the same subjects.’

There is an interesting tendency for the adverb to appear adjacent to the verb²², forming a quasi–collocation with other particles (ἄν) or adverbs of similar content²³ as τάχα. In these examples although the adverb sets emphasis particularly over the verb or over the modality content conveyed by it, through the verb its modality content pervades the entire sentence. (16)

X. Oec. 4.5. ῾ Ωδ΄ ἄν, ἔφη ὁ Σωκράτης, ἐπισκοποῦντες, ὦ Κριτόβουλε, [ἴσως ἂν καταμάθοιμεν εἴ τι συνεπιμελεῖται]. ‘Perhaps, Critobulus, we will discover whether he joins in taking care, considering this aspect.’

The adverb has a term as (scopal) focus. This term can be an argument or an adjunct (satellite). In Xenophon, this happens in 39 examples, in Polybius in 15 examples and in Thucydides in 3. The adverb is separated from a verb which tends to be non–harmonic with the modality content of the adverb and tends to convey presupposed content. In (17.a) the focus is the nominal phrase Λακεδαιμονίων χάριτι. The adverb quantifies over a set of alternatives that includes other reasons for this behavior, as fear, existence of treaties etc. In (17.b) the adverb πλεονάκις is in overt contrast with ἐκφανέστατα. In (17.c) the nominal phrase μεγάλην μερίδα evokes other possible quantifications. (17)

a. Thuc. 6.11.3 [νῦν μὲν γὰρ κἂν ἔλθοιεν ἴσως Λακεδαιμονίων ἕκαστοι χάριτι], ἐκείνως δ΄ οὐκ εἰκὸς ἀρχὴν ἐπὶ ἀρχὴν στρατεῦσαι· ‘At present individuals might cross the sea probably out of friendship for the Lacedaemonians, but in that case is not logical that one empire would attack another.’

22 In 13 out of 17 in Xenophon and in all the examples in Thucydides, 2 of 2, and in Polybius, 12 out of 12. 23 As the first generalization stated by Huddelston et al. (2002, 576) predicts: «AdvPs realizing VP– oriented adjuncts are more closely associated with the VP constituent, and more likely to be positioned in the VP or adjacent to the VP».

594 | Rafael Martínez & Emilia Ruiz Yamuza

b. Plb. 6.44.1–2 τὸ δὲ παραπλήσιον καὶ περὶ τῆς ᾿Αθηναίων πολιτείας διαληπτέον. [καὶ γὰρ αὕτη πλεονάκις μὲν ἴσως], ἐκφανέστατα δὲ τῇ Θεμιστοκλέους ἀρετῇ συνανθήσασα ταχέως τῆς ἐναντίας μεταβολῆς ἔλαβε πεῖραν διὰ τὴν ἀνωμαλίαν τῆς φύσεως. ‘We must hold very much the same opinion about the Athenian constitution. Athens, though she perhaps enjoyed more frequent periods of success, although the most glorious was coeval with the excellent administration of Themistocles, rapidly experienced a complete reverse of fortune owing to the inconsistency of her nature.’ c. Plb. 8.10.8 [μεγάλην γὰρ ἴσως μερίδα θετέον τῷ προεστῶτι τῶν ὅλων ᾿Αλεξάνδρῳ], καίπερ ὄντι νέῳ παντελῶς. ‘While we should give Alexander, as commander–inchief, perhaps the credit for much, notwithstanding his extreme youth.’ Although syntactically it may belong to the clause, the adverb shows focus sensitivity and semantically affects a single term²⁴. We have also registered 16 instances, in the text of Xenophon, of the adverb in initial position with a single term as focus. In those cases, an additive focusing καί precedes and identifies the focus of the adverb. The initial position of the adverb seems to attract its focus to a position near the beginning of the sentence, far from the positions commoner for the focus (Dik 1995; 2007 and Matić 2003). On the other hand, the presence of the focal adverb καὶ is not limited to examples of initial position of ἴσως, as can be observed in example (18.b). (18)

a. X. Mem. 3.6.10 οὐκοῦν, ἔφη, καὶ περὶ πολέμου συμβουλεύειν τήν γε πρώτην ἐπισχήσομεν· [ἴσως γὰρ καὶ διὰ τὸ μέγεθος αὐτῶν ἄρτι ἀρχόμενος τῆς προστατείας οὔπω ἐξήτακας]. ‘Then we will postpone offering advice about war too for the present. Perhaps because the problems are so big, you, being new to power, have not had time to investigate them.’ b. Plb. 4.33.1 [ὁ δὲ λόγος οὗτος ἔχει μὲν ἴσως καὶ διὰ τῶν πάλαι γεγονότων πίστιν]. ‘This counsel may find some support, probably from circumstances that took place many years previously.’

To sum up the positions of the adverb relative to its narrow focus, the data have shown that the adverb appears nearby its focus and tends to precede it. The position is AF in 45 out of 57 examples. The adverb follows (FA) its focus only in 8 examples and it is separated from it (A. . . F) only in 3 examples. It is remarkable that the adverb, even in

24 The type of sensitivity can be described as “free association”. Beaver & Clark (2008, 52) claim that ‘free association affects operators which perform quantification over, or comparison within, an implicit domain’. This idea has been transferred to modality adverbs by Döring (2012). An epistemic modal base serves as an implicit argument, i.e. the modal base is the set of possible worlds compatible with the speaker’s belief. The adverb then quantifies over the set of possible worlds.

Word order, adverb’s scope and focus | 595

initial position of the sentence, can show scope over a narrow focus, which in such occasions tends to appear near it.

4 Conclusion From the data we have collected and the analysis we have presented in preceding sections, the following conclusions may be drawn. Actually, we can now answer the initial research questions quite accurately. The answer to the first initial question, namely, whether the position of the adverb contributes to the identification of the adverb’s function, is positive for both ἴσως and μάλιστα. The answer to the second question, namely, whether the position of the adverb contributes to the identification of its (scopal) focus, is clearly negative in the case of μάλιστα. As for ἴσως, we have observed that, in its highly dominant function as modality adverb, there are some tendencies for the adverb to immediately precede its focus, thus signaling its position. The reason for this difference would be, in our opinion, the fact that μάλιστα is quite more clearly poly–functional than ἴσως. Accordingly, the result of this study appears to be a specific case of a general tendency for the adverb’s position to indicate function, when the adverb is poly–functional, and to indicate other things, such as the focus extension, the closer the adverb approaches mono–functionality.

Bibliography Beaber, D. I. & Clark, B. Z. 2003: Always and only: why not all focus–sensitive operators are alike, «Natural Language Semantics», 11, 323–362. Beaber, D. I. & Clark, B. Z. 2008: Sense and Sensitivity, How focus determines meaning, Singapore. Dik, H. 1995: Word order in Ancient Greek, Amsterdam. Dik, H. 2007: Word Order in Greek Tragic Dialogue, Oxford. Döring, S. 2012: The focus sensitivity of sentence adverbs, «Proceedings of ConSOLE», XIX, 201–214. (http://www.sole.leidenuniv.nl) Hasselgård, H. 2010: Adjunct Adverbials in English, Cambridge. Heringa, H. 2011: Appositional constructions, Utrecht. Huddleston, R., Pullum, G. K. et al. 2002: The Cambridge grammar of the English language, Cambridge. Koktova, E. 1986: Sentence Adverbs, Philadelphia. König, E. 1991: The meaning of focus particles, London. Kovacci, O. 1999: El adverbio, in Gramática descriptiva de la lengua española, eds. I. Bosque & V. Demonte, Madrid, 705–786. Lenker, U. 2011. A focus on adverbial connectors: Connecting, partitioning and focusing attention in the history of English, in Connectives in Synchrony and Diachrony in European Languages, eds. A. Meurman Solin & U. Lenker, (http://www.helsinki.fi/varieng/journal/volumes/08/lenker). Martínez, R. 2016: Adverbios de foco en griego clásico: μάλιστα, «Minerva», 29, 193–214.

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Martínez, R. & Ruiz Yamuza, E. 2011: Una aproximación escalar al empleo del adverbio como adjunto y conjunto: οὕτως, «Habis», 42, 317–337. Matić, D. 2003: Topic, focus, and discourse structure, «Studies in Language», 27/3, 573–633. Partee, B. 1992. Topic, focus, and quantification, «Proceedings of SALT 1», eds. S. Moore et al., Cornell. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. & Svartvik, J. 1985: A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language, London – New York. Ramat, P. & Ricca, D. 1999: Sentence adverbs in the languages of Europe, in Adverbial Constructions in the Languages of Europe, ed. J. van der Auwera, Berlin, 187–275. Rosén, H. 2008: Latin epitaxis in historical and typological view, in Papers on Grammar X, ed. G. Calboli, Rome, 205–242. Sudhoff, S. 2010: Focus Particles in German, Amsterdam.

Lucio Melazzo

Did Pindar’s scheme really exist? Abstract: A Greek construction in which the verb is in the 3rd sg. form, while the subject is in the 3rd pl. and, in most cases, in post–verbal position, is called Pindar’s scheme inasmuch as it occurs most frequently in the poems of this author. Various explanations have been provided for this construction and it has also been interpreted as an error. The paper is an attempt at an overall syntactic explanation of the available data. In Pindar’s odes and, occasionally, in other authors, constructions are found in which the verb is in the 3rd sg. form, while the “apparent” subject is in the 3rd pl. and, in most cases, in post–verbal position. Various explanations have been provided for these constructions, called Pindaric or, less frequently, Boeotian patterns, and they have also been interpreted as errors. A unitary account is still lacking. My paper is only a first attempt at an overall explanation. Very little data is available. Melchert (2011) counts 23 attestations, which he takes from an unpublished dissertation by T. Chantziara (2000). About 62.5% of them, i.e. 15, occur in Pindar’s poems. Not all the examples are equally reliable. Lazzeroni (2013) has inspected them considering the whole previous bibliography, which is not particularly abundant, to tell the truth. Four of them are not much reliable inasmuch as they exhibit verbs which have been taken as being in the 3rd sg. form, but could have been in the 3rd pl. as well.¹ As to other examples, there exist either variant readings of the texts handed down to us by tradition or proposals of emendation made by different editors. Both various lections and corrections do not escape the suspicion of being lectiones faciliores.² Therefore, according to Lazzeroni (2013, 28), there remain 15 attestations certain or less

1 For instance, in A.R., 2.65f. οὐδέ τι ᾔδειν νήπιοι (‘but they [viz. Aretus and Ornytus] did not know at all, poor fools’) and in A.R. 4.1699f. αὐτοὶ [. . . ] ἠείδειν οὐδ’ὅσσον (‘they [viz. the Argonauts] did rd

not know one whit’) ᾔδειν and respectively ἠείδειν could also have been employed as 3 pl. forms (see Schwyzer 1959, I 778). The same holds good in h. Dem., 279 ξανθαὶ δὲ κόμαι κατενήνοθεν ὤμους (‘golden tresses spread down over her [viz. Demeter’s] shoulders’) where κατενήνοθεν occurs (see Humbert 1960, 82). Somewhat uncertain may appear Pi., P. 9.32 φόβῳ δ᾿οὐ κεχείμανται φρένες ‘her [viz. Cyrene’s] mind is not shaken with fear’, for φρένες, which has been translated here with ‘mind’, is in the plural and in κεχείμανται, a form of the perfect of χειμαίνω, which has a stem containing a nasal consonant and means in the passive ‘I am driven by a storm; I am tempest–tossed’, –αν–ται might have been taken as –α–νται (see Hummel 1993). 2 So, with reference to Pi., P. 9.32, which has already been mentioned in the previous footnote, and Pi., P. 9.71f. ἐν δ᾿ἀγαθοῖσι κεῖνται πατρώϊαι κεδναὶ πολίων κυβερνάσιες (‘the good piloting of states handed from father to son, rests in the hands of noble men’), where the nom. pl. κυβερνάσιες has been rendered with ‘piloting’, Wackernagel (1970: 97 fn. 1, and 100 fn. 1) maintains that the Pindaric pattern cannot

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-609

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uncertain, and 11 of them occur in Pindar’s poetry. Lazzeroni considers them as less uncertain not so much because the reliability of the text is questioned as because it is possible to recognize a specific syntactic pattern. Then, under these conditions, the Pindaric pattern would be an epiphenomenon of various causes, for it would derive from the uncertainties of tradition and/or interpretation. Thus, according to Haydon (1890, 192), the name σχῆμα Πινδαρικόν should be given up when it is seen that it is unjust to the memory of Pindar, and unsuitable to what comes under the head of many different σχήματα, while Hummel (1993, 62) affirms that it appears illusory that a specific linguistic reality corresponding to what is called Pindar’s scheme can be defined. Lazzeroni (2013) has been the last to deal with the issue. He notices that, peculiarly enough, in most cases the subject in the plural is placed after the verb in the singular – which is not the canonical order even in Pindar’s poetry, where the subject “regularly” precedes the verb. Moreover, in the 15 attestations of the Pindaric pattern that Lazzeroni tends to regard as certain, a transitive verb is found only once, while the other 14 are either intransitive or passive. This, too, cannot be pure chance. Suffice it to add that the construction is clearly attested to in the papyri of the Ptolemaic age. Meyser (1934, 27) gives these examples among others. ἀπόλωλε [. . . ] μυριάδες τρεῖς (‘30,000 [. . . ] have perished’) καταλείπεται ‘B (ἄρουραι) (‘2 fields are left remaining’) ὑπάρχει ἐν Κερκῆι ἄρουραι οὐκ ὀλίγαι (‘there exist not a few fields in Kerke’).

When everything is considered, the hypotheses of the scholars who have attempted to provide a coherent explanation of the construction appear unlikely. So, Schwyzer (1959, II 608) maintains that the non–agreement between subject and verb might be due to an analogy with the constructions containing a neuter subject in the plural. It remains unclear, however, why, as to the Pindaric pattern, there are restrictions on the types of verbs occurring in it, which do not apply to the construction with a neuter subject in the plural. On the other hand, according to Wackernagel (1926, 21), on the point of saying the verb the speaker does not know yet which form he will give to the subject, and therefore he chooses the 3rd sg. as the form of default. It is not clear, however, why the speaker should be uncertain as to the concord in number only in

be excluded absolutely and, as regards Pi., P. 9.71f., says that he does not manage to grasp how some scribe might have come back to the commonplace form κεῖνται. Variants in the transmission of the text or emendations of some editor are to be recognized in Pi., P. 9.71f., and P. 4.246, in Thuc. 3.36.2, and in Archim., Spir. 24. In Pi., P. 9.71f. κεῖνται replaces κεῖται. In Pi., P. 4.246 τέλεσαν ἃν πλαγαὶ σιδάρου (‘which [viz. a ship] iron–nailing blows wrought’) τέλεσαν has been preferred to the lection τέλεσεν. In Thuc. 3.36.2, προσξυνελάβοντο οὐκ ἐλάχιστον τῆς ὁρμῆς αἱ Πελοποννησίων νῆες ἐς ᾿Ιωνίαν (‘the Peloponnesian ships [having ventured over] to Ionia contributed to the decision about the assault’). In Archim., Spir. 24 ἀναγεγράφαται [. . . ] ὁμοῖοι τομέες (‘similar sectors [. . . ] are described’) ἀναγεγράφαται is substituted for ἀναγέγραπται.

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the construction known as the Pindaric pattern. Therefore a syntactic interpretation is definitely needed. This is what I will attempt here from now on. I shall primarily discuss the Pindaric attestations of the pattern which are regarded as certain. A few words must be said so as to describe the way the data will be presented. Firstly, a Pindar’s passage is quoted in the form in which it is found in the canonical edition. Secondly, when necessary, the verses are rewritten in one line. Thirdly, a word by word interpretation is given. Fourthly, a translation is proposed which aims, every time it can be done, at expressing the content of the text in a form as much as possible near to the Greek original. Lastly, the syntactic structure of the Greek text is put forward. For the sake of brevity, I will be restricting my analysis to the sole structure of the Pindaric pattern without expanding the representation in labeled brackets. Lazzeroni (2013) also hints that the number of the sure attestations of the pattern might suffer some more reduction. He is indeed right. Let us consider the first passage. (1) οὐδ᾿ ὁπόσαι δαπάναι ἐλπίδων ἔκνισ᾿ ὄπιν (Pi., I. 5. 57–58) οὐδ᾿ ὁπόσαι δαπάναι ἐλπίδων ἔκνισ᾿ ὄπιν rd

nor how–manynom.fem.pl expencenom.fem.pl hopegen.pl fret–awayaor.ind.3 .sg devotionacc.sg ‘nor has (the thought of) how many (were) the expenses fretted away (their) devotion to (their) hopes’ [AgrSP [S ὁπόσαι δαπάναι]i [TP ἐλπίδωνj [TP ti ἔκνισ(ε) ὄπιν tj ]]] Since long ago ὁπόσαι δαπάναι has been interpreted as what is now called a DP (Determiner Phrase), which comprises a determiner, here the quantifier ὁπόσαι, and a noun complement δαπάναι. This DP has always been considered the subject of the sentence, but it does not agree with the verb ἔκνισ(ε) in number, because ἔκνισ(ε) is in the 3rd sg. and ὁπόσαι δαπάναι in the plural. This is why ἔκνισαν was proposed as an emendation to the handed–down ἔκνισ(ε). As a matter of fact, ὁπόσαι δαπάναι is not a DP. Instead, it is an interrogative sentence where the form εἰσί of the verb ‘to be’ is left out or, better to say, has no phonetic content. After all, ὁπόσος,–η, –ον is already employed by Homer in indirect questions. Thus, ὁπόσαι δαπάναι is the specifier of the subject–agreement constituent AgrSP (Subject–Agreement Phrase). This sentence has landed at AgrS–Spec as a result of movement, i.e. it was moved leftwards from the specifier of the Verb Phrase VP, so that it might have its grammatical features, i.e. 3rd pers. sg., checked. The trace ti (t with the subscript letter i) indicates from which position [ὁπόσαι δαπάναι]i , co–indexed with the same letter i, was moved.³ The head ἔκνισ(ε) of 3 A trace is an empty category left behind as a result of movement in each position out of which a constituent moves.

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the VP was also moved into the head of the Tense Phrase TP, i.e. the phrase headed by an abstract tense morpheme T, while ὄπιν remained in situ, i.e. in its original position of complement of the head ἔκνισ(ε). On the other hand, ἐλπίδων, which combined with the head word ὄπιν to project the head into a larger structure of essentially the same kind, was moved and adjoined to TP to form an extended TP. The trace tj (t with the subscript letter j) shows this clearly. If things stand as I have proposed, no Pindaric pattern is to be found in (1). Let us pass on to the second excerpt. (2) μελιγάρυες ὕμνοι ὑστέρων ἀρχὰ λόγων τέλλεται καὶ πιστὸν ὅρκιον μεγάλαις ἀρεταῖς (Pi., O. 11. 4–6) μελιγάρυες ὕμνοι ὑστέρων ἀρχὰ λόγων τέλλεται καὶ πιστὸν ὅρκιον μεγάλαις ἀρεταῖς honey–voicednom.masc.pl odesnom.masc.pl futuregen.masc.pl foundationnom.sg rd

expressions–of–admirationgen.masc.pl remainpres.ind.med.3 .sg and faithfulnom.n.sg pledgenom.n.sg greatdat.fem.pl deeds–of–excellencedat.fem.pl ‘the foundation for future expressions of admiration remains honey–voiced odes and a faithful pledge for great deeds of excellence.’ [CP [μελιγάρυες ὕμνοι]j [IP [ὑστέρων ἀρχὰ λόγων]i τέλλεται [SC ti [&P tj [&° καὶ πιστὸν ὅρκιον μεγάλαις ἀρεταῖς]]]]] What I am hypothesizing here is that the passive verb τέλλεται licenses, i.e. can have, a small clause, SC, as a complement.⁴ As the given structure points out, ὑστέρων ἀρχὰ λόγων, a Nominal Phrase, NP, having ὑστέρων λόγων as its complement⁵ is in the subject position once it has been moved out of the small clause. This is shown by the trace t i . The small clause initially contained ὑστέρων ἀρχὰ λόγων and the and phrase, &P, μελιγάρυες ὕμνοι καὶ πιστὸν ὅρκιον μεγάλαις ἀρεταῖς having καὶ as a head. While the latter of the two conjuncts has remained in situ, the former has been moved to one of the projections of the complementizer phrase which has a complex internal structure, SplitCP.⁶ Two small clauses must also be assumed in next extract. 4 A small clause is a frequently occurring construction that has the semantic subject–predicate characteristics of a clause, but that lacks the tense of a finite clause and appears to lack the status of a constituent. 5 ὑστέρων was moved from its original position to the left of ἀρχὰ, but this does not appear in the structure. 6 The structural representation of a clause is currently assumed to consist of three kinds of structural layers: 1) the lexical layer – headed by the verb (VP, i.e. verbal phrase), this is the structural layer in which theta assignment takes place; 2) the inflectional layer (IP, i.e. inflectional phrase), headed by functional heads relating to concrete or abstract morphological specification on the verb, and

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(3) σεμνᾷ μὲν κατάρχει Ματέρι πὰρ μ⌞εγ⌟άλᾳ ῥόμβοι τυπάνων, ἐν δὲ κέχλαδ[εν] κρόταλ’ αἰθομένα τε δαῒς ὑπὸ ξαν⌞θα⌟ῖσι πεύκαις (Pi., Fr. 70b. 8–11) σεμνᾷ μὲν κατάρχει Ματέρι πὰρ μεγάλᾳ ῥόμβοι τυπάνων rd

augustdat.fem.sg Particle start–uppres.ind.3 .sg Motherdat.fem.sg for greatdat.fem.sg whirlnom.pl kettle–drumgen.pl ‘it starts up whirls of kettle–drums for the august great Mother (i.e whirls of kettle–drums start up for the august great Mother.’ [σεμνᾷj μὲν [IP pro κατάρχει [SC [tj Ματέρι πὰρ μεγάλᾳ]i [ῥόμβοι τυπάνων ti ]]]] ἐν δὲ κέχλαδεν κρόταλ᾿ αἰθομένα τε δαῒς ὑπὸ ξανθαῖσι πεύκαις rd

in–the–meantime Particle burstpf.ind.3 .sg clappernom.pl. burningnom.fem.sg –and torchnom.fem.sg underprep auburndat.fem.pl pinedat.fem.pl ‘in the meantime clappers and a burning torch have burst under auburn pines (i.e. in the meantime it has burst clappers and a burning torch under auburn pines).’ [ἐν δὲ [IP pro κέχλαδεν [SC [&P κρόταλ᾿ αἰθομένα τε δαῒς] [ὑπὸ ξανθαῖσι πεύκαις]]]] Indeed, the so–called Pindaric pattern occurs twice here. In both cases the subject of the sentence is pro, a covert nominative–case pronoun (known informally as little pro, because it is written in lower–case letters) which represents the understood subject of a finite clause.⁷ As regards the first of the two Pindaric patterns, the small clause had

licensing argumental features such as case and agreement; 3) the complementizer layer (CP, i.e. Complementizer Phrase), peculiarly headed by a free functional morpheme, and hosting topics and diverse operator–like elements such as interrogative and relative pronouns, focalized elements, and so on. Till the mid–eighties of the last century, each layer was associated with a single projection (VP, IP, CP), but this supposition swiftly proved to be rather simplistic. Firstly, as a result of Pollock’s (1989) effective examination of verb movement, IP was separated into several functional projections, each corresponding to one feature specification overtly or abstractly displayed on the verbal system (agreement, tense, aspect. . . ). Secondly, one of the effects of Kayne’s (1994) binary branching hypothesis was the assumption of multiple VP layers for multi–argument verbs. Thirdly, various proposals in the existing literature made the complementizer layer meet the same fate. Accordingly, it has securely been established that much more than a single projection compose the Left (pre–IP) Periphery (LP) of the clause. Having been partitioned into several phrases with functional heads, the complementizer layer is therefore described as a split complementizer phrase (SplitCP). On the subject cf. Rizzi (1997) and the literature quoted there. Further hypotheses in Benincà (2001) and Benincà – Poletto (2004). Also see Matić (2003), Dik (2007), Lühr (2009), Bertrand (2010), and Del Lago (2010). 7 Of course Ancient Greek qualifies as a pro–drop or a null subject language, i.e. a language in which certain classes of pronouns may be omitted when they are in some sense pragmatically inferable.

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ῥόμβοι τυπάνων to the left of σεμνᾷ Ματέρι πὰρ μεγάλᾳ at an intermediate stage of the derivation. Then σεμνᾷ Ματέρι πὰρ μεγάλᾳ was moved to the left of ῥόμβοι τυπάνων, and σεμνᾷ was subsequently moved to one of the projections of SplitCP. In the second Pindaric pattern, on the other hand, no movement has happened in the small clause, the first element of which is made of two conjuncts, κρόταλ(α) and αἰθομένα . . . δαῒς. Let us consider the fourth excerpt. (4) ἐν δὲ Ναΐδων ἐρίγδουποι στοναχαί μανίαι τ᾿ ἀλαλ⌞αί⌟τ᾿ ὀρίνεται ῥιψαύχενι ˙ σὺν κλόνῳ (Pi., Fr. 70b. 12–14) ἐν δὲ Ναΐδων ἐρίγδουποι στοναχαί μανίαι τ᾿ ἀλαλαί τ᾿ὀρίνεται ῥιψαύχενι σὺν ˙ κλόνῳ in–the–meantime Particle Naiadgen.pl loud–soundingnom.fem.pl groannom.fem.pl rd

wild–activitynom.pl –and loud–crynom.pl –and rousepres.ind.pass. 3 .sg tossing– the–neckdat.masc.sg with turmoildat.m.sg ‘in the meantime it is roused loud–sounding groans of Naiads and wild activities and loud cries with a turmoil tossing the neck’ [ἐν δὲ [TOP [&P1 [Ναΐδων ἐρίγδουποι στοναχαί] [&P1 [&°1 [&P2 μανίαι τ(ε) [&P2 [&°2 ἀλαλα. ί τ(ε)]]]]]]i pro ὀρίνεται [SC ti [ῥιψαύχενι σὺν κλόνῳ]]]] Here the difficulty lies in determining the position of Ναΐδων ἐρίγδουποι στοναχαί μανίαι τ᾿ἀλαλ. αί τ(ε). This sequence is constituted of three different conjuncts contained in two &Ps, the one embedded within the other. At some previous stage these two &Ps were positioned within the SC, higher than ῥιψαύχενι σὺν κλόνῳ. Then they were moved together to TopP, Topic Phrase, inside SplitCP. The subject of the passive verb ὀρίνεται is once more pro. Passage (5) bears some similarity to (3) in essentially exhibiting two parts. (5) τότε βάλλεται τότ᾿ἐπ΄ἀμβρόταν χθόν’ἐραταί ἴων φόβαι, ῥόδα τε κόμαισι μείγνυται, ἀχεῖ τ᾿ὀμφαὶ μελέων σὺν αὐλοῖς, οἰχνεῖ τε Σεμέλαν ἑλικάμπυκα χοροί (Pi., Fr. 75. 16–19) τότε βάλλεται, τότ᾿ἐπ᾿ἀμβρόταν χθόν᾿ἐραταί ἴων φόβαι, ῥόδα τε κόμαισι μείγνυται rd

then throwpres.ind.pass. 3 .sg then on–to immortalacc.fem.sg earthacc.fem.sg lovelynom.fem.sg violetgen.pl. tuftnom.fem.pl rosenom.n.pl –and hair–of–the–headdat.pl mixpres.ind.pass. 3

rd

.sg

‘then it is thrown, then on to the immortal earth lovely tufts of violets (i.e. then lovely tufts of violets are thrown, then they are thrown on to the immortal earth), and roses are mixed with the hair of the heads’

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[&P1 [IP1 pro τότε βάλλεταιi ] [&P1 [&°1 [IP2 pro τότ(ε) [ei ] [SC [ἐπ᾿ἀμβρόταν χθόν(α)]j ἐραταί ἴων φόβαι tj ]] &°2 [IP3 ῥόδα τε κόμαισι μείγνυται]]]] ἀχεῖ τ᾿ ὀμφαὶ μελέων σὺν αὐλοῖς οἰχνεῖ τε Σεμέλαν ἑλικάμπυκα χοροί soundpres.ind. 3

rd

rd

.sg

–and tuneful–voicenom.pl songgen.pl on flutedat.pl

comepres.ind. 3 .sg –and Semeleacc.fem.sg circlet–wreathedacc.fem.sg chorusnom.pl ‘it is sounding tuneful voices of songs played on flutes, and it is coming choruses to circlet–wreathed Semele (i.e. tuneful voices of songs played on flutes are sounding, and choruses are coming to circlet–wreathed Semele.)’ [&P1 [IP1 pro ἀχεῖ [SC [ὀμφαὶ μελέων] σὺν αὐλοῖς]] &°1 τε [IP2 pro οἰχνεῖ [SC [Σεμέλαν ἑλικάμπυκα]i χοροί ti ]]] The first part of (5) exhibits one Pindaric pattern and the second two. With regard to the first part I have assumed that a second βάλλεται between τότ(ε) and ἐπ᾿ἀμβρόταν underwent identity–deletion. This is shown by the ei , an empty category co–indexed with the same letter i as βάλλεταιi . The subject of both the verb forms βάλλεται, the overt, i.e. with phonetic content, and the covert, i.e. without any phonetic content, is pro. The sentences are within an &P again. In the SC, which belongs to the sentence with the covert βάλλεται, ἐπ᾿ἀμβρόταν χθόν(α) was moved to the left of ἐραταί ἴων φόβαι.⁸ The sentence ῥόδα τε κόμαισι μείγνυται, in which ῥόδα has been left adjoined, i.e. attached to the head τε, correctly exhibits a neuter subject in the plural and a verb in the singular. With relation to the second part I resolved that I would leave out the enclitic conjunction τ(ε) between ἀχεῖ and ὀμφαὶ for the purpose of simplifying my explanation while making my report. Otherwise I could not have separated up Pindar’s passage into two parts so as to deal with them singly. Indeed, the two sentences of this second part are joined to one another in an &P and are both connected with the upper &P uniting the two sentences of the first portion of Pindar’s passage. Let us discuss this second portion of (5) now. In both sentences the subject is pro, in both sentences an SC is found. In the first of them, ὀμφαὶ μελέων σὺν αὐλοῖς, no movement has occurred. In the second, Σεμέλαν ἑλικάμπυκα χοροί, Σεμέλαν ἑλικάμπυκα was moved to the left of χοροί. Extract (6) contains a relative clause. (6) ᾇ θύεται ἄνδρες ὑπὲρ πόλιος τὸν ἱρόθυτον θάνατον (Pi., Fr. 78) ᾇ θύεται ἄνδρες ὑπὲρ πόλιος τὸν ἱρόθυτον θάνατον rd

Whodat.fem.sg sacrificepres.ind.pass. 3 to–a–godacc.masc.sg deathacc.masc.sg

8 Something similar has already been seen in (3).

.sg

for countrygen.sg theacc.masc.sg offered–

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‘(᾿Αλαλά) to Whom it is sacrificed, to Whom men offer their death as a sacrifice for their country.’ [to Whom] [pro θύεται [SC ἄνδρες [ὑπὲρ πόλιος]i [τὸν ἱρόθυτον θάνατον ti ]]] The subject of the clause is pro again, ἄνδρες τὸν ἱρόθυτον θάνατον ὑπὲρ πόλιος was the sequence in the SC before the PP (Prepositional Phrase) ὑπὲρ πόλιος was moved to the left of the DP τὸν ἱρόθυτον θάνατον. Now it is the turn of passage (7). (7) ἰαχεῖ βαρυφθεγκτᾶν ἀγέλαι λεόντων (Pi., Fr. 239) rd

soundpres.ind.3 .sg loud–roaringgen.masc.pl pridenom.pl liongen.masc.pl ‘it sounds (like) prides of loud–roaring lions’ proi ἰαχεῖ [SC ti [βαρυφθεγκτᾶν ἀγέλαι λεόντων]] Differently from what has been observed in (3), (5), and (6) that also display sentences with a null subject, in this passage pro was moved out of the SC, as the trace ti points out. Last but not least amongst Pindar’s excerpts, (8) shows two Pindaric patterns. (8) μελιρρόθων δ᾿ἕπεται πλόκαμοι ... διοίγετο σάρκες (Fr. 246a–b) μελιρρόθων δ᾿ἕπεται πλόκαμοι rd

sweet–soundgen.n.pl Particle followpres.ind.3 .sg braidnom.pl ‘it follows braids of sweet sounds (intermingled)’ [[μελιρρόθων]j δ(ὲ) proi ἕπεται [SC ti [πλόκαμοι tj ]]] διοίγετο σάρκες rd

open impf.pass. 3 .sg fleshnom.pl ‘it was opened flesh’ proi διοίγετο [SC ti σάρκες] Both of them are somewhat similar to that in (7), for their subject pro was moved out of the SC. Moreover, in the first of the two sentences, μελιρρόθων δ᾿ἕπεται πλόκαμοι, μελιρρόθων was topicalized by being moved to TopP, Topic Phrase, inside SplitCP.⁹ Nothing more has to be said about διοίγετο σάρκες. While progressing further in the examination of the non–Pindaric extracts comprising instances of the so–called Pindar’s scheme, (9) can be looked over.

9 Something similar has already been seen in (4).

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(9) Αἰαῖ, δέδοκται, πρέσβυ, τλήμονες φυγαί (E., Ba. 1350) rd

Alas has–been–decreedperf. ind.3 .sg old–manvoc.sg wretchednom.fem.pl exilenom.fem.pl ‘Alas, oh you venerable old man, it has been decreed wretched exiles (i.e. wretched exiles have been decreed).’ proi δέδοκται [[πρέσβυ] [SC ti τλήμονες φυγαί]] Like in (7) and (8) pro, which corresponds to it in the English translation, has moved leftwards out of SC. Differently from what happened in (7) and in the second Pindaric pattern in (8), however, here pro has proceeded to go up and landed with δέδοκται at one of the phrases of the Left Periphery. This is suggested by the presence of the vocative πρέσβυ. The extent to which vocatives are syntactically integrated into the sentence is a much debated issue. Rizzi (1997 and 2004) argues that vocatives are connected with a functional head projected in the functional hierarchy. Contrariwise, Moro (2003) and o o Hill (2007) propose that the vocative functional head (Voc ) is either above Force or o the CP domain entirely. Euripides’ line may provide evidence that Voc is projected o o above Foc and below the higher Top , VocP being in a hierarchical relationship lower than the high TopP and higher than FocP in the functional hierarchy proposed in Rizzi (1997, 2004). Here, however, the question will be left open. A structure similar to (9) is found in (10). (10) ἀνὰ δὲ Θηβαίαν πόλιν ἐσιγάθη σᾶς ἔσοδοι νύμφας (E., Ph. 349–350) ἀνὰ δὲ Θηβαίαν πόλιν ἐσιγάθη σᾶς ἔσοδοι νύμφας rd

through Particle Thebanacc.fem.sg cityacc.fem.sg was–concealedaor.ind.pass. 3 .sg yourgen.fem.sg entrancesnom.pl bridegen.fem.sg ‘it was concealed the entrances of your bride through the City of Thebes (i.e. the entrances of your bride through the City of Thebes were concealed).’ [[FOC ἀνὰ δὲ Θηβαίαν πόλιν]j proi ἐσιγάθη [SC ti σᾶς ἔσοδοι νύμφας tj ]] As in (9) a pro, which also corresponds to it in the English translation, here too went into SpecAgrS out of an SC licensed by the aorist passive form ἐσιγάθη. On the other hand, the PP ἀνὰ [. . . ] Θηβαίαν πόλιν moved leftwards into one of the projections of the LP. Lastly, (11) has to be considered. (11) ἦλθε δὲ λαοὶ μυρίοι πρὸς ᾐόνα (Trag. Adesp. 191) came Particle peoplenom.masc.pl countlessnom.masc.pl to shoreacc.sg ‘it then came countless people to the shore (i.e. countless people then came to the shore).’ proi ἦλθε δὲ [SC ti λαοὶ μυρίοι πρὸς ᾐόνα]

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As in (9) and (10) pro rendered with it in English has moved out of a SC. Unlike (9) and (10) here the verb licensing the SC is not in a form listed among the passive, i.e. among those whose final subject is a non–agent argument. That which occurs in (11) is in fact the unaccusative ἦλθε whose null subject is again a non–agent argument. Similarly to what has been said with reference to (9) ἦλθε too has moved leftwards. Both ἦλθε and pro have landed at one of the projections of the Left Periphery. It is the occurrence of the discourse particle δὲ that leads here to this inference, but it cannot be said that δὲ is hosted in the same projection as the vocative πρέσβυ in (9). Here again the question will be left open. If the analysis that has been conducted so far is on the right track, the Pindaric pattern, regarded as a construction where the subject of the sentence is in the plural and the verb in the singular, has to be recognized as an invention of philologists. The concord of the subject with the verb in a clause also applies where a Pindaric pattern is said to occur.

Bibliography Benincà, P. 2001: The position of Topic and Focus in the left periphery, in Current Studies in Italian Syntax. Essays offered to Lorenzo Renzi, eds G. Cinque & G. Salvi, Amsterdam, 39–64. Benincà, P. & Poletto, C. 2004: Topic, Focus and V2: Defining the CP Sublayers, in The Structure of IP and CP. The Cartography of Syntactic Structures, ed. L. Rizzi, New York, 52–75. Bertrand, N. 2010: L’ordre des mot chez Homère, Thèse de Doctorat, Université de Paris Sorbonne. Chantziara, T. 2000: The Pindaric Schema, Senior Honors Thesis, Harvard University, Cambridge MA. Del Lago, N. 2010: Fenomeni di prolessi (pro)nominale e struttura della periferia sinistra nel Greco di Senofonte, Tesi di Dottorato, Università di Padova. Dik, H. 2007: Word Order in Greek Tragic Dialogue, Oxford – New York. Hill, V. 2007: Vocatives and the Pragmatics–Syntax Interface, «Lingua», 117, 2077–2105. Haydon, R. S. 1890: ΣΧΗΜΑ ΠΙΝΔΑΡΙΚΟΝ, «American Journal of Philology», 11, 182–192. Humbert, J. 1960: Syntaxe grecque, Paris. Hummel, P. 1993: La syntaxe de Pindar, Leuven–Paris. Kayne, R. 1994: The Antisymmetry of Syntax, Cambridge Ma [Linguistic Inquiry Monographs]. Lazzeroni, R. 2013: Fra ruoli semantici e ruoli pragmatici: il cosiddetto «schema pindarico» nel greco antico, «AGI», 98, 26–40. Lühr, R. 2009: Information Studies in Ancient Greek, in The discourse potential of underspecified structures, ed. A. Steube, Berlin – New York (Language, Context and Cognition 8), 487–512. Matić, D. 2003: Topic, focus, and discourse structure. Ancient Greek word order, «Studies in Language», 27/3, 573–633. Meyser, E. 1934: Grammatik der griechischen Papyri aus der Ptolemäerzeit, II/3, Berlin–Leipzig. Melchert, H. C. 2011: The PIE Collective Plural and the «τὰ ζῶα τρέχει» Rule, in Indogermanistk und Linguistik im Dialog, eds Th. Krisch & Th. Lindner, Wiesbaden, 395–400. Moro, A. 2003: Notes on Vocative Case: a Case Study in Clause Structure, in Romance Languages and Linguistic Theory 2001, eds J. Quer, J. Schroten, P. Sleeman & E. Verheugd, Amsterdam – Phildelphia, 251–264.

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Pollock, J. Y. 1989: Verb Movement, Universal Grammar, and the Structure of IP, «Linguistic Inquiry», 20/3, 365–424. Rizzi, L. 1997: The fine structure of the left periphery, in Elements of Grammar, ed. L. Haegeman, Dordrecht, 281–337. Rizzi, L. 2004: Locality and left periphery, in Structures and Beyond. The Cartography of Syntactic Structures, vol. 3, ed. A. Belletti, New York, 1–26. Schwyzer, E. 1959: Griechische Grammatik, I – II (vervollständigte und herausgegeben von A. Debrunner), 2.te Aufl., München. Wackernagel, J. 1926: Vorlesungen über Syntax, I, 2.te Aufl., Basel. Wackernagel, J. 1970: Sprachliche Untersuchungen zu Homer, 2.te Aufl., Göttingen.

Antonio R. Revuelta Puigdollers

Result clauses in Ancient Greek: correlatives, negation, mood and sentence level Abstract: Research in result clauses has been mainly focused on the use of moods (see Rijksbaron 2002, Wakker 2014). My purpose in the present paper is to highlight other important aspects which have received less attention in the literature and to investigate their mutual relationships. The article is structured as follows: (i) the first section is devoted to relationships established by result connectors between main and subordinate clause; (ii) the second one explores connectors; (iii) the third one analyses the contribution and status of intensifiers and correlative expressions; (iv) the fourth one studies the choice of mood and sentence type; (v) the last section summarizes the interplay among all these factors and attempts to give a different view of this constructions in Ancient Greek.

1 Relationships Result clauses in a sense are the reversal of causal clauses: the main clause is the cause of the subordinate, as the following English example illustrates: (1)

a. I loved her because she was very intelligent (Cause) b. She was so intelligent that I loved her (Result)

But that is not always the case. In the following subsections I will try to show that the relationship between main and subordinate can surpass the simple cause–effect relationship and that other types of connections can be established between them: material, logical and argumentative. At the same time, the connection is established between different layers and entities of the clause (Dik 1997, I 55): the State of Affairs (hence SoA), the Proposition and Speech Act/Discourse Move. Table 1 represents the different factors taken into account in this description:

Note: This paper has been written within the framework of the research projects “Corpus Morfológico y Formación de Palabras en Griego Moderno” (FFI2012–31567) and “Preverbiación en griego antiguo y moderno” (FFI2015–69749–P) financed by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness. I want to express my gratitude to Hartley Ferguson and Alberto Cartier for making my English more understandable.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-621

610 | Antonio R. Revuelta Puigdollers Table 1: Typology of ‘consecutive’ relationships Relationship

Main clause/Nuclear

Subordinate/Subsidiary

Layer

Connective

Material

Cause Condition

Result Result

State of Affairs

Subordinator

Logical

Evidence

Inference

Proposition

?

Argumentative

Premise

Conclusion

Speech Act/ Discourse Move

Discourse particle

At the same time, as represented on the last column, the connector develops from a clear–cut subordinator into a discourse particle. I will go back to this point at the last section of this paper.

1.1 Material 1: cause–result In the material relationships the main clause is the cause of the subordinate, as previously discussed: the SoA referred to by the main clause causes the SoA depicted by the subordinate: “since A (cause) happens, B happens (result)”. The following example illustrates this meaning: (2)

Τούτου δὲ οὕτω δικαιοῦντος ἀντέλεγε οὐδείς, ὥστε ἐκράτεε τῇ γνώμῃ· (‘No one withstood this argument, and therefore his opinion accordingly prevailed’, Hdt. 9.42.1–2) a. [Since] no one withstood this argument (main clause) b. [Due to this cause] his opinion accordingly prevailed (subordinate clause)

In some cases the main clause is not exactly the cause, but the reason the subject of the subordinate has in mind for carrying out or not his action: (3)

ὁ δὲ νεώτερος, τῷ οὔνομα ἦν Λυκόφρων, ἤλγησε ἀκούσας οὕτω ὥστε ἀπικόμενος ἐς τὴν Κόρινθον ἅτε φονέα τῆς μητρὸς τὸν πατέρα οὔτε προσεῖπε (‘the younger, whose name was Lycophron, was struck with such horror when he heard them that when he came to Corinth he would not speak to his father’, Hdt. 3.50.10–13) a. [Since] he was struck with such horror (main clause) b. [For that reason] he would not speak to his father (subordinate clause)

1.2 Material 2: condition–result There is a second class of result clauses that diverges in several aspects from the previous one: (i) the connectors are not only ὥστε, but also ἐφ᾿ ᾧ and ἐφ᾿ ᾧτε; (ii)

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cataphoric expressions like ἐπὶ τούτῳ, ἐπὶ τοῖσδε (‘on that/this condition’) and the like can appear in the main clause; (iii) the connection between both clauses is not exactly causal but conditional. All these cases are translated by expression like ‘under the condition that’, ‘on condition that’ and similar expressions. (4)

ἀλλ᾿ ἀφίεμέν σε, ἐπὶ τούτῳ μέντοι, ἐφ᾿ ᾧτε μηκέτι ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ ζητήσει διατρίβειν μηδὲ φιλοσοφεῖν· (‘we will let you go, on the condition, however, that you no longer spend your time in this investigation or in philosophy’, Pl. Ap. 29c7–8) a. [if] We let you go (main clause) b. [In that case] you will no longer spend your time in this investigation or in philosophy (subordinate clause)

(5) ξυμμαχίαν ἐποιήσαντο ἑκατὸν ἔτη ᾿Ακαρνᾶνες καὶ ᾿Αμφίλοχοι πρὸς ᾿Αμπρακιώτας ἐπὶ τοῖσδε, ὥστε μήτε ᾿Αμπρακιώτας μετὰ ᾿Ακαρνάνων στρατεύειν ἐπὶ Πελοποννησίους μήτε ᾿Ακαρνᾶνας μετὰ ᾿Αμπρακιωτῶν ἐπ᾿ ᾿Αθηναίους (‘the Acarnanians and Amphilochians made a league with the Ambraciotes for a hundred years, upon the conditions that neither the Ambraciotes with the Acarnanians should make war against the Peloponnesians, nor the Acarnanians with the Ambraciotes against the Athenians’, Th. 3.114.3.1–5) a. [if] The Acarnanians and Amphilochians made a league with the Ambraciotes (main clause) b. [In that case] neither the Ambraciotes with the Acarnanians would make war . . . (subordinate) In all these cases there is a conditional relationship between the main and subordinate clause. It is not causal because the fulfilment of the subordinate is not sure: the agent of the main clause carries out the action on the guarantee that the subject of the subordinate is going to comply with his/her part of the agreement, but there is no certainty; he thinks that if he behaves in that way (main clause), the other part will behave as expected. Unfortunately truces and agreements are frequently broken.

1.3 Logical: evidence–inference In a second group of cases there is no causal/conditional relationship between the SoAs referred to by the clauses. Rather the main clause (Proposition) is the reason the speaker (not the subject) has to believe in the truth of the subordinate clause (Proposition). The relationship is rather of an inferential character: “since A (evidence) is true, B is true (inference)”. The following examples illustrate this relationship: (6)

καὶ γὰρ τὰ πολλὰ Πρωταγόρας ἔνδον διατρίβει, ὥστε, θάρρει, καταληψόμεθα αὐτόν, ὡς τὸ εἰκός, ἔνδον. (‘Protagoras, you see, spends most of his time indoors, so have no fear, we shall find him in all right, most likely.’, Pl. Prt. 311a5–7)

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a. [Since] Protagoras spends most of his time indoors b. [I’m sure] we shall find him in all right, most likely (7)

ἀλλ᾿ ἢ οὐ διαφθείρω, ἢ εἰ διαφθείρω, ἄκων, ὥστε σύ γε κατ᾿ ἀμφότερα ψεύδῃ. (‘but either I do not corrupt them, or if I corrupt them, I do it involuntarily, so that you are lying in both events.’, Pl. Ap. 25e6–26a1) a. [Since] either I do not corrupt them, or if I corrupt them, I do it involuntarily b. [logically] you are lying in both events

In the first example the speaker knows that Protagoras spends most of his time indoors (main clause) and from that fact he infers that he will be also at that moment at home (subordinate clause). In the second example the speaker supports his assertion (subordinate clause) in the content of the main sentence.

1.4 Argumentative: premise–conclusion In a third group of examples the connector operates over larger stretches of text (Discourse level). In many cases, although not compulsorily, the connector appears after a full stop, which is a reflection of the looser relationship between the units (rather a recognition by the editors of this fact). The so–called result clauses are used in order to lead the conversation back to the main thesis after the premises have been discussed (argumentative relationship): ‘since A (premise), I tell you B (conclusion)’. The following example taken from Plato’s Crito may illustrate this use; the ὥστε clause heads a directive sentence (imperative): (8)

ΚΡ. Μήτε τοίνυν ταῦτα φοβοῦ–καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲ πολὺ τἀργύριόν ἐστιν ὃ θέλουσι λαβόντες τινὲς σῶσαί σε καὶ ἐξαγαγεῖν ἐνθένδε. ἔπειτα οὐχ ὁρᾷς τούτους τοὺς συκοφάντας ὡς εὐτελεῖς, καὶ οὐδὲν ἂν δέοι ἐπ΄ αὐτοὺς πολλοῦ ἀργυρίου· σοὶ δὲ ὑπάρχει μὲν τὰ ἐμὰ χρήματα, ὡς ἐγὼ οἶμαι, ἱκανά· ἔπειτα καὶ εἴ τι ἐμοῦ κηδόμενος οὐκ οἴει δεῖν ἀναλίσκειν τἀμά, ξένοι οὗτοι ἐνθάδε ἕτοιμοι ἀναλίσκειν· εἷς δὲ καὶ κεκόμικεν ἐπ΄ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ἀργύριον ἱκανόν, Σιμμίας ὁ Θηβαῖος, ἕτοιμος δὲ καὶ Κέβης καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ πάνυ. ὥστε, ὅπερ λέγω, μήτε ταῦτα φοβούμενος ἀποκάμῃς σαυτὸν σῶσαι, μήτε, ὃ ἔλεγες ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ, δυσχερές σοι γενέσθω ὅτι οὐκ ἂν ἔχοις ἐξελθὼν ὅτι χρῷο σαυτῷ· (‘Well, do not fear this! For it is not even a large sum of money which we should pay to some men who are willing to save you and get you away from here. Besides, don’t you see how cheap these informers are, and that not much money would be needed to silence them? And you have my money at your command, which is enough, I fancy; and moreover, if because you care for me you think you ought not to spend my money, there are foreigners here willing to spend theirs; and one of them, Simmias of Thebes, has brought for this especial

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purpose sufficient funds; and Cebes also and very many others are ready. So, as I say, do not give up saving yourself through fear of this.’, Pl. Cri. 45a6–b8) The following representation attempts to capture the relationships between the different sections of the example (thesis, arguments and reformulation of the thesis as a conclusion):

Crito tries to persuade Socrates to follow his advice (first unit): he should not fear and leave the city. His arguments are discussed in the section headed by γάρ: this section is subdivided into four subarguments; the second, third and fourth are introduced by the connectors ἔπειτα, δέ and ἔπειτα. After providing these arguments Crito turns them into premises and the unit headed by ὥστε reinstates the initial thesis as a conclusion: Socrates should not give up the plan due to any possible fear. In this second example Critoboulos addresses Cleinias and discusses why he feels proud of making people more righteous. The section headed by γάρ provides the arguments supporting his thesis and the section headed by ὥστε reinstates the thesis under the form of a conclusion: (9)

ὥστε εἰ σύ, ὦ Καλλία, μέγα φρονεῖς ὅτι δικαιοτέρους δύνασαι ποιεῖν, ἐγὼ πρὸς πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν δικαιότερος σοῦ εἰμι ἄγων ἀνθρώπους. διὰ γὰρ τὸ ἐμπνεῖν τι ἡμᾶς τοὺς καλοὺς τοῖς ἐρωτικοῖς ἐλευθεριωτέρους μὲν αὐτοὺς ποιοῦμεν εἰς χρήματα, φιλοπονωτέρους δὲ καὶ φιλοκαλωτέρους ἐν τοῖς κινδύνοις, καὶ μὴν αἰδημονεστέρους τε καὶ ἐγκρατεστέρους, οἵ γε καὶ ὧν δέονται μάλιστα ταῦτ΄ αἰσχύνονται. μαίνονται δὲ καὶ οἱ μὴ τοὺς καλοὺς στρατηγοὺς αἱρούμενοι. ἐγὼ γοῦν μετὰ Κλεινίου κἂν διὰ πυρὸς ἰοίην· οἶδα δ΄ ὅτι καὶ ὑμεῖς μετ΄ ἐμοῦ. ὥστε μηκέτι ἀπόρει, ὦ Σώκρατες, εἴ τι τοὐμὸν κάλλος ἀνθρώπους ὠφελήσει. (‘And so, Callias, if you are proud of your ability to make people more righteous, I have a better ‘right’ than you to claim that I can influence men toward every sort of virtue. For since we handsome men exert a certain inspiration upon

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the amorous, we make them more generous in money matters, more strenuous and heroic amid dangers, yes, and more modest and self–controlled also; for they feel abashed about the very things that they want most. Madness is in those people, too, who do not elect the handsome men as generals; I certainly would go through fire with Cleinias, and I know that you would, also, with me. Therefore, Socrates, do not puzzle any more over the question whether or not my beauty will be of any benefit to men.’, X. Smp. 4.15.1–.4.17.1) The following figure represents the structure of this section and highlights the position of the connectors:

This use of the so–called result clauses is not restricted to directives (although these cases are unmistakable), but can also happen with interrogative sentences, as in the example below, where the defendant states that there was no premeditation in his actions. He states this thesis, provides the arguments that support his position (see the section headed by γάρ) and reinstates his thesis as a conclusion through a rhetoric question introduced by ὥστε (“therefore (ὥστε) how can this be premeditation?”): (10)

καίτοι φανερὸν ἤδη ἐξ ὧν εἴρηκεν, ὅτι οὐ πρόνοια γεγένηται. οὐ γὰρ ἂν οὕτως ἤλθομεν, ἀδήλου ὄντος εἰ παρὰ τούτῳ εὑρήσομεν [ὄστρακον ἢ] ὅτῳ αὐτὸν ἀποκτενοῦμεν, ἀλλ᾿ οἴκοθεν ἔχοντες ἂν ἐβαδίζομεν. νῦν δὲ ὁμολογούμεθα πρὸς παῖδας καὶ αὐλητρίδας καὶ μετ᾿ οἴνου ἐλθόντες. ὥστε πῶς ταῦτ᾿ ἐστὶ πρόνοια· (‘Why, it is evident already from what he has said that there has been no premeditation. For we should not have gone in that way, when it was uncertain whether we should find in his house a potsherd or something to serve for killing him, but should have brought it from home as we set out. In point of fact, we admit that we went to see boys and flute–girls and were in liquor: so how is that premeditation?’, Lys. 4.6.5–8.1) a. [Since] we had no weapon and were occupied with musicians and wine b. [My question is] how that is premeditation

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As in the previous examples, the following figure reproduces the relationships between the different sections (thesis, arguments, thesis/conclusion):

The same use appears with declarative sentences as in the example below. The speaker draws the necessary conclusions from his previous words: according to them, if Callias can be proud of making people more righteous, he has more reasons to be proud of that ability: (11)

καὶ γὰρ πονοίην ἂν ῥᾷον ἐκείνῳ ἢ ἀναπαυοίμην, καὶ κινδυνεύοιμ᾿ ἂν πρὸ ἐκείνου ἥδιον ἢ ἀκίνδυνος ζῴην. ὥστε εἰ σύ, ὦ Καλλία, μέγα φρονεῖς ὅτι δικαιοτέρους δύνασαι ποιεῖν, ἐγὼ πρὸς πᾶσαν ἀρετὴν δικαιότερος σοῦ εἰμι ἄγων ἀνθρώπους. (‘For I should find it easier to toil for him than to rest, and it would be more delightful to risk my life for his sake than to live in safety. And so, Callias, if you are proud of your ability to make people more righteous, I have a better ‘right’ than you to claim that I can influence men toward every sort of virtue.’, X. Smp. 4.14.5–.4.15.3)

This use of ὥστε is parallel to those of the discourse particle οὖν, as exemplified in the following example taken from Demosthenes: (12) οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ πρᾶγμ΄ ἄν τις αὐτὸ σκοπῶν καὶ θεωρῶν ἴδοι οὐ μόνον οὐχὶ λαβόντα, ἀλλ΄ οὐδ΄ ἐνὸν αὐτῷ λαβεῖν. ἦν μὲν γὰρ τὸ χρέως ἐν Βοσπόρῳ, ἀφίκετο δ΄ οὐδεπώποτ΄ εἰς τὸν τόπον τοῦτον ὁ Δημάρετος· πῶς οὖν εἰσέπραξεν· (‘but, more than that, anyone who examines and studies the case itself will see, not only that he did not receive the money, but that it was impossible that he should have received it. For the debt was in Bosporus, a place which Demaretus never visited; how, then, could he have collected it?’, Dem. 38 11.2–11.6) As represented in the following figure, the speaker states that someone could not have received the money; the next unit headed by γάρ provides the arguments that support that thesis; the final unit headed by οὖν recaptures the initial thesis in the form of a conclusion:

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As for οὖν, this particle is not restricted to drawing conclusions from previous premises but has a more general use, as in the following passage taken from Herodotus: (13) Κόλχοι δὲ ταξάμενοι ἐς τὴν δωρεὴν καὶ οἱ προσεχέες μέχρι Καυκάσιος ὄρεος (ἐς τοῦτο γὰρ τὸ ὄρος ὑπὸ Πέρσῃσι ἄρχεται, τὰ δὲ πρὸς βορέην ἄνεμον τοῦ Καυκάσιος Περσέων οὐδὲν ἔτι φροντίζει), οὗτοι ὦν δῶρα τὰ ἐτάξαντο ἔτι καὶ ἐς ἐμὲ διὰ πεντετηρίδος ἀγίνεον, ἑκατὸν παῖδας καὶ ἑκατὸν παρθένους. (‘The Colchians also had set themselves among those who brought gifts, and with them those who border upon them extending as far as the range of the Caucasus (for the Persian rule extends as far as these mountains, but those who dwell in the parts beyond Caucasus toward the North Wind regard the Persians no longer),––these, I say, continued to bring the gifts which they had fixed for themselves every four years even down to my own time, that is to say, a hundred boys and a hundred maidens.’, Hdt. 3.97.14–19) In the passage, the historian is speaking about the Colchians; then he makes a small excursus about the Caucasus (see the γάρ section); and later he returns to his main topic the Colchians making use of the particle ὦν (Ionian equivalent to οὖν), as represented in the following figure:

The connector operates as a pop particle leading the discourse back to its main topic (see Polanyi & Scha 1983, Revuelta 2009). Therefore the discourse use of ὥστε does not cover but a small range of οὖν/ὦν’s meanings. As for the uses of ὥστε discussed in this section, the fact that this connector introduces directive (see the imperative verbal forms) and interrogative (see the questions) speech acts is a clear proof that the connector works rather as a discourse particle operating upon discourse units and not as a subordinator operating upon clauses. I will go back to this argument in the section devoted to mood and sentence type.

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2 Connectors One of the main conclusions derived from the previous analysis is that the connectors are distributed along the different meanings as represented in the following table:¹ Table 2: Connectors Connectors

Relationship Material (SoA) Cause

Relatives

Conjunctions

οἷος ὅσος ὅς ὅστις

+ + + +

ὡς ἐφ᾿ ᾧ(τε) ὥστε

+ +

Logical

Argumentative

Condition

(Proposition)

(Discourse)

+ +

+

+

Most connectors can be only used in a material sense: there is a causal/conditional relationship between the main and subordinate clause (SoA level). The relatives (οἷος, ὅσος, ὅς, ὅστις) and ὡς establish only a causal connection, whereas ἐφ᾿ ᾧ(τε) rather establishes a conditional one. Apart from this use the connector ὥστε establishes logical (Proposition level) and argumentative (Discourse level) connections between the units it combines. But in these second uses the connector ὥστε develops from a conjunction into a discourse particle.

3 Intensive/correlative expressions A second aspect not fully discussed in the bibliography is the combinability of correlative expressions with result clauses. Their existence is always mentioned and the classical list includes the following items: οὕτως, τοιοῦτος/τοῖος, τοσοῦτος/τόσος.² But apart from them the expressions ἐπὶ τοῖσδε and ἐπὶ τῷδε are used when the connection has rather a conditional nature (see Revuelta 2005; 2014 and forthcoming b).

1 For more information about this issue see Revuelta (2005a; forthcoming b). 2 See for example Wakker’s (2014) «clause cataphoric intensifying adverbs and adjectives».

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The relevant point at issue here is the combinability of these expressions with the typology discussed in the previous sections. There are two main combinations. The elements (adverbs and adjectives) that convey intensity (οὕτως), quality (τοιοῦτος/τοῖος) or quantity (τοσοῦτος/τόσος) can be found in combination with result clauses that express a causal relationship (SoA level), as illustrated in the following examples: (14) τοιοῦτοι γὰρ ἦσαν ὥστε τοὺς μὲν ἡμαρτηκότας ἀργύριον λαμβάνοντες ἀφιέναι (‘since they were capable of taking money for the release of offenders’, Lys. 25.26.4–6) (15)

Συμβαλόντες δὲ ἐνίκησαν τοὺς Κυρηναίους τοσοῦτο ὥστε ἑπτακισχιλίους ὁπλίτας Κυρηναίων ἐνθαῦτα πεσεῖν. (‘they engaged, and so wholly overcame the Cyrenaeans that seven thousand Cyrenaean soldiers were killed there.’, Hdt. 4.160.12–13)

(16)

Δοκεῖς μοι, ὦ ᾿Αντιφῶν, ὑπειληφέναι με οὕτως ἀνιαρῶς ζῆν, ὥστε πέπεισμαι σὲ μᾶλλον ἀποθανεῖν ἂν ἑλέσθαι ἢ ζῆν ὥσπερ ἐγώ. (‘Antiphon, you seem to have a notion that my life is so miserable, that I feel sure you would choose death in preference to a life like mine.’, X. Mem. 1.6.4.1–4)

In this case the subordinators can be relatives (οἷος, ὅσος, ὅς, ὅστις) and the conjunctions ὡς and ὥστε. On the other hand, the conditional expressions ἐπὶ τοῖσδε and ἐπὶ τούτῳ are restricted, as previously mentioned (see § 2.2), to the material conditional (SoA level) relationships introduced by ὥστε and ἐφ᾿ ᾧ(τε), as the following examples show: (17)

ξυμμαχίαν ἐποιήσαντο ἑκατὸν ἔτη ᾿Ακαρνᾶνες καὶ ᾿Αμφίλοχοι πρὸς ᾿Αμπρακιώτας ἐπὶ τοῖσδε, ὥστε μήτε ᾿Αμπρακιώτας μετὰ ᾿Ακαρνάνων στρατεύειν ἐπὶ Πελοποννησίους μήτε ᾿Ακαρνᾶνας μετὰ ᾿Αμπρακιωτῶν ἐπ᾿ ᾿Αθηναίους (‘the Acarnanians and Amphilochians made a league with the Ambraciotes for a hundred years, upon the conditions that neither the Ambraciotes with the Acarnanians should make war against the Peloponnesians, nor the Acarnanians with the Ambraciotes against the Athenians’, Th. 3.114.3.1–5)

(18)

ἀλλ᾿ ἀφίεμέν σε, ἐπὶ τούτῳ μέντοι, ἐφ᾿ ᾧτε μηκέτι ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ ζητήσει διατρίβειν μηδὲ φιλοσοφεῖν· (‘we will let you go, on this condition, however, that you no longer spend your time in this investigation or in philosophy’, Pl. Ap. 29c7–8)

What is important to underline is the fact that the logical (Proposition level) and argumentative (Discourse level) relationships described in previous sections exhibit no combinability with any kind of correlative expression. This absence of data could just be a gap in our corpus (the combinability was possible, but there are no extant examples), but I prefer to interpret this fact as a consequence and reflection of the level the connector is operating upon (Proposition and Discourse), as described in the following table:

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Table 3: Correlative expressions Correlative

Relationship

(main clause)

Material (SoA)

Logical

Argumentative

Cause

Condition

(Proposition)

(Discourse)

(i) Quality

τοιοῦτος τοιόσδε οὕτως

(+) (+) (+)

ø ø ø

ø ø ø

ø ø ø

(ii) Quantity

τοσοῦτος τοσόσδε

(+) (+)

ø ø

ø ø

ø ø

(iii) Condition

ἐπὶ τοῖσδε ἐπὶ τῷδε

ø ø

(+) (+)

ø ø

ø ø

(+) = Possible, but not compulsory; ø = not attested

The correlative expressions only appear in those cases where the entity affected by the subordinate is a State of Affairs (a second order entity), and not when it is a Proposition (third order entity, logical connection) or a Speech Act/Discourse unit (fourth order entity, argumentative connection).³ These combinability possibilities are in accordance with similar restrictions in other types of subordinates, as for example purpose⁴ and comparative clauses.⁵

4 Mood and sentence type Mood is no doubt the most debated issue about result clauses, as the most recent literature on this topic shows (see e.g. Wakker 2014). The main point at issue is the use of the infinitive and its difference in comparison with other modal possibilities. But my main interest here is not that,⁶ but rather the interaction between mood and the typology discussed in section § 2. The following table taken from Revuelta (2005a and forthcoming b) represents the combinability between mood/sentence type and the different relationships encoded by result clauses:

3 For the different types of entities see Dik (1997, I 55). 4 For the data in ancient Greek see Revuelta (2005). 5 Cf. the data in Latin (Revuelta 2002), Ancient Greek (Revuelta 2005b; 2006) and Modern Greek (Revuelta 2007). 6 See the discussions in Wakker (2014) and Revuelta (2005a) for Ancient Greek and Revuelta (2014) for Spanish and Modern Greek.

620 | Antonio R. Revuelta Puigdollers Table 4: Mood/sentence type Mood/sentence type choice

Relationship Material (SoA)

(i) Infinitive (ii) Optative

(iii)

Moods of declaratives

Cause

Condition

+

+

‘Oblique’ Potential

+ +

Indicative Optative+ἄν Past+ἄν

+ + +

+ (future)

Logical

Argumentative

(Proposition)

(Discourse)

+ + +

+ + +

Directive (iv) sentences Interrogative sentences Wishes

+ + +

The infinitive can be only combined with both kinds of material result clauses (causal and conditional). The typical moods of subordination related to phenomena of modal (potential optative without ἄν) and tense (‘oblique optative’) attraction are also restricted to material connections. On the other hand independent directive (imperative mood, for example), interrogative and desiderative sentence types appear always when the relationship is argumentative and the connector (exclusively ὥστε) connects not really sentences, but discourse sections. The moods of declaratives occupy an intermediate position: they can appear in the three kinds of connections. Once more the modal and sentence type distribution reflects and supports the differences established in section 2.

5 Negation Works on result clauses usually focus on the choice between μή and οὐ in the subordinate clause. But in this section I rather want to analyze the consequences of the main clause’s negation for the general meaning of the complex sentence and not the negation of the subordinate. This is a topic not so frequently discussed in literature, as far as I know.⁷ According to some authors⁸ when the main clause is negated the

7 For its discussion in Modern Greek and Spanish see Revuelta (2014). 8 See for example Berdolt (1896, 59–60).

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subordinate has to take infinitive as mood, but as Kühner’s grammar⁹ points out there are many exceptions. However, as Kühner remarks, there is a clear distinction in both cases as the following examples illustrate: (19)

οὐδεὶς πώποτ᾿ εἰς τοσοῦτ᾿ ἀναιδείας ἀφίκεθ᾿ ὥστε τοιοῦτόν τι τολμῆσαι ποιεῖν. (‘no one has ever been so lost to shame as to venture on such conduct as this.’, D. 21.62.3–.62.4) a. No one has ever been so lost to shame. b. No one has ventured on such conduct as this. c. Scope: It is not true that [anyone has ever been so lost to shame as to venture on such conduct as this]

(20)

Τούτου δὲ οὕτω δικαιοῦντος ἀντέλεγε οὐδείς, ὥστε ἐκράτεε τῇ γνώμῃ· (‘No one withstood this argument, and his opinion accordingly prevailed’, Hdt. 9.42.1–2) a. No one withstood this argument. b. His opinion accordingly prevailed. c. Scope: [No one withstood this argument], and for that reason [his opinion prevailed]

In the first example the negation has scope over both the main and subordinate clause, as the paraphrases at ‘a’ and ‘b’ try to capture: there is only one negation, but it affects both the main and the subordinate clause. In these cases the infinitive is the only choice. In contrast in the second example the main clause is negative, but this negative event has a positive consequence. The main clause’s negation does not have the subordinate clause within its scope and therefore the mood in the subordinate cannot be infinitive. This Ancient Greek fact has parallel in other stages of the Greek language and in other languages apart from Greek (see Revuelta 2014).

6 Summary & conclusions The conclusions of this paper are several and they are represented at the following table:

9 Kühner – Gerth (1893–1904, 506, § 584 g, Anmerkung 5).

622 | Antonio R. Revuelta Puigdollers Table 5: General view of the different factors Mood choice

Correl

Relationship Material (SoA) Cause

Condition

(+/+)

relative, ὥστε, ὡς

ἐφ᾿ ᾧ(τε), ὥστε

“Oblique”

(+)

Potential

(+)

relative, ὥστε, ὡς relative, ὥστε, ὡς

Indicative

(+/+)/ø/ø

relative, ὥστε, ὡς

Optative+ἄν (+/+)/ø/ø

relative, ὥστε, ὡς relative, ὥστε, ὡς

(i) Infinitive

(ii) Optative

(iii)

Moods of declaratives

Past+ἄν

Moods of im(iv) peratives Moods of interrogatives Moods of wishes

(+/+)/ø/ø

ἐφ᾿ ᾧ(τε), ὥστε (future)

Logical

Argument.

(Prop.)

(Discour.)

ὥστε

ὥστε

ὥστε

ὥστε

ὥστε

ὥστε

ø

ὥστε

ø

ὥστε

ø

ὥστε

Negation scope

in (inf.), out (other)

Word class

Subord.

out

Subord.

out

D. Particle

(+) = Possible, but not compulsory; ø = not exemplified; / = combinability with Cause / Condition / Proposition / Discourse

Result clauses establish different relationships between two linguistic units. Those units can refer to State of Affairs (second order entities), Propositions (third order entities) or Speech Acts/Discourse units (fourth order entities), and their relationships can express material cause/condition (SoAs), logical evidence (Propositions) and argumentative conclusion (Speech Acts/Discourse units). The differences among those relationships are not only of semantic nature, but are also formally reflected in the syntax: – Not all connectors can be used in all contexts, but there is a clear–cut distribution (see § 2). – The presence of correlative expressions (adverbs, adjectives and PPs conveying intensity, quality, quantity or condition) can only appear when the relationship

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is established between SoAs, but not in the other cases (see second column of the table), as happens with other subordinates (e.g. comparative and purpose subordinate clauses). – Possible moods are also restricted according to the type of relationship. Result clauses operating on SoAs, can choose infinitive, the moods of subordination (oblique and potential optative) and the moods of declarative sentences. Result clauses operating on the propositional and discourse level exhibit the moods of independent clauses (declarative, imperative, interrogative or desiderative sentence types), but exclude those prototypical moods of subordination (infinitive, and oblique and potential optative). That must be considered a proof they are opeating on different levels and layers of the sentence. – Negation scope presents also some differences. When the main clause is negated and this negation also affects the subordinate the mood selected by the latter must be infinitive; otherwise it can be any of the other moods. – The behaviour of the connector is different according to the sentence level it operates upon. When operating on SoAs it behaves as a prototypical subordinator and exhibits features typical of subordinators (see the moods of subordination). In contrast, when it operates on the logical and discourse level it rather behaves like one of the so–called discourse particles. In fact ὥστε in these cases exhibits some of the uses of the particle οὖν. All these factors and phenomena are interdependent and any interpretation and description of result clauses must take them together into account.

Bibliography Berdolt, W. 1896: Der Folgesatz bei Plato. Inaugural Dissertation behufs Erlangung der Doktorwürde, University of Würzburg. Dik, S. C. 1997: The Theory of Functional Grammar. Vol 1. The structure of the clause. Vol II. Complex and derived constructions, ed. Hengeveld, Berlin – New York. Kühner, R. & Gerth B. 1893–19043 : Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache. Zweiter Teil: Satzlehre, Zweiter Band, Hannover – Leipzig (= 1965, Darmstadt, WB). Polanyi, L. & Scha R. 1983: The syntax of discourse, «Text», 3/3, 261–270. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2002: Oraciones comparativas de igualdad: niveles de integración, in La comparación en latín, eds. E. Espinilla, P. Quetglas & M. Esperanza Torrego, Madrid – Barcelona, 191–228. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2005a: Oraciones finales y consecutivas, in Sintaxis griega, ed. M. D. Jiménez López, Madrid, http://aprende.liceus.com/cultura-filologia-clasicas/. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2005b: Comparative sentences in Ancient Greek, in Proceedings of the 7th International Conference in Greek Linguistics (University of York 8–10 pf September 2005), online publication. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2006: Oraciones comparativas y modales en griego antiguo, in Sintaxis griega, ed. M. D. Jiménez López, http://aprende.liceus.com/cultura-filologia-clasicas/

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Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2007: Oraciones Comparativas en griego moderno, in Cultura neogriega. Tradición y modernidad, eds. J. Alonso Aldama & O. Omatos, Universidad del País Vasco, 605– 619. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2009: The particles αὖ and αὖτε in Ancient Greek as topicalizing devices, in Discourse Cohesion in Ancient Greek, eds. St. Bakker & G. Wakker, Leiden, 86–106. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. 2014: Result clauses in Modern Greek and Spanish: a contrastive study, in Major Trends in Theoretical and Applied Linguistics: Selected Papers from the 20th International Symposium on Theoretical and Applied Linguistics (April 1–3, 2011), eds. N. Lavidas, Th. Alexiou & A. M. Sougari, Berlin, 439–457. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. (forthcoming a): La subordinación en griego moderno, unpublished manuscript. Revuelta Puigdollers, A. R. (forthcoming, b): Oraciones finales y consecutives, in Sintaxis griega, ed. M. D. Jiménez López, http://aprende.liceus.com/cultura-filologia-clasicas/. Rijksbaron, A. 20023 : The syntax and semantics of the verb in Classical Greek, Chicago. Wakker, G. (2014) Consecutive Clauses, in Encyclopedia of Ancient Greek Language and Linguistics, ed. G. K. Giannakis, Leiden.

Sira Rodeghiero

L’aumento in Omero tra narrazione e sintassi Abstract: The use of the augment in Homeric past tenses is optional. The phenomenon has often been studied from the different perspectives of metrics, morphology, phonology, syntax, sociolinguistics, comparative philology, etc. The aim of this article is to investigate the distribution of the augment in Homer with particular attention to the interaction between text and syntax, an approach that has not been fully explored so far. After a brief overview of the main semantic interpretations which have been given for the augment, a textual analysis of two books of the Iliad shows that the presence or absence of the augment is often related to narrative effects or strategies. A syntactic analysis, carried out within a Generative Grammar framework, then explores whether augmented and unaugmented verbs have different syntactic behaviour. Preliminary results from this investigation illustrate that the syntactic distribution of augmented and unaugmented verbs consistently match with the effects observed on the textual level.

1 Introduzione L’aumento in Omero costituisce un elemento facoltativo: imperfetti, aoristi e piuccheperfetti possono presentarsi tanto nella forma aumentata con cui di norma sono conosciuti nel greco classico, quanto in una forma non aumentata, caratterizzata esclusivamente dalle desinenze secondarie. Gli studi sulla natura opzionale dell’aumento costituiscono una messe alquanto variegata, riflesso del carattere estremamente elusivo della questione. Al fenomeno si è cercato di rispondere da diverse prospettive: metrica, morfologica, semantica, sintattica, sociolinguistica¹, per interessare, in ottica ricostruttiva, anche l’indoeuropeistica². Gli studi hanno permesso di individuare tendenze formali, funzionali e distributive dell’uso dell’aumento³, senza tuttavia giungere, almeno apparentemente, ad una spiegazione esaustiva del fenomeno in grado di giustificare tutti i comportamenti osservati. Lungi ancora dal proporre a mia volta un orientamento risolutivo, vorrei qui suggerire di guardare al fenomeno prestando particolare attenzione al contesto narrativo e sintattico in cui i verbi sono collocati. L’interazione tra testo e sintassi relativamente all’aumento in Omero sembra essere infatti un aspetto, almeno a mia conoscenza, an-

1 Bibliografia essenziale in Bottin (1969) e Bakker (1999; 2001). 2 Cfr. bibliografia in Bottin (1969). Per contributi più recenti cfr. Willi (2007) e Bartolotta (2009). 3 Cfr. di nuovo Bottin (1969) e Bakker (1999).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-637

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cora non completamente esplorato che potrebbe tuttavia offrire un contributo rilevante al dibattito generale. Lo scopo del presente lavoro è pertanto duplice: da una parte esso punta a consolidare l’impressione, già suggerita da alcuni studiosi, che l’uso o non uso dell’aumento favorisca particolari effetti a livello narrativo, dall’altra esso tenta di indagare l’ipotesi di una diversa posizione sintattica dei verbi aumentati e non aumentati e di una sua correlazione con gli effetti percepiti nella narrazione. Lo studio è esplorativo ed è limitato ad un corpus costituito dalle sezioni narrative di due canti rappresentativi dell’Iliade (XVI e XXI). La presentazione si svilupperà qui in tre parti: nella prima, proporrò una breve rassegna dei valori semantici attribuiti all’aumento nella letteratura scientifica e offrirò esempi di come la presenza e l’assenza dell’aumento sembrino giocare un proprio ruolo all’interno della narrazione; nella seconda, presenterò alcune premesse che autorizzano un’analisi sintattica del fenomeno di cui successivamente descriverò i primi risultati; nella terza, infine, confronterò le impressioni emerse dall’analisi testuale con gli esiti dell’indagine sintattica.

2 L’aumento nel contesto narrativo 2.1 Interpretazioni semantiche dell’aumento Già da Koch (1868) è noto come nei contesti propriamente narrativi l’oscillazione tra forme aumentate e non aumentate sia maggiore rispetto ai discorsi diretti e alle similitudini dove l’uso dell’aumento risulta rispettivamente preponderante e obbligatorio. L’osservazione è rilevante dal momento che la presenza costante dell’aumento in un contesto atemporale quale quello della similitudine (o degli aoristi gnomici in genere) ha indotto alcuni studiosi a ritenere poco plausibile la tradizionale interpretazione dell’aumento come marca di passato. A tal proposito, pur senza voler entrare nella questione ricostruttiva, ma mantenendo l’attenzione esclusivamente sui dati omerici, è opportuno ricordare alcuni contributi che, discostandosi dalla tradizione, sono giunti ad interpretazioni dell’aumento tra loro diverse eppure al tempo stesso affini o confrontabili. Platt (1891), ad esempio, in contrasto con l’opinione comune ai suoi anni, individua nell’aumento una funzione enfatica. In Omero egli riconosce due tipi di aoristo: uno con un valore di passato e uno con un valore di perfetto (traducibile, secondo una definizione invero piuttosto soggettiva, con un perfetto inglese: es. λάβον ‘I took’ vs ἔλαβον ‘I have taken’). Gli aoristi appartenenti alla seconda categoria, detti anche perfect aorists, esprimono un valore di compiutezza e sono più spesso aumentati rispetto ai normali aoristi di passato. Ciò consente dunque a Platt di riconoscere nell’aumento una particella enfatica con funzione analoga a quella del raddoppiamento.

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Un’idea simile si ritrova anche in Drewitt (1912) il quale individua a sua volta nel testo omerico due tipi di aoristo: il true preterit aorist e il present–reference aorist. Quest’ultimo, al quale Drewitt si riferisce anche come aorist for perfect, è più spesso aumentato ed è segno per lo studioso che l’aumento indica un rapporto con il presente. Secondo Basset (1989), Platt e Drewitt, indicando nell’aumento l’idea di un riferimento al presente, intuiscono il vero e se le loro ipotesi non hanno incontrato immediatamente il credito dovuto è solo per difetto di una vera teoria esplicativa. Basset propone così di ovviare a tale carenza considerando il testo omerico alla luce dell’opposizione tra discours e récit (o histoire) che distingue il contenuto di un enunciato (l’evento di cui si parla) dal punto di vista (le centre de vision). In base alla definizione di Benveniste⁴, discours è infatti qualsiasi enunciato che presupponga la presenza di un parlante e un destinatario su cui il primo voglia esercitare una qualche influenza, histoire è invece la presentazione oggettiva di eventi avvenuti in un certo tempo e senza alcun intervento del narratore nel discorso. In francese tale opposizione è rispecchiata rispettivamente da due diverse forme di passato, il passato semplice e il passato composto, che non si differenziano tanto per una maggiore o minore distanza temporale degli eventi descritti, quanto piuttosto per il fatto che l’enunciato assuma o non assuma la sua origine dalla situazione enunciativa. L’oscillazione tra forme verbali aumentate e non aumentate in Omero potrebbe essere interpretata secondo Basset alla stesso modo. Stando alle osservazioni già condotte tra il XIX e l’inizio del XX da Koch, Platt e Drewitt, emerge proprio come i passati non aumentati possano essere considerati passati di histoire, e quelli aumentati come passati di discours. Questi ultimi racchiuderebbero così sia il riferimento al passato (il passato in cui si colloca l’evento), sia il riferimento al presente (il punto di vista attuale). L’uso nella narrazione delle forme aumentate corrisponde dunque, in questa prospettiva, ad una precisa intenzione di innescare un legame tra l’evento narrato e la situazione in cui si produce l’enunciato. Di qui deriva per Basset anche una corrispondenza tra l’uso dell’aumento nella narrazione e un effetto di visualizzazione per cui sembra che il narratore non si limiti a raccontare un evento, ma spesso lo dia per così dire a vedere⁵. Ciò si nota bene, ad esempio, nei discorsi diretti, dove attraverso le sue parole un eroe viene in un certo modo rappresentato come fosse fisicamente presente sulla scena: la maggiore presenza di forme aumentate in questi contesti è così segno della funzione essenzialmente mimetica dell’aumento. Più recentemente la teoria di Basset è stata riformulata e approfondita da Bakker (1999 e 2001) nei termini di una funzione deittica dell’aumento, una tesi che negli ultimi anni ha conosciuto largo seguito⁶. Il concetto fondamentale che guida la sua

4 Benveniste (1959) citato in Basset (1989). 5 «L’impression est qu’Homère ne se contente pas de raconter la scène, mais la donne à voir, telle qu’on peut encore la voir sur des peintures de vase». (Basset 1989, 15). 6 Sulla stessa linea si collocano ad es. Pagniello (2002), Bertrand (2010), Mumm (2004), De Decker (2015).

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interpretazione è quello di narrative in performance. L’epica omerica, come ogni narrazione, si regola su una tensione tra “vicino” e “lontano” in cui l’abilità del narratore sta proprio nel rendere presenti all’immaginazione del pubblico eventi che appartengono ad un passato lontano. In questa prospettiva, uno degli strumenti a disposizione del poeta per poter manipolare la distanza tra il racconto e il momento narrativo sarebbe appunto l’aumento. La deissi espressa dall’aumento si coglie bene, secondo Bakker, nel contrasto tra contesti più o meno favorevoli all’uso di aoristi aumentati, sui quali egli in particolare concentra la sua analisi. Infatti, l’assenza di aumento per sottolineare la non occorrenza di un evento o la sua lontananza (come nelle frasi negative o nei passaggi di background, quali la storia di un oggetto), da una parte, e, dall’altra, la sua presenza costante in contesti improntati alla vividness (come la similitudine e i discorsi diretti) dimostrano chiaramente la funzione dell’aumento nel rendere un evento più prossimo all’hic et nunc del momento in cui la narrazione si realizza, favorendone così la percezione immaginativa da parte del pubblico in un effetto di «immediacy in time and space»⁷. In conclusione, benché la funzione dell’aumento sia stata descritta attraverso approcci e definizioni differenti, il breve excursus da Platt a Bakker sulle diverse interpretazioni semantiche dell’aumento permette di rintracciare nella letteratura lo sviluppo di una linea interpretativa comune e sostanzialmente condivisa: l’aumento si integra con le dinamiche narrative omeriche apportando maggiore rilevanza e prossimità all’evento descritto dal verbo, spesso anche contribuendo, in una dimensione pragmatica, ad intensificare l’esperienza immaginativa del pubblico.

2.2 Forme aumentate e non aumentate nelle sequenze narrative di Iliade XVI e XXI La riflessione, nel paragrafo precedente, sui diversi valori semantici attribuiti all’aumento, mette in luce come una spiegazione completa dell’uso dell’aumento in Omero non possa limitarsi all’analisi di soli aspetti formali, ma debba innanzitutto riconoscere l’importanza di un’attenta considerazione del testo. Qualsiasi tentativo di definire il significato dell’aumento e conseguentemente di spiegare l’alternanza di verbi aumentati e non aumentati in Omero è infatti imprescindibile dall’analisi del contesto in cui essi sono collocati. Pertanto, il presente lavoro, prendendo in esame le sequenze narrative di due canti dell’Iliade (XVI e XXI)⁸, mira a confermare e valorizzare le ipotesi avanzate dagli autori

7 Bakker (2001, 14). 8 Non è possibile in questa sede dilungarsi sui molti problemi relativi alla scelta dei criteri di selezione dei dati. Mi limito pertanto a sottolineare come, in contrasto con la generale tendenza, questa analisi non si affidi ad un criterio selettivo di tipo metrico. Un esame condotto sul canto XXI escludendo le

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in § 2.1 mostrando come la distribuzione dell’aumento appaia strettamente collegata a finalità espressivo –comunicative di diversi contesti. Coerentemente con le interpretazioni semantiche illustrate in § 2.1, l’analisi dei passi mostra innanzitutto come gli eventi che rivestono particolare rilevanza nell’economia generale del racconto siano più spesso correlati all’uso dell’aumento. A tale riguardo è possibile anzi individuare alcuni contesti privilegiati, come: cambi di scena accompagnati dalla comparsa nel racconto di nuovi personaggi; singoli duelli che si isolano per l’importanza che rivestono nello sviluppo della narrazione; introduzione di discorsi diretti; e, in generale, scene connotate da particolare icasticità. Fornisco e commento brevemente di seguito un esempio per ogni contesto: a. Cambi di scena e comparsa di nuovi personaggi: (1)

῎Ενθ΄ υἷι Πριάμοιο συνήντετο Δαρδανίδαο ἐκ ποταμοῦ φεύγοντι Λυκάονι, τόν ῥά ποτ΄ αὐτὸς (Il., 21.34–35) ‘S’imbatté allora in un figlio del dardano Priamo, che fuggiva dal fiume, Licaone.’

I versi si inseriscono all’interno della sequenza in cui Achille, in preda alla furia scatenata dalla morte di Patroclo, insegue un gruppo di Troiani che cerca scampo dalla strage presso il fiume. Nel testo tutte le azioni dell’eroe sono descritte da verbi non aumentati. Quando però dalla massa indistinta dei Troiani emerge un personaggio particolare, Licaone, il verbo che segna l’incontro tra i due è invece aumentato. Ciò acquisisce rilevanza se si tiene conto che il personaggio sarà il protagonista di una lunga scena successiva (vv. 34–138). Il verbo aumentato accompagna così nel racconto l’immagine del personaggio che ora, come davanti ad Achille, si staglia anche dinanzi ai nostri occhi isolando l’evento dell’incontro dal continuum di azioni ripetitive su cui sembravano appiattiti i precedenti movimenti dell’eroe all’inseguimento dei Troiani. b. Scene di duello e alternanza di personaggi nell’azione (2)

῝Ως φάτ΄ ἀπειλήσας, ὃ δ΄ ἀνέσχετο δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεὺς Πηλιάδα μελίην· ὃ δ΄ ἁμαρτῇ δούρασιν ἀμφὶς ἥρως ᾿Αστεροπαῖος, ἐπεὶ περιδέξιος ἦεν. καί ῥ΄ ἑτέρῳ μὲν δουρὶ σάκος βάλεν, οὐδὲ διὰ πρὸ

forme metricamente incerte ha d’altro canto dimostrato come una simile selezione comporti solamente una riduzione numerica del campione di dati, senza inficiare le proporzioni delle tendenze illustrate nei capitoli successivi. Dall’analisi sono escluse piuttosto tutte le forme per cui il confronto tra edizioni critiche attesti varianti aumentate o non aumentate, casi incerti per la divisione in parole (es. ὅτε μαίνετο) e forme verbali morfologicamente ambigue (es. ἵκετο, ὦσε, οὔτησε).

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ῥῆξε σάκος· χρυσὸς γὰρ ἐρύκακε δῶρα θεοῖο· τῷ δ΄ ἑτέρῳ μιν πῆχυν ἐπιγράβδην βάλε χειρὸς δεξιτερῆς, σύτο δ΄ αἷμα κελαινεφές· ἣ δ΄ ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ γαίῃ ἐνεστήρικτο λιλαιομένη χροὸς ἆσαι. δεύτερος αὖτ΄ ᾿Αχιλεὺς μελίην ἰθυπτίωνα ᾿Αστεροπαίῳ ἐφῆκε κατακτάμεναι μενεαίνων. καὶ τοῦ μέν ῥ΄ ἀφάμαρτεν, ὃ δ΄ ὑψηλὴν βάλεν ὄχθην, μεσσοπαγὲς δ΄ ἄρ΄ ἔθηκε κατ΄ ὄχθης μείλινον ἔγχος⁹. (Il., 21.161–172) ‘Così diceva sfidandolo, e il divino Achille sollevò la lancia di frassino; alzò le due lance insieme Asteropeo, che era ambidestro. E con una colpì lo scudo, ma non lo squarciò perché la trattenne l’oro, dono del dio; sfiorò con l’altra il gomito del braccio destro, zampillò il sangue nero; oltrepassando l’eroe, si piantò a terra la lancia, avida di saziarsi di carne. Achille a sua volta scagliò su Asteropeo, per ucciderlo, la lancia che vola diritta, ma lo sbagliò e colpì l’alta riva, si piantò nel mezzo l’asta di frassino.’ (trad. M. G. Ciani) Il passo racconta il duello tra Achille e Asteropeo. Qui la distribuzione delle forme verbali segue i turni con cui i personaggi si alternano nei colpi. Achille alza per primo la lancia (ἀνέσχετο) in segno di sfida, gesto ripetuto a propria volta da Asteropeo. La frase purtroppo è ellittica del verbo, tuttavia notiamo che tutti i verbi che descrivono i successivi gesti di Asteropeo sono privi di aumento (βάλεν, ῥῆξε, βάλε). Quando è il turno di Achille, un verbo aumentato torna a segnare la prima delle sue azioni (ἐφῆκε), mentre i verbi successivi sono privi di aumento (ἀφάμαρτεν, βάλεν). Scene di questo tipo si connotano in Omero per la loro capacità di stimolare la visualizzazione dell’evento. In queste situazioni il narratore omerico si comporta infatti quasi come un regista che sposti l’inquadratura da un personaggio all’altro. Curiosamente questi cambi di inquadratura corrispondono nel testo all’uso di verbi aumentati. c. Introduzione di discorsi diretti (3)

Πάτροκλος δ᾿ ἑτάροισιν ἐκέκλετο μακρὸν ἀΰσας (Il.,16.268) ‘Patroclo incitava i compagni gridando’

Alla forza mimetica delle introduzioni ai discorsi diretti si è già accennato nella presentazione delle teorie di Basset. Contesti di questo tipo favoriscono infatti la messa

9 Nel brano sono evidenziate solo le forme di passato riferite alle azioni dei personaggi su cui in particolare si concentra l’esempio.

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in scena del personaggio. Così nel passo è la figura di Patroclo che assume rilievo levandosi tra la folla dei combattenti per incitare i compagni alla lotta¹⁰. d. Scene connotate da particolare icasticità (4)

ὣς φάτο, Πάτροκλος δὲ κορύσσετο νώροπι χαλκῷ. κνημῖδας μὲν πρῶτα περὶ κνήμῃσιν ἔθηκε καλάς, ἀργυρέοισιν ἐπισφυρίοις ἀραρυίας· δεύτερον αὖ θώρηκα περὶ στήθεσσιν ἔδυνε ποικίλον ἀστερόεντα ποδώκεος Αἰακίδαο. ἀμφὶ δ᾿ ἄρ᾿ ὤμοισιν βάλετο ξίφος ἀργυρόηλον χάλκεον, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα σάκος μέγα τε στιβαρόν τε· κρατὶ δ᾿ ἐπ᾿ ἰφθίμῳ κυνέην εὔτυκτον ἔθηκεν ἵππουριν· δεινὸν δὲ λόφος καθύπερθεν ἔνευεν. εἵλετο δ᾿ ἄλκιμα δοῦρε, τά οἱ παλάμηφιν ἀρήρει. ἔγχος δ᾿ οὐχ ἕλετ᾿ οἶον ἀμύμονος Αἰακίδαο βριθὺ μέγα στιβαρόν· τὸ μὲν οὐ δύνατ᾿ ἄλλος ᾿Αχαιῶν πάλλειν, ἀλλά μιν οἶος ἐπίστατο πῆλαι ᾿Αχιλλεὺς Πηλιάδα μελίην, τὴν πατρὶ φίλῳ πόρε Χείρων Πηλίου ἐκ κορυφῆς, φόνον ἔμμεναι ἡρώεσσιν. (Il., 16. 130–144) ‘Disse così e Patroclo si vestì di fulgido bronzo. Intorno alle gambe mise per prime le belle gambiere, con i rinforzi di argento alle caviglie; intorno al petto si pose la corazza di Achille nipote di Eaco, che scintillava come una stella. Appese alle spalle la spada di bronzo ornata d’argento e poi lo scudo, grande e pesante; sulla testa fiera pose l’elmo ben fatto ornato di coda equina: pauroso oscillava in alto il pennacchio. Prese due solide lance, adatte alla sua mano. Ma non poté prendere la lancia del nobile Achille, nipote di Eaco, la lancia grande, forte e pesante. Nessuno degli altri Achei, Achille soltanto poteva impugnarla, la lancia di frassino del Pelio che Chirone aveva donato a suo padre per dare morte agli eroi’ (trad. M. G. Ciani)

La vestizione delle armi di Achille da parte di Patroclo è una scena improntata ad una grave solennità. I gesti compiuti da Patroclo nell’indossare le armi vengono descritti con precisione, uno per uno e grande risalto viene dato ad ogni singolo pezzo dell’armatura. Ciascuno di questi oggetti sembra godere di una particolare efficacia rappresentativa nell’immaginazione del pubblico (antico e moderno). Anche qui la strategia di visualizzazione innescata dal testo omerico è accompagnata dall’uso dell’aumento. Nel brano portano l’aumento, infatti, solo quei verbi che si riferiscono al

10 Per una più ampia trattazione del fenomeno dell’aumento nelle introduzioni del discorso diretto cfr. De Decker (2015).

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gesto di indossare un pezzo dell’armatura. Fatta eccezione per βάλετο¹¹, a ciascuna componente è riservato un verbo aumentato che intensifica l’effetto icastico di ogni oggetto menzionato, un effetto del resto amplificato anche dall’esplicitazione di dettagli e dall’uso di aggettivi che a propria volta contribuiscono alla concreta vividezza delle immagini. D’altro canto, è curioso notare che per l’unico pezzo dell’armatura di Achille che Patroclo non può prendere, la lancia, ci sia una forma verbale non aumentata, quasi a rendere ancora più evidente l’impressione ricevuta complessivamente dal testo circa le capacità dell’aumento di conferire all’evento risalto visivo.¹² Gli esempi illustrati mostrano dunque come l’aumento sia correlato alla produzione di effetti, per così dire, visivi. Tale impressione, d’altro canto, sembra essere confermata dalla prevalenza di forme verbali non aumentate in contesti dove, al contrario, la visualizzazione ci appare ridotta, o meglio laddove un evento venga rievocato nel testo, ma rimanga ancorato alla dimensione del puro racconto senza emergere da esso in modo tale da stimolare pienamente l’immaginazione. Si osservi a titolo rappresentativo il seguente esempio: (5)

῝Ως ἔφαθ΄, ῞Ηφαιστος δὲ τιτύσκετο θεσπιδαὲς πῦρ. πρῶτα μὲν ἐν πεδίῳ πῦρ δαίετο, καῖε δὲ νεκροὺς πολλούς, οἵ ῥα κατ΄ αὐτὸν ἅλις ἔσαν, οὓς κτάν’ ᾿Αχιλλεύς· πᾶν δ΄ ἐξηράνθη πεδίον, σχέτο δ΄ ἀγλαὸν ὕδωρ. ὡς δ΄ ὅτ΄ ὀπωρινὸς Βορέης νεοαρδέ΄ ἀλωὴν αἶψ΄ ἀγξηράνῃ· χαίρει δέ μιν ὅς τις ἐθείρῃ· ὣς ἐξηράνθη πεδίον πᾶν, κὰδ δ΄ ἄρα νεκροὺς κῆεν· ὃ δ΄ ἐς ποταμὸν τρέψε φλόγα παμφανόωσαν. καίοντο πτελέαι τε καὶ ἰτέαι ἠδὲ μυρῖκαι, καίετο δὲ λωτός τε ἰδὲ θρύον ἠδὲ κύπειρον, τὰ περὶ καλὰ ῥέεθρα ἅλις ποταμοῖο πεφύκει· τείροντ΄ ἐγχέλυές τε καὶ ἰχθύες οἳ κατὰ δίνας, οἳ κατὰ καλὰ ῥέεθρα κυβίστων ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα πνοιῇ τειρόμενοι πολυμήτιος ῾Ηφαίστοιο. καίετο δ΄ ἲς ποταμοῖο ἔπος τ΄ ἔφατ΄ ἔκ τ΄ ὀνόμαζεν· (Il., 21.342–355) ‘Così disse, ed Efesto suscitò un prodigioso incendio. Nella pianura prima divampò il fuoco, e bruciava i cadaveri che vi giacevano a mucchi, i guerrieri uccisi da Achille; inaridì la pianura, si fermò l’acqua lucente. Come quando Borea, in autunno, prosciuga un giardino appena irrigato, ne gioisce il coltivatore,

11 Non è chiaro perché questa forma verbale non sia aumentata come le altre. Basset (1989, 15) la cita ad esempio del condizionamento talvolta esercitato dal metro sull’uso dell’aumento senza tuttavia presupporre che sia la metrica a regolare in generale l’alternanza tra forme aumentate e non aumentate. 12 Per un’interpretazione analoga cfr. anche Basset (1989). Per altre considerazioni relative al rapporto tra l’assenza dell’aumento e la negazione si veda Bakker (2001).

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così la pianura si disseccò tutta, il fuoco bruciò i cadaveri. Poi verso il fiume rivolse il dio la fiamma splendente. Bruciavano gli olmi, i salici, e i tamerischi, bruciava il loto e il giunco e il cipero che crescevano fitti lungo le belle acque del fiume; soffrivano anguille e pesci, che nei gorghi, tra le onde, guizzavano da ogni parte stremati dal soffio di Efesto ingegnoso. Il fiume era in fiamme: si rivolse allora ad Efesto e gli disse’ (trad. M. G. Ciani) Achille sta lottando contro il fiume, adirato con l’eroe per i Troiani massacrati nelle sue acque, e si trova in difficoltà perché il fiume gli ha sollevato contro un’onda immensa travolgendolo quasi irrimediabilmente. Era, temendo per Achille, invoca l’aiuto di Efesto al quale chiede di intervenire per bloccare l’impeto del fiume. Efesto fa così divampare nella pianura un prodigioso incendio. Le immagini degli effetti devastanti provocati dalle fiamme occupano ampio spazio nel brano e si nota che tutti i verbi sono privi di aumento isolando il passo dal resto della scena; (l’unica eccezione è il verbo ἐξηράνθη). L’incendio suscitato da Efesto è certo un dato di grande importanza nel racconto dal momento che determina la successiva resa del fiume. Tuttavia occorre notare come l’evento si collochi su un piano diverso rispetto a quello dell’azione dei personaggi su cui in questo momento si concentra la narrazione. La natura del brano è infatti innegabilmente descrittiva. L’avanzare inesorabile delle fiamme che devastano gli alberi, uccidono animali e prosciugano le acque, pur carico di tensione narrativa, costituisce tuttavia solamente lo sfondo sul quale i personaggi in lotta si muovono e agiscono e i cui gesti, d’altro canto, sono indicati da verbi che si mostrano alternativamente aumentati o non aumentati secondo le dinamiche sopraesposte (cfr b.). Alla luce degli esempi presentati appare evidente come la presenza e l’assenza dell’aumento risponda ad una scelta precisa nel poema, in coerenza con alcune dinamiche narrative. L’analisi dei libri scelti a campione si mostra dunque in linea con le impressioni colte in generale dagli autori in § 2.1. In particolare, ciò che emerge distintamente dalla lettura dei passi è che mentre la narrazione nella sua funzione puramente informativa è soprattutto caratterizzata da forme prive di aumento, l’uso di forme aumentate prevale invece in quelle situazioni in cui il narratore voglia suscitare una reazione nel suo uditorio aiutandolo a focalizzare la scena e stimolando la sua immaginazione degli eventi, secondo una logica simile alla distinzione tra discours e récit già proposta da Basset.

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3 La distribuzione dei verbi nella frase: ipotesi per un’analisi sintattica 3.1 Premesse teoriche Sospendendo per un momento le osservazioni condotte sul testo, vorrei ora proporre di osservare la distribuzione delle forme aumentate e non aumentate all’interno del loro contesto sintattico. L’invito a considerare la questione dell’aumento in Omero in una prospettiva apparentemente così poco confacente ad un problema morfologico¹³ viene da un fenomeno ben attestato, osservato per la prima volta da Drewitt (1912): la generale tendenza ad evitare forme aumentate prima della particella δέ e in generale prima dei pospositivi in posizione Wackernagel: (6)

λίπε δ᾿ ὀστέα θυμός. (Il., 16.743)

Sull’inefficacia o sulla parzialità delle spiegazioni finora proposte a tale fenomeno mi riprometto di tornare più approfonditamente in altra sede. Qui vorrei invece concentrare l’attenzione sul ruolo attribuito ai pospositivi nell’ambito della linguistica generativa, che nel presente lavoro si assume come teoria di riferimento. Come dimostrato da Benincà (2004) per le lingue romanze antiche (legge Tobler– Mussafia) e, specificamente per il greco, dai lavori di Vai (2009), Dal Lago (2010), Beschi (2011), gli elementi pospositivi (particelle congiuntive, pronomi personali, indefiniti, etc.) in seconda posizione nella frase (posizione Wackernagel) possono essere intesi come segnali di attivazione della cosiddetta periferia sinistra (sintagma del complementatore, CP). Sotto questa denominazione si intende in particolare una delle tre principali aree di articolazione di una frase individuate assieme a VP (sintagma verbale) e IP (sintagma della flessione) nella sintassi generativa. CP è un’area complessa (Rizzi 1997) all’estremo margine sinistro della frase, area di interfaccia tra i contenuti proposizionali espressi da VP e IP e una struttura gerarchicamente superiore quale la frase reggente o il contesto del discorso. Qui la Grammatica codifica pertanto la coesione testuale e quindi la subordinazione, la modalità interrogativa e imperativa, così come contenuti pragmaticamente marcati quali topic (elementi dati, parte delle conoscenze condivise tra locutore e destinatario) e focus (informazioni nuove). In quest’ottica, il fatto che davanti ai pospositivi il verbo sia prevalentemente non aumentato diviene rilevante in quanto induce ad ipotizzare una sua possibile differente posizione sintattica rispetto ai verbi aumentati. Nella fattispecie ciò farebbe supporre per verbi non aumentati una tendenza a posizioni in CP e, dall’altra parte, un maggiore rispetto dell’ordine non marcato (SOV) da parte dei verbi aumentati. Questo è precisamente l’aspetto che si vuole indagare. 13 Un tentativo di spiegazione sintattica è stato offerto da Kiparsky (1968).

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Se le cose stessero così, come sembra ipotizzabile dai dati, si troverebbe forse un’ulteriore conferma della differente natura dei due tipi verbali, ma si incontrerebbe al tempo stesso anche una contraddizione rispetto alle dinamiche notate nel testo. Se infatti il verbo che sembra più connotato pragmaticamente è quello aumentato, perché in periferia sinistra, nell’area cioè deputata ad ospitare la marcatezza pragmatica, sarebbero invece le forme non marcate dall’aumento a prevalere?

3.2 Metodi e risultati preliminari dell’analisi sintattica: prima parte Malgrado la questione sia assai dibattuta, il presente lavoro assume che l’ordine basico dei costituenti nella frase greca sia del tipo SOV. Qualsiasi alterazione di quest’ordine sarà dunque da intendersi come sintatticamente marcata. Ad esempio: (7)

αὐτὰρ ᾿Αχιλλεὺς μηρὼ πληξάμενος Πατροκλῆα προσέειπεν; (Il., 16.125): ordine non marcato

(8)

ὃ δ᾿ ἐς ποταμὸν τρέψε φλόγα παμφανόωσαν. (Il., 21.349): ordine marcato

Sulla base di tale criterio¹⁴ si è eseguita una prima analisi della distribuzione delle forme verbali per valutare la tendenza dei verbi aumentati al rispetto dell’ordine SOV. Ora, se immaginiamo di dividere idealmente la frase in tre parti dove A indica una definita posizione del verbo in periferia sinistra marcata dalla presenza di un pospositivo (es.6), C una posizione chiaramente non marcata sintatticamente (es.7) e B l’insieme di tutte le altre posizioni sintatticamente marcate, ma senza ancora una chiara definizione della posizione del verbo in CP (es.8), la situazione può esser descritta come nella Tabella 1¹⁵: Tabella 1: Forme non aumentate vs forme aumentate

Iliade, 16 Iliade, 21

Posizione A

Posizioni B

Posizione C

3,6:1 5:1

1,3:1 1,2:1

0,9: 1 1:1

Già da una prima grossolana osservazione della distribuzione delle forme emergono alcuni dati rilevanti: se infatti la tendenza per i verbi non aumentati in posizioni di CP marcate da pospositivi è chiaramente confermata, sembra invece che il verbo in

14 Per i criteri di selezione dei dati cfr. nota 8. 15 Il calcolo delle tendenze è approssimativo. Naturalmente frasi prive di argomenti e costituite dal solo verbo sono state escluse dal computo.

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posizione non marcata non conosca preferenze per l’uso o non uso dell’aumento. Il rapporto tra i due tipi verbali in questa sede è infatti pressoché paritario. D’altro canto, è anche evidente la tendenza di entrambe le forme, con e senza aumento, a disporsi secondo varie configurazioni sintatticamente marcate (posizioni B) in cui il verbo in generale precede alcuni dei suoi argomenti. L’esplorazione di queste posizioni diviene pertanto fondamentale al fine di fornire una più precisa descrizione della configurazione sintattica delle forme verbali.

3.3 Metodi e risultati preliminari dell’analisi sintattica: seconda parte La descrizione delle posizioni indicate con B si presenta problematica. L’assenza di un’affinata descrizione sintattica in prospettiva generativa specifica per il greco antico rende infatti in molti in casi incerta l’attribuzione del verbo a questa o a quella posizione. Il fatto che il greco sia una lingua pro–drop e possa non esprimere il soggetto, l’alta incidenza dell’uso dell’iperbato, la difficoltà di interpretare il ruolo sintattico dei participi costituiscono d’altro canto una notevole complicazione. Non possiamo dunque asserire che ogni movimento del verbo al di sopra di uno dei suoi argomenti comporti effettivamente un suo ingresso in CP, ma dobbiamo necessariamente limitarci a formulare ipotesi, laddove possibile. Un criterio abbastanza valido, in questo senso, per valutare un’eventuale risalita del verbo in CP potrà essere lo scavalcamento del soggetto. Esso può infatti essere considerato la posizione da cui far cominciare l’area IP¹⁶. In tal caso, prima di procedere ad un approfondimento della descrizione sintattica, occorre fare un breve cenno alla teoria dello split–CP cui ci si riferisce qui nella versione proposta da Benincà – Poletto (2004). L’area di periferia sinistra (CP) può infatti essere descritta da una serie di proiezioni funzionali raggruppate in campi che condividono elementi accomunati da specifiche caratteristiche semantiche e sintattiche, secondo uno schema (qui semplificato): (9)

CP {Frame

[HT] [Sc Sett] [Co]} {Topic [LD] [LI]} {Focus [F contr] [F inf]. . . } IP {. . .

Semplificando molto, nello schema si ritrovano il campo Frame dove si possono collocare, nell’ordine, il tema sospeso, le espressioni di Scene setting e il complementatore; il campo Topic che accoglie alcuni tipi di tematizzazione; il Focus che ospita informazioni nuove che possono essere contrastive oppure no. Procedendo ora alla descrizione delle posizioni “B”, l’analisi dei libri campione permette di individuare in linea molto generale due tipi di configurazione: casi in cui il verbo scavalca alcuni argomenti senza essere preceduto da altri argomenti e casi in cui il verbo mosso viene invece preceduto da elementi argomentali. 16 Cfr. per il greco omerico Vai (2009).

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a. Verbi non preceduti da argomenti Questa categoria può essere rappresentata dagli esempi che seguono: (10)

CP {Frame [ὣς] Focus [(τῶν ἐκ

(11)

CP {Co [ἐπεὶ]

(12)

CP {Topic [τοῦ

νηῶν) γένετο]} ἰαχή τε φόβος τε (Il.,16. 366)

πάθον} ἄλγεα θυμῷ. (Il.,16. 55) δ᾿] Focus [ἔχε θυγατέρα]} Πρίαμος, πολλὰς δὲ καὶ ἄλλας· (Il., 21.88)

I risultati dell’analisi mostrano che in questa posizione i verbi non aumentati prevalgono su quelli aumentati secondo un rapporto rispettivamente di 2,5:1. Ora, dal momento che in una simile configurazione il verbo ha più possibilità di appartenere alla periferia sinistra, questo sembrerebbe confermare una maggiore predisposizione dei verbi non aumentati per posizioni all’interno di CP. Se così fosse possiamo ipotizzare che il verbo in tale posizione svolga prevalentemente il ruolo di un Focus informativo (non contrastivo)¹⁷. b. Verbi preceduti da argomenti La descrizione dei verbi che rientrano in questo gruppo può essere affidata agli esempi seguenti: (13)

CP {Topic [τὸν]

δ᾿Focus [ ἔκφερον]} ὠκέες ἵπποι / ἄμβροτοι, (Il., 16. 866)

(14)

? CP {Focus [λύσσα] δέ οἱ κῆρ /αἰὲν ἔχε} κρατερή, [. . . ] (Il., 16.542)

(15)

CP {[τρὶς]

(16)

? CP {Focus [(῞Ηρην) δὲ προσέειπε]} κασιγνήτην ἄλοχόν τε· (Il., 16.432)

(17)

? Cp {Focus [(ἄψορρον) δ᾿ ἄρα κῦμα κατέσσυτο]} καλὰ ῥέεθρα. (Il.,21.382)

δ᾿ Focus [(αὐτὸν) ἀπεστυφέλιξεν]} ᾿Απόλλων (Il.,16.703)

Casi del tipo esemplificato costituiscono nel testo la situazione della maggior parte dei verbi aumentati e non aumentati. Qui generalizzazioni sulle tendenze delle forme verbali per specifiche posizioni sintattiche non possono essere univoche. Se infatti talvolta il verbo può essere ragionevolmente collocato in CP come in (13) o in (15), ciò non può essere confermato nella maggior parte delle altre forme verbali, laddove la distribuzione sintattica è complicata da casi di soggetto nullo (es. 16), da iperbati (es.14) o da configurazioni ambigue del tipo in (17) in cui il verbo si dispone dopo il soggetto e prima dell’oggetto. Ora, nonostante la descrizione di molte posizioni debba essere lasciata necessariamente vaga, l’analisi sintattica condotta sin qui permette comunque di trarre qualche conclusione significativa. Innanzitutto si è dimostrato che entrambi i tipi verbali hanno

17 Un’interpretazione come Topic sembra da escludere perché in tal caso il verbo occuperebbe una posizione più alta. Allo stesso modo, non potendo assumere una presupposizione contraria, è da escludere anche un’interpretazione come Focus contrastivo.

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uguali possibilità di occupare nella frase tanto posizioni marcate, quanto non marcate, il che non smentisce dunque che i verbi aumentati possano rivestire anch’essi un ruolo pragmatico. Inoltre tra forme non aumentate e aumentate si può cogliere una minima differenza di distribuzione sintattica: le forme non aumentate sono più libere di salire autonomamente in CP, mentre il movimento delle forme aumentate in periferia sinistra sembra subire restrizioni, dal momento che avviene (se avviene) normalmente al seguito di argomenti essi stessi mossi.

4 Tra narrazione e sintassi: confronto delle due analisi Muoviamo ora all’ultimo punto che ci si prefiggeva tra gli scopi del presente lavoro: il confronto tra i risultati dell’analisi delle sezioni narrative e gli esiti dell’esame sintattico. Comparando quanto emerso dalle due indagini sul corpus di dati, sembra infatti di poter ravvisare una generale coerenza tra gli effetti ottenuti a livello narrativo e la distribuzione sintattica delle forme verbali aumentate e non aumentate. Osserviamo di nuovo l’esempio con cui in § 2.2 abbiamo valutato la minore efficacia rappresentativa dei verbi non aumentati, il passo del libro XXI relativo all’incendio di Efesto: (18)

CP {Focus [καίοντο]}

(19)

CP {Focus [καίετο

(20)

CP {Focus [τείροντ]΄}

πτελέαι τε καὶ ἰτέαι ἠδὲ μυρῖκαι,

δὲ]} λωτός τε ἰδὲ θρύον ἠδὲ κύπειρον, ἐγχέλυές τε καὶ ἰχθύες οἳ κατὰ δίνας, (Il., 21.350–51; 353)

I versi mostrano una tendenza a effetti di ridotto impatto visivo per i verbi non aumentati collocati in periferia sinistra. In questi casi, infatti, il verbo, che il più delle volte riveste di per sé il ruolo di Focus, costituisce una mera informazione che, per dirla con Basset (riprendendo Benveniste), rimane ancorata a quella dimensione di histoire in cui si registra uno scarso coinvolgimento del destinatario. In altre parole, l’effetto pragmatico dei versi nel passo sembra legato più che altro alla tensione narrativa e al ritmo incalzante prodotti dall’elenco di informazioni (i danni provocati dall’incendio) più che dal potere di suscitare una rappresentazione mentale della scena. Diversamente avviene invece per i verbi aumentati. Riprendiamo a titolo rappresentativo alcuni versi relativi alla vestizione delle armi da parte di Patroclo: (21)

CP {Focus [(κνημῖδας) μὲν πρῶτα περὶ κνήμῃσιν ἔθηκε]}/ καλάς, ἀργυρέοισιν ἐπισφυρίοις ἀραρυίας· (Il., 16.131–132)

(22)

CP {Topic [(δεύτερον) αὖ Focus {(θώρηκα) περὶ στήθεσσιν ἔδυνε]}/ποικίλον ἀστερόεν-

τα ποδώκεος Αἰακίδαο. (Il., 16.133–134) (23)

CP {Topic [κρατὶ δ᾿ ἐπ᾿ ἰφθίμῳ]} 16.137)

Focus (κυνέην

εὔτυκτον) ἔθηκεν] ἵππουριν· (Il.,

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Come abbiamo visto, la determinazione sintattica del verbo in molti contesti può essere discutibile. Così anche nei versi in (21)–(23) la salita del verbo aumentato in CP può essere solo ipotizzata. Tuttavia ciò che emerge è che il movimento del verbo al seguito di elementi argomentali mossi in periferia sinistra correla spesso con un maggiore impatto visivo suscitato a livello narrativo. Qui il Focus non è costituito tanto dal verbo (che può essere attirato o no in tale campo), quanto piuttosto da uno o più dei suoi argomenti i quali corrispondono esattamente a quei referenti che costruiscono la rappresentazione mentale della scena, come nell’esempio le armi di Achille.

5 Conclusioni Il lavoro si è sviluppato in tre tappe. Dapprima l’analisi delle sequenze narrative dei canti XVI e XXI dell’Iliade ha confermato alcune impressioni già suggerite dagli studiosi circa la semantica dell’aumento mostrando una maggiore efficacia del verbo aumentato nello stimolo di una rappresentazione mentale della scena e un carattere più limitatamente informativo per il verbo non aumentato (contrasto che potrebbe essere descritto in termini pragmatici da un’opposizione récit vs histoire, come proposto da Basset). In secondo luogo, l’analisi sintattica, pur nei limiti delle possibilità descrittive, ha determinato alcune differenze distributive tra i due tipi verbali: se infatti le forme non aumentate sono libere di occupare pressoché ogni posizione nella frase, quelle aumentate sembrano subire restrizioni mostrandosi vincolate nel movimento alla risalita in CP dei propri argomenti. Il confronto tra le due analisi, infine, ha permesso di individuare una generale coerenza tra effetti riscontrati a livello narrativo per le forme aumentate e non aumentate e la loro disposizione sintattica. Il presente lavoro ha dunque consentito la prima esplorazione di un approccio integrato tra analisi testuale e sintassi rivelandosi promettente. Una più accurata definizione dei contesti narrativi e sintattici dei due tipi verbali costituisce pertanto l’obiettivo di future ricerche. Perché poi vi sia a livello sintattico un vincolo delle forme aumentate rispetto ai propri argomenti e come tutto ciò possa legarsi ad alcune ipotesi ricostruttive sull’aumento sono anch’essi quesiti da approfondire e di cui intendo occuparmi in prossime pubblicazioni.

Bibliografia Bakker, E. J. 1999: Pointing to the past: verbal agreement and temporal deixis in Homer, in Euphrosyne: studies in ancient epic and its Legacy in Honor of Dimitris N. Maronitis, Stuttgart, 50–65. Bakker, E. J. 2001: Similes, augment and the language of immediacy, in Speaking, volumes: orality and literacy in the Greek and Roman World, ed. J. Watson, Leiden, 1–23.

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Bartolotta, A. 2009: Root lexical features and inflectional marking of tense in Proto–IndoEuropean, «JL», 45, 505–532. Basset, L. 1989: L’augment et la distinction Discours/Récit dans l’Iliade et l’Odyssée in Études homériques. Séminaire de recherche sous la direction de Michel Casevitz, Lyon, 9–16. Benincà, P. & Poletto, C. 2004: Topic, Focus and V2: defining the CP sublayers, in The Structure of IP. The Cartography of Syntactic Structures 2, ed. L. Rizzi, New York – Oxford, 52–75. Benincà, P. 2004: The left periphery of Medieval Romance, in «Studi Linguistici e filologici online», 2/2, 243–298. Beschi, F. 2011: Verso un approccio cartografico allo studio dell’ordine delle parole nella lingua greca: il caso di Thuc.VII, 1–10, Tesi di dottorato, Università di Padova. Bottin, L. 1969: Studio dell’aumento in Omero, «SMEA», 10, 69–145. Chantraine, P. 1953: Grammaire homèrique, vol. II: Syntaxe, Paris. Dal Lago, N. 2010: Fenomeni di prolessi (pro)nominale e struttura della periferia sinistra nel greco di Senofonte, Tesi di Dottorato, Università di Padova. De Decker, F. 2015: The augment in Homer, with special attention to speech introductions and conclusions, «JournalLIPP», 4, 53–57. Drewitt, J. A. J. 1912: The augment in Homer, «Cl. Quart.», 6, 44–59 e 104–120. Drewitt, J. A. J. 1913: A note on the Augment, «Class. Philol.», 8, 349–353. Kiparsky, P. 1968: Tense and mood in Indo–European Languages, «Foundations of Language», 4, 30– 57. Kirk, G. S. 1992: The Iliad. A commentary: books 13–16, IV, Cambridge. Kirk, G. S. 1993: The Iliad. A commentary: books 21– 24, VI, Cambridge. Koch, K. 1868: De augmento apud Homerum omisso, Braunschweig, 1868. Mumm, P. 2004: Zur Funktion des homerischen Augments, in Analecta homini universali dicata. Festschrift für Oswald Panagl, ed. K. Th. Steiner, Stuttgart, 148–158. Omero, Homeri Opera, eds. D. B. Monro & W. T. Allen, Oxford, 19203 . Omero, Homeri Ilias, eds. M. West, Stutgardiae et Lipsiae, 1998. Omero, Iliade, ed. M. G. Ciani, Venezia, 20074 . Pagniello, F. J. 2002: The Homeric augment: a deictic particle, Tesi di dottorato, University of Georgia. Platt, A. 1891: The Augment in Homer, «Journal of Philology», 19, 211– 237. Rizzi, L. (1997), The Fine Structure of the Left Periphery, in Elements of grammar: handbook of generative syntax, ed. L. Haegeman, Dordrecht, 281–337. Vai, M. 2009: Annotazioni sulla periferia sinistra del greco omerico, in Atti del Sodalizio Glottologico Milanese, I–II, 53–69. Wackernagel, J. 1892: Über ein Gesetz der indogermanischen Wortstellung. «Indogermanische Forschungen», 2, 333 ss. Willi, A. 2007: Of aspects, augments, aorists – or how to say to have killed a dragon, in Greek and Latin from an Indo–European Perspective, eds. C. George, M. McCullagh, B. Nielsen, A. Ruppel & O. Tribulato, Cambridge, 34–48.

| Parte VI: Lexicon and onomastics

Václav Blažek

Apollo the Archer Abstract: In the present contribution there are summarized existing etymological attempts to explain the theonym Apollo, some of them are analyzed in detail, and finally a new solution is offered on the basis of discussion of numerous epithets. If archery seems to be dominant among characteristics of this god, his name should be etymologized in this perspective. Without plausible Greek or Indo–European cognates it is necessary to seek its non–Indo–European origin. The Nuzi Akkadian apellu ‘kind of arrow’, borrowed from Hurrian, allows to reconstruct the hypothetical model of the Greek theonym in Hurrian *apell(i)=o=nni ± ‘characterized by arrows’. Hurrian or Hurro–Urartian etymologies also allow to explain the names of Apollo’s sister Artemis and their mother Leto.

1 Attested forms of the theonym The name of the Greek god Apollo provoked questions about its origin already in ancient times. In the Greek pantheon there is probably no other theonym with so many attempts to explain it. In the present contribution they are summarized in chronological order, some of them are analyzed in detail, and finally a new solution is offered. The most common Greek form of the theonym is ᾿Απόλλων [Ilias, etc.], with numerous dialect variants (for a survey see Rosół 2008, 222–223): Cypriotic ᾿Απείλων, attested in the syllabic inscriptions from Tamassos: dat. –a– pe–i–lo–ni, and perhaps from Kouklia–Paphos, if the sequence a–pe–i–lo–[ reflects 2 the same theonym or its derivative (ICS 215.b 4; Hintze 1993, 4). Pamphylish acc. ΑΠΕΛΟΝΑ (inscription from Sillyon; see Brixhe 1976, #3.30). Doric ᾿Απέλλων is known from inscriptions from Laconia (IG V I, 145.1; 220; 977.12; 980; 981; 983; 986; 1098 etc.) and Crete (IC I VIII, 8.12; 10.8; 12.45 & 48; IV 51.2; 183.20; 184a 19 etc.), besides the witness of ancient authors such as Athenaeus 140a apud Epilycus, Testimonium and Fragments:¹ (1) ποττὰν κοπίδ᾿, οἰῶ, σῶμαι· ἐν ᾿Αμύκλαισιν παρ᾿ ᾿Απέλλω βάρακες πολλοὶ κἄρτοι καὶ δωμός τοι μάλα ἁδύς ‘I am off to the kopis, I reckon.

1

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-655

644 | Václav Blažek

At Amyclae, in Apollo’s temple, there are many barley cakes and loaves of bread, and a very tasty broth.’

Eustathius, Commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem 1.281.6–7: ὁ μέντοι διὰ τοῦ ἁλετρίβανος μήποτε Δώριόν ἐστιν· οἱ γὰρ τὸν ᾿Απόλλωνα ᾿Απέλλωνα εἰπόντες καὶ τὸν ἀνδροφόνον, . . .

The Thessalic form ῎Απλουν is attested in inscriptions (IG IX 2, 199.1; 512.a 19 & b 10; 517.22 & 24; 569.1; 1034.1; 1234.1.), but also by Plato in his ‘linguistic’ dialogue Cratylus 405c: ῎Απλουν’ γάρ φασι πάντες Θετταλοὶ τοῦτον τὸν θεόν. In Mycenaean the theonym is not securely attested, only the incomplete form ]pe– rjo[ known from Knossus [KN E 842.3], may reflect the dat. [a]–pe–rjo–[ne], leading to ˙˙ the starting–point *Απελiων (cf. Ruijgh 1967, 274; Heubeck 1987, 180; Aura Jorro 1993, ̑ 113; Beekes 2010, 118). But there is also an alternative interpretation [u]–pe–rjo–ne of ˙˙ Ventris – Chadwick (1973, 571), leading to the divine name ῾Υπερίων [Il. 19.398 etc.]. It was already Johann Schmidt (1893, 327–29) who reconstructed the primary Greek protoform as *Απελiων. Rosół (2008, 224) mentions that e.g. in theophoric personal ̑ names derived from the theonym the vowel between π and λλ is preserved as ε, if in the following syllable o/ω was not present, e.g. Megara & Boiotia ᾿Απελλεάς, Doric ᾿Απελλᾶς, Ionic ᾿Απελλῆς, further Doric ᾿Απέλλιος, Argos ᾿Απελλίων, Crete ᾿Απελλικός, ᾿Απέλλιχος, female ῎Απελλις, the month–name in Old Ionic ᾿Απελλαιών, Tauromenion & Heracleia ᾿Απελλαῖος etc. (cf. Usener 1896, 305–06). This means that regressive assimilation *e . . . o > o . . . o² operated here. Naturally, the influence of the verb ἀπόλλ¯υμι could also have played its role (Heubeck 1987, 181).

2 Previous etymological attempts Up to the present at least 25 etymologies of this theonym have been formulated. Besides Plato who analyzed his own etymological attempts [Cratylus 404–406] there are good surveys collected by Macrobius (see Appendix), Wernicke (1895, cc. 2–3), Rosół (2008, 225–30), and Oettinger (2015). Their brief comments will be useful. Probably the first etymological attempt connected the theonym with the verb ἀπόλλυμι [Thucydides 4.25], impf. ἀπωλλυν [Aeschylus, Persae 654; Soph. El. 1360], besides ἀπωλλυον [Andocides 8.37] ‘to kill, slay, destroy utterly’, all prefixed from ὄλλυμι ‘I kill, destroy’ [Sophocles, Antigone 673; Euripides, Orestes 1302 etc.], impf. ὤλυν [Aeschylus].

2 The vowel –o– in the vocative ῎Απελλον / ῎Απολλον.

Apollo the Archer |

645

According to Macrobius [Saturnalia, I.17.9–10; see also Appendix], it was already Archilochus (680–645 BCE) who explained the theonym ᾿Απόλλων from the verb ἀπόλλυμι: Alii cognominatum Apollinem putant ὡς ἀπολλύντα τὰ ζῷα: exanimat enim et perimit animantes cum pestem intemperie immittit; ut Euripides . . . item Archilochus: ἄναξ ῎Απολλον, καὶ σὺ τοὺς μὲν αἰτίους σήμαινε καί σφας ὄλλυ᾿ ὥσπερ ὀλλύεις, ἡμέας. δ. ὲ. [ ‘Some hold that Apollo is so called because he destroys (ἀπολλύντα) living creatures; for he kills and destroys them when he sends a plague in time of great heat; compare Euripides [Phaethon]. . . and Archilochus: Lord Apollo, reveal Thou the guilty and destroy them as Thou ever dost.’ [translated by J. M. Edmonds]³

Further e.g. Aeschylus (525–456 BCE) in his Agamemnon 1082 said via Cassandra: (2)

1080 1081

῎Απολλον ῎Απολλον ἀγυιᾶτ᾿, ἀπόλλων ἐμός.

1082

ἀπώλεσας γὰρ οὐ μόλις τὸ δεύτερον.⁴ ‘Apollo, Apollo! God of the Ways, my destroyer! For you have destroyed me–and utterly–this second time’⁵ translated by Herbert Weir Smyth In recent times this solution was kept e.g. by Danka (1987, 33–40). The second attempt can be ascribed to Plato. In his dialogue Cratylus 405c he wrote: ὡς ἰατρὸς ὢν τῶν τοιούτων, ᾿Απολούων’ ἂν ὀρθῶς καλοῖτο: κατὰ δὲ τὴν μαντικὴν καὶ τὸ ἀληθές τε καὶ τὸ ἁπλοῦν – ταὐτὸν γάρ ἐστιν – ὥσπερ οὖν οἱ Θετταλοὶ καλοῦσιν αὐτόν, ὀρθότατ᾿ ἂν καλοῖτο: ῎Απλουν’ γάρ φασι πάντες Θετταλοὶ τοῦτον τὸν θεόν. διὰ δὲ τὸ ἀεὶ βολῶν ἐγκρατὴς εἶναι τοξικῇ ᾿Αειβάλλων’ ἐστίν.⁷ ‘. . . as being the physician of such diseases, he might properly be called Apoluon (ἀπαλούων, ‘the washer’), and with reference to soothsaying and truth and simplicity – for the two are identical – he might most properly be called by the name the Thessalians use; for all Thessalians call the god Aplun. And because he is always by his archery controller of darts he is ever darting.’⁸

3 Elegy and Iambus, with an English Translation by J. M. Edmonds. Cambridge, MA. Harvard University Press. London. William Heinemann 1931. 2. 5 6 7 8 Translated by Harold N. Fowler (1921):

646 | Václav Blažek

This means that Plato derived the theonym from the verb λούω ‘I wash, bathe’, assuming the semantic development ‘washer’ → ‘healer’ as one of attributes of Apollo, cf. ¯ ἰατρός ‘mediciner, physician’ by Aristophanes, Aves 584; Lycophron 1207 etc. It is apparent that neither of these etymologies is compatible with the protoform *᾿Απελiων. ̑ Other ancient etymological attempts were collected by Macrobius in Saturnalia, I.17.7–70. Croese (1704, 170–74; cf. Muss–Arnolt 1893, 55) sought the origin of the theonym in ¯ εl ‘tower’, exactly ‘citadel or acropolis of Samaria’ (HAL 861). Hebrew ʕop ˉ Buttmann (1828, 167) interpreted Apollo as a solar deity, but his comparison with Cretan ἀβέλιον· ἥλιον Κρῆτες or Pamphylian ἀβελίην· ἡλιακὸν Παμφύλιοι (Hesych.) is naive with respect to their proto–Greek starting–point *haueliio–. Further he also ̑ ̑ ¯ al ¯ aˊˉ l, ¯ and Yub added (p. 169) hypothetical Semitic counterparts, biblical brothers Yab ˉ ˉ ancestors of bedouins–pastoralists and musicians respectively [Gn 4.20–21] (HAL 383, 398). Buttmann also speculated (p. 168) about identification of the Gaulish theonym Abellio (cf. Holder I, 4) with Apollo, ascribed to the Gaulish pantheon by Caesar: Deorum maxime Mercurium colunt. . . Post hunc Apollinem et Martem et iovem et Minervam. . . . Apollinem morbos depellere [BG 6.17]. Bouche Leclercq (1880, 7–8) derived the Greek theonym from the name of the highest Phoenician god Baal {correctly bʕl, vocalized as *baʕal; cf. Krahmalkov 2000, 111}, assuming the metathesis Baal > *Abal. Schröder (1887, 193f) sought a relation to Vedic sáparyena– ‘to be worshipped or ˙ adored’, the epithet of the fire–god Agni. But the Vedic form is derived from the verb saparyáti ‘to honor, worship’. With respect to the exact cognate in Latin sepelio¯ ‘to bury’, the root vowel *–e– is not compatible with the initial vowel a– in the Greek theonym. Fröhde (1893, 240–42) ascribed to the theonym a primary meaning ‘prophet’, seeking support in ἀπειλή ‘threat; promise’ [Il.], ἀπέλλειν· ἀποκλείειν [Hesych.], Doric pl. ἀπέλλαι = ἐκκλησίαι ‘(people’s) assembly’, Latin appellare, compellare etc. Nagy (1994, ¯ which, extended in *–ion–, should be a base 14) derived ἀπειλή from *sm–(s)pel–na, ̑ ˚ 1–21) and Peeters (2002, 369) develop of the theonym. Burkert (1975, the idea of etymological relation of the theonym with Doric ἀπέλλαι. It was sharply rejected by Beekes 2003. Lewy (1893, 860) thought about an adaptation of Akkadian aplu(m) ‘heir, son’ (CDA 20). Cf. also Palmer (1963; 1983, 361f). Usener (1896, 305–314) assumed the simplification via haplology from the hypo¯ connecting *–pellon ¯ with Latin pello¯ ‘to beat against, thetical protoform *apo–pellon, push, strike’. Prellwitz (1899, 214f), followed by Kretschmer (1924, 242f), Pokorny (1959, 52), Frisk (I, 124–25), derive the theonym from an unattested word *ἄπελος *‘strength’, reconstructed on the basis of Homeric ὀλιγηπελίη ‘weakness’, νηπελέω (Hippocrates apud Galenus) ‘I am powerless’, cf. the glosses recorded by Hesychius: εὐηπελής

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‘well–disposed’, ἀν–απελάσας· ἀναρρωσθείς, ἀνηπελίη· ἀσθένεια, cf. Old Norse afl ‘strength’. Kazanskij (2005) develops this idea, reconstructing all three grades of ablaut ¯ / *H 2 p–ól–ion ¯ /*H 2 ép–l–ion ¯ on the basis of the dialect variants of the *H 2 p–él–ion ̑ ̑ ̑ theonym. Ehrlich (1910, 32f) thought about derivation of the theonym from Greek πελιός ‘dark, black (& blue), livid’ by the ἀ–copulativum. Harris (1919, 31), followed by Atkinson (1922–23, 138–40), connected the theonym with the apple–tree. The difference between *–b– in the word for ‘apple’ and –p– in ᾿Απόλλων is explained through mediation of a language with Lautverschiebung. Atkinson (1922–23, 139–40) thought about Illyrian, Van Windekens (1958, 33f) tried to identify the donor–language as Pelasgian. u ¯ Hopfner (1919, 254–256) reconstructed the starting–point *ok ̑ elion–, the derivative u ̑ of ‘Brugmannian’ Indo–European *ok ̑ – ‘eye’. Cook (1925, 484, 500) saw a relation to the dendronym ἀπελλόν· αἴγειρος, ὅ ἐστι εἶδος δένδρου [Hesych.]. Forrer (1931, 141–44) offered an identification of the Greek theonym and the name of the deity Appaliuna– attested in the treaty concluded between the Hittite Great King Muwatallis and Alaksandus, ruler of Wilusa [KUB 21.1, iv 24–30]: hUR.SAG

hUR.SAG

(24)

... ˘ hu–u–ul–la–aš ˘ Za–al–li–[a–nu–uš] ˘ (the mountain) Hula, (the montain) Zaliy[anu, . . . ],

(25)

hUR.SAG ˘ ÍD ˘ PÚ ŠA KUR ha–a[t–ti šal–li–iš a–ru–na–aš] ˘ ˘ the mountains, rivers (&) springs of the land of Ha[tti, the Great Sea (= Mediterranean),

(26)

ne–pí–iš te–kán–na IM –uš al[–pu–uš DINGIR .... the sky and the earth, winds, cl[ouds, a]l[l gods]

(27)

ŠA KUR Ú–lu–ša U KAR[A]Š [. . . ]Ap–pa–li–u–na–aš of the land of Wiluša, the Stormgod (of) the Ar[m]y, (god) [ . . . , god?] Appaliuna,

(28)

DINGIR

hI.A

hI.A

!MEŠ

URU

MEŠ

URU

MEŠ

D

MEŠ

LÚ

D

DINGIR

MEŠ

(?)hu–u–m]a–an–te–e[š17 ˘

D

MEŠ

MUNUS

D

MEŠ

hI.A

[hUR.SAG ˘ ˘

hI.A

ÍD ˘

PÚ

MEŠ

(?)]

KASKAL.KUR the male gods, the female gods, [mountains, rivers, springs?], the god of the subterranean road (29)

(30)

URU

D

m

D

ŠA KUR Ú–i[–lu–ša UTUŠI La–ba–ar–na–aš LUGAL.GAL N]ARA–AM U the land of Wi[luša: (I,) My Majesty, Labarna, Great King, be]loved by the Stormgod URU

pí–ha–aš–ša–aš–š[i a–pé–e–da–ni me–mi–ica–]an–ni hal–zi–ih–hu–un ˘ ˘ ˘ ˘ (of) lightning, have called them (for witness) in this matt[er]’ (see Garcia Trabazo 2007, 52–53)

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In spite of the skeptical reaction of Sommer (1937, 176–82), now Forrer’s identification is more or less accepted (cf. the careful discussion by Gütterbock 1986/1997, 227–28 and Bachvarova 2005, 151), although it gives no answer concerning the origin of the theonyms. Kothe (1970, 223–28) speculated about the original form *Pelun, with a prothetic ἀ–, deriving it from the root *kuel– ‘dog, puppy’ (Old Norse hvelpr vs. Greek κυλλα· ̑ σκυλαξ. ᾿Ηλεῖοι etc.). Dowden (1979, 309) tried to explain the Greek theonym with help of Akkadian of ¯ Mari apilum ‘answerer’, aplûm ‘a kind of prophet’,?apillu¯ ‘a cultic performer’, all from ¯ the verb apalum ‘to answer; pay’ (CDA 19–20). Cf. Apollo’s skill in prophecy called μαντική [Plato, Cratylus 405a]. Papanikolaou (1986, 188–192) speculated about a compound of the prefix *apo– and the verbal root *suel– ‘to burn’. ̑ Later Van Windekens (1986, 14) changed his opinion and offered a new solution, consisting in dissimilation of *᾿Απελiων from *᾿Απενiων, reconstructing it as a formation ̑ ̑ of the ἀ–privativum and a derivative of πενέω ‘I am poor’, πένης ‘a poor man; poor’, together ‘rich’. He saw a parallel name in the theonym Πλούτων vs. πλοῦτος ‘rich’. Bernal (1991, 454–477) tried to find origin of the theonym in the name of the Egyptian solar deity hprr. It was rejected already by Coleman (1996, 302). ˘ Otkupščikov (1998, 35–42) tried to explain the theonym from the verb ἀπελαύνω, also ἀπέλα as imper. from pres. ἀπελάω ‘drive away, expel’. Carruba (2002, 76, fn. 3) saw origin of this Greek theonym in Cuneiform Luvian kuwalan– ‘soldier’ and the Lydian designation of Apollo, Qldãn. Brown (2004) speculated about a Hittite source of the theonym, seeking its origin in Hittite appala– ‘trap’, i.e. Apollo = ‘trapper’?! Rosół (2008, 230–36; 2010) thinks about Phoenician origin, seeking a source in a ¯ ‘highest father’, reconstructed after Phoenician hypothetical compound *ʔab–ʕelyon ¯ ʔb = Hebrew ʔab ‘father’, and Phonician ᾿Ελιοῦν, by Philo of Byblos apud Eusebius [Praeparatio evangelica I.10.14] the ancestor of the gods, the father of Heaven and ¯ ‘the highest god’ [Gen. Earth, glossed as ῞Υψιστος ‘highest one’, cf. Hebrew ʔ¯el ʕεlyon 14.18; 14.19; 14.20; 14.22; Ps. 78.35] (Krahmalkov 2000, 371; HAL 832). This idea would be attractive, if Apollo was the highest god, but this was not the case. On the other hand, it is tempting to combine the etymologies of Lewy (1893) and Rosół (2008), ¯ where the first component leading to a hypothetical compound *apel–⁹ & *ʕelyon, would be a Canaanite counterpart of apil, the status constructus of Akkadian aplu(m) ¯ ‘son of the highest one’. Apollo belonged to the ‘son’ (CDA 20), together *apel–ʕelyon divine generation in which practically all were children of the highest god, Zeus; cf.

¯ 2 e¯ ´C3 with sec9 The Hebrew counterpart of Akkadian pattern C1 aC2 C3 –, st. constr. C1 aC2 iC3 , is C1 aC ondary lengthening, first under the stress and then in the pretonic syllable (cf. Dolgopolsky 1999, 89).

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the idea of Szemerényi (1977, 11) on Greek Διόνυσος, Cretan Διόννυσος, Mycenaean gen. ¯ diwonusojo, dat. diwonuso < *diuos–sunos ‘son of God’. ̑ Witczak (p.c., March 30, 2015) explains the theonym on the basis of the word ἄπελος n. (s–stem) ‘wound’ (Callimachus, Fragmenta 343), related to Tocharian A ¯ ‘wound’ (Adams 2013, 414). He reconstructs their common starting–point päl, B pile as *H 2 pel–os–, leading to the formation *H 2 pels–on–, which should designate the god making wounds. From the point of view of historical phonology this solution is promising, but the semantic motivation remains rather vague. Oettinger (2015) carefully summarizes existing, especially recent, etymological interpretations. He concludes that the theonym *Apelion should be analyzed together ̑ ¯ o. ¯ He supposes their traces with the names of his divine sister *Artemi and mother *Lat lead in Western Anatolia, where they were probably adopted from some local, non– Indo–European language.

3 A new etymological solution The preceding etymological attempts are more or less problematic for phonetic or semantic reasons, some of them for both, perhaps with exception of two Semitic inter¯ pretations, based on Akkadian of Mari apilum ‘answerer’, aplûm ‘a kind of prophet’ ¯ ‘son of the highest one’ (§2.22). But none similar (§2.17), and Cannanite *apel–ʕelyon divine name is known from Semitic traditions. A new solution should take into account the divine curriculum of the god and naturally agree with linguistic facts. With respect to the numerous epithets of Apollo connected with archery (cf. also Oettinger 2015, 132) which are summarized in the following table, it is tempting to explain the divine–name as ‘archer’ or ‘arrow–shooter’. The tendency of more modern etymologies to seek a non–Greek solution should also be taken into account. A promising key to etymology could be identified in the Hurrian (see CDA 20) word for ‘arrow’, borrowed into Akkadian of Nuzi as apellu ‘kind of arrow’ (AHw. 57) or ‘arrowhead’ (CAD I, 169). Let us mention that the final –u is the Akkadian nominative. The original Hurrian form might probably have been terminated in –i, if it was a derivative of a verbal root, cf. Hurrian fur–i ‘view’ vs. fur– ‘to see’, han–i ‘child’ vs. han– ‘to give birth’, mad–i ˘ ˘ ‘wisdom’ vs. mad– ‘to be wise’ (Wilhelm 2004, 102). Concerning the word–formation of a hypothetical source of the Greek theonym, it is possible to think about a parallel struc¯ ture as in Hurrian mad(i)=o=nni ‘wise’ vs. madi ‘wisdom’, pic=o=nni ‘joyful’ vs. pico ‘joy’ (Wilhelm 2004, 106; Wegner 2007, 55). In this case the original Hurrian archetype could be reconstructed as *apell(i)=o=nni ± ‘characterized by arrows’. In the process of adaptation into Greek the final –i could be reinterpreted as the dative, cf. ᾿Απόλλονι. In Hurrian perspective the question of a connection between proto–Greek *Apelion, the ̑ d? protector of (W)ilios, and Ap–pa–li–u–na–aš, one of the deities of Wiluša mentioned in Hittite annals [KUB XXI 1 iv 27] (see above), may be interpreted in a way other than a

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Hittite adaptation of the Greek theonym – both theonyms may represent independent adaptations of a primary Hurrian theonym or an epithet of some Hurrian deity. Three ways of borrowing are possible: (i) From a Hurrian–like substratum; (ii) Via Anatolian mediation; (iii) Via Semitic mediation. The solution based on Hurrian is compatible with Oettinger’s conclusions too. The non–Indo–European language from Western Anatolia can be a language related to Hurrian, which was without any ¯ o¯ are literary tradition. All members of the theonymic triad *Apelion, *Artemi and *Lat ̑ etymologizable on the basis of Hurro–Urartian languages. Besides *Apelion discussed ̑ here in details, ῎Αρτεμις may be analyzed as a compound of the Hurrian verb ar– ‘to give’ and the noun tem(m)i ‘signe omineux’ (Laroche 1980, 52, 262), together perhaps ‘giving omen’. The root ar– forms frequently the first member of Hurrian personal names (cf. Nozadze 2007, 79–85). This interpretation corresonds to the coin legend ῎Αρτεμις Τύχη Γεράσων, i.e. Artemis Fortune of Gerasa, known from the North Jordan city Gerasa, today Jerash (Lichtenberg 2008, 142–44). ¯ o¯ may correspond to Urartian lutu ‘woman’ (probably with the plural Finally, *Lat suffix –tu, which could cause the change *lad+tu > lutu), which is probably related to the Daghestanian counterparts as Avar λλάdi ‘wife’, pl. λλud–bí, Agul of Chirag xade ‘woman’ etc. (Diakonoff – Starostin 1986, 27; NCED 764–65). Table 1: Table of epithets of Apollo connected with archery epithet/attribut

meaning

source

ἀεὶ βολῶν ἀργυρειος βιός ἀργυρότοξος ἀφήτωρ ἑκάεργος ἑκατηβελέτος

‘always striking’ ‘silver bow’ ‘that with a silver bow’ ‘archer’ ‘far–working’ = ‘–shooting’ ‘far–shooting’

ἑκατηβόλος ἕκατος ἑκηβόλος εὐρυφάρετρος ἰὰ πτερόεντα καλλίτοξος καμπύλα τόξα κῆλα θεοῖο κλυτοτόξος κρατερός βιός

‘far–shooting’ ‘far–shooting’ ‘far–shooting’ ‘that with a broad quiver’ ‘winged arrows’ ‘that with a beautiful bow’ ‘curved bow’ ‘divine arrows’ ‘famous for the bow’ ‘strong bow’

Plato, Cratylus 405 Iliad 1.49 Iliad 1.37 Iliad 9.404 Iliad 1.479 Iliad 1.75; Hesiod, Shield of Heracles 100 Iliad 15.231 Iliad 20.71 Iliad 23.872; Hesiod, Theogonia 94 Pindar, Fragmenta 115 Iliad 20.68 Aristides, Ars rhetorica 56.1.14 Homeric hymn to Apollo 131 Iliad 1.53 Iliad 4.101 Homeric hymn to Apollo 301

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Table 1 – continued epithet/attribut ὀιστευτής τοξευτός τοξοβέλεμνος τόξον τοξοφόρος χρυσότοξος

meaning ‘archer’ ‘struck by an arrow’ ‘arrow–shooting from his bow’ ‘archery’ ‘bow–bearing’ = ‘archer’ ‘that with a golden bow’

source Callimachus, Hymn to Apollo 42 Sophocles, Philoctetes 335 Orphica Hymni 34, 6 Callimachus, Hymn to Apollo 42–46 Pindar, Olympian Odes 6.59 Pindar, Olympian Odes 14.10

Appendix 1: Ancient etymological attempts Plato, Cratylus 404–406 404 404 Σωκράτης [ δ] . . . ταὐτὸν δὲ καὶ περὶ τὸν [ ε] ᾿Απόλλω, ὅπερ λέγω, πολλοὶ πεφόβηνται περὶ τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ θεοῦ, ὥς τι δεινὸν μηνύοντος: ἢ οὐκ ᾔσθησαι; ῾Ερμογένης πάνυ μὲν οὖν, καὶ ἀληθῆ λέγεις. Σωκράτης τὸ δέ γ᾿ ἐστίν, ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ, κάλλιστα κείμενον πρὸς τὴν δύναμιν τοῦ θεοῦ. ῾Ερμογένης πῶς δή; Σωκράτης ἐγὼ πειράσομαι φράσαι ὅ γέ μοι φαίνεται: οὐ γὰρ 405

[ α] ἔστιν ὅτι ἂν μᾶλλον ὄνομα ἥρμοσεν ἓν ὂν τέτταρσι δυνάμεσι ταῖς τοῦ θεοῦ, ὥστε πασῶν ἐφάπτεσθαι καὶ δηλοῦν τρόπον τινὰ μουσικήν τε καὶ μαντικὴν καὶ ἰατρικὴν καὶ τοξικήν. ῾Ερμογένης λέγε δή: ἄτοπον γάρ τί μοι λέγεις τὸ ὄνομα εἶναι. Σωκράτης εὐάρμοστον μὲν οὖν, ἅτε μουσικοῦ ὄντος τοῦ θεοῦ. πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ ἡ κάθαρσις καὶ οἱ καθαρμοὶ καὶ κατὰ τὴν ἰατρικὴν καὶ κατὰ τὴν μαντικὴν καὶ αἱ τοῖς 405

ἰατρικοῖς [ β] φαρμάκοις καὶ αἱ τοῖς μαντικοῖς περιθειώσεις τε καὶ τὰ λουτρὰ τὰ ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις καὶ αἱ περιρράνσεις, πάντα ἕν τι ταῦτα δύναιτ᾿ ἄν, καθαρὸν παρέχειν τὸν ἄνθρωπον καὶ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα καὶ κατὰ τὴν ψυχήν: ἢ οὔ; ῾Ερμογένης πάνυ μὲν οὖν. Σωκράτης οὐκοῦν ὁ καθαίρων θεὸς καὶ ὁ ἀπολούων τε καὶ ἀπολύων τῶν τοιούτων κακῶν οὗτος ἂν εἴη; ῾Ερμογένης πάνυ μὲν οὖν. 405γ

Σωκράτης κατὰ μὲν τοίνυν τὰς ἀπολύσεις τε καὶ ἀπολούσεις, [ ] ὡς ἰατρὸς ὢν τῶν τοιούτων, ‘᾿Απολούων’ ἂν ὀρθῶς καλοῖτο: κατὰ δὲ τὴν μαντικὴν καὶ τὸ ἀληθές τε καὶ τὸ ἁπλοῦν– ταὐτὸν γάρ ἐστιν–ὥσπερ οὖν οἱ Θετταλοὶ καλοῦσιν αὐτόν, ὀρθότατ᾿ ἂν καλοῖτο: ‘῎Απλουν’ γάρ φασι πάντες Θετταλοὶ τοῦτον τὸν θεόν. διὰ δὲ τὸ ἀεὶ βολῶν ἐγκρατὴς εἶναι τοξικῇ ‘᾿Αειβάλλων’ ἐστίν. κατὰ δὲ τὴν μουσικὴν δεῖ ὑπολαβεῖν ὥσπερ τὸν ἀκόλουθόν τε καὶ τὴν ἄκοιτιν ὅτι τὸ ἄλφα σημαίνει πολλαχοῦ τὸ ὁμοῦ, καὶ ἐνταῦθα τὴν ὁμοῦ πόλησιν καὶ περὶ τὸν οὐρανόν, οὓς δὴ ‘πόλους’ καλοῦσιν, καὶ

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τὴν περὶ [ δ] τὴν ἐν τῇ ᾠδῇ ἁρμονίαν, ἣ δὴ συμφωνία καλεῖται, ὅτι ταῦτα πάντα, ὥς φασιν οἱ κομψοὶ περὶ μουσικὴν καὶ ἀστρονομίαν, ἁρμονίᾳ τινὶ πολεῖ ἅμα πάντα: ἐπιστατεῖ δὲ οὗτος ὁ θεὸς τῇ ἁρμονίᾳ ὁμοπολῶν αὐτὰ πάντα καὶ κατὰ θεοὺς καὶ κατ᾿ ἀνθρώπους: ὥσπερ οὖν τὸν ὁμοκέλευθον καὶ ὁμόκοιτιν ‘ἀκόλουθον’ καὶ ‘ἄκοιτιν’ ἐκαλέσαμεν, μεταβαλόντες ἀντὶ τοῦ ‘ὁμο–’ ‘ἀ–,’ οὕτω καὶ ‘᾿Απόλλωνα’ ἐκαλέσαμεν [405ε]

ὃς ἦν ‘ὁμοπολῶν,’ ἕτερον λάβδα ἐμβαλόντες, ὅτι ὁμώνυμον ἐγίγνετο τῷ χαλεπῷ ὀνόματι. ὅπερ καὶ νῦν ὑποπτεύοντές τινες διὰ τὸ μὴ ὀρθῶς σκοπεῖσθαι τὴν δύναμιν [406α]

τοῦ ὀνόματος φοβοῦνται αὐτὸ ὡς σημαῖνον φθοράν τινα: τὸ δὲ πολύ, ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐλέγετο, πασῶν ἐφαπτόμενον κεῖται τῶν τοῦ θεοῦ δυνάμεων, ἁπλοῦ, ἀεὶ βάλλοντος, ἀπολούοντος, ὁμοπολοῦντος.

Socrates [404e] [404d] . . . Likewise in the case of Apollo, as I say, many people are afraid because of the name of the god, thinking that it has some terrible meaning. Have you not noticed that? Hermogenes Certainly; what you say is true. Socrates But really the name is admirably appropriate to the power of the god. Hermogenes How is that? Socrates I will try to tell you what I think about it; [405a]

for no single name could more aptly indicate the four functions of the god, touching upon them all and in a manner declaring his power in music, prophecy, medicine, and archery. Hermogenes Go on; you seem to imply that it is a remarkable name. Socrates His name and nature are in harmony; you see he is a musical god. For in the first place, purification and purgations used in medicine and in soothsaying, [405b]

and fumigations with medicinal and magic drugs, and the baths and sprinklings connected with that sort of thing all have the single function of making a man pure in body and soul, do they not? Hermogenes Certainly. Socrates But this is the god who purifies and washes away (ἀπαλοούων) and delivers (ἀπολύων) from such evils, is he not? Hermogenes Certainly. [405c]

Socrates With reference, then, to his acts of delivering and his washings, as being the physician of such diseases, he might properly be called Apoluon (ἀπαλούων, the washer), and with reference to soothsaying and truth and simplicity–for the two are identical–he might most properly be called by the name the Thessalians use; for all Thessalians call the god Aplun. And because he is always by his archery controller of darts (βολῶν) he is ever darting (ἀεὶ βάλλων). And with reference to music we have to understand that alpha often signifies ‘together,’ and here it denotes moving together in the heavens about the poles, as we call them, and harmony in song,

[405d]

which is

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called concord; for, as the ingenious musicians and astronomers tell us, all these things move together by a kind of harmony. And this god directs the harmony, making them all move together, among both gods and men; and so, just as we call the ὁμοκέλευθον (him who accompanies), and ὁμόκοιτιν (bedfellow), by changing the ὁμο to alpha, [405e]

ἀκόλουθον and ἄκοιτιν, so also we called him Apollo who was Homopolo, and the second lambda was inserted, because without it the name sounded of disaster (ἀπολῶ, ἀπόλωλα, etc.). Even as it is, some have a suspicion of this, because they do not properly regard the force of the name, and therefore they fear it, thinking that it denotes some kind of ruin. But in fact, as was said, [406a] the name touches upon all the qualities of the god, as simple, ever–darting, purifying, and accompanying. Translated by Harold N. Fowler (1921):

Macrobius, Saturnalia I.17.7–11: 7 Apollinis nomen multiplici interpretatione ad solem refertur, cuius rei ordinem pergam. Plato solem ἀπόλλωνα cognominatum scribit ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀποπάλλειν τὰς ἀκτϊνας, ˜ id est aiactu radiorum: Chrysippus [Apollinem], ὡς οὐχὶ τῶν πολλῶν καὶ φαύλων οὐσιῶν τοῦ πυρὸς ὄντα, primam enim nominis litteram retinere significationem negandi: ἢ ὅτι μόνος ἐστὶ καὶ οὐχὶ πολλοί, nam et Latinitas eum, quia tantam claritudinem solus 8

optinuit, solem vocavit: Speusippus, quod ex multis ignibus constet vis eius, ὡς ἀπὸ πολλῶν οὐσιῶν πυρὸς αὐτοῦ συνεστῶτος: Cleanthes, ὡς ἀπ᾿ ἄλλων καὶ ἄλλων τόπων τὰς ἀνατολὰς ποιουμένου, quod ab aliis atque aliis locorum declinationibus faciat or9

tus: Cornificius arbitratur Apollinem nominatum ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀναπολεῖν, id est quia intra circuitum mundi quem Graeci πόλον appellant impetu latus ad ortus refertur: alii cognominatum Apollinem putant ὡς ἀπολλύντα τὰ ζῶα: exanimat enim et perimit animantes, 10

cum pestem intemperie caloris inmittit, ut Euripides in Phaethonte: ῏Ω χρυσοφεγγές ἥλι᾿ ὡς μ᾿ ἀπώλεσας ͺ ὅθεν σ᾿ ἀπόλλων᾿ ἐμφανῶς κλῄζει βροτός item Archilochus: ἄναξ ῎Απολλον, καὶ σὺ τοὺς μὲν αἰτίους | σήμαινε, καὶ σφᾶς ὄλλυ᾿ ὥσπερ ὀλλύεις 11 Denique inustos morboἀπολλωνοβλήτους καὶ ἡλιοβλήτους appellant: et quia similes sunt solis effectibus effectus lunae in iuvando nocendoque, ideo feminas certis 12 adflictas morbis σεληνοβλήτους etἀρτεμιδοβλήτους vocant. Hinc est quod arcu et sagittis Apollinis simulachra decorantur, ut per sagittas intellegatur vis emissa radiorum: Αὐτὰρ ἔπειτ΄ αὐτοῖσι βέλος ἐχεπευκὲς ἐφιεὶς βάλλ΄.

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Appendix 2: Epithets of Apollo as the archer Homer, Iliad οὐδ᾿ ὅσα λά”ινος οὐδὸς ἀφήτορος ἐντὸς ἐέργει Φοίβου ᾿Απόλλωνος Πυθοῖ ἔνι πετρηέσσῃ. nay, nor all that the marble threshold of the Archer Phoebus Apollo encloseth in rocky Pytho [Ilias 9.404–405], βῆ δ᾿ ἀκέων παρὰ θῖνα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης: πολλὰ δ᾿ ἔπειτ᾿ ἀπάνευθε κιὼν ἠρᾶθ᾿ ὃ γεραιὸς ᾿Απόλλωνι ἄνακτι, τὸν ἠΰκομος τέκε Λητώ: κλῦθί μευ ἀργυρότοξ᾿, ὃς Χρύσην ἀμφιβέβηκας Κίλλάν τε ζαθέην Τενέδοιό τε ἶφι ἀνάσσεις, Σμινθεῦ εἴ ποτέ τοι χαρίεντ᾿ ἐπὶ νηὸν ἔρεψα, ἢ εἰ δή ποτέ τοι κατὰ πίονα μηρί᾿ ἔκηα ταύρων ἠδ᾿ αἰγῶν, τὸ δέ μοι κρήηνον ἐέλδωρ: τίσειαν Δαναοὶ ἐμὰ δάκρυα σοῖσι βέλεσσιν. ὣς ἔφατ᾿ εὐχόμενος, τοῦ δ᾿ ἔκλυε Φοῖβος ᾿Απόλλων, βῆ δὲ κατ᾿ Οὐλύμποιο καρήνων χωόμενος κῆρ, τόξ᾿ ὤμοισιν ἔχων ἀμφηρεφέα τε φαρέτρην: ἔκλαγξαν δ᾿ ἄρ᾿ ὀ”ιστοὶ ἐπ᾿ ὤμων χωομένοιο, αὐτοῦ κινηθέντος: ὃ δ᾿ ἤ”ιε νυκτὶ ἐοικώς. ἕζετ᾿ ἔπειτ᾿ ἀπάνευθε νεῶν, μετὰ δ᾿ ἰὸν ἕηκε: δεινὴ δὲ κλαγγὴ γένετ᾿ ἀργυρέοιο βιοῖο: . . . He went forth in silence along the shore of the loud–resounding sea, and earnestly then, when he had gone apart, the old man prayed to the lord Apollo, whom fair–haired Leto bore: ‘Hear me, god of the silver bow, who stand over Chryse and holy Cilla, and rule mightily over Tenedos, Sminthian god, if ever I roofed over a temple to your pleasing, or if ever I burned to you fat thigh–pieces of bulls and goats, fulfill this prayer for me: let the Danaans pay for my tears by your arrows’ So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him. Down from the peaks of Olympus he strode, angered at heart, bearing on his shoulders his bow and covered quiver. The arrows rattled on the shoulders of the angry god as he moved, and his coming was like the night. Then he sat down apart from the ships and let fly an arrow: terrible was the twang of the silver bow. [Iliad 1.34–49] ἀλλ᾿ ἄγ᾿ ὀ΄”ιστευσον Μενελάου κυδαλίμοιο, εὔχεο δ᾿ ᾿Απόλλωνι Λυκηγενέ”ι κλυτοτόξῳ Nay, come, shoot thine arrow at glorious Menelaus, and vow to Apollo, the wolf– born god, famed for his bow, . . . [Iliad 4. 100–101] [220]

καὶ τότ᾿ ᾿Απόλλωνα προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς: ‘ἔρχεο νῦν φίλε Φοῖβε μεθ᾿ ῞Εκτορα χαλκοκορυστήν: ἤδη μὲν γάρ τοι γαιήοχος ἐννοσίγαιος οἴχεται εἰς ἅλα δῖαν [225]

ἀλευάμενος χόλον αἰπὺν ἡμέτερον: μάλα γάρ κε μάχης ἐπύθοντο καὶ ἄλλοι, οἵ περ ἐνέρτεροί εἰσι θεοὶ Κρόνον ἀμφὶς ἐόντες. ἀλλὰ τόδ᾿ ἠμὲν ἐμοὶ πολὺ κέρδιον ἠδέ οἱ αὐτῷ ἔπλετο, ὅττι πάροιθε νεμεσσηθεὶς ὑπόειξε χεῖρας ἐμάς, ἐπεὶ οὔ κεν ἀνιδρωτί γ᾿ ἐτελέσθη. ἀλλὰ σύ γ᾿ ἐν χείρεσσι λάβ᾿ αἰγίδα θυσσανόεσσαν,

[230]

τῇ μάλ᾿ ἐπισσείων

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φοβέειν ἥρωας ᾿Αχαιούς: σοὶ δ᾿ αὐτῷ μελέτω ἑκατηβόλε φαίδιμος ῞Εκτωρ: τόφρα γὰρ οὖν οἱ ἔγειρε μένος μέγα, ὄφρ᾿ ἂν ᾿Αχαιοὶ φεύγοντες νῆάς τε καὶ ῾Ελλήσποντον ἵκωνται. [220]

Then unto Apollo spake Zeus, the cloud–gatherer: ‘Go now, dear Phoebus, unto Hector, harnessed in bronze, for now is the Enfolder and Shaker of Earth gone into the bright sea, avoiding our utter wrath; else verily had others too heard of our [225]

strife, even the gods that are in the world below with Cronos. But this was better for both, for me and for his own self, that ere then he yielded to my hands despite his wrath, for not without sweat would the issue have been wrought. But do thou take in [230]

thine hands the tasselled aegis, and shake it fiercely over the Achaean warriors to affright them withal. And for thine own self, thou god that smitest afar, let glorious Hector be thy care, and for this time’s space rouse in him great might, even until the Achaeans shall come in flight unto their ships and the Hellespont. [Iliad 15. 220–233] ἤτοι μὲν γὰρ ἔναντα Ποσειδάωνος ἄνακτος ἵστατ᾿ ᾿Απόλλων Φοῖβος ἔχων ἰὰ πτερόεντα, ἄντα δ΄ ᾿Ενυαλίοιο θεὰ γλαυκῶπις ᾿Αθήνη· ῞Ηρῃ δ΄ ἀντέστη χρυσηλάκατος κελαδεινὴ ῎Αρτεμις ἰοχέαιρα κασιγνήτη ἑκάτοιο For against king Poseidon stood Phoebus Apollo with his winged arrows, and against Enyalius the goddess, flashing–eyed Athene; against Hera stood forth the huntress of the golden arrows, and the echoing chase, even the archer Artemis, sister of the god that smiteth afar. [Iliad 20.67–71] μῆνιν ᾿Απόλλωνος ἑκατηβελέταο ἄνακτος: the wrath of Apollo, the lord who strikes from afar [Iliad 1. 75] ’αὐτίκα δ᾿ ἠπείλησεν ἑκηβόλῳ ᾿Απόλλωνι ἀρνῶν πρωτογόνων ῥέξειν κλειτὴν ἑκατόμβην. and vowed forthwith that he would sacrifice to Apollo that smiteth afar a glorious hecatomb of firstling lambs [Iliad 23. 872–873] Homeri Opera in five volumes. Oxford: University Press. 1920. Homer: The Iliad with an English Translation by A.T. Murray. Cambridge (MA.): Harvard University Press / London, William Heinemann 1924. Hesiod, Theogonia 94–95 ἐκ γάρ τοι Μουσέων καὶ ἑκηβόλου ᾿Απόλλωνος ἄνδρες ἀοιδοὶ ἔασιν ἐπὶ χθόνα καὶ κιθαρισταί,.. such is the holy gift of the Muses to men. For it is through the Muses and far– shooting Apollo. . . Hesiod, Shield of Heracles 100 Φοίβου ᾿Απόλλωνος, ἑκατηβελέταο ἄνακτος

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of Phoebus Apollo, the lord who shoots from afar. Hesiod. The Homeric Hymns and Homerica with an English Translation by Hugh G. Evelyn–White. Theogony. Cambridge (MA.): Harvard University Press / London: Heinemann 1914. Sophocles, Philoctetes 334–335 τέθνηκεν, ἀνδρὸς οὐδενός, θεοῦ δ᾿ ὕπο, τοξευτός, ὡς λέγουσιν, ἐκ Φοίβου δαμείς. Dead–not by a mortal hand, but by a god’s. He was brought down, as men say, by the arrow of Phoebus. Sophocles. Vol 2: Ajax. Electra. Trachiniae. Philoctetes, with an English translation by Francis Storr. The Loeb classical library, 21. London: Heinemann / New York: The Macmillan Company 1913. Callimachus, Hymn to Apollo 42–46 42 43 τέχνῃ δ᾿ ἀμφιλαφὴς οὔ τις τόσον ὅσσον ᾿Απόλλων: κεῖνος ὀιστευτὴν ἔλαχ᾿ 44 45 ἀνέρα, κεῖνος ἀοιδὸν Φοίβῳ γὰρ καὶ τόξον ἐπιτρέπεται καὶ ἀοιδή᾿, κείνου δὲ θριαὶ 46

καὶ μάντιες: ἐκ δέ νυ Φοίβου ἰητροὶ δεδάασιν ἀνάβλησιν θανάτοιο. None is so abundant in skill as Apollo. To him belongs the archer, to him the minstrel; for unto Apollo is given in keeping alike archery and song. His are the lots of the diviner and his the seers; and from Phoebus do leeches know the deferring of death. Callimachus: Works. ed. A.W. Mair. London: Heinemann / New York: Putnam’s Sons 1921. Callimachus: Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron. Aratus, translated by Mair. Loeb Classical Library Volume 129. London: Heinemann 1921. Pindar, Olympian Odes 1.6.43–63 ἦλθεν δ᾿ ὑπὸ σπλάγχνων ὑπ᾿ ὠδῖνός τ᾿ ἐρατᾶς ῎Ιαμος ἐς φάος αὐτίκα. τὸν μὲν 45 κνιζομένα λεῖπε χαμαί: δύο δὲ γλαυκῶπες αὐτὸν δαιμόνων βουλαῖσιν ἐθρέψαντο δράκοντες ἀμεμφεῖ ἰῷ μελισσᾶν καδόμενοι. βασιλεὺς δ᾿ ἐπεὶ πετραέσσας ἐλαύνων ἵκετ᾿ ἐκ Πυθῶνος, ἅπαντας ἐν οἴκῳ εἴρετο παῖδα, τὸν Εὐάδνα τέκοι: Φοίβου γὰρ αὐτὸν 50

φᾶ γεγάκειν πατρός, περὶ θνατῶν δ᾿ ἔσεσθαι μάντιν ἐπιχθονίοις ἔξοχον, οὐδέ ποτ᾿ ἐκλείψειν γενεάν. ὣς ἄρα μάνυε. τοὶ δ᾿ οὔτ᾿ ὦν ἀκοῦσαι οὔτ᾿ ἰδεῖν εὔχοντο πεμπταῖον 55 γεγενημένον. ἀλλ᾿ ἐν κέκρυπτο γὰρ σχοίνῳ βατιᾷ τ᾿ ἐν ἀπειράτῳ, ἴων ξανθαῖσι καὶ παμπορφύροις ἀκτῖσι βεβρεγμένος ἁβρὸν σῶμα: τὸ καὶ κατεφάμιξεν καλεῖσθαί νιν χρόνῳ σύμπαντι μάτηρ τοῦτ᾿ ὄνυμ᾿ ἀθάνατον. τερπνᾶς δ᾿ ἐπεὶ χρυσοστεφάνοιο λάβεν καρπὸν ῞Ηβας, ᾿Αλφεῷ μέσσῳ καταβὰς ἐκάλεσσε Ποσειδᾶν᾿ εὐρυβίαν, ὃν πρόγονον, 60

καὶ τοξοφόρον Δάλου θεοδμάτας σκοπόν, αἰτέων λαοτρόφον τιμάν τιν᾿ ἑᾷ κεφαλᾷ, νυκτὸς ὑπαίθριος. ἀντεφθέγξατο δ᾿ ἀρτιεπὴς πατρία ὄσσα, μετάλλασέν τέ νιν: ‘ὄρσο, τέκος, δεῦρο πάγκοινον ἐς χώραν ἴμεν φάμας ὄπισθεν.’ From her womb and her sweet birth–pangs Iamus came right away into the light. 45 In her distress, she left him on the ground. But by the will of the gods, two gray–eyed serpents nurtured him with the harmless venom of bees, caring for him. And when

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the king had driven back from rocky Pytho, he questioned everyone in the household about the child whom Evadne had borne. For he said that he was begotten by Phoebus, 50 and that he would be, for men on earth, a prophet above all mortals, and that his race would never fail. Such was his speech. But they claimed that they had neither seen nor heard the baby, born four days ago. For it had been hidden in the rushes and the 55 boundless thicket, his tender body washed in the golden and purple light of violets. Therefore his mother declared that he should be called for all time by this immortal name, ‘Iamus.’ And when he had attained the delightful fruit of golden–crowned Youth, he went down into the middle of the Alpheus, and called on wide–ruling Poseidon, his 60 grandfather, and on the Archer who watches over god–built Delos, praying that the honor of caring for the people be on his head, under the clear night sky. His father’s voice responded in clear speech, and sought him out: ‘Rise, my son, and follow my voice here to a place that welcomes all.’ Pindar, Olympian Odes 1.14.8–12 οὐδὲ γὰρ θεοὶ σεμνᾶν Χαρίτων ἄτερ κοιρανέοισιν χοροὺς οὔτε δαῖτας: ἀλλὰ 10

πάντων ταμίαι ἔργων ἐν οὐρανῷ, χρυσότοξον θέμεναι παρὰ Πύθιον ᾿Απόλλωνα θρόνους, ἀέναον σέβοντι πατρὸς ᾿Ολυμπίοιο τιμάν. Not even the gods arrange dances or feasts without the holy Graces, who oversee 10 everything that is done in heaven; with their thrones set beside Pythian Apollo of the golden bow, they worship the everlasting honor of the Olympian father. Pindar: The Odes of Pindar including the Principal Fragments with an Introduction and an English Translation by Sir John Sandys. Cambridge (MA.): Harvard University Press – London: Heinemann 1937.

Pindar: Odes, translated by Diane Arnson Svarlien. 1990.

Homeric hymns to Apollo οὐδ᾿ ἄρ᾿ ᾿Απόλλωνα χρυσάορα θήσατο μήτηρ, ἀλλὰ Θέμις νέκταρ τε καὶ ἀμβροσίην ἐρατεινὴν ἀθανάτῃσιν χερσὶν ἐπήρξατο: χαῖρε δὲ Λητώ, οὕνεκα τοξοφόρον καὶ καρτερὸν υἱὸν ἔτικτεν. αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δή, Φοῖβε, κατέβρως ἄμβροτον εἶδαρ, οὔ σέ γ᾿ ἔπειτ᾿ ἴσχον χρύσεοι στρόφοι ἀσπαίροντα, οὐδ᾿ ἔτι δέσματ᾿ ἔρυκε, λύοντο δὲ πείρατα πάντα. αὐτίκα δ᾿ ἀθανάτῃσι μετηύδα Φοῖβος ᾿Απόλλων: ‘ εἴη μοι κίθαρίς τε φίλη καὶ καμπύλα τόξα, χρήσω δ᾿ ἀνθρώποισι Διὸς νημερτέα βουλήν.’ [123–132]

Now Leto did not give Apollo, bearer of the golden blade, her breast; but Themis duly poured nectar and ambrosia with her divine hands: and Leto was glad

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because she had borne a strong son and an archer. But as soon as you had tasted that divine heavenly food, O Phoebus, you could no longer then be held by golden cords nor confined with bands, but all their ends were undone. Forthwith Phoebus Apollo spoke out among the deathless goddesses: ‘The lyre and the curved bow shall ever be dear to me, and I will declare to men the unfailing will of Zeus.’ αὐτὸς δ᾿, ἀργυρότοξε, ἄναξ ἑκατηβόλ᾿ ῎Απολλον, ἄλλοτε μέν τ᾿ ἐπὶ Κύνθου ἐβήσαο παιπαλόεντος, [140–141]

And you, O lord Apollo, god of the silver bow, shooting afar, now walked on craggy Cynthus, and now kept wandering about the island and the people in them. ἀγχοῦ δὲ κρήνη καλλίρροος, ἔνθα δράκαιναν κτεῖνεν ἄναξ, Διὸς υἱός, ἀπὸ κρατεροῖο βιοῖο, ζατρεφέα, μεγάλην, τέρας ἄγριον, ἣ κακὰ πολλὰ ἀνθρώπους ἔρδεσκεν ἐπὶ χθονί, πολλὰ μὲν αὐτούς, πολλὰ δὲ μῆλα ταναύποδ᾿, ἐπεὶ πέλε πῆμα δαφοινόν. καὶ ποτε δεξαμένη χρυσοθρόνου ἔτρεφεν ῞Ηρης δεινόν τ᾿ ἀργαλέον τε Τυφάονα, πῆμα βροτοῖσιν: ὅν ποτ᾿ ἄρ᾿ ῞Ηρη ἔτικτε χολωσαμένη Διὶ πατρί, ἡνίκ᾿ ἄρα Κρονίδης ἐρικυδέα γείνατ᾿ ᾿Αθήνην ἐν κορυφῇ: ἣ δ᾿ αἶψα χολώσατο πότνια ῞Ηρη ἠδὲ καὶ ἀγρομένοισι μετ᾿ ἀθανάτοισιν ἔειπε. . . [300–310] But near by was a sweet flowing spring, and there with his strong bow the lord, the son of Zeus, killed the bloated, great she–dragon, a fierce monster wont to do great mischief to men upon earth, to men themselves and to their thin– shanked sheep; for she was a very bloody plague. She it was who once received from gold–throned Hera and brought up fell, cruel Typhaon to be a plague to men. Once on a time Hera bare him because she was angry with father Zeus, when the Son of Cronos bare all–glorious Athena in his head. Thereupon queenly Hera was angry and spoke thus among the assembled gods. . . Hesiod, Homeric Hymns, Epic Cycle, Homerica, translated by Evelyn–White, H G. Loeb Classical Library Volume 57. Cambridge (MA.): Harvard University Press / London: Heinemann 1914.

Bibliography Adams, D. Q. 2013: A Dictionary of Tocharian B. Revised and Greatly Enlarged, Amsterdam – New York. Aeschylus, 1926: Agamemnon, with an English translation by Herbert Weir Smyth, Cambridge (MA) – London. AHw. = Von Soden, W. 1965: Akkadisches Handwörterbuch I, Wiesbaden. Atkinson, B. F. C. 1922–1923: Apollo and the Apple, «Bulletin of the John Rylands Library», 7, 138– 140. Bachvarova, M. R. 2005: The Eastern Mediterranean Epic Tradition from Bilgames and Akka to the Song of Release to Homer’s Iliad, «Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies», 45, 131–153. Beekes, R. 2003: The Origin of Apollo, «Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions», 3/1, 1–21. Beekes, R. 2010: Etymological Dictionary of Greek with collaboration of Lucien van Beek, Leiden – Boston.

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Bernal, M. 1991: Black Athena. The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization, vol. II, New Brunswick. Bouché Leclercq, A. 1880: Histoire de la divination dans l’antiquite, T. III, Paris. Brixhe, C. 1976: Le dialecte grec de Pamphylie. Documents et grammaire, Paris. Brown, E. 2004: In Search of Anatolian Apollo, in Charis. Essays in Honor of Sara A. Immerwahr, ed. A. P. Chapin, Princeton, 253–267. Burkert, W. 1975: Apellai und Apollon, «Rheinische Museum», 118, 1–21. Burnet, J. (ed.) 1903: Platonis Opera, Oxford. Buttmann, P. K. 1828–1829: Mythologus, oder gesammelte Abhandlungen über die Sagen des Alterthums, I–II, Berlin. CAD = The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, vol. I. Chicago, 1968. Carruba, O. 2002: Cario Natri e egizio ntr ‚dio’, in Novalis Indogermanica. Festschrift für Günter Neumann zum 80. Geburtstag, eds. M. Fritz & S. Zeilfelder, Graz, (Grazer vergleichende Arbeiten, Bd. 17), 75–84. CDA = Black, J., George, A. & Postage N. (eds.) 2000: A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian, Wiesbaden, 2000. Coleman, J. E. 1996: Did Egypt shape the Glory that was Greece?, in The Black Athena Revisited, eds. M. R. Lefkowitz & G. MacLean Rogers, Chapel Hill – London, 280–302. Cook, A. B. 1925: Zeus. A Study in Ancient Religion, vol. II, Cambridge. Croese, G. 1704: Homerus Hebraeus, sive Historia Hebraeorum ab Homero, Hebraicis hominibus ac sententiis conscripta, in Odyssea et Iliade, exposita et illustrate, «The Jewish Quaterly Review», 5, 170–174. Diakonoff, I. M. & Starostin, S. A. 1986: Hurro–Urartian as an Eastern Caucasian Language, München. Dolgopolsky, A. 1999: From Proto–Semitic to Hebrew: Phonology. Etymological approach in a Hamito– Semitic perspective, Milano. Dowden, K. 1979: Apollon et l’espirit dans la machine: origines, «Revue des Études Grecques», 92, 293–318. Ehrlich, H. 1910: Zur indogermanischen Sprachgeschichte, Königsberg. Eustathii archiepiscopi Thessalonicensis 1971: Commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem pertinentes, vol. 1, Leiden. Forrer, E. 1931: ApolIon, Vulcanus und die Kyklopen in den Boghazköi–Texten, «Revue Hittite et Asianique», 1/5, 141–163. Frisk, H. 1973: Griechisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, I–III, Heidelberg. Fröhde, F. 1893: ᾿Απόλλων, «Beiträge zur Kunde der Indogermanischen Sprachen», 19, 230–244. García Trabazo, J. V. 2007: Ahhiyawafrage y cuestiones conexas. Podemos extraer más datos de las fuentes hititas?, in Las aguas primigenias: el Próximo Oriente Antiguo como fuente de civilización (Congreso Espańol de Antiguo Oriente Próximo, 4o 2006, Zaragoza), eds. J. J. Justel Vicente, B. E. Solans Gracia, J. P. Vita Barra & J. Á. Zamora López, Zaragoza, 43–68. Güterbock, H. G. 1986–1997: Troy in Hittite Texts? Wilusa, Ahhiyawa and Hittite History, in: Troy and the Trojan War. A Symposium held at Bryn Mawr College (October 1984), ed. M. Mellink, Bryn Mawr (PE), 33–44 (= in Perspectives on Hittite Civilization: Selected Writings of Hans Gustav Güterbock, ed. H. A. Hoffner, jr., Chicago, 1997, 223–228. HAL = Koehler L. & Baumgartner W. 2001: The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, Leiden – Boston – Köln. Harris, J. R. 1919: Origin and meaning of apple cults, «Bulletin of the John Rylands Library», 5/1–2, 29–74. Heubeck, A. 1987: Noch einmal zum Namen des ApolIon, «Glotta», 65, 179–182. Hintze, A. 1993: A Lexicon to the Cyprian Syllabic Inscriptions, Hamburg.

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Holder, A. 1896: Alt–celtischer Sprachschatz, bd. I, Leipzig. Hopfner, I. 1919: Zwei Götternamen, «KZ», 49, 253–259. IC = Guarducci, M. & Halnherr, F. 1935–1950: Inscriptiones Creticae, Roma. ICS2 = Masson, O. 1983: Les inscriptions chypriotes syllabiques. Recueil critique et commenté (Réimpression augmentée), Paris. IG = Böckh, A., Kirchhoff, A., Von Wilamowitz Moellendorff U. et alii 1873f.: Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin. ˙ ¯ Sbornik statej k 70– Kazanskij, N. N. 2005: K etimologii drevnegrečeskogo νήπιος, in Hrdaˉˊ mánasa. ˚ letiju so dnja roždenija professora Leonarda Georgieviča Gercenberga, ed. N. N. Kazanskij, Sankt Peterburg, 232–239. Krahmalkov, C. R. 2000: Phoenician–Punic Dictionary, Leuven. Kretschmer, P. 1924: [Review of] J. Huber, De lingua antiquissimorum Graeciae incolarum, Wien 1921, «Glotta», 13, 242–243. Laroche, E. 1980: Glossaire de la langue hourrite, Paris. Lewy, H. 1893: Mythologische Nachträge 11, «Wochenschrift für klassische Philologie», 10, 858–860. Lichtenberg, A. 2008: Artemis and Zeus Olympios in Roman Gerasa and Seleucid religious policy, in The Variety of Local Religious Life in the Near East: in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods, ed. T. Kaizer, Leiden – Boston, 133–154. Muss Arnolt, W. 1893: On Semitic words in Greek and Latin, Ann Arbor (extract from the «Transactions of the American Philological Association», 23, 1892, 35–156). Nagy, G. 1994: The Name of Apollo: Etymology and Essence, in Apollo. Origins and Influences, ed. J. Solomon, Tuscon – London, 3 –7. NCED = Nikolaev S. L. & Starostin S. A. 2008: A North Caucasian Etymological Dictionary, Moscow. Nozadze, N. 2007: Leksika xurritskogo jazyka, Tbilisi. Oettinger, N. 2015: Apollo: indogermanisch oder nicht–indogermanisch?, «Münchener Studien zur Sprachwissenschaft», 69/1, 123 –143. Orphica. Recensuit Eugenius Abel. Accedunt Procli Hymni, Hymni Magici, Hymnus in Isim alique eiusmodi carmina, recensuit Eugenius Abel, Leipzig – Prag, 1885. ˙ ˙ Otkupščikov, K. V. 1998: ᾿Απόλλων (Etimologičeskij etjud), in Antičnyj mir: Problemy istorii i kuľtury. ˙ D. Frolova, ed. I. Ja. Frojanov, Sankt Sbornik naučnyx statej k 65–letiju so dnja roždenija prof. E. Petersburg, 35–42. Palmer, L. R. 1963: Dionysos and Apollo, in «Proceedings of the Classical Association», 60, 32–33. Palmer, L. R. 1983: Mycenaean Religion: Methodological Choices, in Res Mycenaeae. Akten des VII. Internationalen Mykenologischen Colloquiums (Nürnberg vom 6.–10. April 1981), eds. A. Heubeck & G. Neumann, Göttingen, 338–366. Papanikolaou, A. D. 1986: Ein Versuch zur Etymologie des Namens ᾿Απόλλων, «Glotta», 64,184–192. Peters, M. 2002: Aus der Vergangenheit von Heroen und Ehegöttinnen, in Novalis indogermanica. Festschrift für Günter Neumann zum 80. Geburtstag, eds. M. Fritz & S. Zeilfelder, Graz, 357–380. Plato, 1921: Plato in Twelve Volumes, vol. 12, translated by Harold N. Fowler, Cambridge (MA) – London. Pokorny, J. 1959: Indogermanisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, München – Bern. Prellwitz, W. 1899: Etymologische Miscelien, «Beiträge zur Kunde der Indogermanischen Sprachen», 24, 214–218. Rosół, Rafał. 2008. Die Herkunft des Gottesnamens ApolIon, «Glotta» 83, 222–242. Rosół, R. 2010: Wschodnie korzenie kultu Apollona. Studium lingwistyczno–historyczne, Kraków. Ruijgh, C. J. 1967: Etudes sur la grammaire et le vocabulaire du grec mycénien, Amsterdam. Schmidt, J. 1893: Assimilationen benachbarter einander nicht berührender Vocale im Griechischen, «KZ», 32, 321–394.

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Sommer, F. 1937: Ahhijava¯ und kein Ende?, «Indogermanische Forschungen», 55, 169–297. ˘˘ Szemerényi, O. 1977: Studies in the kinship terminology of the Indo–European languages, Leiden – Téhéran – Liége (Acta Iranica, 16). Usener, H. 1896: Götternamen. Versuch einer Lehre von der religiösen Begriffsbildung, Bonn. Van Gessel, B. H. L. 1998: Onomasticon of the Hittite Pantheon, Part One, Leiden – New York – Köln. Van Windekens, A. J. 1958: Phoibos Apollon ‘(Le) Gardien des Pommes’, «Emerita», 26, 33–37. Van Windekens, A. J. 1986: Dictionnaire étymologique complementaire de la langue grecque, Leuven. Ventris, M. & Chadwick, J. 1973: Documents in Mycenaean Greek, 2nd edition, Cambridge. von Schröder, L. 1887: Apollon–Agni, «KZ», 29, 193–229. Wegner, I. 2007: Hurritisch. Eine Einführung2 , Wiesbaden. Wernicke, K. 1895: Apollon, in Realenzyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft, bd. II.1, Stuttgart, 1–111 Wilhelm, G. 2004: Hurrian, in The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the World’s Ancient Languages, ed. R. D. Woodrow, Cambridge, 95–118.

Acknowledgement: The present contribution was prepared thanks to the grants of the The Czech Science Foundation (GAČR), P406/12/0655 and GA15–12215S. The deepest thanks belong to Professors Norbert Oettinger and Krzysztof T. Witczak for their valuable comments and own solutions and to John D. Bengtson for his correction of English.

Gunnar De Boel

Locative alternation as lexical derivation: the examples of νάττω and βάλλω Abstract: Locative alternation is attested in Greek from Homer onward. The possibility to (re)activate it in a verb even after several centuries seems to indicate that it is syntactic in nature, but its limitation to certain verbs suggests a lexical dimension to the matter. I argue that locative alternation, even though it originates as a syntactic phenomenon, leads to the creation of homophonous, though derivationally related verbs. Wide chronological and semantic gaps between the different meanings of some of the verbs that are involved in this alternation, as e.g. νάττω and βάλλω, will illustrate my point.

1 Introduction Traditionally, the polysemy of the Ancient Greek verb βάλλω was presented as a binary choice between two construction types: one, symbolized by βαλεῖν βέλος, associated with the meaning ‘to throw’, and another, symbolized by βαλεῖν ἄνδρα, associated with the rather different meaning ‘to hit’. In grammatical tradition, two explanations are proposed for this polysemy, both of which can be easily shown to be false: the difference between the two meanings cannot be reduced to the difference between present and aorist aspect, nor can it be explained as a function of the subcategorization of the direct object, i.e., whether it is animate or inanimate, see De Boel (1987a, 33–40). But clearly something about the object is relevant here: its thematic role.

2 Spray paint cases The verb βάλλω is an example of the so–called “spray paint cases”: these are verbs with a Theme (or Patient) and a Location (or Goal/Source) in their argument structure, which show “locative alternation”, i.e. they select either the Theme or the Location as their grammatical object. A Theme or «patient is simply anything representable by a noun whose role in the action or state identified by the verb is identified by the semantic interpretation of the verb itself» (Fillmore 1968, 25). In the first case the event encoded by the verb is construed as a change of location, in the second as a change of state, see e.g. Fillmore (1971, 386), De Boel (1987b, 7–8), Nemoto (2005, 127). The possibility to apply locative alternation to a verb with this argument structure is already given in Proto–Indo–European, cf. Haudry (1977, 149), and it is still common

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today. I will illustrate the diachronic permanence of the alternation with two among the many Homeric verbs which display this alternation. In Homer alone, it concerns the following verbs: ἀραρίσκω, βάλλω, ἐλαύνω, ἐνίημι, ἐρέφω, καλύπτω, νηέω, ὀρέγομαι, παλάσσω, παλύνω and πήγνυμι, but also “ablative” verbs, which denote a movement away from a starting point, like ἀφαιρέομαι, ἀπηύρων, καθαίρω, λούω, λύω, νίζω, (ἀπ)ομόργνυμι and συλάω. My first example is νηέω ‘to load’, which is precisely one of the prototypical “spray paint” verbs in the modern languages. Just like its modern equivalents, it may select as its object either the Theme, in this case the objects loaded upon the waggon: (1)

ἐκ θαλάμου δὲ φέροντες ἐϋξέστης ἐπ᾿ἀπήνης νήεον ῾Εκτορέης κεφαλῆς ἀπερείσι᾿ ἄποινα (Il. 24.275–76) ‘Then they brought forth from the treasure–chamber and heaped upon the polished waggon the countless ransom for Hector’s head’

or the Location, in this case the ship in which gold and bronze are loaded: (2)

νῆα ἅλις χρυσοῦ καὶ χαλκοῦ νηησάσθω (Il. 9.137) ‘let him (. . . ) load his ship with gold and bronze to his heart’s content’

My second example is ἐνίημι ‘to send in(to), to inplant, to inspire’. The expected construction for a compound of ἵημι is the one encoding a change of location, with the Theme as the object: (3)

υἱέες ἀθανάτων, τοῖσιν κότον αἰνὸν ἐνήσεις (Il. 16.449) ‘sons of the immortals, in whom you will inspire dread wrath’.

But Homer can also use this verb with the Location as the object, i.e. the man who is inspired, or “injected”,¹ to use the latinate word that originated as a Latin calque of ἐνίημι, with a certain emotion: (4)

νῦν αὖ μιν πολὺ μᾶλλον ἀγηνορίῃσιν ἐνῆκας (Il. 9.700) ‘now you have inspired him with even more pride of soul’

Apart from an obvious imitation by Apollonius Rhodius, in: (5)

ἦέ σε πάγχυ λαθιφροσύναις ἐνέηκαν ἀγλαΐαι (Arg. 4.355) ‘Has your triumph inspired you completely with forgetfulness?’

this construction was never used again in the history of Greek, nor was it ever used in Latin, with its calque, inicio. From the very beginning, i.e. from Homer onward, ἐνίημι could denote the pouring of a drug into a liquid. The first occurrence, where it clearly is synonymous with βάλλω, is already in a medical context:

1 Compare this with Fuller’s: «Our Adversary injects. . . bad motions into our hearts» in his Good Thoughts in Worse Times iv. v. 145 (1647).

Locative alternation as lexical derivation: the examples of νάττω and βάλλω

(6)

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αὐτίκ᾿ ἄρ᾿ εἰς οἶνον βάλε φάρμακον, ἔνθεν ἔπινον, νηπενθές τ᾿ἄχολόν τε, κακῶν ἐπίληθον ἁπάντων. (. . . ) αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ᾿ἐνέηκε κέλευσέ τε οἰνοχοῆσαι (Od. 4.220–23) ‘Straightway she cast into the wine of which they were drinking a drug to quiet all pain and strife, and bring forgetfulness of every ill. (. . . ) Now when she had cast in the drug, and had bidden pour forth the wine (. . . )’

Hippocrates uses the verb in a technical sense, to denote e.g. an enema: (7) οὐ μὴν οὐδ᾿ ἔνεσις φύσης ἐνιεμένη ἐς τὴν κοιλίην οὐδὲν ἂν δυνασθείη (Hp. Art. 48) ‘nor would the injection of air into the bowels have any effect’. In Latin the derived noun, iniectio, a calque of Hippocratic ἔνεσις, is apparently used for the first time in this medical sense in the fifth century A.D. by Caelius Aurelianus, in his translation of a Greek medical treatise (Lewis – Short, s.v. iniectio). French borrows the Latin loan word injection in the 14th century, in the medical sense, and the verb injetter (adapted from the Latin derived verb iniectare), by 1555; it was later relatinized as injecter (FEW, s.v.). The first attestations of the Latin loan word in English in this sense are 1541 for injection, and 1601 for to inject (OED, s.v.). It is interesting that English, at least since 1731 (OED s.v.), and French, at least since 1771 (FEW s.v.), show locative alternation for this verb, for the first time in its history since the model for the calque, the Homeric verb ἐνίημι, was used that way. The locative alternation, and the pragmatic factors which govern it, are neatly demonstrated by a quotation from «The Telegraph» (28 Jan. 2014). The title of the article goes like this: (8)

A girl whose brain was accidentally injected with glue during treatment at Great Ormond Street Hospital is to receive a multimillion–pound damages payout.

In the article itself this becomes: (9) This resulted in glue being wrongly injected into the artery to Maisha’s brain, causing catastrophic and permanent brain damage. Whereas the title suggests a change of state of the brain, in that it was filled – that is how the OED glosses the verb in this construction – with glue, the article itself, somewhat less sensationally, focuses on the precise movement of the glue through the artery into the brain. This example highlights two important characteristics of the locative alternation. Firstly, it shows that the alternation is still productive today, and may be realised for any verb that encodes the caused motion of a Theme to/from a Location, if at least it is in any way meaningful to describe the event as affecting the Location; and secondly, that this alternation may just as well not arise in any particular verb. Modern Greek, e.g., has lost the verb ἐνίημι, and it does not allow locative alternation with the verb ἐγχέω, which replaces it. Obviously, these characteristics, each taken by itself, lead

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straight to either a purely syntactic or a purely lexical treatment of locative alternation. But of course they should not be taken by themselves. The question is, then, how to describe this phenomenon, as, on the surface, we have the same verb and a transitive construction each time. So what is responsible for the difference?

3 Diathesis of the object? If we look again at tradition, it clearly situated the difference in the accusative: there were simply two different accusatives at work here. When the Location was expressed in the accusative, tradition considered it to be an accusative of the goal, a semantic relation, which it took to be the original function of the accusative. On the other hand, the accusative that expressed the Theme constituent was analysed as a grammatical case, the case of the abstract grammatical function of direct object. This traditional conception was developed into a global theory by the Hungarian linguist Janos Zsilka in the 1960’s, and by the French scholar Jean Haudry in the 1970’s. It is to be rejected, as I have shown elsewhere (De Boel 1988): the accusative of the object is never underlyingly an accusative of the goal, and the direct object is a unitary, purely syntactic function. If, however, there are not two different accusatives, then the difference must be situated in the verb or in the whole construction, or, better still, in both. In fact, the phenomenon of locative alternation resembles rather much the phenomenon of diathesis or grammatical voice. Grammar traditionally describes a passive clause as a transformation of an active clause, whereby the direct object of the active clause is promoted to be the subject, and the subject demoted to be an adjunct. This change in the subject is then registered in the verb by the passive morphology, which signals a marked choice of subject. What is happening with the ‘spray paint cases’ is something similar, albeit with regard to the direct object. We could therefore consider calling this phenomenon “diathesis of the object”, as does Haudry (1977, 19). But there are three important differences with grammatical voice:

3.1 Zero–marking Neither in Greek nor in any other ancient Indo–European language the switch in the choice of the object is registered in the verb. There is no morphological category that allows the verb to signal that something is going on with the direct object. This objection may, however, be met with the following two observations. The first is that, in Ancient Greek as in the modern European languages, some important

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phenomena that have to do with the relationship between the verb and its subject are simply not registered in the morphology. Thus, in English, so–called “labile” (see Kulikov – Lavidas 2014) or “alternating unaccusative verbs” (see Levin – Rappaport Hovav 1995), like to open or to break can promote their direct object to subject position, without this promotion being acknowledged in the form of the verb: (10)

John broke the vase

(11)

The vase broke.

Homeric Greek itself seems to know a similar phenomenon, when it uses the verb βάλλω with active morphology, but with an intransitive meaning, in sentences like: (12) ἔστι δέ τις ποταμὸς Μινυήιος εἰς ἅλα βάλλων/ ἔγγυθεν ᾿Αρήνης (Il. 11. 722–23) ‘There is a river Minyeios that falls into the sea near Arene’ The similarity comes out even more clearly with the compound verb εἰσβάλλω, as used in Herodotus and later writers, where the expected transitive construction, with e.g. στρατιήν as the direct object, alternates with an intransitive construction, where στρατιή may be the subject: (13)

ἐσέβαλε μέν νυν στρατιὴν καὶ οὗτος (. . . ) ἔς τε Μίλητον καὶ ἐς Σμύρνην (Hdt. 1.15.1). ‘he too led an army into the lands of Miletus and Smyrna’

It is used intransitively, with the dative of the army, in: (14) Κλεομένης τε δὴ στόλῳ μεγάλῳ ἐσέβαλε ἐς ᾿Ελευσῖνα (Hdt 5.24.2) ‘Cleomenes broke in as far as Eleusis with a great host’ and finally the army itself becomes the subject in: (15) ὡς ἐπύθοντο καὶ ἄλλην ἐοῦσαν ἐσβολὴν ἐς Θεσσαλοὺς (. . . ), τῇ περ δὴ καὶ ἐσέβαλε ἡ στρατιὴ ἡ Ξέρξεω (Hdt 7.173.4) ‘since they had found out that there was another pass leading into Thessaly (. . . ); this was indeed the way by which Xerxes’ army descended on Thessaly’. In cases such as this, as the army is explicitly led by Xerxes, and in that sense is clearly an Undergoer, the direct object of the transitive construction seems to have become the subject of an intransitive construction, with the same verb in the same voice. Nevertheless it is still human, and may be supposed to retain some control over its movement and therefore to be capable of autonomous activity, just like the river of the Homeric example 12. The construction may on that ground be labeled “agentive anticausative”, see Haspelmath (1987, 28–29). It is customary, in cases such as these, to try to distinguish painstakingly between intransitivization and absolute use, see Feltenius (1977, 16) and Gianollo (2014, 960–61). But I would rather stress, with Blinkenberg (1960, 51), the pivotal role that absolute use plays in reorienting the verb’s meaning and thereby precisely allowing it to be used in a new construction.

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The second observation is that some modern languages do register a marked object choice in the form of the verb, see Becker (1971, 139). German and Dutch, and to a lesser extent English, regularly add the prefix be– to the verb when it takes the Location as its object instead of the Theme; in that case the Dutch verb sproeien, which corresponds to spray, becomes besproeien. In English itself, albeit in an archaic register, to sprinkle and to spatter could be replaced by to besprinkle and to bespatter in the same context. The prefixation of be– may therefore be compared to the medio–passive morphology signaling a switch in the choice of subject. In the case of Greek, or of the spray–paint verbs in English, we might therefore treat this phenomenon as a case of zero–marking of a verbal category.

3.2 Unpredictability But a second important difference with grammatical voice is that, even if locative alternation is a productive phenomenon, still it is not systematic. Alongside the list of verbs which display locative alternation, there are other verbs which do not, although their argument structure matches the structural description of the alternation. Thus, in example 1. νήεον could probably be replaced (only as far as the language is concerned) with κατατίθεσαν, as in: (16)

κούρη δ᾿ ἐκ θαλάμοιο φέρεν ἐσθῆτα φαεινήν. καὶ τὴν μὲν κατέθηκεν ἐυξέστῳ ἐπ᾿ ἀπήνῃ, μήτηρ δ᾿ ἐν κίστῃ ἐτίθει μενοεικέ᾿ ἐδωδὴν (Od. 7.74) ‘and the maiden brought from her chamber the bright raiment, and placed it upon the polished car, while her mother put in a chest food of all sorts to satisfy the heart’.

but reversely, τίθημι or κατατίθημι could not be used with the Location constituent as direct object. Homer (or any other author) never says: (17)

*μήτηρ δὲ κίστην ἐτίθει μενοεικέϊ ἐδωδῇ with the intended meaning ‘her mother filled a chest with food’, just like one cannot say in English:

(18)

*she put the chest with food with the same intended meaning. Likewise, whereas Homer says:

(19)

ἐν δ᾿ οἶνον ἔχευεν / ἐν δέπαϊ χρυσέῳ (Od. 20.260) ‘he poured wine in a cup of gold’.

he could not have said: (20)

*δέπας χρύσεον οἴνῳ ἔχευεν if he intended to say ‘he filled the cup with wine’, just like, in English, one cannot say:

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*he poured the cup with wine when one means to say ‘he poured the cup full of wine’.

This means that the phenomenon is much more unpredictable than grammatical voice. Moreover, as with be– verbs in German or Dutch, the derived verb, as, e.g., betrachten, see Günther (1974, 217), may become lexicalized and completely cut its ties with the basic verb from which it was derived. Therefore this derivation is certainly also lexical, not only syntactic in nature: i.e., it consists in the creation of a new verb, with selectional properties of its own. This point can be illustrated by the history of the verb pacare and its avatars in modern European languages. In the fourth century A.D., this Latin verb, which originally meant ‘to pacify, subdue’, took the meaning ‘to appease, conciliate’. Throughout its history, it clearly denotes a change of state. The Old French verb paiier which continued it kept this meaning well into the thirteenth century. The Normans brought this verb to England, where under the form paien it was used in this meaning in the thirteenth century. This meaning survived for the verb in its modern form to pay at least until 1500, see OED, MED (s.v.). It is the only meaning of the Dutch verb paaien (first attestation 1281) up to the present day. But in Old French it acquired the specific meaning ‘to appease one’s creditor’ (first attestation ca 1170), the best way of doing which is to give him the money one owes him. This construction, with the person paid as the direct object, is attested in English from about 1275: (22)

Se sergant paide θo werkmen and yaf euerich ane peny (MED, s.v. paien, 4.b) ‘He paid the workmen and gave everyone a penny’

To the verb in this meaning locative alternation was applied in French at the beginning of the thirteenth century. Again, Blinkenberg emphasizes the pivotal role that was played by the absolute use of the verb (1960, 52). This leads to the possibility of using the sum of money as the direct object: the verb denotes now the change of location of the Theme, see FEW (s.v. pacare). In this construction it takes the place, in French, of the verb soldre, soudre (from Latin solvere), which was to disappear thereafter. In English the new construction is also attested in the thirteenth century: (23)

Echman paide a peni (ca 1300, MED, s.v. paien, 3.a.) ‘everybody paid a penny’

This example makes two things clear. Firstly, the directionality of the locative alternation is not always the same. Whereas, with ἐνίημι, the original construction denoted a change of location of the Theme (the thing set in motion, injected), with pacare > payer > to pay the direction is opposite, as this verb denoted originally a change of state. In its original argument structure there was no movement, let alone a Theme undergoing this movement. The sum of money that changes hands in a financial transaction only came into the picture through a specialization of the verb’s meaning, from ‘to appease’

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to ‘to appease by handing over money’. There is, therefore, no such thing as marked object choice in locative alternation. Secondly, the locative alternation may lead to the blurring of the original meaning of the verb; in the case of ‘to pay’, the meaning ‘to appease’ eventually completely disappeared from the language.

3.3 Semantic difference A third, and crucial, difference with voice is that in locative alternation there is distinctly a semantic difference between the two constructions. The one with the Location as direct object has a holistic interpretation, as it indicates that the Location is completely affected by the action denoted by the verb.² This fact has important consequences, as, for a verb meaning ‘to throw’, like βάλλω, it makes more sense to encode the Location as completely affected when it is effectively hit, see Ruipérez (1982, 95–96), compare Fillmore (1977, 99) for to shoot. Thus, the meaning of the verb is significantly different in the two constructions: both the truth conditions and the selectional restrictions vary. In view of this semantic difference, it would be advisable to treat the two meanings not as some kind of “object diathesis”, but as homophonous verbs, even though naturally they are related to each other through a lexical derivation with zero–marking, cf. Starosta (1976, 509–15).

4 Temporal range of locative alternation: the example of νάττω The importance of the diagnosis of locative alternation, and the fact that the occurrences of the two constructions may be separated by a considerable lapse of time may be illustrated by the vicissitudes of the verb νάττω. This verb, together with its compound ἐπινάττω, is the object of damnatio memoriae by the twentieth century editors in the following passage in Aristophanes’ Ecclesiazusae, where the manuscripts have the following reading: (24)

ὡς αἱ τράπεζαι γ᾿ εἰσὶν ἐπινενασμέναι ἀγαθῶν ἁπάντων καὶ παρεσκευασμέναι, κλῖναί τε σισυρῶν καὶ δαπίδων νενασμέναι (Eccl. 838–40) ‘the tables are already laid and loaded with the most exquisite dishes; the couches are covered with the softest of cushions’.

This text was rejected by modern editors on the grounds explicited by Ussher:

2 This fact was already signaled by Grimm, with respect to the German be–verbs cf. Weisgerber (1958, 43); S. Anderson was the first to introduce it into the discussion within a generative framework (1971).

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– ἐπινάττω is known only in Hesychius, who glosses ἐπινάξαι by ἐπιπακτῶσαι, which occurs in Aristophanes in the phrase ἐπιπακτῶσαι τὰς θύρας, where it means ‘to bolt’; – if this meaning is correct, the verb is inappropriate here; – reasoning by analogy with the simple verb, the compound verb should refer to a container, and mean ‘to stick, squeeze into’ (1973, 191). Ussher cites: (25) ἔναττον οὖν οἱ παῖδες εἰς τὰς εὐτυχεῖς σπυρίδας (Hippoloch. ap. Ath., 4.130b) ‘Finally, our slaves squeezed all this into their baskets’ as an example of this usage. That is why the Oxford edition does not admit either ἐπινάττω in v. 838 or νάττω in v. 840. The consequence of this is that the compound is deleted from Todd’s Index aristophaneus, and that both the simple verb and the compound are invisible in this passage both in Perseus and in the TLG. Now, if Hesychius did not find the occurrence he glosses in our text because obviously the meaning is inappropriate here, he must have taken it in another text, now lost, where it was appropriate, as we shall see. But among the many lost texts there may be other occurrences of ἐπινάξαι with the appropriate meaning for our text. Anyway, apart from Hesychius, there are two other occurrences of our verb. First, the Souda quotes the relevant verses as the manuscripts have them, with the reading ἐπινενασμέναι and the gloss: πεπληρωμέναι. The second occurrence is in the Geoponica, a tenth century anthology of texts about agriculture. The passage is about the preparation of pitch for wine barrels: (26)

τὰ τηκτὰ τήξαντες, τὰ ξηρὰ κόψαντες, ἐπινάσσουσιν ἀλόης ἡπατίτιδος σεσησμένης ἡμίμναιον (Geop. 6.6.2) ‘having melted the ingredients that may be dissolved, and having pounded such as are dry, they pour over them half a mina of sifted hepatic aloes’

LSJ correctly translates ἐπινάσσω in this passage as ‘pour, heap over’. This means that it does not refer any more to a container here than it does in Eccl. 838, which is, after all, not surprising, given the fact that the simple verb itself can refer, at least since Hippocrates, to situations where there is no container: (27)

καὶ γὰρ ἡ κόπρος ἡ νεναγμένη μὲν ἐνθερμότερη ἐστὶν ἢ ἡ ἀραιὴ ἐοῦσα (Hp. Nat. Puer., 24) ‘For compacted manure is hotter than manure that is loose’

The only thing, therefore, that really remains to be explained is precisely the locative alternation shown by both νάσσω and ἐπινάσσω, for both in Hippocrates and in the Geoponica the matter heaped or poured functions as the direct object, while in Aristophanes the passive, with the table functioning as subject, presupposes an active

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construction with the table on which one pours something in the accusative. As a matter of fact, locative alternation is attested for the simple verb; besides a construction such as: (28)

ἐν δὲ [sc. τῇ στιβάδι] νένασται . . . (. . . ) καλὰ δέρματα (Theocr. 9, 9–10) ‘a greenbed, on which good hides have been piled up’

with the matter heaped as direct object and the surface as adjunct, we have constructions such as: (29)

νάττω τουτονὶ τὸν θύλακον· εἶτα κενῶ (Epict., fr. 23) ‘I stuff this bag here (pointing to his belly) and then I empty it’.

where the relation of (near–)synonymy between νάττω and πληρόω (cf. the Souda’s gloss above) is explicited by its being used as the opposite of κενόω, and also: (30)

πᾶσα μὲν ὁπλιτῶν οἰκία νένακτο, τὰ τέγη δ᾿ἦν ὕπερθεν ἀμυνομένων κατάπλεα (Flav. Joseph., BJ, 1.17.6) ‘every house was filled with armed men, and the upper rooms were crowded above with soldiers for their defense’

with the genitive of the thing contained, like the one that is governed by κατάπλεως (‘full’) in the next clause, and for that matter like the one we find in Aristophanes. Ussher rejects these parallels as “late” and “specious” (1973, 191). But in the next section we will see another verb (βάλλω) with this locative alternation flying under the radar for many centuries. That Josephus’ construction is not specious, on the other hand, is proved by the fact that in the Geoponica, a text that cannot be suspected of literary mannerism, the construction of the heaped matter in the accusative with the simple verb νάσσω alternates with the construction where the container is in the accusative, after the compound ἐννάσσω: (31)

νάσσουσι τίλεως λεπτῆς γο. η᾿, ἐνισουμένοις τὸν πίθον ἐννάσσουσιν (Geop. 6.6.1) ‘they throw eight drachms of fine Fenugreek on it, and with all that mixed in equal proportions they bung up the jar’.

Obviously, in this example ἐννάσσω could be replaced, if not by Hesychius’ ἐπιπακτῶσαι, which is a hapax, then surely by the simple πακτῶσαι, which means ‘stop up, caulk’ (LSJ), as in: (32) ἡμεῖς δ᾿ὅσ᾿ἦν τετρημένα ἐνεβύσαμεν ῥακίοισι κἀπακτώσαμεν (Ar. Vesp. 128) ‘so we stuffed up every opening with old rags’. All this means that, at least in diachrony, the possibility of locative alternation is given for νάττω. Moreover, even though, as we just saw, νάττω and ἐπινάττω do not mean necessarily ‘to squeeze into’, but can mean simply ‘to pour’ or ‘to heap’, the alternative

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construction, with the Location as direct object, necessarily implies a degree of fullness, by virtue of the holistic reading it imposes. This meaning is made abundantly clear by the scholiasts of these texts. We are reminded here of the OED’s explanation of to inject as ‘to fill a cavity by an injection’. After all, the continuity we see here between a meaning which presupposes a container and a meaning which does not finds an exact parallel in the usage present day Romance and Germanic languages make of words meaning ‘full’. The etymological link of these adjectives with verbs meaning ‘to fill’ is obvious. But this link does not prevent a word like full to apply, e.g., to ‘a table full of good food’. In present day spoken French, the word plein is even a synonym of beaucoup ‘much’, in a way which recalls the Greek πολύς, which is related to πίμπλημι, much as Dutch veel, German viel ‘many’ are related to vullen, füllen ‘to fill’, and vol(l) ‘full’.

5 Semantic range of locative alternation: the example of βάλλω When we first come across βάλλω, in Homer, a considerable lapse of time must have intervened since locative alternation was first activated. This verb can be used both in civilian and in military contexts; it can mean either ‘to throw/put’ or ‘to hit’. The comparison of these meanings in Homer is however rendered difficult by the striking divergence of their constructions. Out of a total of 163 (132 when counting only different verses) occurrences with the accusative of the thing moved, only 6 (5) times the thing moved is a weapon, including the top of a rock broken off by the Cyclops. The only conventional weapon occurs in the only relevant verse in the Iliad: (33)

χαλκὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσι βαλὼν ἐκ θυμὸν ἕλοιτο (Il. 5.317=346) ‘lest any of the Danaans might hurl a spear of bronze into his breast and take away his life’

And even in these rare instances where our verb governs an accusative of the weapon, in two cases the throw misses its mark and therefore does not hit it. Moreover, it is important to realize that there are in Homer numerous examples where the verb is used without a notion of haste or force, meaning just ‘to put’. Even in these cases, however, some translators persist in rendering our verb with ‘throw’ or ‘cast’, thus creating a pseudo–epic diction in translation, and contributing to our feeling that in an epic it is apparently normal to ‘cast’, e.g., cloaks about dead bodies: (34)

τὸν δ᾿ἐπεὶ οὖν δμῳαὶ λοῦσαν καὶ χρῖσαν ἐλαίῳ, ἀμφὶ δέ μιν φᾶρος καλὸν βάλον ἠδὲ χιτῶνα (Il. 24.586–87) Compare Murray’s translation: ‘So when the handmaids had washed the body and anointed it with oil, and had cast about it a fair cloak and a tunic’ with

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Rieu’s: ‘(. . . ) and had wrapped it in a fine mantle and tunic’. This use of βάλλω is therefore nearly exclusively civilian. On the other hand, on a total of 255 (243) verses with the accusative of the human or thing hit, only in 5 (4) cases a conventional or occasional weapon (which may be an arrow, a spear or a stone) is not expressed or present in the context. Even so, in the 3 (2) Iliad cases, the hitting is effected by ῥαθάμιγγες, which are in one case drops of blood, in the other flakes of dust, projected in both cases by the wheel tires. So even then the context is clearly military. The fact alone that the situations to which the two meanings (‘to throw/put’ on the one hand, and ‘to hit’ on the other) are applied are so different is in itself an indication that their difference reaches further than the difference between the active and the passive voice. It may be remembered that Chomsky posited a transformational relation between the active and the corresponding passive sentence because the selectional restrictions were exactly the same between the two, and to generate each separately would mean to miss a significant generalization (1957, 42). Much has changed in generative grammar since 1957, but the identity of the selectional restrictions remains the basic reason for postulating that the active and the passive are flexional forms of the same verb, not derivationally related different verbs. When they are so different as they are in the case of βάλλω, that is, therefore, by itself enough reason to posit two separate, homophonous verbs. In contrast to Homer, Herodotus uses βάλλω only sparingly, but he still knows all its Homeric uses: in Herodotus, it can mean ‘to shoot a missile’, ‘to throw a yoke of papyrus on the waves’, ‘to lay something to heart’ (in the middle voice), ‘to pelt or to hit someone (with arrows, javelins or stones)’. But after Herodotus, the two verbs βάλλω go their strikingly different ways. With the meaning ‘to throw’, it all but disappears in Attic prose. Examples of the ‘civilian’ meaning ‘to put’ are going effectively underground for many centuries, only to surface again in the language of the Septuagint and especially of the New Testament. Thucydides does not have a single example of the thing thrown or set in motion in the accusative, let alone of the meaning ‘to put’. His choice of aspect is also very marked: out of a total of 23 examples, 22 are in the present aspect, which is directly related to the multiplicity of the subjects and/or objects. There are 8 intransitive constructions, in several cases with a dative of a missile. The verb clearly means ‘to shoot at’ in these cases. There are 7 examples of the accusative of the persons being pelted, and seven examples of the present passive with human subject. This predilection for the present aspect is shared by Xenophon, in his Anabasis, where all the 17 examples are in the present aspect. None has the thing set in motion in the accusative. When the present is used for an action against an individual, the verb always means ‘to stone’ him. When no other missile is mentioned, stones are now the default weapon; βάλλω is becoming a synonym for καταλεύω, as in:

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(35) συγκαθήμενοι δ᾿ἔξωθεν τῶν ὅπλων ἐξαίφνης ἀκούομεν θορύβου πολλοῦ παῖε παῖε, βάλλε βάλλε, καὶ τάχα δὴ ὁρῶμεν πολλοὺς προσθέοντας λίθους ἔχοντας ἐν ταῖς χερσί, τοὺς δὲ καὶ ἀναιρουμένους (Anab. 5.7.19) ‘While we were in session outside the camp, we suddenly heard a great uproar and shouts of ‘Strike! strike! pelt! pelt!’ and in a moment we saw a crowd of men rushing toward us with stones in their hands and others picking up stones’. In the Cyropaedia, on the other hand, which is a text not about troops, but about individuals, the aorist aspect does occur, even if it is still less frequent than the present aspect. There is again not a single example of an accusative of the thing set in motion; in the 11 intransitive occurrences, our verb means ‘shoot at’, with arrows, spears, or clods. In 6 cases, the verb governs an accusative of a man hit, or it is a passive form with the man hit as subject. In civilian texts like the comedies by Aristophanes constructions with the thing set in motion in the accusative may not be inexistent, but each example of this rare use has something exceptional about it. Aristophanes, like his fellow Athenians, uses βάλλω predominantly with the accusative of the Location (the person or thing hit). Out of a total of 27 examples, only 4 mean ‘to throw’, one of which (with δάκρυα ‘tears’ as the direct object) is a parody of a Cretan monody by Euripides, and one means ‘to throw aces with the dice’, an effected rather than an affected object. The third is a suspect variant reading λίθον βαλών (‘throwing a stone’), with the accusative of the stone thrown, which does not occur elsewhere in Aristophanes, for λίθον λαβών (‘picking up a stone’), the reading accepted by most modern editors. The fourth is βάλλε κημούς ‘down with the urns’, where βάλλε has come to mean ‘down with someone/something’, like in the related petrified idiom βάλλ᾿ ἐς κόρακας ‘get you gone’, which occurs five times. In the other examples βάλλω governs either an accusative of the person hit, or it is conjoined to another transitive verb with such an object. Apart from occasional weapons such as an apple, or a fresh stool which, in the dark, was mistaken for a stone, the weapons here, whether they are explicitly stated by the dative λίθοις or not, are always stones. The link between βάλλω and stoning is so close that the joking substitution of Βαλλήνα(δε) for the Attic deme of Παλλήνη is sufficient to evoke the idea of stoning someone (Ach. 235). Polybios’ koinè continues the absolute absence of examples of the accusative of the thing set in motion that we found in his predecessors, the Athenian historians. He has 8 intransitive uses, meaning ‘to shoot’, and 7 with the accusative of the person hit, which is mostly (even without a dative λίθοις) ‘stoned’. The 5 examples of the middle voice all mean ‘to pitch camp’. It is therefore entirely unexpected when we find the situation dramatically reversed in the Septuagint, the oldest books of which are older than Polybius. Out of a total of 46 examples, βάλλω is constructed 42 times with the thing set in motion, which may be a missile, a stone, a human being (cast into a fire), a net, a liquid, etc.

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It is interesting, on the other hand, that the Septuagint, and more specifically the Pentateuch, its oldest part, is the first text in which we encounter a new verb for ‘stoning’: λιθοβολέω. It is derived from the noun λιθοβόλος ‘stone–thrower’, which refers either to a body of troops, or to an engine for hurling stones. Curiously enough, out of the 7 times it is used, it is combined 4 times with a pleonastic (ἐν) λίθοις, which is interpreted as a semitism by Lust et al. (s.v.). I would rather see it as a side–effect of the replacement of βάλλω in βάλλω τινὰ λίθοις (where from Xenophon onward βάλλω equally incorporates the notion ‘with stones’, as we just saw) by the new verb λιθοβολέω, which also completely replaces λεύω and its compound καταλεύω in the Septuagint. After the Septuagint, Diodorus of Sicily seems to be the first pagan writer to use this new verb, but without the pleonastic dative λίθοις. In the New Testament, the situation is crystal clear: of the 39 occurrences of βάλλω, 38 govern the thing set in motion (including stones) in the accusative, or are used in the passive with such a subject; in 18 of these cases there is no violence whatsoever in the movement, and ‘throw’ would be quite inappropriate as a translation. On the other hand, there is not a single example of βάλλω with the accusative of the person or thing hit or stoned. There are of course several cases of stoning in the New Testament, but they are expressed 8 times by the verb λιθάζω (which occurs for the first time in the 4th century BC, in Aristotle and Anaxandrides Comicus), and 5 times by the verb λιθοβολέω, without any redundant dative λίθοις now. In this respect, the language of the LXX and of the NT foreshadows the language of medieval demotic Greek texts, which has completely forgotten the verb βάλλω ‘to hit/stone’, with the accusative of the person hit or stoned, and knows only the meaning ‘to put’, while ‘to stone’ is occasionally expressed by λιθάζω, but normally by λιθοβολῶ. This is still the normal usage today. So we have the strange situation of a verb that was quite normal in Homer, i.e. βάλλω meaning ‘to throw/put’, going underground for several centuries, whereas the other verb βάλλω that was also very frequent in Homer, ‘to hit’, is the only one to be used by the Athenian historians and by Polybius, only to disappear completely in the koinè of the LXX and the NT, and in demotic Greek afterwards.

6 Conclusion The examples discussed here illustrate both the diachronic and the semantic range of locative alternation, a phenomenon which was already present in Proto–Indo– European and is still active today, with the same structural description, and the same semantic effect: the alternation changes the verb’s meaning. Instead of a change of location, it denotes now a change of state. This semantic difference is inevitable, as it is caused by the holistic reading which is imposed on the direct object. This difference implies that a new verb is derived, with zero–marking. The semantic difference may re-

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main circumscribed, but in principle the link between the two verbs may be completely severed, as βάλλω shows, where the one verb ended its career in the spoken language with the specialized meaning ‘to stone’, whereas the other still means ‘to put’ today.

Bibliography Anderson, S. 1971: On the role of deep structure in semantic interpretation, «Foundations of Language», 7, 387–396. Becker, D. 1971: Case Grammar and German be–, «Glossa» 5, 125–145. Blinkenberg, A. 1960: Le problème de la transitivité en français moderne, Copenhague. Chomsky, N. 1957: Syntactic Structures, The Hague. De Boel, G. 1987a: Aspekt, Aktionsart und Transitivität, «IF», 92, 33–57. De Boel, G. 1987b: De “Spray Paint Cases” in diachronisch perspectief, «HZnMTL», 41, 5–23. De Boel, G. 1988: Goal accusative and object accusative in Homer. A contribution to the theory of transitivity, Brussels. Feltenius, L. 1977: Intransitivizations in Latin, Uppsala. FEW = Von Wartburg, W. 1922–2002: Französisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, Basel. Fillmore, C. 1968: The Case for Case, in Universals in linguistic theory, eds. E. Bach & R. Harms, New York, 1–88. Fillmore, C. 1971: Types of lexical information, in Semantics. An interdisciplinary reader in philosophy, linguistics and psychology, eds. D. Steinberg & L. Jakobovits, Cambridge, 370–392. Fillmore, C. 1977: Topics in lexical semantics, in Current Issues in Linguistic Theory, ed. R. Cole, Bloomington, 76–137. Gianollo, C. 2014: Labile verbs in Late Latin, «Linguistics», 52, 945–1002. Günther, H. 1974: Das System der Verben mit BE– in der deutschen Sprache der Gegenwart, Tübingen. Haspelmath, M. 1987: Transitivity alternations of the anticausative type. Arbeitspapiere 5, Cologne. Haudry, J. 1977: L’emploi des cas en védique. Introduction à l’étude des cas en indo–européen, Lyon. Kulikov, L. & Lavidas N. 2014: Introduction, «Linguistics» 52/4, (Typology of labile verbs: focus on diachrony, eds. L. Kulikov & N. Lavidas), 871–877. Levin, B. & Rappaport Hovav, M. 1995: Unaccusativity. At the syntax – lexical semantics interface, Cambridge, Mass. Lust, J., Eynikel, E. & Hauspie K. 1996: A Greek English Lexicon of the Septuagint, Part II K–Ω, Stuttgart. MED = Middle English Dictionary, University of Michigan (online). Nemoto, N. 2005: Verbal polysemy and Frame Semantics in Construction Grammar. Some observations on the locative alternation, in Grammatical Constructions: Back to the roots, eds. M. Fried & Boas, H., Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 119–136. OED = Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford University Press (online). Ruipérez, M. 1982: Structure du système des aspects et des temps du verbe en grec ancien, Paris. Starosta, S. 1976: The one per sent solution, in Valence, Semantic Case and Grammatical Relations, ed. W. Abraham, Amsterdam, 459–576. Ussher, R. 1973: Aristophanes Ecclesiazusae, Oxford. Weisgerber, L. 1958: Verschiebungen in der sprachlichen Einschätzung von Menschen und Sachen, Cologne.

Noemi De Pasquale

The “Classical” way to encode motion Path and Manner expression in Ancient Greek Abstract: This paper aims at describing the morphosyntactic tools Ancient Greek employs for the expression of motion through a corpus–based analysis. In particular, the focus is on two basic conceptual components of a motion event, namely Path and Manner, as well as on the lexicalization strategies exploited for their encoding. The data collected through an extensive reading of three literary texts belonging to the 5th century B.C. reveal that, independently of the devices available at the system level, Ancient Greek resorts not only to satellites or prepositions, but also to inherently directional verbs, for the expression of Path. Manner is not as salient as in other Satellite–Framed languages, and it appears in the verbal slot only when relevant. The most frequent constructions and the preference for some semantic constituents, as well as the position of Ancient Greek with respect to Talmy’s dichotomy, are finally discussed.

1 Introduction By virtue of the basic role it plays in human life, the domain of spatial relations and motion represents a privileged field to study how languages of the world differ in the way they map cognitive notions onto linguistic items. Most of the studies on the expression of motion events refer to Leonard Talmy’s groundbreaking works (1985; 1991), in which the basic semantic components of motion are identified, and a major dichotomy is postulated between Verb–Framed and Satellite–Framed languages (henceforth VF and SF), according to the most pervasive lexicalization pattern they resort to. Languages that preferentially employ inherently directional verbs (e.g. Italian entrare ‘enter’, uscire ‘exit’, salire ‘climb’, scendere ‘descend’) to encode Path, are said to belong to the VF type, while languages that combine Manner roots specifying the kind of motion performed by the Figure, and directional particles or satellites containing the Path information (e.g. English John ran out), are classified as SF. Both Talmy’s model and its later revisions by Slobin (2004; 2005), Beavers et al. (2010), Croft et al. (2010), mix cognitive insights, and typological claims. Although most of the research on the encoding of motion events has been led on modern spoken

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-691

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languages, such a perspective has been productively applied to ancient languages too, as the Excellence Cluster TOPOI, based in Berlin, has recently shown.¹ The present study is an attempt to adapt methods and approaches which belong to the fields of theoretical and cognitive linguistics, to the analysis of Ancient Greek, in order to contribute to the typological classification of the devices cross–linguistically employed for the expression of motion, as well as to a better classification of Ancient Greek with respect to the experiential domain of motion. The paper is organized as follows: §2 addresses some methodological issues, and presents the texts on which the analysis has been led; §3 shows a provisional inventory of the Ancient Greek motion verbs more frequently attested within the corpus, with a special focus on the “semantic granularity” (see Slobin et al. 2014, 705) of Path and Manner information, as well as on the most “natural” morphosyntactic environment in which each verbal root appears; §4 is devoted to the analysis of the Ancient Greek particles responsible for the expression of the different portions of Path; §5 examines the preferred combinations between motion verbs and satellites, according to their respective semantic features; §6 provides some provisional conclusions on the topic of motion event encoding in Classical Greek.

2 Corpus and Methodology of Data Analysis The corpus under analysis consists of the excerpts of motion events collected through a systematic scrutiny of three literary texts from the 5th century B.C., namely Herodotus’ Histories; Aristophanes’ Birds; Euripides’ Bacchae.² For the purpose of this paper, the analysis has been restricted to a sample of 400 occurrences (200 have been taken from Herodotus, 100 from Aristophanes, and 100 from Euripides). Only the instances of translational motion, in which «an object’s base location shifts from one point to another in space» (see Talmy 2000, 35) have been taken into account. Moreover, the focus has been limited to agentive motion (traditionally referred to as “voluntary”, “self–caused” or “internally caused”, see Levin – Rappaport Hovav 1995), since it constitutes the basis for the formulation of Talmy’s typology. Ancient Greek verbs of caused motion, such as ἄγω ‘lead, carry’, βάλλω ‘throw’, ἐλαύνω ‘drive away, carry off’, have been therefore ruled out, although they can encode Manner of motion when used intransitively.³

1 For further information about the research project at issue, check the website https://www.topoi.org/. 2 The two dramatic texts were included in the corpus as a fundamental device for the analysis of deixis, by virtue of their dialogical trend reproducing actual conversation. 3 Excluding the instances of caused motion, the total number of occurrences under analysis amounts to 309.

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As for the labeling of the data, a grid adapted from the model provided by Fortis – Vittrant (2011) has been devised, which accounts for both the morphological and the semantic information, highlighting, on one hand, the most frequent constructions in the language, on the other, the main portions of Path (i.e. Source, Median, Goal), as well as their locus of encoding (see Wälchli 2001).⁴ From a strictly methodological point of view, both Talmy’s categories and Slobin’s corpus–oriented approach, combined in a philological perspective, have been exploited to offer a qualitative and quantitative evaluation of the means available in Classical Greek for the expression of the different conceptual components of motion events. Such an approach was supported by the claim that only a careful analysis of the different constructions involved, independently from the authors’ rhetorical and stylistic specificities, allows to investigate the factors driving variation phenomena, and define the gap between system and usage.

3 Motion Verbs By virtue of its rich inventory of directional particles, Classical Greek is commonly classified as a SF language (see Talmy 1985; Filipović 2007; Imbert 2008; Nikitina 2013). According to Talmy’s two–way typology, languages belonging to this group should conflate the semantic components of Manner and Motion within the main verbal root, and express Path through a separate constituent, namely a satellite, associated with the verb. This is, for instance, the case of English, which typically accumulates Ground elements onto a single verb to express “complex Paths” or “journeys” (see Slobin 1996), as in the following English sentence: (1)

I ran out the kitchen door, past the animal pens, towards Jason’s house.

However, though displaying the main features of SF languages, Classical Greek shares traits of the VF type too, such as the presence of intrinsically directional roots within the lexicon, and a low degree of Manner salience. Considering the critical role of the verb in determining how Path and Manner are encoded (see Beavers et al. 2010, 4), we will first present a provisional list of Classical Greek motion verbs, as well as their preferential constructions. The verbs in the sample at issue resulted in three major semantic clusters, i.e. verbs of generic motion, Path verbs, Manner verbs. Table 1 shows the distribution, as well as the type and token frequency of each group in the corpus.

4 An appendix showing an excerpt of the coding grid is provided on page ??.

682 | Noemi De Pasquale Table 1: Distribution of verbal clusters CLUSTER

TYPES

TOKENS

TOKEN DISTRIBUTION

Basic motion Path Manner

4 11 15

101 91 117

32,7% 29,4% 37,9%

The following sections will be devoted to the analysis of each cluster.

3.1 Verbs of Generic Motion The first label comprises four verbs which encode motion itself, without defining the trajectory followed by the Figure, and are therefore semantically neutral to Path. These verbs are ἔρχομαι, εἶμι, βαίνω, βλώσκω. According to the context in which they occur, they can be translated either as ‘go’, ‘come’ or ‘move’. On the grounds of their semantic “poorness”, all of these verbs need to be associated to other morphosyntactic tools in order to express a full motion event. Among the verbs of generic motion, ἔρχομαι occurs 48 times in the corpus, mostly with the Goal of motion encoded in the adnominal slot by means of a prepositional phrase, as in (2): (2)

ἐς τήνδε πρῶτον ἦλθον ῾Ελλήνων πόλιν ‘and I have come to this Hellene city first’ (Eur. Ba. 20)

The verb εἶμι, 30 occurrences in total, usually selects a preverb encoding the direction of motion, as in the following example: (3)

καὶ ἡ γυνὴ ἐπορᾷ μιν ἐξιόντα ‘the woman glimpsed him as he went out’ (Hdt. 1.10.2c)

Like ἔρχομαι and εἶμι, βαίνω (19x) too is usually preverbed, as in (4), where διά expresses boundary crossing in the Median: (4)

ἐπείτε διαβὰς σὺν τῷ στρατῷ ‘passing over with his army’ (Hdt. 1.76.1a)

3.2 Path Verbs The second semantic group includes Path verbs, i.e. roots containing some directional information. The corpus at issue exhibits nine verbs showing such semantic features: ἀφικνέομαι ‘reach, attain to, come to’; ἥκω ‘have come to, have reached a point’; χωρέω

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‘retire’; ἕπομαι ‘follow’; ἀπαλλάσσω ‘get off, escape’; λείπω ‘leave, depart’; νοστέω ‘go or come home, depart’; οἴχομαι ‘go away, go off, depart’; περάω ‘pass across or through a space, traverse’. With the two exceptions of ἀφικνέομαι and ἀπαλλάσσω, which are, however, strongly lexicalized items, the Path verbs in the sample are most likely to occur as bare forms, since they do not need any preverb to further describe the trajectory followed by the moving entity.⁵ Among the Path roots, some can be defined as Goal–oriented, in the sense they contribute to the expression of the final point of the Figure’s trajectory; by contrast, Source–oriented verbs suggest an implicit reference to the Source of motion (see Papafragou 2010; Kopecka – Narasimhan 2012). Among the verbs that are naturally proner to express the Goal of motion, ἀφικνέομαι and ἥκω entail Goal attainment: (5)

ἀπικνέεται ἐς τὰς Σάρδις ἀνὴρ ‘a man came to Sardis’ (Hdt. 1.35.1a)

(6) πολλῶν δ᾿ ὅδ᾿ ἁνὴρ θαυμάτων ἥκει πλέως ἐς τάσδε Θήβας ‘this man has reached Thebes full of many wonders’ (Eur. Ba. 449) By virtue of its semantics, χωρέω is often employed as a minus–ground verb (see Slobin 1996), i.e. a verb that appear alone in the clause. As to be expected, this absolute usage is more common in the dramatic texts: (7)

χώρει ‘go away!’ (Eur. Ba. 509)

Among Path verbs, two roots are never followed by prepositional phrases encoding different portions of Path, but rather select bare case markers. ῞Επομαι often requires a Ground element taking the dative case, which represents the moving Goal of motion and has, therefore, an animate referent: (8)

ἀλλ᾿ ἕπου μοι κισσίνου βάκτρου μέτα ‘but follow me with the ivy–clad staff’ (Eur. Ba. 363)

Λείπω is always employed transitively within the corpus, its direct object expressing the Source of motion: (9)

λιπὼν δὲ Λυδῶν τοὺς πολυχρύσους γύας Φρυγῶν τε ‘I have left the wealthy lands of the Lydians and Phrygians’ (Eur. Ba. 13)

Like λείπω, ἀπαλλάσσω too can be labeled as a Source–oriented verb: (10) ἀπαλλάσσετο ἐκ τῆς χώρης τὸ παράπαν ‘he went away from the country altogether’ (Hdt. 1.61.2a)

5 Both ἀφικνέομαι and ἀπαλλάσσω show a high degree of lexicalization, the satellite being tight to the verb. Their corresponding bare forms are extremely rare in the corpus; furthermore, the preverb ἀπό provides ἀλλασσω with a motion nuance which is completely unknown to the bare root whose original meaning is ‘change, alter’.

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3.3 Manner Verbs The last and most composite verbal category revealed by the data analysis is that of Manner verbs. With respect to Path, that is unanimously considered as the core element of a motion event, less attention has been paid to the mode of motion carried out by the Figure. Talmy (2000, 45) defines Manner as «an additional activity that a Figure of a Motion event exhibits». According to Slobin (2004, 255), Manner is «an ill–defined set of dimensions that modulate motion, including motor pattern, rate, rhythm, posture, affect, and evaluative factors». Due to the bleary concept, there is little consensus among scholars as to the types of components relevant to Manner of motion. Slobin (1996, 459) proposes a first cut: «languages seem to have a “two–tiered” lexicon of Manner verbs: the neutral, everyday verbs – like walk and fly and climb, and the more expressive or exceptional verbs – like dash and swoop and scramble». Crucially SF and VF languages differ in the “semantic granularity” (see Slobin et al. 2014, 705) of each tier: both share the first one but, while SF languages tend to have rich lexicons of expressive Manner verbs (i.e. second tier), VF languages make limited use of, or do not have any access to, verbs encoding exceptional Manners of motion. Keeping Slobin’s distinctions, the most frequent Manner verbs have been sub– categorized into two main semantic groups. In particular, seven basic Manner verbs (corresponding to Slobin’s first tier) have resulted namely: πίπτω ‘fall’; πέτομαι ‘fly’; φεύγω ‘flee, escape’; πλέω ‘sail’; ῥέω ‘flow, stream’; τρέχω ‘run, move quickly’; στείχω ‘walk’. Some of these verbs are barely classificatory, i.e. they encode a kind of motion that is the default for a specific entity. This is the case of πέτομαι, whose relatively high frequency in the corpus clearly depends on the plot of Aristophanes’comedy, and ῥέω, which describes the typical motion of rivers. While πέτομαι often takes the satellite preverb ἀνά ‘upwards, from bottom to top’ which restates the direction of motion, ῥέω is mostly used in its bare form, and exploits the adnominal locus to describe Path. It is worth noting that interestingly with ῥέω more than one portion of Path tends to be expressed, as in (11) where the two prepositional phrases respectively encode Source and Median, i.e. the area through which motion is performed: (11)

ὁ ῞Αλυς ποταμός, ὃς ῥέει ἐξ ᾿Αρμενίου ὄρεος διὰ Κιλίκων ‘the river Halys, which flows from the Armenian mountains through Cilicia’ (Hdt. 1.72.2a)

Πλέω specifies the means of conveyance, which is considered to pertain to Manner only by some scholars (e.g. Levin 1992; Slobin 2004; 2005). It is usually preverbed and accompanied by prepositional phrases encoding different Ground elements. (12)

καταπλώσαντας γὰρ μακρῇ νηί ἐς Αἶαν τε τὴν Κολχίδα καὶ ἐπὶ Φᾶσιν ποταμόν

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‘they sailed in a long ship to Aea, a city of the Colchians, and to the river Phasis’ (Hdt. 1.2.2) Two of the verbs classified as basic Manner verbs, πίπτω and φεύγω, undeniably contain a directional component. Such, so to speak, “composite” roots discredit a rigid separation between Path verbs, on one hand, and Manner verbs, on the other.⁶ When preverbed, πίπτω selects the directional satellite κατά ‘downwards’ (13), while φεύγω shows a clear preference for the two preverbs encoding the Source of motion, and is often employed transitively (14), (15). (13)

κατάπεσ᾿ ἀπὸ τῆς κλίμακος ‘he fell down the ladder’ (Aristoph. Birds 840b)

(14) οὐκ ἔστιν οὕτως ὠκὺς ὥστε μ᾿ ἐκφυγεῖν ‘he is not so swift as to escape me’ (Eur. Ba. 452) (15) οὔτε πολιὸν πέλαγος ἔστιν ὅ τι δέξεται τώδ᾿ ἀποφυγόντε με ‘nor the foaming deep can save them, who are escaping me’ (Aristoph. Birds 351) The verbs corresponding to Slobin’s second tier are fewer than one would expect from a SF language. They only cover three out of the ten Manner type nuances in Slobin et al. (2014, 718), i.e. «relaxed walking, rapid movement, and punctuated, repeatable movement». The expressive Manner verbs found in the database are: ὁρμάω ‘rush, dart, hasten’; φοιτάω ‘go forwards and backwards, roam’; πηδάω ‘leap, spring’; ἀίσσω ‘move with a quick, shooting motion, dart’; θοάζω ‘move quickly, rush, dart’; θρῴσκω ‘leap, spring, rush, dart’; κυλίνδω ‘roll’. Expressive Manner verbs can either be preverbed, like πηδάω in (16), where the rate of motion is strengthened by the adverbial accusative τὴν ταχίστην, or not, like θοάζω in (17): (16)

ἢ ἐκπηδᾶν ἐς τὴν θάλασσαν τὴν ταχίστην ‘or else to jump into the sea at once’ (Hdt. 1.24.3)

(17)

᾿Ασίας ἀπὸ γᾶς ἱερὸν Τμῶλον ἀμείψασα θοάζω ‘from the land of Asia, having left sacred Tmolus, I rush’ (Eur. Ba. 64)

When co–occurring with a satellite, verbs of the second tier select a preverb which is, by virtue of its core meaning, compatible with their semantics. This is what happens with φοιτάω in (18). This verbal root encodes a random movement of the Figure and is, therefore, unlikely to explicit either the exact Source of motion, or its Goal. Therefore the verb will rather prefer the satellite διά ‘through, across’, naturally used for multi– directional paths inside continuous landmarks (see Luraghi 2003, 176), which appears both as a preposition and as a preverb in (18): 6 For an overview on the topic of the complementarity of Path and Manner, see Levin – Rappaport Hovav (1992; 2006).

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(18)

καὶ τοῖσι θεοῖσιν ἀπειπεῖν διὰ τῆς χώρας τῆς ὑμετέρας ἐστυκόσι μὴ διαφοιτᾶν ‘and forbid the gods henceforward to pass through your country with their tools up’ (Aristoph. Birds 556)

To sum up, in this section a provisional list of the motion verbs encountered in the corpus under study has been presented and grouped into three different semantic clusters. The percentage of Manner verbs in the corpus under analysis is sensitively higher than those found by Slobin (2005, 9) and Hijazo Gascón – Ibarretxe Antuñano (2013, 477) with respect to VF languages. Nevertheless, crosslinguistic comparison seems to confirm the low level of semantic detail of Manner in Ancient Greek as opposed to other languages of the SF type.

4 Satellites and Prepositions As well known, Ancient Greek has an inventory of eighteen particles, traditionally named proper prepositions, which can either be attached to verbal roots, and thus behave as preverbs, or occur autonomously in the clause governing nouns, thus performing a prepositional use. By virtue of their semantic and morphosyntactic nature, these elements correspond to Talmy’s satellites, since they resemble «certain immediate constituents of a verb root other than inflections, auxiliaries, or nominal arguments» (1985, 102). In Talmy (2000, 102) the concept is slightly rephrased as «the grammatical category of any constituent other than a noun–phrase or prepositional–phrase complement that is in a sister relation to the verb root. It relates to the verb root as a dependent to a head. These include English verbal particles, German and Russian prefixes, Chinese directional verbal complements and Atsugewi directional suffixes». All of the eighteen Ancient Greek satellites were, originally and still in Homeric Greek, free adverbs, later to become preverbs and prepositions through a grammaticalization pattern, which is well attested cross–linguistically (see Heine – Hünnemeyer 1991; Hopper – Traugott 1993; Pompei 2010). Though Talmy insists on keeping satellites distinguished from prepositions, it is evident that this morphosyntactic category represents a fuzzy area in Ancient Greek, as well as in other languages as, for instance, English, Russian and Latin (see Filipović 2007, 34). In this section, we will identify the Classical Greek particles relevant to our research, and account for both their preverbal and prepositional uses. Only nine out of the eighteen particles identified by traditional grammars have been included, the others showing locative or aspectual values, rather than directional meanings, or not occurring in the texts under analysis.

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The nine particles at issue can be classified on the basis of the portion of Path they encode. As already stated, Path can be considered as the most important notion related to motion from both a cognitive and a linguistic point of view, since it defines the spatial relation linking all the different entities (Figure and Grounds) involved in a motion event. According to Grinevald (2011, 55), Path is «a vector, consisting of a line in the space that is continuous, delimited by two points and oriented between those points»:

→

* G1: X Source

G2: Z Median

* G3: Y Goal

The point from which motion originates (Ground 1 in the schema) is called Source, while the final portion of Path is the Goal (Ground 3). The label Median (or Medium) is used for the space in which or through which the Figure moves. It can also indicate the direction itself or boundary–crossing, depending on the different conceptualizations of the Ground elements, which can be conceived as points in space (i.e. non–dimensional spatial entities), or as two or three dimensional, in which case they are said to be bounded. Table 2 contains the list of the nine directional satellites collected through our corpus–based analysis. They are grouped according to the Path sub–component they address: Table 2: Ancient Greek directional particles PORTION PATH Goal Goal Goal Goal Source Source Median Median Median

OF

PARTICLE

CORE MEANING

PREVERBAL TOKENS

PREPOSITIONAL TOKENS

εἰς ἐπί πρός παρά ἐκ ἀπό διά ἀνά κατά

‘to’ ‘(up)on’ ‘towards’ ‘to the side of, to’ ‘out of’ ‘from, away from’ ‘across, through’ ‘upwards’ ‘downwards’

9 5 3 X 22 10 9 6 8

81 25 13 9 26 12 7 1 4

688 | Noemi De Pasquale

4.1 Goal Satellites Among the Goal satellites, εἰς encodes motion towards a landmark, conceptualized as bounded when relevant. When the Figure enters a closed space (i.e. a boundary is crossed), the Path information is often distributed between the adverbal and the adnominal locus within the clause and εἰς occurs twice in the same clause, as in (19): (19)

ὡς ἐσῆλθον τάχιστα ἐς τὸ μέγαρον οἱ Λυδοὶ ‘no sooner had the Lydians entered the hall’ (Hdt. 1.47.2)

᾿Επί is usually employed as a relational preverb selecting the accusative case. After performing Motion, the Figure is thought to be in higher position with respect to the Ground. This is why, as a preposition, ἐπί tends to select the nouns for ‘river’ and ‘sea’: (20)

τούτους γὰρ ἀπὸ τῆς ᾿Ερυθρῆς (. . . ) θαλάσσης ἀπικομένους ἐπὶ τήνδε τὴν θάλασσαν ‘these came to our seas from the Red sea’ (Hdt. 1.1.1a)

As a preverb, πρός attaches to both generic motion and Manner roots. In its prepositional use, it entails Goal attainment, as in (21), where it selects the dative case stressing the result of motion: (21)

οὕτως ἐκπεπληγμέναι φόβῳ πρὸς πέδῳ πεπτώκατ᾿; ‘have you fallen on the ground so stricken with fear?’ (Eur. Ba. 603)

Παρά occurs with the accusative case to express the allative relation with human landmarks. When selecting the genitive case, the preposition encodes the Source of motion. As shown by Luraghi (2009) with respect to the uses of the Italian preposition da, far from being a Greek peculiarity, the coexistence of these two meanings within the conceptual schema of the same particle finds its functional explanation in the idea of separation. The inherent semantics of παρά, not triggering exact coincidence in space between Figure and Ground, allows integrating the ablative and the allative functions, making the particle the best candidate to combine with human Goals, as in (22). (22)

ὁ Σόλων εἵνεκεν ἐς Αἴγυπτον ἀπίκετο παρὰ ῎Αμασιν καὶ δὴ καὶ ἐς Σάρδις παρὰ Κροῖσον ‘Solon went to visit Amasis in Egypt and then to Croesus in Sardis’ (Hdt. 1.30.1a)

4.2 Source Satellites As table 2 on p. 687 shows, the data revealed two morphosyntactic tools for the expression of Source.⁷ This is little surprising, since recent research on motion event encoding

7 No occurrences of παρά plus genitive are attested in the three texts under analysis.

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has clearly demonstrated that «not all motion paths are born equal» (see Papafragou 2010, 1065), and languages of the world tend to give preferential attention to Goals compared to Sources of motion. In other words, there is a strong and typologically– relevant Source–Goal asymmetry, proved by higher frequencies of Goal compared to Source modifiers (see Ikegami 1987; Kopecka – Ishibashi 2011). According to Papafragou (2010, 1066), «this bias may characterize the nature of the spatial linguistic system itself, not simply the way spatial language is used». This seems to be the case of Classical Greek, where ἐκ and ἀπό, previously distinct on the basis of the elative value of the former and the ablative nuance of the latter, display a wide overlap and are on their way to merge. As a result of what Luraghi (2003, 315) calls the weakening of the Container Metaphor, after Homer the preposition ἐκ can occur with nouns denoting entities which cannot be traversed, as ‘mountain’ in (23): (23)

ὁρμώμενος δὲ οὗτος ἐκ τοῦ ὄρεος τούτου ‘who would come off that mountain’ (Hdt. 1.36.1a)

4.3 Median Satellites As far as Median satellites are concerned, διά tends to occur as a preverb with Manner roots expressing random movement (e.g. φοιτάω ‘to roam’). In its prepositional function, it can encode the extended portion of space through which the Figure moves. Furthermore, διά is the only dedicated satellite available in Classical Greek for the expression of boundary crossing. In (24), it governs the noun for ‘door’ taking the genitive case marker: (24)

σοὶ μελέτω τὸ ἐνθεῦτεν ὅκως μὴ σε ὄψεται ἰόντα διὰ θυρέων ‘be careful she does not see you going out through the doorway’ (Hdt. 1.9.3b)

Both ἀνά ‘upwards’ and its counterpart κατά ‘downwards’ attach to verbal roots containing some directional indication (respectively πέτομαι and πίπτω). The two preverbs encode a more specified spatial orientation. When behaving as prepositions, they are used either to describe the direction of motion or to encode a multi–directional Path through a surface as in (25) and (26): (25) οἳ δ᾿ ἀνὰ πόλιν στείχοντες ἐξιχνεύσατε τὸν θηλύμορφον ξένον ‘and some of you hunt throughout the city for this effeminate stranger’ (Eur. Ba. 352) (26)

τὸν Σόλωνα θεράποντες περιῆγον κατὰ τοὺς θησαυρούς ‘his attendants showed Solon around his treasures’ (Hdt. 1.30.1b)

690 | Noemi De Pasquale

5 Preferred Constructions In the previous sections, we have presented the inventories of the verbs and satellites/prepositions available in Classical Greek for the encoding of the basic semantic components of motion events, namely Path and Manner. Though no proper systemic restrictions seem to apply to the combinations of verbs and satellites, a certain degree of semantic compatibility between verbal roots and directional particles is needed for the choice of the lexicalization strategy. On the basis of their intrinsic meaning, some verbs are, so to speak, “lexically predestined” to be associated with one of the portions of Path and, thus, to select a fitting particle. Such a pattern is evident when a satellite expressing spatial orientation combines with a verb which is not completely insensitive to Path information, further restating the direction of motion: ἀνά ‘upwards, from bottom to top’ + πέτομαι ‘fly’; κατά ‘downwards, from top to bottom’ + πίπτω ‘fall’. As to be expected, the same holds true also for those verbal roots whose meaning makes a specific portion of Path more suitable than the others: ἐκ ‘out of’/ἀπό ‘from’ + φεύγω ‘escape, flee’; διά ‘through’ + φοιτάω ‘roam’. Concerning the most frequent constructions, while Goals are preferentially expressed in the adnominal locus (probably as a consequence of the previously mentioned Source–Goal asymmetry), no great gap subsists between the preverbal and prepositional occurrences of the Source particles ἐκ and ἀπό. Such a situation results in a slight prevalence within the corpus of the constructions as the one in (27), where a generic motion verb, free from any directional interpretation, is preceded by a Source preverb, and followed by a prepositional phrase expressing the ending point of motion: (27)

ἀπῆλθε ἐς τὰς Σάρδις ‘and returned to Sardis’ (Hdt. 1.22.2)

The same pattern applies to Manner verbs too: since they do not bear any Path indication, such roots exhibit a high flexibility in combining with different satellites. (28)

οὕτω δὴ ἐθελοντήν αὐτήν τοῖσι Φοίνιξι συνεκπλῶσαι ‘she sailed away with the Phoenicians of her own accord’ (Hdt. 1.5.2)

(29)

νηυσὶ μακρῇσι ἐπιπλώσαντες ‘they descended upon them in warships’ (Hdt. 1.70.2)

Furthermore, Manner roots allow two different portions of Path to be expressed in the same clause, as in (30): (30)

καὶ τοὺς μὲν ἀποπλέειν ἐς Κόρινθον ‘so the crew sailed away to Corinth’ (Hdt. 1.24.6a)

The “Classical” way to encode motion | 691

6 Conclusions Our corpus–based investigation of motion event encoding in Classical Greek allowed us to: compile an inventory of the morphosyntactic tools involved in the expression of motion; identify the major clusters of motion verbs, and analyze the semantic granularity of Path and Manner information; list the most frequently employed satellites, as well as the portions of Path they preferentially encode; analyze the possible combinations between motion verbs and satellites, according to their semantic compatibility; explore the correspondence between the availability of a form within the language system and its actual employment. The preliminary results of the present research have revealed that, despite the high availability of directional satellites encoding all the different portions of Path, Classical Greek exhibits a frequent employment of inherently directional verbs which normally occurs as bare forms. When used, the preverb’s only function is to strengthen the trajectory expressed by the verbal root. As far as Manner is concerned, unlike other SF languages, Classical Greek pays little attention to the expression of this conceptual component: the description of the type of motion performed by the Figure is not fine–grained within the verbal root, which is confirmed by the low number of Slobin’s second–tier verbs in the sample. Unless exceptional and not inferable from the context, Manner tends to remain unspecified, as argued by Papafragou et al. (2006, 78) for Modern Greek. Moreover, notwithstanding its fecund inventory of Path prepositions, Classical Greek avoids the encoding of complex Paths or journeys, with the exceptions of the contexts in which the moving entity is a river. In other words, the presence of more than one Ground element in the clause is not as common as in typical SF languages. The existence of directional verbs, as well as the preference for simple Paths, could represent an outstanding feature in the emergence of Modern Greek VF encoding strategies, since non–elaborated Path can be easily expressed by Path roots. Concerning the portions of Path more frequently encoded, in Classical Greek it is possible to recognize clear traces of the cross–linguistic Source–Goal asymmetry, from both a qualitative and a quantitative point of view. In conclusion, the data analyzed so far have shown that an investigation of the morphosyntactic devices available in Classical Greek for the expression of translational motion is not sufficient to provide a suitable description of the system, hence for a proper typological classification. Regardless of the accessibility to the required resources in the language, such devices are not, in fact, exploited as expected. A usage– based approach, free from any preconceived categorization, is therefore required in order to understand how motion was actually expressed in Ancient Greek.

692 | Noemi De Pasquale

Bibliography Beavers, J., Levin, B. & Tham S. W. 2010: The Typology of Motion Expressions Revisited, «Journal of Linguistics», 46, 331–377. Croft, W., Barðdal, J., Hollmann, W. B., Sotirova, V. & Taoka C. 2010: Revising Talmy’s typological classification of complex event constructions, in Contrastive Studies in Construction Grammar, ed. C. Boas, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 201–235. Fortis, J. M. & Vittrant, A. 2011: L’organisation syntaxique de l’expression de la trajectoire: vers une typologie des constructions, «Faits de Langues. Les cahiers», 3, 71–98. Filipović, L. 2007: Talking About Motion: A Crosslinguistic Investigation of Lexicalization Patterns, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Grinevald, C. 2011: On constructing a working typology of the expression of path, «Faits de Langues. Les cahiers», 3, 3–20. Heine, B., Hunnemeyer, F. & Claudi, U. 1991: Grammaticalization: A conceptual framework, Chicago. Hijazo Gascón, A. & Ibarretxe–Antuñano, I. 2013: Las lenguas románicas y la tipología de los eventos de movimiento, «Romanische Forschungen», 125, 467–494. Hopper, P. J. & Traugott, E., 2003: Grammaticalization, Cambridge. Iacobini, C. & Fagard, B. 2011: A diachronic approach to variation and change in the typology of motion event expression. A case study: From Latin to Romance, «Faits de Langues. Les cahiers», 3, 152– 171. Ikegami, Y. 1984: ‘Source’ vs ‘Goal’: a case of linguistic dissymmetry, in Concepts of Case, eds. R. Dirven & G. Radden, Tübingen, 122–146. Imbert, C. 2008: Systems dynamics and functional motivations in Path coding. A typological description of Homeric Greek and Old English. PhD Dissertation. CNRS – University of Lyon 2. Kopecka, A. & Narasimhan, B. 2012: Events of Putting and Taking: A crosslinguistic perspective, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Kopecka, A. & Ishibashi, M. 2011: L’(a)symétrie dans l’expression de la Source et du But: perspective translinguistique, «Faits de Langues. Les cahiers», 3, 131–149. Levin, B. & Rappaport Hovav M. 2006: Constraints on the Complexity of Verb Meaning and VP Structure, in Between 40 and 60 Puzzles for Krifka, eds. H. M. Gartner, R. Eckardt, R. Musan & B. Stiebels (http://www.zas.gwzberlin.de/40-60-puzzles-for-krifka/). Levin, B. & Rappaport Hovav, M. 1995: Unaccusativity: at the syntax–lexical semantics interface, Cambridge (MA). Levin, B. & Rappaport Hovav, M. 1992: The Lexical Semantics of Verbs of Motion: The Perspective from Unaccusativity, in Thematic Structure: Its Role in Grammar, ed. M. Roca, Berlin – New York, 247– 269. Luraghi, S. 2009: A model for representing polysemy: The Italian preposition da, in Actes du Colloque “Autour de la préposition”, eds. J. François, E. Gilbert, C. Guimier & M. Krause, Caen, 167–178. Luraghi, S. 2003: On the Meaning of Prepositions and Cases, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Nikitina, T. 2013: Lexical splits in the encoding of motion events from Archaic to Classical Greek, in Variation and Change in the Encoding of Motion Events, eds. J. Goschler & A. Stefanowitsch, Amsterdam – Philadelphia, 185–201. Papafragou, A. 2010: Source–goal asymmetries in motion representation: Implications for language production and comprehension, «Cognitive Science» 34, 1064–1092. Papafragou, A., Massey, C. & Gleitman L. 2006: When English Proposes What Greek Presupposes. The Cross–Linguistic Encoding of Motion Events, «Cognition», 98/3, 75–87. Pompei, A. 2010: Space coding in verb–particle constructions and prefixed verbs, in Space in language, eds. G. Marotta, A. Lenci, L. Meini & F. Rovai, Pisa, 401–418.

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Slobin, D. I. 2005: Relating events in translation, in Perspectives on language and language development: Essays in honor of Ruth A. Berman, eds. D. Ravid & H. Bat Zeev Shyldkrot, Dordrecht, 115–129. Slobin, D. 2004: The many ways to search for a frog: linguistic typology & the expression of motion events, in Relating Events in Narrative, II, eds. S. Strömqvist & L. Verhoeven, Mahwah (NJ), 219– 257. Slobin, D. I. 1996: Two ways to travel: Verbs of motion in English and Spanish, in Grammatical constructions: Their form and meaning, eds. M. Shibatani & S. A. Thompson, Oxford, 195–220. Slobin, D. I., Ibarretxe Antuñano, I., Kopecka, A., & Majid, A. 2014: Manners of human gait: A crosslinguistic event–naming study, «Cognitive Linguistics», 25, 701–741. Talmy, L. 2000: Toward a cognitive semantics: typology and process in concept structuring, Vol. 2., Cambridge (MA). Talmy, L. 1991: Path to Realization. A Typology of Event Conflation, «Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society», 17, 480–519. Talmy, L. 1985: Lexicalization Patterns. Semantic Structure, in Lexical Forms: Language Typology and Syntactic Description, Vol. 3: Grammatical Categories and the Lexicon, ed. T. Shopen, Cambridge, 57–149. Wälchli, B. 2001: A typology of displacement (with special reference to Latvian), «Sprachtypologie Universalienforschung» STUF 54.3, 298–323.

Corpus and English translations (www.perseus.tufts.edu) Herodotus, Herodotus, with an English translation by A. D. Godley, Cambridge, 1920. Euripides, Euripidis Fabulae, vol. 3, ed. G. Murray, Oxford, 1913. Aristophanes, Aristophanes Comoediae, vol. 2, eds. F.W. Hall & W.M. Geldart, Oxford, 1907.

Appendix: Coding Grid Table 3 Reference

Token

Construction

1 2 3

Eur. Ba. 20 Hdt. 1.76.1a Eur. Ba. 13

A1G VB S1T–VB VP A2S

4 5

Hdt. 1.61.2a Hdt. 1.72.2a

ἐς τήνδε πρῶτον ἦλθον ῾Ελλήνων πόλιν ἐπείτε διαβὰς σὺν τῷ στρατῷ λιπὼν δὲ Λυδῶν τοὺς πολυχρύσους γύας Φρυγῶν τε ἀπαλλάσσετο ἐκ τῆς χώρης τὸ παράπαν ὁ ῞Αλυς ποταμός, ὃς ῥέει ἐξ ᾿Αρμενίου ὄρεος διὰ Κιλίκων

VP A1S VM A1S A1T

694 | Noemi De Pasquale Table 3 – continued

6

Reference Hdt. 1.2.2

7

Ar. Birds 556

8

Hdt. 1.47.2

9

Eur. Ba. 603

10

Eur. Ba. 352

Token καταπλώσαντας γὰρ μακρῇ νηί ἐς Αἶαν τε τὴν Κολχίδα καὶ ἐπὶ Φᾶσιν ποταμόν καὶ τοῖσι θεοῖσιν ἀπειπεῖν διὰ τῆς χώρας τῆς ὑμετέρας ἐστυκόσι μὴ διαφοιτᾶν ὡς ἐσῆλθον τάχιστα ἐς τὸ μέγαρον οἱ Λυδοὶ οὕτως ἐκπεπληγμέναι φόβῳ πρὸς πέδῳ πεπτώκατ᾿; οἳ δ᾿ ἀνὰ πόλιν στείχοντες ἐξιχνεύσατε τὸν θηλύμορφον ξένον

Keys Three Main Morphosyntactic Categories: Verb → Basic; Path; Manner; Causative Satellite → 1 preverb; 2 adverb; 3 verbal particle Adnominal → 1 preposition; 2 bare case + Two Main Semantic Specifications: Path → Source; Trajectory; Goal Manner Location

Construction S1T–VM A1G A1G A1T S1T–VM S1G–VB A1G A1G VP+M A1T VM

Mercedes Díaz de Cerio Díez

Voice and Sociative alternations in spatial symphero Abstract: In the present study, which broadly adopts the theoretical framework of the Functional Grammar,¹ the relation between the two main structural alternations shown by the verb συμφέρω in its spatial meaning –the Voice and the Sociative alternation– will be considered. The study will be of interest as a discussion of the several varieties of middle uses, and as an exploration of the several meanings that the Sociative prefix adds to motion verbs. Hence, standard descriptions of συμφέρω in the lexicons will be challenged. Data are drawn from the Classical Greek corpus from the REGLA–Project, eventually implemented with examples from the Perseus Project, the TLG and the Greek Lexicons LSJ and Bailly.²

1 The verb symphero: a synopsis The verb συμφέρω, compounded by the addition of the Sociative prefix συν– to the very frequent φέρω ‘carry’, is a highly polysemic verb, for which three basic meanings associated with structural variations can be cited:³ a transitive spatial verb (‘carry together’), a stative verb of benefit (‘be expedient’), and an existential verb of happening (‘happen, turn out’), all these are sensitive to diachrony and literary genre (Table 1).⁴

1 For the theory of predicative frames see Dik (1989). Kemmer’s (1993) terminology for referencing macro–roles as “Initiator” and “Endpoint” is also employed. 2 The REGLA Greek data base draws on Classical Greek texts (dramatic poetry, the historians, the orators, as well as Plato and Aristotle). Both the REGLA–Project (www.uam.es/proyectosinv/regula/) and the present study have benefited from the funding by the Ministerio de Ciencia e Innovación (FFI 2013–47357–C4–C). Unless otherwise stated, translations are those of the Perseus Project. 3 The proposed three–fold typology is my own, and is to be discussed in a specific study (forthcoming). Also to be addressed is the development of secondary predicate frames which involve the reinterpretation of the Sociative dative constituent, either as a Recipient/Beneficiary or an Experiencer. 4 συμφέρω is hardly used in Archaic Greek (four times in Homer and pseudo–Hesiod), but subsequently spreads in classical prose in the “benefit” meaning reflecting the “expedient” rhetorical topic. Thus, while in dramatic poetry the spatial meaning reaches 45% of all uses, in oratory, the “benefit” meaning is overwhelming, reaching 100% in Lysias, for instance. The “expedient” nuance becomes ubiquitous in any type of prose writing from the 4th century onwards, so that its predominance also becomes a diachronic factor. The eventive meaning, which is restricted almost entirely to historians, decreases diachronically.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-707

696 | Mercedes Díaz de Cerio Díez Table 1: συμφέρω sensitivity to literary genre Meaning

spatial (neat/metaphorical⁵)

benefit

existential

total

Drama (A., S., E., Ar.) History (Hdt., Th., X.) Orators (Lys., Isoc., D.) Dialogue (Pl.) Treatise (Arist.) total

19 [14/5] 23 [12/11] 1 [1/0] 11 [8/3] 2 [2/0] 56 [29/27] (5,7%)

21 100 327 112 312 872 (90%)

0 38 1 1 0 40 (4,1%)

40 161 329 124 314 968

Among these meanings, related to each other by traceable semantics shifts, the basic element seems to be spatial, which shows low frequency ratings (Table 1), partially due to the content of extant Ancient Greek writings. Nonetheless, as both the Sociative and Voice alternations of συμφέρω are fully developed only by the spatial meaning of the verb, these uses will be the focus here. Some metaphorical nuances arising from the local content like ‘agree’, ‘get along’ and so on have been included in the overall statistics but not in the discussion, due to their voice and constructional peculiarities.⁶ In what follows, we will review both the Sociative (section 2) and the Voice (section 3) alternations of the verb.

2 The Sociative alternation in symphero As its counterpart φέρω (1), συμφέρω stands out as a motion transitive verb: a Causer or Initiator (Agent) sets in translational motion a material entity (Undergoer or Affected) towards a Endpoint (Direction), which may occasionally overlap into a specific participant (Recipient). However, the addition of the sociative prefix συν– changes both

5 In the first columm (“spatial”), total spatial uses are first expressed, followed by their distribution into two clases (in brackets). The first numbers in brackets show instances of neat spatial content as well as metaphorical uses which do not alter the syntactic behaviour of the verb; the second numbers correspond to metaphorical uses associated with changes in the behavioural properties of the verb (see next note). By contrast, the spatial uses of συμφέρω in the corpus barely show any traces of imaginary motion. 6 The semantic shift towards a verb of “agreement” is reflected in the eventual adoption of the completive construction typical of verba dicendi by analogy with ὁμολογοῦμαι etc. Also, the semantic change impacts on the voice alternation, so that ‘agree, get along with’ συμφέρω, like many verbs included in the social verb–class, features as a medium tantum. The inclusion of these uses in the present analysis would lead to a significant distortion in the object of study here.

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quantitatively and qualitatively the valency of simple φέρω through the addition of the Sociative participant (2).⁷ (1)

a. A carries B (from . . . C towards D) b. ἐνεγκάτω τις ἔνδοθεν δᾷδ΄ ἢ λύχνον. (Ar. Th. 238) ‘Someone bring (me/here) a torch or a lamp from inside!’

(2)

a. A carries B with the help of C (from D . . . towards E) b. λύχνον δ᾿ οὐχ ὁ παῖς μοι συμφέρει (Epich. 35.8) ‘No slave accompanies me carrying a lamp (towards . . . )’⁸

In fact, the addition of the Sociative participant furnishes the verb with a double set of alternate constructions.⁹ On the one hand, the Sociative participant of συμφέρω may be orientated alternately towards either the Agent or to the Affected;¹⁰ and such a difference has a certain impact on the verbal valency, shifting it respectively towards the social–activities verbs class or the motion verbs class.¹¹ On the other hand, the expression of the Sociative participant itself leads to another alternation: an unary construction, in which the Sociative is fused with the participant to whom it is oriented in either a coordinated or plural constituent or a singular collective noun, and a binary construction in which the Sociative participant is asymmetrically presented as an autonomous constituent (the ‘comitative dative’ in the traditional Greek grammar).¹² The outcome of this cross–linking is the following set:

7 The (non) optionality of Direction, Source (ἔνδοθεν in (1b)) and Path in motion constructions is a controversial issue, and cannot be addressed here. The regular confluence of Recipient and Direction (cf. Luraghi – Narrog 2014, 10) in motion constructions further contributes to the non–exteriorization of the Recipient (thus, in (1b) the Endpoint of the motion is pragmatically identified by the speaker’s hic), whereas the different Aktionsart, either telic or durative, of the event can also have an influence on the number and type of spatial indications involved (see Kölligan 2007, 322–338, concerning φέρω). In any case, the addition of the Sociative favours the Recipient/Direction ceding its central role, so that it either it hardly appears or is conflated with the Sociative; see n. 11 and n. 28. 8 Translation by Olson (2007, 421), who comments (2007, 57): «‘carries along with me’, i.e. ‘accompanies me carrying’». 9 For the Sociative semantic role, see Halliday (1985, 145), Dik (1997, 117–124), Givón (2001, 107), Revuelta (2014, 320–328), Pinskter (2015, 27 and 897–898), among others. The Sociative belongs to a broader semantic domain which includes concomitance, instrument, coordination, simultaneity, and so on, cf. Stolz et alii (2006, 3), Narrog (2010, 236 and 238–242). 10 On the Sociative orientation cf. Revuelta (2014, 321) for a general presentation with references. LSJ (s.u. σύν) illustrates this phenomenon on συγκατακτείνειν ‘kill one person as well as another’/‘join with another in killing’. 11 It is not surprising that both the Source and the Direction show up more frequently in the ‘bring together’–συμφέρω constructions, which retains more neatly the spatial content of φέρω. 12 For the Greek comitative see Kühner – Gerth (1966 [1904], 430–435). The current terminology is borrowed from that of Maslova (2008, 17 and 233 248) on reciprocals; cf. also with other terminology, Dimitriadis (2008). This alternation was already noted by Levin (1993, 59 and 61–64). See also n. 22.

698 | Mercedes Díaz de Cerio Díez

Agent–Orientated Sociative: unary construction (‘A and B carry X together’) (3)

(ἐγὼ τε καὶ σὺ) συνοίσομεν ὀξὺν ῎Αρηα (Tyrt. 1. 40 Diehl) ‘we will bear keen war together.’

Agent–Orientated Sociative: binary construction (‘A carries X (together) with B’) (4)

φέρε νυν ἐγώ σοι ξυμφέρω [sc. τὴν παμπησίαν] (Ar. Ecc. 869) ‘Come, I will help you carry it!’

Affected–Orientated Sociative: unary construction (‘X carries A and B together’) (5)

θυμιαμάτων τε πλῆθος συνέφερον· (J. AJ 3.103) ‘they brought [together] also a great quantity of spices.’

Affected–Orientated Sociative: binary construction (‘X carries A together with B’) (6)

χρῆν γὰρ αὐτόν, . . . καὶ μὴ συνενεγκόντ᾿ εἰς ταὐτὸ τὰ μέλλοντα τοῖς παρεληλυθόσιν . . . ἀδικήμασιν, (D. 24.74) ‘his proper course was. . . not to lump together all offences, future with past ones. . . ’¹³

For practical purposes, we will render the two sets of structures derived from the diverse orientation of the Sociative participant as a ‘carry along with’ (Agent–orientated Sociative) vs. ‘bring together’ (Affected–orientated Sociative) verb contrast. After reviewing the active set, let us now look at the variations arising from voice alternation.

3 Voice alternation in symphero Given that voice variation is intimately linked to the meaning of a verb, the polysemic συμφέρω shows different voice alternations in each of its basic meanings (Table 2), so that only the spatial συμφέρω, as a standard transitive verb, displays a full voice alternation.¹⁴

13 The Perseus translation has been adapted so as not to dampen the structural and pragmatic differences between the accusative and the dative constituents. 14 While συμφέρω as a stative verb of convenience is an activum tantum, as a verb of happening it shows an intriguing alternation between a frequent active and a scarcer middle voice (see Allan 2003, 61). The metaphorical instances of spatial content (‘agree, get along’) show the active.

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699

Table 2: συμφέρω Voice statistics meaning

neat spatial [metaph.]

benefit

existential

total

Active Passive Middle total

22 (68,7%) 1 (3,1%) 9 (%) [24] 32 (28,1%) [24]

870 (99,7%) – 2 (0,2%) 872

25 (62,5%) – 15 (37,5%) 40

917 1 26 [24] 968

Given that the lexicons, though containing a fair number of passives, do not acknowledge middle uses of the verb, a throrough review of both the passive (2.1) and middle (2.2) constructions in the corpus is the main task here.

3.1 The passive set As we know, the passive construction features the promotion to primary topic (Subject function) of the Affected participant as well as the demotion of the Initiator participant, the Agent. This phenomenon is shared by the four following passive frames of συμφέρω, which stand in correlation to the active ones: Agent–Orientation: unary construction (‘X is carried by A and B together ’) (7)

No tokens

Agent–Orientation: binary construction (‘X is carried by A together with B’) (8)

No tokens

Affected–Orientation: unary construction (‘A and B are carried together by X) (9)

. . . ἄλευρα, οἶνον, κριθὰς ἵπποις . . . ταῦτα δὲ συνενηνεγμένα ἦν τῷ σατραπεύοντι τῆς χώρας (X. An. 3.4.31) ‘. . . flour, wine, barley . . . all these supplies having been gathered together by the acting satrap of the district.’

Affected–Orientation: binary construction (‘A is carried together with B by X) (10) ὣς δ᾿ αὕτως σκέψαιο καὶ ὅσσοις ἀστράσι Μήνη / συμφέρεται· (Ps.–Man. 6[3].319) ‘Similarly, consider also with how many stars the Moon is carried along with.’ On the overall low frequency of passives, the absence both from the corpus and the lexicons of Agent orientation passives seen in (7–8) is not unexpected. Given the aforementioned demotion of the Agent to a peripheral position in accordance with its scant pragmatic prominence (it may be generic, archetypal, unknown or simply irrelevant),¹⁵

15 Cf. Langacker (1991, 337–339), Givón (1994, 9–12), Allan (2003, 63), Pinkster (2015, 258–259), among others.

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in case of the speaker being keen on expressing a Companion for the Agent (very likely, a secondary Agent), he would have recourse to a more Agent–favourable encoding: the active construction. On the other hand, in the well attested Affected–orientation passive constructions (9–10), the Agent is the element which mainly leads to a differentiation from the middle correlate: given that both passive and middle constructions display the promotion of the Affected to primary topic,¹⁶ the passive construction features the presence of the Agent, either explicit or inferred, while in the middle voice there is no agentive participant at all, inasmuch as the Initiator is correferential with the Endpoint (see section 2.2). Needless to say, the reconstruction of a generic Agent in borderline cases constitutes the Achilles’ heel of a corpus–based study: in a few instances the identification of the elliptical Agent may be clear–cut;¹⁷ however, many constructions like (10) are ambiguous; it might well be the passive claimed by LSJ, but the restitution of an Initiator for the motion of the moon may nonetheless be challenged, as will be discussed below (section 4). Furthermore, in the identification of the Agent the diverse orientation of the Sociative also has a role to play. This phenomenon is clearly seen in the reverse hierarchical status appointed to Sociative and Agent in the binary constructions: in the Agent orientation (‘carry along with’)–συμφέρω passive frame shown in (8), the Sociative orientated to the Agent is, so to speak, a secondary Agent. On the contrary, in the Affected orientation (‘bring together’)–συμφέρω binary passive (10), the Sociative remains closer to the Affected while being orientated to it, and therefore it is more likely expressed than the Agent, which features as the most external participant. As a result, there is an increasing difficulty in distinguishing the middle uses of ‘bring together’–συμφέρω from its proper passive constructions. In addition to all these analytical difficulties, a further comment must be made on the misleading information produced by the lexicons. Their unrestrained tendency to label almost all συμφέρω middle ending forms as ‘passive’ (even if rendered as an intransitive ‘come together’)¹⁸ deprives the verb of any significant middle construction. The inadequacy of such renderings can be seen in the similar treatment of φέρω: while the Indirect Reflexive Middle¹⁹ (‘carry or bring with one, or for one’s own use’) is acknowledged as a genuine middle voice, what may be suspected to be a Translational

16 Givón (2001, 116–117) pinpoints at some tests to set the ‘agent de–focusing middle–voice clauses’ apart from those passive constructions which feature the agent demotion on both pragmatic and semantic levels. Even when the middle setting implies a semantic shift away from the agent, it may involve an agentive participant (or, in Kemmer’s terminology, an Initiator). 17 Thus, in Joseph. Vit. 335: ὅσα ἡρπάκεισαν . . . πολλῶν δὲ συνενεχθέντων ‘and when a great many spoils were brought together’ an Agent ‘by the plunderers’ can be reconstructed from the previous ὅσα ἡρπάκεισαν ‘whatsoever they had plundered’. 18 See LSJ and Bailly. A outstanding example of this flawed typologization concerns the –θη– forms, which are systemmatically labelled passive, even when they convey eventive meaning (‘happened’). 19 Cf. Kemmer (1993, 74–84) and Allan (2003, 112–118).

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Motion Middle²⁰ (‘move, go’)²¹ is erroneously included in the passive uses along the true passive (‘to be borne or carried involuntarily’). The systematic exclusion of the Translational Motion Middle of φέρω and συμφέρω by the lexicons leads to a highly distorted picture of these verbs, one which must be noted prior to any fruitful discussion of the middle uses.

3.2 The middle set The corpus offers some constructions which, in that they seem to express self–prompted motion, may be deemed as middle voice uses. Agent & Affected–Orientated Sociative: unary construction (‘A and B go/get together’) (11)

οὐ γὰρ καλὰ συνοισόμεθα [sc. νῶι] πτόλεμονδε. (Hom. Il. 8.400) ‘for if we come to fighting there will be mischief’

Agent & Affected–Orientated Sociative: binary construction (‘A goes/gets together with B’) (12) ῾Ρωμαίοις τε πάλιν συνενεχθέντες (sc. ἐκεῖνοι) ἐς χεῖρας ἐκράτουν. . . (App. BC 1.14.117) ‘When they next came to an engagement with the Romans they were again victorious. . . ’ These examples feature an event in which the same entity plays the role of both Initiator and Endpoint, as the whole body of the participant is itself affected by the motion expressed.²² This double role–playing is shared by the Sociative participant in the binary construction in a less pragmatically prominent role: thus, in (11) both entities referred to by νῶι are equally relevant on pragmatic grounds and the event is viewed as a single situation; by contrast, in (12) the highly topicalised Subject (Spartacus’ men) is elliptical, while the involvement of the Sociative (῾Ρωμαίοις ‘the Romans’) is given less relevance.²³

3

20 Cf. Kemmer (1993, 56–57 and 69–70), Rijksbaron (2006 , 151–155, labelled “pseudo–reflexive”), and Allan (2003, 77–8). 21 See LSJ s.u. Τhe volitionality expressed by φέρομαι may be either dimmed (Hdt. 8.91) or rampant (X. HG 4.8.37); see also Kölligan (2007, 326 and 332). The higher the degree of volitionality, the neater the interpretation of an Initiator participant in a middle construction. 22 The Translational Motion Middle is closer to the Reflexive prototype. It differs from an anticausative construction (The door opens) on the agentive features of the first participant. Thus, the entities who perform a translational motion typically control the translation. 23 Allan (2003, 86–7) points out that in the first case the situation is viewed as a cluster of symmetrical micro–events, while in the second the outgoing causal chain from subject to dative is highlighted while the other micro–event is backgrounded. See also Revuelta (2014, 322).

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The greater part of middle uses of συμφέρω in the corpus, of which (11–2) are fair representatives, raise issues worth discussing. First, the portrayal of the first participant (the Subject) as “Agent & Affected” leads to an apparent blurring of the contrast in the orientation of the Sociative, so that they might be related to both Agent and Affected– orientated συμφέρω. There is definitely scope for a more detailed examination at this point. Secondly, examples (11–2) include συμφέρεσθαι depicting hostile troops moving against each other until they collide and mingle together. Such scenes very much resemble the “Collective Motion Middle” typically expressed by ἀγείρεσθαι ‘bring together’. Moreover, as the whole set of active (5, 6), and passive (9) constructions feature the Affected orientation–συμφέρω as a verb of gathering –the ‘bring together’ συμφέρω–, these middle examples might reasonably be taken as their Collective Motion Middle counterparts. A detailed assessment of these examples shows, however, that they also very much resemble the reciprocal prototype. First, the systematic reduction of multiple entities to just two furnishes these middle examples with a stressed similarity to reciprocal events, which are also supplied with the unary/binary alternation.²⁴ Also, insofar as the translational motion expressed in the corpus is usually tinged with either hostility (11–2) or friendship, they also semantically replicate the reciprocal prototype: the two participants involved are presented as simultaneously Agent of and Affected by the hostile or friendly action.²⁵ It is not surprising, then, that middle συμφέρεσθαι is often used by Greek historians as a verb of fighting. This closeness of the Collective Motion Middle to the Reciprocal Middle in συμφέρεσθαι constructions is not unexpected: in both cases more than one participant is carrying out the same type of action and each plays two roles in the event. The difference between them lies in the roles played by the participants: in the collective event they are both Initiator roles (as Agent and as Companion of the other participant), but in the reciprocal configuration both participants play the roles of Initiator and Endpoint of the action simultaneously.²⁶ This theoretical distinction highlights the fact that (11–2) are to be deemed instances of the Reciprocal Middle, while a Collective Motion Middle seems to be poorly represented in the corpus by means of the controversial²⁷ (13a) and the ontological (13b):²⁸

24 Cf. Kemmer (1993, 98–100 and 123–127) and Allan (2003, 82–83). 25 The verb express a collective agreement in Th. 4.65.1 and 6.13.1, where it is supplied with a reflexive pronoun, which turns the situation into a reflexive one. 26 Kemmer (1993, 99). 27 The voice of ξυμφερομένους is not clear–cut: the passive interpretation ‘being gathered (by the Syracusans)’ is quite close to the middle one (‘crowding together’) as far as the following βιάζωνται specifies, as a gloss, that the gathering motion of the Athenians is not voluntary but forced by the Syracusans’ manouvre. In fact, the word order implies that ξυμφερομένους might be understood as a gathering self–motion, so that ἤν πῃ βιάζωνται is included to stress their unwillingness in a chain of events performed by the pro–active Athenians (active προσπίπτοντας, middle ταράξεσθαι). 28 Two more reports on Heraclitean dicta are found in the corpus: Pl. Smp. 187a5 and the Ps.–Arist. (De mundo) 396b21. In the first case the construction turns into a reflexive one by means of the reflexive

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a. ἐνόμισαν γὰρ οἱ Συρακόσιοι . . . τοῦ δ΄ ἄλλου λιμένος αὐτοὶ κρατήσειν, καὶ ξυμφερομένους αὐτούς, ἤν πῃ βιάζωνται, ἐς ὀλίγον τε καὶ πάντας ἐς τὸ αὐτό, προσπίπτοντας ἀλλήλοις ταράξεσθαι (Th. 7.36.6) ‘The Syracusans thought . . . the rest of the harbor would be commanded by them and the Athenians, if hard pressed, by crowding together in a small space and all to the same point, would run foul of one another and fall into disorder.’ b. . . . τὸ ὂν πολλά τε καὶ ἕν ἐστιν, . . . διαφερόμενον γὰρ ἀεὶ συμφέρεται, φασὶν αἱ συντονώτεραι τῶν Μουσῶν· (Pl. Sph. 242e) ‘. . . being is many and one,. . . For the more strenuous Muses say it is always simultaneously coming together and separating’

Summing up, middle constructions of συμφέρω include at least an infrequent Collective Middle Motion related to the ‘bring together’–συμφέρω, and a more frequent, albeit secondary, Reciprocal Middle. Both of them often rely on contextual factors²⁹ which hint at a need for desambiguation, rooted in the verb’s extensive polysemy, as well as at the verb neither behaving like a standard gathering verb³⁰ nor developing into a full fighting verb. In fact, συμφέρω retains its spatial note, so that it refers to the joining in battle rather than to pure hostility without physical engagement. Following this lead, a hypothesis on the emergence of the reciprocal nuance of fighting from spatial meaning will be proposed below (section 4). Yet, the overall picture provided by the corpus thus far seems unsatisfying in another sense: the particular quality of the texts therein is responsible for the restriction of motile entities almost entirely to humans beings (and these mostly engaged in battle). This last issue is not a trivial one, as it may serve to shift consistently the interpretation of voice between passive and middle: the stationary entities make for fine examples of passive constructions –even if the Agent is not clear–cut–, while in case of entities endowed with locomotion or which are conceivable as such, the distinction between passive and middle uses also relies heavily on the degree of control and volitionality attached to them (see n. 21). Given that the entities who are able to perform a motion willingly are simply animate beings, and that the examples of animate beings are those reciprocal ones already mentioned, a search further afield than the corpus must be

pronoun. The well known connection between reflexive and collective events is assumed here by the paradoxical attributes of singularity and complexity given to the Subject, as in (13b). 29 The hostility expressed by πτόλεμονδε in (9), ἐς χεῖρας in (10) or in analogous words is common in the corpus. On the other hand, the Collective meaning is, in all voices, reinforced by the presence of ἐς τὸ αὐτό (as in 6 and 13a) or by the explicit or implicit (by the communicative deixis, as in (5) and (9)) Direction of the motion. 30 The similarity of ‘bring together’–συμφέρω to gathering verbs in the active and passive constructions, in which inanimate entities are gathered (χρήματα ἀγείρειν/συλλέγειν/συμφέρειν), is not mirrored in the middle voice, very likely due to the fact that middle συμ–φέρω requires a motile entity as a Subject.

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made for instances of physical motion not performed by human beings. This will be described in the following section.

4 The motion of virtues, souls and stars The claim made here on the existence of valid middle constructions which express proper spatial content may be supported by a few examples portraying locomotive virtues, stars and souls. Given that the lexicons label these examples ‘passives’, some effort must be made in arguing for their middle nature. (14)

ἀλλ΄ ἐς ὅσον ζώουσι· τὰ γὰρ κενὰ κύδεα φωτῶν / ψυχαῖς οἰχομένων οὐ μάλα συμφέρεται. / κἀνθάδε ἡ δ΄ ἀρετὴ σοφίης τε χάρις καὶ κεῖθι συνέρπει, . . . . (A.P. IV 5(3c).136–8) ‘But only during their life, for the empty glory of man does not accompany indeed the spirits of the dead. But virtue and the grace of wisdom both accompany us there. . . ’³¹

In (14), the wording of the literary motif that only wisdom and virtue accompany the deceased on the journey into the netherworld, an implicit Agent like an infernal deity might be claimed;³² however, the synonym συνέρπει in the following line makes for a compelling middle interpretation of συμφέρεται. A similarly suspicious ‘passive’ construction, the aforementioned astrological line, is here reproduced in a more extended version in (15) for the sake of the argument. (15)

= (10) ὣς δ᾿ αὕτως σκέψαιο καὶ ὅσσοις ἀστράσι Μήνη / συμφέρετ᾿ ἢ ὅσσοισι μέχρις φάσιος συνέμιξεν· / τόσσους γὰρ γνωτοὺς Μοῖρα θνητοῖσιν ὀπάζει. / εἰ δ᾿ ἄρα μή τινι Μήνη ὁμοῦ θέοι ἠὲ συνάπτοι, . . . ‘Similarly, consider also with how many stars the Moon is conjoined or with how many it is mingled before its phase, for so many brothers does Fate provide to mortals. But if no star runs with the Moon or is conjoined with it, . . . ’ (Ps.–Man. 6[3].318–21)³³

To ascertain the referent of συμφέρεται in the text several factors need to be taken into account: the voice interpretation and the type of motion underlying different translations (Koechly’s ‘simul–feratur’, LSJ’s ‘is carried along’, Lopilato’s ‘is conjoined’); related to the last issue, the meaning of the disjunctive coordination expressed in the text as well as the use of the term in similar astronomical contexts both need to be borne in mind.

31 I have amended Paton’s (1916) translation (‘does not much benefit the spirits of the dead’), which is off the mark: the meaning of συμφέρω here is undoubtely spatial. 32 Those acquainted with funerary topics will recall the ἁρπάσας Hades and similar images. 33 In both (10) and (15) the text is from the Koechly (1862) edition and the translation from Lopilato (1998).

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The different renditions point to two differences: a voice distinction (passive/middle) and a different type of motion (‘going along’/‘joining’). As to the first issue, an outward passive/middle translation does not necessarily match a syntactic interpretation of different voice. The traditional trend, well attested in lexicons and commentaries, is to deem συμφέρομαι in astronomical texts as the passive voice on the understanding that the celestial bodies are carried by the outermost sphere containing the whole cosmos, a conception which permeated ancient astronomy. Although a thorough discussion of this technical matter cannot be pursued here, it should be noted that there are hints suggesting a middle interpretation in passages where the presence of the celestial sphere is subdued.³⁴ Thus, throughout the noticeable use of φέρομαι as a Translational Motion Middle in reference to planets and stars,³⁵ the usual substitution of συμφέρομαι by active or deponent (σύνειμι, ὁμοῦ θέω in the text, συνέρχομαι) motion verbs makes a strong case for a middle interpretation of the verb, so that the celestial bodies can be conceived of as endowed with self–motion.³⁶ As for the type of motion, in Manetho’s text the disjunctive ἤ may point to a distinction between συμφέρεται and συνέμιζεν, in parallel, respectively, to ὁμοῦ θέοι and συνάπτοι in the following line. That συνέμιζεν and συνάπτοι express the joining motion of conjunction, voiced in Greek as a sort of contact, is beyond dispute. On the other hand, that συμφέρομαι itself may refer to the conjunction or applicatio is shown in Aratus’ line (16).³⁷ This latter interpretation is favoured in Lopilato’s (1998) translation of συμφέρεται as a joining motion, while those of Koechly (1862) and LSJ suggest, rather, a ‘carry along’ motion. Given that the poem focuses on astrological conjunctions (either by real presence or by aspects),³⁸ it is quite probable that both types of motion coordinated by ἤ refer here to planetary applicatio (making thus συμφέρεται a close synonym of συνέμιξεν). However, the interesting point in this obscure discussion is that συμφέρομαι, as with other related sociative compound verbs, also seems able 34 The outermost sphere not only moves the fixed stars, but also affects the irregular motion of the planets; cf. Pedersen (1974, 35–40). A detailed account of the astronomical model employed by Manetho, as well as the influence of literary sources, is given by Ypsilanti (2006, 66). 35 Cf. Plato’s wording of the doctrine of universal motion (Tht. 177c τὴν φερομένην οὐσίαν). The survey of astronomical texts from the 4th century BC onwards shows 38 instances of συμφέρεσθαι. Among them, only twice does the verb describe the planetary motion: the Aratus’ line referred to in example (16), and Cleomedes’ Caelestia 2.6.24. The frequency of συμφέρεθαι with astronomical content thus seems to be extremely scant and most likely a poetical use. Manetho, who recreates the Alexandrine style full of Homeric and Hesiodic echoes, replicates thus the Hellenistic use of spatial συμφέρεσθαι in imitation of the archaic epics poets (cf. Apollonius’ imitation of the Homeric line cited in (11) in A. R. 3.180; see n. 4). 36 It must be recalled that planets were often conceived of as animate (even divine) beings, therefore furnished with locomotion (for instance, in the Platonic conception). 37 Kidd (1997, 95), the autor of the translation stresses: «Aratus elsewhere uses συνέρχεσθαι (151) and συνιέναι (682) of sun and stars coming into conjunction» (1997, 292). Martin’s (1998: 17) more litteral rendition «le soleil marche avec» also refers to the phenomenon of conjunction (1998, 221). 38 Cf. Bouché Leclerq (1989, 245–255).

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to express the ‘carry along’ motion, as σύνειμι ‘go with’ does in Aratus’ astronomical poem (17), at least, in Martin’s opinion.³⁹ (16)

οἱ δ᾿ ἀλεγεινοὶ / τῆμος ἐπιρρήσσουσι νότοι, ὁπότ᾿ Αἰγοκερῇϊ / συμφέρετ᾿ ἠέλιος (Arat. 291–3) ‘It is then that the dread southernlies strike, when the sun meets up with Capricorn’

(17) κα`ı οἱ μελέων διακέκριται ἄλλων / κινήσαι χειμῶνας ὅτ᾿ ἠελίῳ συνίωσιν (Arat. 680–2) ‘and are distinguished from his other limbs in the raising of the storms when they come together with the sun’ These technical controversies,⁴⁰ on one hand, and the specifics of planetary motion colouring the spatial ‘along’ content with temporal nuances of simultaneity, on the other, both contribute to the blurring of the situation. Hence it seems more practical to take the lead suggested by the example here and to look into the behaviour of other sociative compound verbs of motion, like συνέρχομαι, συμβαίνω and σύνειμι ‘go with’, συνθέω and συντρέχω ‘run with’, outside the astronomical context. The analysis of these verbs shows that they are systematically capable of expressing either type of motion (‘go along with’/’meet’), as shown in (18). (18)

a. σύν τε δύ΄ ἐρχομένω καί τε πρὸ ὃ τοῦ ἐνόησεν / ὅππως κέρδος ἔῃ· (Il. 10.224) ‘When two go together, one discerneth before the other how profit may be had. . . ’ ⁴¹ b. . . . ὡς ἂν πυνθανόμενοι πλεῖστοι συνέλθοιεν Σπαρτιητέων (Hdt.1.152) ‘so that as many Spartans as possible might assemble to hear him’

Whereas συνέρχομαι ‘go with’ in (18a) refers to two (or more) entities going on separate courses without joining at all, in (18b) it expresses the confluent motion of two (or more) entities coming together towards the same point. The different nuance, already noticed by Funck (1878, 176–7),⁴² would in his opinion be analogous to two German

39 Thus Martin (1998: 431) comments, ad line 682: «l’expression peut prêter à confussion. Aratos semble dire que la Chèvre et les Chevreaux accompagnent le soleil, et par conséquent se lèvent ou se couchent en même temps que lui . . . Il faut donc que συνίωσιν ait un sens un peu particulier. Il y a simultanéité entre telle position du soleil et telle position de ces étoiles; συνίωσιν ne veut pas dire que la Chèvre et les Chevreaux marchent avec le soleil, mais qu’ ils concourent avec lui pour proudire le signe. Il y a concomitance de deux movements, et non route commune». However, for a different interpretation see Kidd’s (1997, 410–411), to whom the above translation belongs. 40 An exhaustive study on sociative–compounded motion verbs and their voice interpretation in astrological and, more importantly, in astronomical texts (which allow for a greater variety of motion than the mere conjunction) would contribute to the study of sociative and motion verbs. The heated disagreement as to the interpretation of these texts reduces their otherwise great usefulness to the current discussion. 41 συν– is found in tmesis. 42 Funck (1878, 158) settled the difference on terms of an association of participants previous to the event versus an association forming through the event, a phenomenon which he relates to the

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constructions: «im ersten Fälle die Präposition getrennt neben das Verbum stellen. . . , im andern beide eng verbinden». This very phenomenon can be observed in the Platonic rendition of the συμφέρω event of (19a) in a noun phrase expression in (19b) by means of the non–compound action noun (φορά, substituting φέρω) plus a Sociative adjunct.⁴³ (19)

a. παντὶ γὰρ δῆλον ὅτι ἀπὸ τοῦ εὖ τοῖς πράγμασι τὴν ψυχὴν συμφέρεσθαι . . . (Pl. Cra. 419d)) ‘for it is clear to anyone that from the motion of the soul in harmony with the universe . . . ’ b. τὴν ἅμα φορὰν τῆς ψυχῆς μετὰ τῶν πραγμάτων (Pl. Cra. 417a) ‘the motion of the soul in company with the world’

Equating συμφέρομαι ‘go along with’ with φέρομαι plus a Sociative adjunct, which is excluded in the case of συμφέρομαι ‘get together, meet’,⁴⁴ is grounded on the difference between both types of situations. This can be illustrated by the previous συνέρχομαι examples: in (18a) participant A’s going is independent of that of participant B, whereas in the second (18b) the meeting of A is indissoluble from that of B. The reason for this lies in the fact that the former does not constitute a symmetrical event, while the latter does.⁴⁵ And the rationale is that the symmetrical or ‘natural reciprocal’ event refers to a single situation, while the non–symmetrical one expresses a set of independent (simultaneous)⁴⁶ events. Thus, it may be suggested that middle συμφέρω is capable of the same variation as other sociative motion verbs, so that it can display a Translational Motion Middle (‘going along with’) in asymmetric events, as in (14), as well as a Reciprocal (‘meeting’) in symmetric events, as in (15) and (16). On this note, the ‘fighting’ element (11–2) would simply be a contextual variant of the ‘meeting’ Reciprocal Middle, as (20) shows; this hypothesis is in keeping with the previous observation on the strong spatial content of the ‘fighting’ συμφέρομαι.

understanding of σύν in the first case as «eine Präposition der Ruhe, im andern dient es dem Ausdrucke einer Bewegung». For συμφέρω the difference is rendered ‘zusammen mit jemandem etwas tragen’ und ‘zusammentragen, beitragen’ (1878, 158). 43 A similar construction is attested in Manetho’s poem (5[6].169), albeit somewhat blurred by the passive translation by Lopilato. 44 Cf. Kemmer (1993, 104) on συμφέρομαι ‘come together, meet’ as a naturally reciprocal; cf. also Dimitriadis (2008, 378) and Evans et al. (2011, 11) on the symmetry of ‘meet’ events. 45 Cf. Revuelta (2014, 322) and Dimitriadis (2008, 378): «a predicate is irreducibly symmetric if (a) it expresses a binary relationship, but (b) its two arguments have necessarily identical participation in any event described by the predicate». Given that the Greek middle voice is a Light Reciprocal Marker (in Kemmer’s sense), the absence in the συμφέρω–Perseus corpus of a Heavy Marker such as the reciprocal pronoun is not unexpected (however, see App. BC 2.8.53 for this construction with συνδιδράσκω ‘run with’). 46 The joint action relies on the plural subject performing the action; cf. also Funck (1878, 158–159 and 176), Dimitriadis (2008, 394), Evans et al. (2011, 9). The simultaneity is a component related to the comitative domain (Evans et. al. 2011, 8), but set apart by Dimitriadis (2008, 394) and it may be expressed by the adverb σύν (cf. Il. 23.879) as well as by συν– compounds (see on συνέχω Str. 14.1.48).

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oἵας ἀρᾶται καὶ κατεύχεται τύχας . . . , σοὶ ξυμφέρεσθαι καὶ κτανὼν. . . (A. Sept. 635) ‘His prayer is that . . . he may then meet you [in combat], and once he kills you. . . ’

In συμφέρομαι a (non–)symmetric nature interacts with the Sociative alternation, so that both the ‘going along with’ and the ‘meeting’ συμφέρομαι seem related to the Agent–orientated verb, while the Direct Reflexive (cf. n. 27) and the Collective Motion Middles relate to the active Affected–orientated verb as outlined in Table 3. Such an arrangement, however, does not exclude a likely mutual influence, and this should be studied further.⁴⁷ Table 3: The Middle voices of spatial συμφέρω Soc Orientation

Middle

Middle Type

Participants (nº)

Event

Agent ‘carry along with’

‘go with’

Translational Motion

(asymm.) multiple events

‘meet’ (‘fight’)

Reciprocal

‘gather (intr.)’

Collective tion

‘gather (intr.)’

Direct Reflexive

Initiator– Companion (2) Initiator– Endpoint (2) Initiator– Companion (2) Initiator– Endpoint (1)

Affected ‘gather (tr.)’

Mo-

(symmetric) single event single holistic event single event

5 Conclusion The application of the typology arising from the double sociative and voice alternation to the corpus is shown in Table 4; the data here should be treated with caution, given the small number of examples. In any case, it is not surprising to observe a higher frequency of the active construction in both ‘carry along with’ and ‘bring together’ predicative frames. Yet, while in the Agent orientation–συμφέρω the binary construction is preferred (the unary construction would be a more stressed variant of the plural construction of φέρω plus a Sociative Adjunct), in the Affected orientation–συμφέρω the unary construction is better represented. The several middle constructions claimed in this paper (Translational Motion, Collective Motion, Reflexive and Reciprocal Middle), while not numerous, are represented to a sufficient degree in the data, which suggests

47 Borderline cases must be presumed in case that the multiple entities which get together (Collective Motion) in a hostile context are distributed in two clases.

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that a more useful corpus here would include a greater number of technical treatises, and that in this way a more reliable picture of spatial συμφέρω would be possible. Table 4: Sociative and voice alternation of spatial συμφέρω 32

Agent–orientated Sociative (‘carry along with’)

Affected–orientated Sociative (‘bring together)’

tokens ACT

Unary construction 0 ‘A+B carry’

PSV

0 ‘is carried by A+B’

MID

0 ‘A+B go along’

Unary construction 8 ‘bring A+B together’ 1 ‘A+B are gathered by’ 3 ‘A+B gather’

Binary construction 2 ‘bring A tog. with B’ 0 ‘A is gathered with B by’ 0 ‘A gathers with B’

2 ‘A gathers itself’ (Reflx.)

1 ‘gathers with itself’ (Reflx.)

0 ‘A+B meet’

Binary construction 12 ‘A carries along with B’ 0 ‘is carried by A together with B’ 1 ‘A goes along with B’ 2 ‘A meets with B’

Summing up, the description of συμφέρω in the lexicons has been reported to be substantially defective. Moreover, other related issues touched upon briefly here, like the impact of the Sociative orientation on the verbal valency and the very probable mutual influence between both diversely orientated predicative frames, are ripe for further investigation.

Bibliography Allan, R. J. 2003: The Middle Voice in Ancient Greek, Amsterdam. Bailly, A. 1988: Dictionnaire Grec–Français, Paris. Dik, S. C. 1997: The Theory of Functional Grammar, Berlin – New York. Bouché Leclerq, A. 1899: L’astrologie grecque, Paris. Dimitriadis, A. 2008, Irreducible symmetry in reciprocal constructions, in Reciprocals and Reflexives: Theoretical and Typological Explorations, eds. E. König, & V. Gast, Berlin – New York, 375–410. Evans et al. = Evans, N., Gaby, A., Levinson, S. C. & Majid A. (eds.), 2011: Reciprocals and Semantic Typology, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Funck, A. 1878: Der Gebrauch der Präposition σύν in der Zusammensetzung, in Studien zur Griechischen und Lateinischen Grammatik, coord. G. Curtius & K. Brugmann, Leipzig, 155–202. Givón, T. (ed.) 1994: Voice and Inversion, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Givón, T. 2001: Syntax. A Functional Typological Introduction, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Halliday, M. A. K. 1986: An Introduction to Functional Grammar, Londres – Victoria – Baltimore. Kemmer, S. 1993: The Middle Voice, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Kidd, D. 1997: Aratus. Phaenomena, Cambridge. Koechly, A. 1862: Corpus Poetarum Epicorum Graecorum. VIII. Manethoniana, Leipzig. Köllligan, D. 2007: Suppletion und Defektivität im griechischen Verbum, Bremen. Kühner, R. – Gerth, B. 1966 [1904]: Ausführlische Grammatik der Griechische Sprache, Darmstadt.

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Langacker, R. W. 1991: Foundations of Cognitive Grammar, Stanford. Levin, B. 1993: English Verb Classes and Verbal Alternations, Chicago – London. LSJ = Liddell, H., Scott, R. & Jones, H. S. 19409 : A Greek–English Lexicon, Oxford. Lopilato, R. 1998: The Apotelesmatika of Manetho, Providence (Ph.D.) Luraghi, S. – Narrog H. (eds.), 2014: Perspectives on Semantic Roles, Amsterdam – Philadelphia. Martin, J. 1998: Aratos, Phénomènes, 2 vol., Paris. Maslova, E. 2008: Reflexive encoding of reciprocity: Cross–linguistic and language–internal variation, in Reciprocals and Reflexives: Theoretical and Typological Explorations, eds. E. König, & V. Gast, Berlin – New York, 225–257. Narrog, H. 2010: A diachronic dimension in maps of case functions, «Linguistic Discovery», 8, 233– 254. Olson, S. D. 2007: Broken Laughter. Select Fragments of Greek Comedy, Oxford. Pedersen, O. 1974: Early Physics and Astronomy, London. Pinkster, H. 2015: The Oxford Latin Syntax, Oxford. Revuelta, A. 2014: Comitative, in EAGLL, coord. G. K. Giannakis, Leiden – Boston, 320–4. Rijksbaron, A. 20063 : The syntax and semantics of the verb in classical Greek, Chicago. Stolz et al. = Stolz, Th., Stroh, C. & Urdze, A. 2006: On Comitatives and related Categories, Berlin – New York. Paton, W. R. 1916: The Greek Anthology, I. Books 1–6, Cambridge (MA). Ypsilanti, M. 2006: Apotelesmatica, «RhM», 149, 65–98.

Françoise Létoublon

Le lexique de la promesse en grec à l’époque archaïque Recherches sur l’étymologie et la pragmatique Abstract: We study here the Greek lexicon for the notion of promising, which shows the frequency of the verbal prefix ὑπο– and of two verbal radicals (ὑπισχνέομαι, ὑπόσχεσις and certain forms of ὑφίσταμαι). Starting from contextual distribution and complementarity, we note a tendency to concatenate several promises and exchanges in large contexts. A quotation from Euripides’ Hippolytus in Austin’s How to Do Things with Words prompted an inquiry into performative uses of the promise and the oath. Greek ἐγγυῶ shows more clearly than the verbs composed with ὑπο– that performative use originates in a gesture, here taking by the hand, which Austin denied. An analysis of “Helen’s promise” in the Iliad, echoed by Lucian, shows how Greek language appreciates playing with such notions and words: characters sometimes substitute a promise for an oath, as if the speech act of promising constitutes a less serious commitment. Though strong performative uses are very rare in the corpus, these word plays imply their deep importance for mentalities. Après plusieurs études sur promittere en latin, nous ouvrons ici une recherche sur le lexique grec correspondant, qui montre la fréquence du préverbe ὑπο– (ὑπισχνέομαι, ὑπόσχεσις et certaines formes de ὑφίσταμαι), et pour le verbe, celle du radical de ἔχω. Du point de vue sémantique, on peut se demander sous quoi l’on se place quand on fait une promesse en grec, parallèlement à ce que l’on met en avant quand on promet en latin. La langue grecque archaïque comporte–t–elle des indices permettant des hypothèses, ou comme nous avons tendance à le penser actuellement, l’objet sous lequel on se plaçait pour promettre à une époque très ancienne est–il dès nos plus anciens témoignages totalement intégré dans le sémantisme verbal? En latin, nous avons pu conclure que le préverbe pro– garde en quelque sorte la trace d’un passage du sens spatial “devant” au sens temporel “plus tard”, peut–on dire qu’une image analogue soit portée en grec par ὑπο–; Du point de vue pragmatique, nous étudierons le corpus de la langue archaïque pour voir s’il est possible de discerner des emplois performatifs, dans lesquels la parole est un acte¹, comme nous avons pu le faire à propos de la supplication en grec², de la promesse en latin³.

1 Voir le titre anglais d’Austin (1962): How to do Things with Words. 2 Létoublon (1980; 2011 et 2011b). 3 Létoublon (1986; 2003).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-723

712 | Françoise Létoublon

Suivant Austin, nous chercherons à montrer que la promesse grecque engage celui qui promet dans un sens linguistique: celui qui a promis ne peut pas faire comme s’il n’avait pas donné sa parole. Des proverbes en témoignent dans les langues modernes: Promis c’est promis, repris c’est voler ou Chose promise, chose due en français, Ogni promessa è debito en italien⁴. Cependant il me semble qu’il faut distinguer cette forme d’engagement de celui qui est valable juridiquement: même dans les cas où la promesse est un engagement juridique (en droit latin), l’usager de la langue peut toujours faire une fausse promesse: l’interlocuteur s’attend à ce que la promesse soit ‘tenue’, mais le locuteur considère qu’il n’a promis ‘qu’avec la langue’, comme le dit un personnage d’Euripide, imité par Plaute. En grec de l’époque archaïque, où le serment a apparemment une valeur contraignante supérieure à la promesse, il arrive que tout se passe comme si l’on remplaçait un faux serment par une promesse: tout aussi fausse mais peut-être moins ‘grave’ pour l’avenir?

1 Deux paradigmes verbaux en concurrence pour la promesse dans la langue homérique On trouve en fait deux aoristes quasi homonymes mais non équivalents du point de vue métrique, mais apparemment un seul présent pour l’expression verbale de la promesse. Plusieurs emplois attestent la complémentarité des deux verbes, ainsi que du substantif correspondant ὑπόσχεσις. Le tableau morphologique suivant montre les formes les plus fréquentes, mais aussi que le composé de ἔχω semble plus usuel, ou au moins plus facile à conjuguer que celui de ἵστημι:

4 Le proverbe italien a été cité dans la discussion au colloque de Rome. Je remercie les intervenants de leurs remarques, ainsi qu’Alberto Maffi qui m’a envoyé les siennes par écrit.

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Aoriste indicatif Singulier ps. 1 Singulier ps. 2 Singulier ps. 3

Pluriel ps. 1 Pluriel ps. 2 Pluriel ps. 3 Subjonctif

ὑπέστην Il. 4.267, 15.75, 23.20, 23.180 ὑπέστης Il. 13.375, Od. 9.365, 10.483 ὑπέστη Il. 9.519, 11.244, 19.243, 21.273, Hes. Theog. 402

ὑπέστημεν Il. 5.715, 19.195 ὑπέσταν Il. 2.286 ὑποστήτω Il. 9.160,

Impératif Participe

Infinitif Présent indicatif

ὑπέσχεο Il. 15.374, Od. 13.133, ὑπέσχετο Il. 2.112, 9.19, 9.263, 12.236, 13.366, 13.376, 19.141, Od. 4.6, 11.291, 24.335 ὑπό τ’ ἔσχετο Il. 13.369

ὑπόσχωμαι Il. 22. 114 ὑπόσχηται Il. 10.39 ὑπόσχωνται Il. 22.350 Il. 1.514 ὑπόσχεο ὑποσχὼν Il. 5.269 ὑποσχόμενος Il. 10.303, Od. 15.195, 15.203, Hés. Théog. 170 ὑποσχόμενοι Il. 9.576, 13.377 ὑποσχέσθαι 6.93, 115, 274 Vb. dérivé 8.347

ὑπίσχομαι

Od.

La seule forme de présent attestée se trouve dans l’Odyssée, 8.347, ὑπίσχομαι. Dans son récit sur les Amours d’Arès et d’Aphrodite, Démodokos cite les paroles de Poséidon à Héphaïstos, avec en tête de vers l’impératif λῦσον ‘délivre–le’: ὑπίσχομαι apparaît comme une contre–partie à cet ordre. Od. 8.347–348 λῦσον· ἐγὼ δέ τοι αὐτὸν ὑπίσχομαι, ὡς σὺ κελεύεις, τείσειν αἴσιμα πάντα μετ΄ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι· ‘Délivre–le! Moi, je te promets que, sur ton ordre, il paiera ce qu’il faudra devant les dieux.’⁵

5 La traduction française de l’Odyssée est celle de Philippe Jaccottet (édition Maspero 1982, La Découverte 2000; 2004), avec de légères modifications.

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L’impératif λῦσον reprend au discours direct l’optatif λύσειεν du vers 345⁶, et Poséidon promet qu’Arès paiera (inf. fut. τείσειν) pour ses actes: à la première personne du présent de l’indicatif, ὑπίσχομαι remplit toutes les conditions posées par Austin pour un emploi performatif⁷, et le contexte dans lequel Héphaistos demande à Poséidon des garanties sur l’attitude d’Arès le confirme bien⁸. Remarquons encore que cet emploi performatif, ‘je promets, je m’engage’, reprend l’imparfait λίσσετο du récit (v. 345 cité en note): normalement le performatif correspondant à λίσσετο est λίσσομαι mais en utilisant ὑπίσχομαι, Poséidon choisit un terme beaucoup plus fort, qui prépare la garantie demandée ensuite par Héphaestos (vers 851 ἐγγύαί ἐγγυάασθαι): Od. 8. 350–353 μή με, Ποσείδαον γαιήοχε, ταῦτα κέλευε· δειλαί τοι δειλῶν γε καὶ ἐγγύαι ἐγγυάασθαι. πῶς ἂν ἐγώ σε δέοιμι μετ΄ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσιν, εἴ κεν ῎Αρης οἴχοιτο χρέος καὶ δεσμὸν ἀλύξας·

On remarque l’allure rhétorique de la formule du vers 351 avec l’usage de la phrase nominale d’une part⁹, l’allittération sur d dans le premier hémistique δειλαί – δειλῶν et sur le radical complet ἐγγυά– dans le second. Il s’agit bien d’exiger une garantie sur la réalisation de la promesse, Poséidon va effectivement y répondre, en utilisant un subjonctif éventuel introduit par εἴ περ γάρ κεν pour reprendre la condition posée par Héphaestos, et le futur de l’indicatif τείσω accompagné de αὐτός dans la proposition principale du vers 356: ‘je paierai moi–même’. En somme, le futur de l’indicatif, à la première personne dans la bouche de Poséidon, devient ici un performatif. On conclut de ce paragraphe que l’acte de promettre se faisait en grec archaïque par le performatif ὑπίσχομαι, mais que l’on pouvait aussi utiliser un verbe d’action

6 Od. 8. 345–6 οὐδὲ Ποσειδάωνα γέλως ἔχε, λίσσετο δ΄ αἰεὶ ῞Ηφαιστον κλυτοεργόν, ὅπως λύσειεν ῎Αρηα· ‘Mais Poséidon ne riait pas: il suppliait toujours Héphaestos, l’illustre ouvrier, de délivrer Arès.’ 7 Austin (1970) en français, Searle (1972), Lyons (1970; 1977), Récanati (1981). 8 Traduction de Jaccottet pour Od. 8.350–359 ‘Non, Maître de la terre, ne me demande pas cela! Les cautions des méchants sont méchantes cautions. Comment pourrais–je t’obliger, devant les dieux, Si Arès, esquivant piège et dette, se sauve?” Poséidon rétorqua, celui qui fait trembler la terre: Héphaestos, si jamais, pour esquiver sa dette, Arès s’enfuit, c’est moi qui te la paierai!” En réponse, l’illustre ambidextre lui dit: “je ne peux ni ne veux refuser ta parole.” Le robuste Hépohaestos, ce disant, desserra le piège.’ 9 Il vaudrait peut–être mieux parler de phrases sans verbe, voir Benveniste (1950), Lanerès (1994).

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au futur de l’indicatif. Nous reviendrons plus loin sur les contextes plus larges des emplois.

2 Distribution en contexte et complémentarité Les formes les plus fréquentes dans la langue homérique mettent en concurrence deux composés en ὑπο–, respectivement formés sur le radical στα– et σχ–, dont nous allons étudier maintenant la distribution, dans l’idée de trouver des critères d’équivalence sémantique et de complémentarité, d’abord entre les deux paradigmes verbaux et le substantif unique ὑπόσχεσις, puis différents types de construction¹⁰.

2.1 Complémentarité des deux verbes et du substantif ὑπόσχεσις Plusieurs contextes suivis dans l’Iliade impliquent la complémentarité des deux aoristes et du substantif ὑπόσχεσις: ainsi Il. 2.286 où l’accusatif ὑπόσχεσιν semble jouer le rôle d’un “objet interne” de ὑπέσταν, οὐδέ τοι ἐκτελέουσιν ὑπόσχεσιν ἥν περ ὑπέσταν ‘ils n’accompliront pas la promesse qu’ils t’ont faite’ et Od. 10.483 (Ulysse à Circé) τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν ἥν περ ὑπέστης ‘accomplis la promesse que tu m’as faite’.

Ces deux emplois paraissent correspondre à une formule idiomatique qui donne le substantif ὑπόσχεσιν comme complément au verbe ὑπέστην.

2.2 Constructions avec l’infinitif Les constructions avec l’infinitif (en particulier l’infinitif futur) impliquent très clairement le statut d’un verbe de parole pour ὑπό–σχ–: Il. 2.112 [Ζεύς] ὃς πρὶν μέν μοι ὑπέσχετο καὶ κατένευσεν ῎Ιλιον ἐκπέρσαντ’ εὐτείχεον ἀπονέεσθαι,

Le même emploi se retrouve en Il. 9.19, et il se peut que ce soit la manière idiomatique de citer au discours indirect la promesse de Zeus que l’on peut s’amuser à reconstituer au discours direct en utilisant le performatif ὑπίσχομαι rencontré en Od. 8.347 (cité plus haut):

10 C’est la méthode que nous avions appliquée pour l’étude des paradigmes de verbes de mouvement (Létoublon 1985).

716 | Françoise Létoublon

*. . . σοι ὑπίσχομαι καῖ κατανεύω ῎Ιλιον ἐκπέρσαντ’ εὐτείχεον ἀπονέεσθαι,

littéralement ‘je te le promets et fais le geste d’acquiescement, tu rentreras après avoir détruit Ilion aux bons remparts’. La même construction se retrouve avec un verbe complément différent en Il. 13.366 . . ./ ὑπέσχετο δὲ μέγα ἔργον, ἐκ Τροίης ἀέκοντας ἀπωσέμεν υἷας ’Αχαιῶν. 13.369 τῷ δ’ ὁ γέρων Πρίαμος ὑπό τ’ ἔσχετο καὶ κατένευσε δωσέμεναι· ὃ δὲ μάρναθ’ ὑποσχεσίῃσι πιθήσας. Od. 4.6 ἐν Τροίῃ γὰρ πρῶτον ὑπέσχετο καὶ κατένευσε δωσέμεναι, τοῖσιν δὲ θεοὶ γάμον ἐξετέλειον·

Trois exemples montrent apparemment le même phénomène pour ὑπέσταν, deux dans l’Iliade, le troisième dans l’Odyssée: Il. 2.286 οὐδέ τοι ἐκτελέουσιν ὑπόσχεσιν ἥν περ ὑπέσταν ἐνθάδ΄ ἔτι στείχοντες ἀπ΄ ῎Αργεος ἱπποβότοιο ῎Ιλιον ἐκπέρσαντ΄ εὐτείχεον ἀπονέεσθαι. Il. 5.715 ἦ ῥ’ ἅλιον τὸν μῦθον ὑπέστημεν Μενελάῳ ῎Ιλιον ἐκπέρσαντ’ εὐτείχεον ἀπονέεσθαι, De même Od. 10.483 ’ὦ Κίρκη, τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν, ἥν περ ὑπέστης, / οἴκαδε πεμψέμεναι·

Mais dans deux de ces cas, on remarque la présence du substantif à l’accusatif ὑπόσχεσιν auquel renvoie la relative ἥν περ ὑπέσταν, ἥν περ ὑπέστης: on ne peut exclure que l’infinitif futur dépende de l’idée impliquée par le radical ὑπόσχ– au moins autant que de ὑπέσταν/ης, d’autant que ce dernier se trouve dans une relative un peu accessoire: à la rigueur, on pourrait comprendre le texte sans elle, si l’on avait respectivement le texte suivant: *ἐκτελέουσιν ὑπόσχεσιν [. . . ] ἐνθάδ΄ ἔτι στείχοντες ἀπ΄ ῎Αργεος ἱπποβότοιο et *τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν [. . . ] οἴκαδε πεμψέμεναι·

Dans Il 5.715, le substantif à l’accusatif μῦθον semble jouer un peu le même rôle: ‘ou sera–t–elle vaine, la parole à laquelle nous nous sommes engagés’, et le vers à l’infinitif futur qui suit est d’ailleurs identique à celui de deux de nos exemples précédents (Il. 2.113= 2.288 = 5.716, comme un refrain de l’Iliade).

2.3 L’accusatif d’objet Dans notre essai de typologie des constructions respectives des deux aoristes, on remarquera encore la construction transitive ou non: si les deux verbes semblent admettre la construction avec un infinitif complément ou une proposition infinitive, en particulier avec infinitif futur, tous deux paraissent admettre un accusatif d’objet:

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Les nombreux accusatifs rencontrés avec ὑπέστην sont les suivants: Dans Il. 2.286 ὑπόσχεσιν ἥν περ ὑπέσταν, l’accusatif peut être considéré comme relevant de la catégorie d’objet interne, peut–être est–ce aussi valable pour μῦθον dans 5.715 ἦ ῥ’ ἅλιον τὸν μῦθον ὑπέστημεν Μενελάῳ ῎Ιλιον ἐκπέρσαντ’ εὐτείχεον ἀπονέεσθαι,

Mais dans d’autres emplois, il s’agit bien d’un accusatif d’objet renvoyant à l’objet promis: 9.519 νῦν δ’ ἅμα τ’ αὐτίκα πολλὰ διδοῖ τὰ δ’ ὄπισθεν ὑπέστη, 11.244 πρῶθ’ ἑκατὸν βοῦς δῶκεν, ἔπειτα δὲ χίλι’ ὑπέστη αἶγας ὁμοῦ καὶ ὄις, 13.375 εἰ ἐτεὸν δὴ πάντα τελευτήσεις ὅσ’ ὑπέστης Δαρδανίδῃ Πριάμῳ· ὃ δ’ ὑπέσχετο θυγατέρα ἥν. 19.195 δῶρα ἐμῆς παρὰ νηὸς ἐνεικέμεν, ὅσσ’ ’Αχιλῆϊ χθιζὸν ὑπέστημεν δώσειν, ἀγέμεν τε γυναῖκας. 19.243 ἑπτὰ μὲν ἐκ κλισίης τρίποδας φέρον, οὕς οἱ ὑπέστη, αἴθωνας δὲ λέβητας ἐείκοσι, δώδεκα δ’ ἵππους· 23.20 = 180 πάντα γὰρ ἤδη τοι τελέω τὰ πάροιθεν ὑπέστην Od. 10.483 ’ὦ Κίρκη, τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν, ἥν περ ὑπέστης, οἴκαδε πεμψέμεναι· θυμὸς δέ μοι ἔσσυται ἤδη

Ces accusatifs d’objet sont encore plus nombreux avec ὑπό–σχ–: 5.269 λάθρῃ Λαομέδοντος ὑποσχὼν θήλεας ἵππους· 6.93 = 274 καί οἱ ὑποσχέσθαι δυοκαίδεκα βοῦς / ἐνὶ νηῷ ἤνις ἠκέστας ἱερευσέμεν, 6.115 δαίμοσιν ἀρήσασθαι, ὑποσχέσθαι δ’ ἑκατόμβας. 9.263 ὅσσά τοι ἐν κλισίῃσιν ὑπέσχετο δῶρ’ ’Αγαμέμνων· 9.576 ἐξελθεῖν καὶ ἀμῦναι ὑποσχόμενοι μέγα δῶρον· 10.39 δείδω μὴ οὔ τίς τοι ὑπόσχηται τόδε ἔργον / ἄνδρας δυσμενέας σκοπιαζέμεν οἶος ἐπελθὼν 10.303 τίς κέν μοι τόδε ἔργον ὑποσχόμενος τελέσειε / δώρῳ ἔπι μεγάλῳ; μισθὸς δέ οἱ ἄρκιος ἔσται. 12.236 βουλέων, ἅς τέ μοι αὐτὸς ὑπέσχετο καὶ κατένευσε· 13.366 . . . ὑπέσχετο δὲ μέγα ἔργον, / ἐκ Τροίης ἀέκοντας ἀπωσέμεν υἷας ’Αχαιῶν. 13.376–377 . . . ὃ δ’ ὑπέσχετο θυγατέρα ἥν. / καί κέ τοι ἡμεῖς ταῦτά γ’ ὑποσχόμενοι τελέσαιμεν, / . . .῎Αργεος ἐξαγαγόντες ὀπυιέμεν, . . . 19.141 δῶρα δ’ ἐγὼν ὅδε πάντα παρασχέμεν ὅσσά τοι ἐλθὼν χθιζὸς ἐνὶ κλισίῃσιν ὑπέσχετο δῖος ’Οδυσσεύς. 22.114 καί οἱ ὑπόσχωμαι ’Ελένην καὶ κτήμαθ’ 22.350 ὑπόσχωνται δὲ καὶ ἄλλα, 10.483 ’ὦ Κίρκη, τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν, ἥν περ ὑπέστης, / οἴκαδε πεμψέμεναι· 24.335 δῶρα, τὰ δεῦρο μολών μοι ὑπέσχετο καὶ κατένευσεν. Hés. Theog.170 ”μῆτερ, ἐγώ κεν τοῦτό γ’ ὑποσχόμενος τελέσαιμι ἔργον, / ἐπεὶ πατρός γε δυσωνύμου οὐκ ἀλεγίζω / ἡμετέρου·

Dans les cas où il ne s’agit pas d’un accusatif d’objet interne (ὑπόσχεσιν, μῦθον), l’accusatif complément renvoie aux objets promis: accusatifs explicites βοῦς, αἶγας, θυ-

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γατέρα, τρίποδας, ἵππους, ἑκατόμβας, δῶρον, δῶρα, ἔργον, ῾Ελένην καὶ κτήμαθ᾿, ou représenté par un pronom (ὅσσα, τά, ἄλλα. . .). Parmi eux, on voit des objets concrets, animaux, trépieds, cadeaux, des femmes (une fille, Hélène. . .) ou des contenus plus abstraits comme ἔργον. Tout cela correspond à ce que l’on appelle ‘promettre’ en français, comme au latin promitto, pour lequel nous avons montré que les objets promis étaient mis en avant dans l’état archaïque de la langue, l’ablatif étant un instrumental (par exemple chez Plaute dans promisi lingua).

2.4 Avec datif d’intérêt Avec un datif de la personne concernée (cf. en fr. promettre à quelqu’un . . .), on trouve des noms propres et nombreux pronoms: dans le corpus μοι, οἱ, τοι sont bien attestés avec les deux verbes.

2.5 Associations syntagmatiques Certaines associations syntagmatiques semblent révélatrices du point de vue sémantique, et montrent en même temps des choix préférentiels dans l’ordre des mots et le rôle des formules: ainsi, les deux verbes sont associés à κατανεύω, mais pas dans les mêmes conditions, la métrique semblant entraîner la grammaire:

ὑπέστην

ὑπό–σχ–

. . . ὑπέστην καὶ κατένευσα ὥς οἱ ὑπέστην πρῶτον, ἐμῷ δ΄ ἐπένευσα κάρητι

μοι ὑπόσχεο καὶ κατάνευσον μοι ὑπέσχετο καὶ κατένευσεν σὺ δ΄ ὑπέσχεο καὶ κατένευσας ὑπό τ΄ ἔσχετο καὶ κατένευσε

Tout se passe comme si le deuxième hémistiche ὑπέστην καὶ κατένευσα était idiomatique pour la première personne de l’indicatif alors que ὑπό–σχ– est associé au même verbe aux autres personnes de la conjugaison (indicatif deuxième et troisième personnes et impératif). La place préférentielle de ὑπέστην semble se trouver en fin de vers (sauf la première personne, mais cela peut avoir un caractère aléatoire étant donné la rareté relative de la forme); au contraire les formes de ὑπό–σχ– ne se trouvent jamais à cette place. On constate l’association forte des deux verbes avec la famille de τελέω et τελευτάω comme si la destination ‘normale’ d’une promesse était d’aller vers l’achèvement:

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Fin de vers: ὑπέστην

ὑπό–σχ–

πάντα τελευτήσεις ὅσ΄ ὑπέστης τελέω τὰ πάροιθεν ὑπέστην ὥς περ ὑπέστη, / ἐξετέλεσσ΄ τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν, ἥν περ ὑπέστης

Τόδε ἔργον ὑποσχόμενος τελέσειε Ταῦτά γ΄ ὑποσχόμενοι τελέσαιμεν τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν, ἥν περ ὑπέστης πῶς κέν μοι ὑποσχόμενος τελέσειας ὅππως οἱ κατὰ μοῖραν ὑποσχόμενος τελέσειεν

Pour résumer, le tableau montre que les deux verbes ont la même valence syntaxique (transitif avec objet promis ou objet interne: ὑπόσχεσιν, datif de la personne intéressée, proposition infinitive ou infinitif complément), mais aussi qu’ils n’occupent pas du tout la même place dans le vers: les formes de ὑπέστην se rencontrent non constamment mais très fréquemment en fin de vers absolue, alors que les formes de ὑπό–σχ– ne s’y trouvent jamais, mais occupent de manière préférentielle le début du deuxième hémistiche. En outre, le substantif correspondant n’existe qu’avec le radical de ὑπό–σχ– (on aurait pourtant pu imaginer ὑπόστασις dans le même sens de ‘promesse’, or le mot existe bien, mais dans un autre sens). Dans plusieurs cas, les deux radicaux sont associés syntagmatiquement à des formes signifiant ‘approuver’ d’un geste de la tête, d’un signe¹¹ (aoristes κατένευσα, ἐπένευσα) et/ou à des formes signifiant que la promesse arrive à son terme, à réalisation (diverses formes de τελέω et τελευτάω). L’ensemble des emplois montrent bien que le substantif ὑπόσχεσις correspond sémantiquement aux deux radicaux, et dans deux exemples, on emploie une locution signifiant ‘achever une promesse’ (ἐκτελέουσιν ὑπόσχεσιν, τέλεσόν μοι ὑπόσχεσιν), dans les deux mêmes exemples, ὑπόσχεσις est repris dans une relative par une forme de ὑπέστην: tout cela converge pour montrer que ὑπόσχεσις renvoie déjà dans la langue épique à l’engagement verbal que nous appelons promesse.

3 Contextes plus larges et enchaînement des promesses Pour une étude sémantique et pragmatique plus approfondie, il semble opportun d’étudier plus largement certains exemples clefs, en particulier les contextes d’Il. 2.286 et de 13.363 et suiv.

11 Chantraine (2009), s. v. νεύω.

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Il. 2.284–294 (discours qu’Ulysse, sceptre en main, adresse à Agamemnon après le coup qu’il a donné à Thersite pour le calmer) ’Ατρεΐδη νῦν δή σε ἄναξ ἐθέλουσιν ΄Αχαιοὶ πᾶσιν ἐλέγχιστον θέμεναι μερόπεσσι βροτοῖσιν, οὐδέ τοι ἐκτελέουσιν ὑπόσχεσιν ἥν περ ὑπέσταν ἐνθάδ΄ ἔτι στείχοντες ἀπ΄ ῎Αργεος ἱπποβότοιο ῎Ιλιον ἐκπέρσαντ΄ εὐτείχεον ἀπονέεσθαι. ὥς τε γὰρ ἢ παῖδες νεαροὶ χῆραί τε γυναῖκες ἀλλήλοισιν ὀδύρονται οἶκον δὲ νέεσθαι. ἦ μὴν καὶ πόνος ἐστὶν ἀνιηθέντα νέεσθαι· καὶ γάρ τίς θ΄ ἕνα μῆνα μένων ἀπὸ ἧς ἀλόχοιο ἀσχαλάᾳ σὺν νηῒ πολυζύγῳ, ὅν περ ἄελλαι χειμέριαι εἰλέωσιν ὀρινομένη τε θάλασσα· ‘Seigneur Atride, en ce moment les fils des Achéens ne songent qu’à te bafouer aux yeux de tous les hommes. C’en est fini pour eux de la promesse qu’ils te firent, Quand ils quittèrent pour ces lieux Argos riche en cavales, De ne rentrer chez eux qu’après la chute d’Ilion. Voilà que tout pareils à des enfants ou à des veuves, Ils ne font que gémir et parler de retour. Bien sûr, quand on est mal en point, on rêve de rentrer. C’est ainsi que celui qui reste un mois loin de sa femme Enrage sur sa nef robuste, en se voyant bloqué Par les bourrasques de l’hiver et la mer déchaînée.’

La promesse porte sur le retour des Achéens, dans un futur éventuellement proche ou très lointain. Le thème du retour est récurrent dans tout le discours, voir outre ἀπονέεσθαι au vers 288 νέεσθαι au v. 290, et encore au v. 291, et au v. 298, (en dehors de la citation), toujours en fin de vers¹². La rhétorique d’Ulysse insiste sur l’alternative entre un retour honteux (αἰσχρόν au début du vers 298) en vaincus¹³ et le retour victorieux que les Achéens pouvaient espérer, contenu de la promesse faite à Agamemnon. Pour notre thématique de la promesse, insistons encore sur la présence de la particule ἦ μὴν au début du vers 291: le ton est d’une grande solennité, avant le rappel de la fameuse prédiction de Calchas sur le présage du serpent et des oiseaux et la durée de la guerre. Il semble que cette prédiction joue implicitement le rôle d’une promesse symétrique à celle faite à Agamemnon: ils rentreront vainqueurs s’ils attendent la dixième année prévue¹⁴. Ce passage implique clairement que le décalage temporel entre le moment

12 Comme l’indicatif correspondant, l’infinitif νέεσθαι peut être un présent ou un futur chez Homère, et dans cette occurrence (Létoublon 1985, 171–172). 13 Voir les vers 297–298 ἀλλὰ καὶ ἔμπης αἰσχρόν τοι δηρόν τε μένειν κενεόν τε νέεσθαι. ‘Mais pensez à la honte D’attendre si longtemps pour rentrer les mains vides.’ 14 C’est bien la conclusion qu’Ulysse en tire à la fin de son discours:

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de la promesse et celui de sa réalisation fait partie intégrante du sémantisme de cette notion. Un autre passage montre encore plus clairement deux promesses enchaînées l’une à l’autre, avec un décalage temporel analogue à celui que nous venons de voir: après un rappel du dessein de Zeus (Il. 13.340–350)¹⁵, du dessein opposé de Poséidon (351–353) et de la suprématie de Zeus sur son frère (355–360), vient le récit de l’attaque des Troyens par Idoménée, qui commence par tuer Othryoneus (363–372), ce qui entraîne un récit rétrospectif sur ce dernier à propos de ses prétentions à épouser Cassandre: ᾔτεε δὲ Πριάμοιο θυγατρῶν εἶδος ἀρίστην Κασσάνδρην ἀνάεδνον, ὑπέσχετο δὲ μέγα ἔργον, ἐκ Τροίης ἀέκοντας ἀπωσέμεν υἷας ΄Αχαιῶν. τῷ δ΄ ὁ γέρων Πρίαμος ὑπό τ΄ ἔσχετο καὶ κατένευσε δωσέμεναι· ὃ δὲ μάρναθ΄ ὑποσχεσίῃσι πιθήσας. ‘Il briguait la main de la fille la plus belle de Priam, Cassandre, Il avait, à défaut de dot, promis un grand exploit: Chasser les Danaens de vive force loin de Troie. Le vieux Priam avait promis de lui donner sa fille. Ainsi se battait–il, confiant dans cette promesse.’¹⁶

Comme dans d’autres récits d’aristie, Idoménée lui adresse alors la parole ironiquement en rappelant les deux promesses de Priam et d’Othryoneus, et en enchaînant sur la promesse concurrente des Achéens: 374–382 ’Οθρυονεῦ περὶ δή σε βροτῶν αἰνίζομ΄ ἁπάντων εἰ ἐτεὸν δὴ πάντα τελευτήσεις ὅσ΄ ὑπέστης Δαρδανίδῃ Πριάμῳ· ὃ δ΄ ὑπέσχετο θυγατέρα ἥν. καί κέ τοι ἡμεῖς ταῦτά γ΄ ὑποσχόμενοι τελέσαιμεν, δοῖμεν δ΄ ΄Ατρεΐδαο θυγατρῶν εἶδος ἀρίστην ῎Αργεος ἐξαγαγόντες ὀπυιέμεν, εἴ κε σὺν ἄμμιν ’Ιλίου ἐκπέρσῃς εὖ ναιόμενον πτολίεθρον. ἀλλ΄ ἕπε΄, ὄφρ΄ ἐπὶ νηυσὶ συνώμεθα ποντοπόροισιν ἀμφὶ γάμῳ, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἐεδνωταὶ κακοί εἰμεν. ‘Othryoneus, je te tiendrai pour le plus grand des hommes Si tu remplis tes engagements envers Priam, le Dardanide. Ce roi t’avait promis sa fille. Nous pourrions, nous aussi, faire et tenir telle promesse, Aller te chercher, dans Argos, et te donner pour femme

328–329 ὣς ἡμεῖς τοσσαῦτ΄ ἔτεα πτολεμίξομεν αὖθι, τῷ δεκάτῳ δὲ πόλιν αἱρήσομεν εὐρυάγυιαν. ‘De même nous ferons la guerre un nombre égal d’années, Et, la dixième, nous prendrons la ville aux larges rues.’ 15 Le dessein de Zeus est clairement, à partir du chant I, de faire gagner les Troyens pour render honneur à Achille, conformémement à la demande de Thétis. 16 Traduction Mugler modifiée.

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La fille la plus belle de l’Atride, si tu veux Nous aider à raser la belle cité d’Ilion. Viens! Suis–moi jusqu’aux promptes nefs. Nous réglerons la noce A bord: pour les cadeaux, nous ne ferons pas de manières!’

La succession des promesses et des échanges qu’elles supposent est claire: Othryoneus était venu à Troie pour une demande en mariage (v. 363 ᾔτεε δὲ Πριάμοιο θυγατρῶν εἶδος ἀρίστην), promettant en lieu de dot un grand exploit (v. 364 ὑπέσχετο δὲ μέγα ἔργον), rien moins que de chasser les Achéens (v. 364 avec infinitf futur ἀπωσέμεν υἷας ΄Αχαιῶν). La même formule est utilisée pour rapporter la promesse de Priam, qui ajoute le geste d’acquiescement à la promesse verbale (v. 366 ὑπό τ΄ ἔσχετο καὶ κατένευσε / δωσέμεναι), et les deux promesses sont désignées ensuite par le substantif au datif pluriel ὑποσχεσίῃσι (v. 367). Tout ce récit rétrospectif prend place dans la chronologie du récit épique après le coup mortel donné à Othryoneus par Idoménée, avec l’aoriste πέφνε d’abord, puis βάλεν et πῆξε. C’est alors seulement qu’Idoménée adresse à Othryonée un discours, après le coup fatal donc, ce qui donne à ces paroles une valeur ironique très forte, comparable à certains passages de la fin de l’Iliade (cf. le discours de Patrocle à Cébrion, celui d’Hector à Patrocle et celui d’Achille à Hector). Ici l’ironie joue sur la valeur de futur des promesses, sur leur caractère vérédictif (ἐτεὸν v. 375) et sur le cycle d’échanges qu’elles instaurent: puisque Priam avait promis sa fille (ὃ δ΄ ὑπέσχετο θυγατέρα ἥν v. 376), Idoménée fait au nom des Achéens une promesse comparable, la fille d’Agamemnon. A l’achèvement d’un exploit promis à Priam par Othryonée (ὑπέσχετο δὲ μέγα ἔργον puis εἰ ἐτεὸν δὴ πάντα τελευτήσεις ὅσ΄ ὑπέστης), Idoménée promet en compensation une autre réalisation, par les Achéens (ταῦτά γ΄ ὑποσχόμενοι τελέσαιμεν). Les deux optatifs coordonnés τελέσαιμεν, δοῖμεν δ΄ impliquent bien l’existence d’une relation forte entre les deux verbes, que la subordonnée conditionnelle qui suit vient ensuite restreindre: εἴ κε σὺν ἄμμιν / ’Ιλίου ἐκπέρσῃς εὖ ναιόμενον πτολίεθρον, ‘pourvu que tu détruises Ilion avec nous’; or cette condition est strictement contraire à la promesse qu’Othryoneus avait faite plus haut à Priam de chasser les Achéens de Troie (ἐκ Τροίης ἀέκοντας ἀπωσέμεν υἷας ΄Αχαιῶν). Idoménée conclut son discours sur les conventions à prendre au sujet du mariage, ‘puisque nous ne sommes pas de mauvais doteurs’ (ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἐεδνωταὶ κακοί εἰμεν). La réciprocité des échanges est capitale dans tout ce cycle de promesses, y compris dans le dernier, hautement ironique: un mariage contre un exploit, Cassandre contre la victoire sur les Achéens dans la promesse qui liait Othryoneus à Priam, la fille d’Agamemnon contre la victoire sur les Troyens dans la promesse ironique d’Idoménée¹⁷. Cet exemple met en évidence de manière très claire l’importance de la promesse en mariage: normalement un père promet sa fille à un prétendant, comme Priam l’a fait à

17 Voir Seaford (1994), Gill, Postlethwaite & Seaford (1998), en particulier sur les types de réciprocité et l’importance du mariage, Van Wees (1998, 21–24).

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propos de Cassandre envers Othryoneus¹⁸. Dans l’ironie d’Idoménée, le plus important est bien sûr que la promesse soit faite à un homme déjà mort, mais le fait que la femme promise soit la fille, non d’Idoménée, mais d’Agamemnon, chef des Achéens, joue probablement un rôle aussi. À l’époque classique, on le verra plus loin, c’est ἐγγυῶ qui est employé pour promettre sa fille en mariage, avec le substantif correspondant ἐγγυή et le dérivé ἐγγύησις, les formes du verbe au moyen signifiant ‘je m’engage’ (par exemple pour le jeune homme fiancé). Or le mot est attesté chez Homère, une seule fois il est vrai, dans le chant de Démodokos au chant 8 de l’Odyssée dans lequel on rencontre l’unique emploi homérique du performatif ὑπίσχομαι (Od. 8.347). Juste après la promesse formelle de Poséidon suivant laquelle Arès paierait sa dette (αὐτὸν . . . τίσειν αἴσιμα πάντα), il lui réclame des garanties sur l’avenir en exprimant sa méfiance par une maxime d’allure proverbiale au vers 351 déjà mentionné plus haut.

4 L’emploi performatif: comment promettait–on et comment jurait–on à l’époque archaïque? Le jeu sur les mots de l’Hippolyte d’Euripide ἡ γλῶσσ᾿ ὀμώμοκ᾿ ἡ δὲ φρὴν ἀνωμοτός ’[m]a langue a juré, non mon esprit’ cité par Austin dans l’ouvrage fondateur sur la notion de performatif (1962, 1970, p. 44) montre l’importance de la sincérité: une promesse ou un serment peut être mensonger. L’imitation d’Euripide par Plaute promisi lingua montre bien les potentialités comiques du performatif, (cf. mes articles sur promitto), et semble impliquer qu’il existait bien en grec puis en latin une formule performative pour la promesse. Le texte d’Austin et sa citation, impliquent que la promesse et le serment sont proches l’un de l’autre, avec peut–être une différence de degré dans l’engagement verbal, et nous engagent dans une nouvelle recherche sur ὄμνυμι. Il n’y a aucun exemple du présent ὄμνυμι à l’époque archaïque si ce n’est un participe pluriel reconstitué dans un fragment tragique¹⁹. On ne peut toutefois pas en déduire que l’on ne prêtait pas serment dans la langue archaïque: les exemples de

18 Bien qu’il ne se rencontre qu’une fois, on peut penser que l’emploi de ὑπέσχετο avec comme complément θυγατέρα a un caractère idiomatique. 19 Il s’agit bien ici du présent de l’indicatif ὄμνυμι. On trouve chez Homère des emplois de l’aoriste, par exemple Il. 10.332 ῝Ως φάτο καί ῥ᾿ ἐπίορκον ἐπώμοσοε, . . ., Il. 19.127 . . . καί ῥ᾿ ὤμοσε μέγαν ὅρκον (avec proposition infinitive au futur), Il. 20.313 . . . πολέας ὠμόσαμεν ὅρκους, Od. 4.253 . . . καὶ ὤμοσα καρτερὸν ὅρκον, Od. 10.351 ἀπώμοσα καρτερὸν ὅρκον, Od. 14.331 ὤμοσε δὲ πρὸς ἔμ᾿ αὐτόν, . . ., chez Hésiode Théog. 232 ὅτε κέν τις ἑκὼν ἐπίορκον ὁμόσσῃ, Théog. 793 ὅς κεν τὴν ἐπίορκον ἀπολλείψας ἐπομόσσῃ, Trav. 282 ὃς δέ κε μαρτυρίῃσιν ἑκὼν ἐπίορκον ὁμόσσας.

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l’aoriste cités en note montrent au contraire sa grande importance, ainsi que celle du parjure. Mais nous n’avons pas d’exemple du discours direct avec emploi performatif. En grec de l’époque classique, on connaît quatre emplois de la première personne du présent de l’indicatif chez Euripide, voir en particulier Hipp. 713 ὄμνυμι σεμνὴν ῎Αρτεμιν, Διὸς κόρην, μηδὲν κακῶν σῶν ές φάος δείξειν ποτέ.²⁰

Cf. Hdt 1.212.12 Εἰ δὲ ταῦτα οὐ ποιήσεις, ἥλιον ἐπόμνυμί τοι τὸν Μασσαγετέων δεσπότην, ἦ μέν σε ἐγὼ καὶ ἄπληστον ἐόντα αἵματος κορέσω. Κῦρος μὲν ἐπέων οὐδένα τούτων ἀνενειχθέντων ἐποιέετο λόγον. Id. 5.106.28 Ταῦτα δὲ κατὰ νόον τὸν σὸν ποιήσας θεοὺς ἐπόμνυμι τοὺς βασιληίους μὴ μὲν πρότερον ἐκδύσεσθαι τὸν ἔχων κιθῶνα καταβήσομαι ἐς ᾿Ιωνίην πρὶν ἄν τοι Σαρδὼ νῆσον τὴν μεγίστην δασμοφόρον ποιήσω. Le verbe ὄμνυμι pris comme exemple par Austin, même si le passage qu’il cite ne met pas en évidence de performatif à proprement parler, manifeste la proximité entre ‘jurer’ et ‘promettre’. L’analyse contenue dans les deux dernières pages de sa «Première conférence» porte sur ce point (p. 44–45 de l’édition française) avec «notre parole, c’est notre engagement» (en italiques dans le texte, bas de la p. 44). Dans une publication de 2011, j’ai fait remarquer que Benveniste avait dès 1958, avant Austin (1962, éd. originale) pressenti la particularité des emplois performatifs de certains verbes, sans le terme, dans l’article De la subjectivité dans le langage. Or l’exemple qu’il prenait alors est justement ‘je jure, je promets’ pour conclure: «l’énonciation s’identifie avec l’acte même. Mais cette condition n’est pas donnée dans le sens du verbe: c’est la “subjectivité” du discours qui la rend possible. Alors que je jure est un engagement, il jure n’est qu’une description, au même plan que il court, il fume.» On trouve chez Hérodote l’exemple d’une formule performative par laquelle un père promettait sa fille en mariage: le verbe έγγυῶ est clairement formé à partir d’une locution έν γυῇ «dans la main, dans les bras»²¹. Hdt. 6.130.11 [Κλεισθένης] Τῷ δὲ ᾿Αλκμέωνος Μεγακλέϊ ἐγγυῶ παῖδα τὴν ἐμὴν ᾿Αγαρίστην νόμοισι ᾿Αθηναίων. Φαμένου δὲ ἐγγυᾶσθαι Μεγακλέος ἐκεκύρωτο ὁ γάμος Κλεισθένεϊ. On voit peut–être plus clairement dans le cas de ἐγγυῶ que dans celui de la promesse et du serment que le grec suppose bien à l’origine de l’emploi performatif un geste, ce qu’Austin niait²². Les emplois en grec du domaine de la supplication le montrent clairement aussi: le suppliant touche les genoux de la personne suppliée et il dit qu’il 20 Austin aurait pu citer ce serment performatif alors que la citation qu’il fait montre une forme de parfait qui aboutit en fait à une négation du véritable serment (ἀνωμοτός) qui est fait en pensée et non en parole seulement. 21 Chantraine (2009, s. v. γυή). 22 Il avait raison en synchronie bien sûr: la parole remplace le geste, elle le rend superflu. Pour la supplication, Ulysse dit même dans l’Odyssée qu’il a peur d’effrayer Nausicaa en lui touchant les

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les touche, le père prend sa fille par la main ou le bras. Le geste fait pour “promettre” est en latin de tendre l’objet promis devant soi avec la main (ablatif instrumental du nom de la main: manu, (cf. Létoublon 1990; 1994; 2003). Or dans le corpus étudié ici, on peut remarquer qu’il existe dans la langue homérique plusieurs emplois avec le complément θυγατέρα ou avec un nom propre féminin à l’accusatif, sans que l’existence d’expressions signifiant à l’aoriste «promettre sa fille (en mariage)» nous fournisse l’emploi performatif correspondant. Mais un emploi de la première personne à valeur performative se trouve dans le chant 8.347 de l’Odyssée (chant de Démodokos sur les amours d’Arès et Aphrodite, paroles mises dans la bouche de Poséidon à Héphaestos) λῦσον· ἐγὼ δέ τοι αὐτὸν ὑπίσχομαι, ὡς σὺ κελεύεις, τείσειν αἴσιμα πάντα μετ’ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι· ‘Délivre–le! Je te promets que sur ton ordre, il paiera ce qu’il faudra devant les dieux’ (trad. Ph. Jaccottet).

On peut citer aussi l’Hymne hom. Herm. 4.275: Εἰ δ᾿ἐθέλεις πατρὸς κεφαλὴν μέγαν ὄρκον ὀμοῦμαι· μὴ μὲν ἐγὼ μήτ’ αὐτὸς ὑπίσχομαι αἴτιος εἶναι, μήτε τιν’ ἄλλον ὄπωπα βοῶν κλοπὸν ὑμετεράων, ‘Si tu veux je ferai un grand serment par la tête du père. Je ne suis pas coupable moi–même, je le promets, Et je n’ai vu personne voler vos vaches’²³

où l’on remarque la particule μὴ μὲν. Ce dernier exemple montre remarquablement la proximité entre serment et promesse: le futur ὀμοῦμαι (correspondant au présent ὄμνυμι non attesté dans la langue archaïque) du vers 274 est repris par le présent ὑπίσχομαι au vers suivant. On ne peut pas l’assurer étant donné le petit nombre des exemples, mais tout se passe comme si ὑπίσχομαι était un substitut affaibli de ὄμνυμι, comme si le jeune mais déjà malin Hermès évitait, parce qu’il ment, de prononcer la ‘véritable’ formule du serment²⁴. À partir du vers 274, pourrait–on supposer la formule performative sous la forme * μέγαν ὄρκον ὄμνυμι? Malgré la note de Càssola qui affirme qu’il n’y a pas de valeur ironique

genoux, et qu’il vaut sans doute mieux lui dire ‘je touche tes genoux’: la parole qui accompagnait probablement le geste à époque ancienne en tient lieu désormais. 23 Traduction Jean–Louis Backès avec des modifications. 24 Dans son commentaire au vers 274, F. Càssola évoque les formules de serment dans la langue en notant le serment mensonger mais non la nuance qui nous occupe: «πατρὸς κεφαλὴν . . . ὀμοῦμαι: sulla formula del giuramento, cfr. Inno III 83–6 e nota. Si ricordi che horkos non è il pegno, nel senso moderno (cio che si è disposti a perdere in caso di spergiuro, come quando oggi si dice «giuro sulla mia testa, sulla testa dei miei figli»): Ermes invoca Zeus come garante della sua sincerità, e percio come colui che lo punirà se egli mente. In altri termini, sebbene il giuramento sia falso, la formula non è affatto ironica.»

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pour ὀμοῦμαι, il me semble que l’enchaînement verbal entre ὀμοῦμαι et ὑπίσχομαι implique un jeu ironique sur la hiérarchie de la promesse et du serment. Des textes attestés, l’on peut en tout cas inférer que promettre est proche du serment, à un degré de solennité inférieur en quelque sorte, et que pour promettre on disait ὑπίσχομαι à l’époque archaïque avec valeur performative. La troisième personne est employée par Iris, messagère des dieux pour transmettre aux dieux des vents Zéphyr et Borée une prière qu’Achille leur adresse: Il. 23.208–211 ἀλλ΄ ΄Αχιλεὺς Βορέην ἠδὲ Ζέφυρον κελαδεινὸν ἐλθεῖν ἀρᾶται, καὶ ὑπίσχεται ἱερὰ καλά, ὄφρα πυρὴν ὄρσητε καήμεναι, ᾗ ἔνι κεῖται Πάτροκλος, τὸν πάντες ἀναστενάχουσιν ΄Αχαιοί. ‘Mais Achille implore Borée et le puissant Zéphyre; Il vous promet, à tous les deux, de splendides offrandes, Si vous venez faire jaillir la flamme du bûcher Où gît Patrocle, objet des pleurs de tous les Achéens’.

Étant donné ce que l’on sait sur la structure des messages chez Homère, et en particulier sur ceux que transmet Iris, par exemple aux chants 1 et 24 de l’Iliade, il semble qu’elle transpose simplement au discours indirect les paroles d’Achille que l’on peut donc reconstruire à peu près: Il. 23.209 * ἐλθεῖν ἀρᾶμαι, καὶ ὑπίσχομαι ἱερὰ καλά, ὄφρα πυρὴν ὄρσητε καήμεναι. On peut aussi citer Od. 2.91 = 13.380 πάντας μέν ῥ῾ἔλπει, καὶ ὑπίσχεται ἀνδρὶ ἑκάστῳ, άγγελίας προϊεῖσα νόος δέ οἱ ἄλλα μενοινᾷ où il s’agit des promesses de Pénélope aux Prétendants, leur nombre même impliquant qu’il s’agit pour chacun d’une fausse promesse.

La “promesse d’Hélène” joue un grand rôle dans l’Iliade mais n’est jamais exprimée directement avec le performatif, mais on peut supposer que le subjonctif aoriste qu’utilise Hector dans une longue proposition hypothétique transpose dans le registre hypothétique un imaginaire ὑπίσχομαι qui n’aurait pas exactement la même valeur métrique au vers 114: Il.22.111–118 εἰ δέ κεν ἀσπίδα μὲν καταθείομαι ὀμφαλόεσσαν καὶ κόρυθα βριαρήν, δόρυ δὲ πρὸς τεῖχος ἐρείσας αὐτὸς ἰὼν ΄Αχιλῆος ἀμύμονος ἀντίος ἔλθω καί οἱ ὑπόσχωμαι ΄Ελένην καὶ κτήμαθ΄ ἅμ΄ αὐτῇ, πάντα μάλ΄ ὅσσά τ΄ ΄Αλέξανδρος κοίλῃς ἐνὶ νηυσὶν ἠγάγετο Τροίηνδ΄, ἥ τ΄ ἔπλετο νείκεος ἀρχή, δωσέμεν ΄Ατρεΐδῃσιν ἄγειν, ἅμα δ΄ ἀμφὶς ΄Αχαιοῖς ἄλλ΄ ἀποδάσσεσθαι ὅσα τε πτόλις ἧδε κέκευθε· ‘Pourtant, si je déposais là mon bouclier bombé Et mon casque puissant, si j’appuyais ma pique au mur Et si j’allais de ce pas vers Achille sans reproche

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Lui promettre Hélène et les trésors qui l’ont suivie, Tous les biens qu’autrefois Paris apporta à Troie Sur ses navires creux, et dont naquit notre querelle, Seraient rendus par moi aux fils d’Atrée, et que leurs gens Recevraient la moitié de ce qu’enferme cette ville,[. . . ]’

On voit bien que l’on pourrait couper la proposition conditionnelle et transformer la phrase à l’indicatif performatif sous la forme suivante: *καί οἱ ὑπίσχομαι ’Ελένην καὶ κτήμαθ’: l’omicron à la place d’ω ne rend pas la chose possible métriquement, mais elle semble linguistiquement possible. Cette forme ὑπίσχομαι s’est conservée à l’époque classique, comme en témoignent 13 autres exemples fournis par le TLG, dont ceux d’Hérodote déjà cités²⁵. Mais en prose, en dehors d’Hérodote, le verbe dérivé ὑπισχνοῦμαι est bien plus fréquent (30 exemples selon le TLG consulté en ligne le 20.03.15). On le trouve à partir des Fables d’Esope où l’on note qu’il s’agit d’une prière (ou parodie de prière) dans l’emploi performatif: Aesopus et Aesopica Scr. Fab., Fabulae. {0096.002} Fable 49 version 3 line 9. Ζεῦ, ἐπηγγειλάμην σοι ἔριφον δώσειν, ἐὰν τὸν κλέπτην εὕρω, νῦν ταῦρόν σοι δώσειν ὑπισχνοῦμαι, ἐὰν τούτου τὰς χεῖρας ἐκφύγω. (10)

Les lexicographes commentent l’équivalence de ὑπίσχομαι avec ὑπισχνοῦμαι: ὑπισχνοῦμαι οἵ τε τραγικοὶ (e. g. Aesch. Eum. 804) καὶ ᾿Αριστοφάνης (II 1187 M. = fr. 615 K.)· Aelius Dionysius Gramm. et Lexicogr., ᾿Αττικὰ ὀνόματα. {1323.001} Alphabetic letter pi entry 67 line 7. ’τὸ πρᾶγμα τοῦτο συλλαβεῖν ὑπίσχομαι’.

L’usage performatif de ὑπισχνοῦμαι est aussi bien attesté chez les orateurs attiques, par exemple Démosthène: In Aristocratem. {0014.023} Section 144 line 3. Χαριδήμῳ διὰ βραχέων, καὶ δεῖξαι τὴν ὑπερβολὴν τῆς ἀναιδείας τῶν ἐπαινούντων αὐτόν. ἓν δ’ ὑμῖν ἐκεῖν’ ὑπισχνοῦμαι, καί μου μηδεὶς ἀχθεσθῇ τῇ ὑποσχέσει·

ou Andocide, De mysteriis. {0027.001} Section 136 line 8. ᾿Εγὼ οὖν ὑμῖν ὑπισχνοῦμαι ἢ παύσειν τούτους ταῦτα ποιοῦντας καὶ βελτίους παρέξειν, ἢ εἰς ὑμᾶς εἰσαγαγὼν κολάσειν . . .

Un passage du Jugement des déesses dans les Dialogues des dieux de Lucien que l’on retrouvera plus loin montre que la tradition faisait très probablement remonter la

25 Ap. Rh. 2.24, D.L. Vitae phil. 1.122.7, Eur. Hel. 422 ἁμπίσχομαι, Ar. Fr. Edmonds 615.1, Aesch. Eum. 804, Pher. Ep. 8, Hdt 7.104.10, 7.158.29.

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“promesse d’Hélène” à l’événement mythologique premier de la promesse que fait la déesse Aphrodite au berger de l’Ida: Lucianus Soph., Dearum judicium. {0062.032} Section 16 line 11. {ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗ} (10) ῾Υπισχνοῦμαι δή σοι τὴν ῾Ελένην παραδώσειν γυναῖκα, καὶ ἀκολουθήσειν γέ σοι αὐτὴν (il renvoie probablement à Il. 22.114 ci–dessus).

Les lexicographes nous confirment cette équivalence. La plus intéressante des gloses est celle d’Aelius Hérodien qui nous donne ᾿Επαγγέλλω τὸ αἰτῶ, ἐπαγγέλλομαι δὲ τὸ ὑπισχνοῦμαι²⁶: je n’ai pas fait de recherche sur ἐπαγγέλλομαι, mais on peut supposer qu’il est employé pour le performatif ‘je promets’ à l’époque de l’empire romain, même si l’on trouve encore ὑπισχνοῦμαι dans les Actes des Apôtres²⁷. À des siècles de distance, un jeu sémantique comparable à celui de l’Hymne à Hermès, associant aussi serment et promesse, se rencontre dans le dialogue de Lucien sur le Jugement des déesses²⁸, dans le contexte de la promesse d’Hélène à Paris par Aphrodite, épisode raconté dans les Kypria du Cycle épique²⁹: ΠΑΡΙΣ Δέδοικα μή µου ἀµελήσῃς μετὰ τὴν κρίσιν. ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗ Βούλει οὖν ἐπομόσομαι· ΠΑΡΙΣ Μηδαμῶς, ἀλλ΄ ὑπόσχου πάλιν. 16.10 ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗ ‘῾Υπισχνοῦµαι δή σοι τὴν ΄Ελένην παραδώσειν γυναῖκα, καὶ ἀκολουθήσειν γέ σοι αὐτὴν καὶ ἀφίξεσθαι παρ΄ ὑµᾶς εἰς τὴν ῎Ιλιον· καὶ αὐτὴ παρέσομαι καὶ συμπράξω τὰ πάντα. 16.14 ΠΑΡΙΣ Καὶ τὸν ῎Ερωτα καὶ τὸν ῞Ιμερον καὶ τὰς Χάριτας ἄξεις· 16.16 ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗ Θάρρει, καὶ τὸν Πόθον καὶ τὸν ΄Υμέναιον ἔτι πρὸς τούτοις παραλήψομαι. 16.18 ΠΑΡΙΣ Οὐκοῦν ἐπὶ τούτοις δίδωμι τὸ µῆλον· ἐπὶ τούτοις λάµβανε.

26 Aelius Herodianus et Pseudo–Herodianus Gramm. et Rhet., Excerpta e Herodiano [Sp.] (e cod. Paris. gr. 2552). {0087.046} Page 437 line 7. ᾿Επαγγέλλω, τὸ αἰτῶ. ᾿Επαγγέλλομαι δὲ, τὸ ὑπισχνοῦμαι. 27 Acta Pauli, Acta Pauli et Theclae. {0388.004} Section 11 line 7. ἀπατῶν, ἵνα γάμοι μὴ γίνωνται ἀλλὰ οὕτως μένωσιν· ὑπισχνοῦμαι οὖν ὑμῖν δοῦναι πολλὰ χρήματα, ἐὰν εἴπητέ μοι περὶ αὐτοῦ· εἰμὶ γὰρ πρῶτος τῆς πόλεως. 28 Lucien, Dialogues des dieux, 16.11 déjà cité plus haut. 29 Procli Cypriorum Enarratio, l. 7–10 Davies.

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‘P. Je crains que tu ne m’oublies après la décision. A. Veux–tu donc que je jure? P. Non; mais promets–moi une seconde fois. A. Je te promets de te donner Hélène pour épouse, de l’obliger à te suivre, et de la ramener chez vous dans Ilion. Je serai là, moi–même, et en toutes choses je te seconderai. P. Tu conduiras aussi l’Amour, le Désir et les Grâces? A. Sois tranquille. Je m’adjoindrai encore le Souhait et Hyménée. À ces conditions, donne–moi la pomme. P. À ces conditions, daigne l’accepter.’³⁰

Aphrodite utilise dans sa question le futur (ἐπομόσομαι) comme Hermès (ὄμοῦµαι), et il semble qu’elle soit soulagée que Paris lui demande de promettre (impératif ὑπόσχου), ce qu’elle fait en utilisant le présent avec valeur performative ὑπισχνοῦµαι. Un jeu sémantique analogue à celui de l’Hymne à Hermès me semble présent ici: on promet pour éviter de jurer. . .

5 Valeur sémantique du préverbe En opposition à pro– du latin promittere, qui suggère que l’objet promis était mis en avant, le grec préfère ὑπο– comparable à sous en français (cf. soutenir Cl.Gr. ἱκέτης ‘suppliant’ (cf. Leukart h

1994:169, 262). By the Homeric tradition it could be supposed that ξεῖνος (IE *g se–nu– ̑ o–> Myc. ke–se–nu–wo /ksenwo–/, cf. Lat. hostis ‘enemy, foreigner’, OCS gostь ‘guest’, h

Goth. gasts ‘guest’ < IE *g os–ti–) is ‘one whom it is fed’ (IE *g 2

(u)h ̑ es–1

‘eat (up), feed’,

cf. LIV 198), i.e. ‘one who comes to seek for eating and hospitality’. ¯ are based on a verbal root and mantain the In Greek nomina agentis in *–ta– meaning of the starting verb. In Proto–Greek it could be reconstruct a word formation as it follows: h u h u h h ¯ * ek ̑ et–io– = * iketa–: ¯ * iket–io–, * ek ̑ eta–: ̑ ̑ which are well attested words in Greek: h

u

¯ – PGr.* ek ̑ eta–: h w ¯ ‘follower’, ‘high official of the king’0 Myc. e–qe–ta / ek eta–/ Pind. ἑπέτα¯ ς ‘attendant’ h

u

h

w

– PGr. * ek ̑ et–io–: Myc. e–qe–si–jo / ek esio–/ ‘of e–qe–ta’ ̑ h ¯ – PGr. * iketa–: h ¯ MN Myc. i–ke–ta / Iketa–/ Hom. ἱκέτης ‘foreigner, suppliant’

782 | Domenico Giuseppe Muscianisi h

– PGr. * iket–io–: Ther. hικεcιοc ‘of foreigners, suppliants’. ̑ h

u

uc

¯ is ‘one who follows’ (IE *sek ̑ – ‘follow, affiliate’:: pres. On one hand PGr. * ek ̑ eta– u 2 h ¯ is ‘one *sék ̑ –e– > ἕπομαι ‘follow, attend’, cf. LIV 526). On the other PGr. * iketa– who comes → foreigner’ (IE *seik– ‘arrive (inside), reach’:: redupl.pres. *si–sik–é– ̑ 2 > ˉ˘ι κω, them.aor. *sik–é– > Hom. ˉ˘ι κε–το, ˉ˘ι κέ–σθαι, cf. LIV 523, ALEW 2.909); the same meaning and word–formation is attested in Lat. adu˘ena ‘foreigner, stranger, ˘ ‘deserter’ immigrant’ (Plaut.+) ← adu˘enio ‘come (to), arrive (at), reach’ (:: Lat. transfuga ˘ ← transfugio ‘desert’, cf. Weiss 2009, 300; Leumann 1977, 280). In a later moment Gr. ἱκέτης becomes ‘one who comes to seek for protection → suppliant’⁶. A possible linguistic explanation of the semantic passage Gr. ἱκέτης ‘foreigner → suppliant’ could be found in syntactic feature with vb. ἵκω, ἱκάνω + accusative of direction ‘come to somewhere (e.g. the altar, the knees) → be(come) suppliant’. Nevertheless it needs more specific studies, the suggestion could be seen for example in the pray (ε 444 εὔξατο ὃν κατὰ θυμόν) of Odysseus to a river of the not yet known isle Scheria⁷: (11)

ε 445–450 κλῦθι, ἄναξ, ὅτις ἐσσί· πολύλλιστον δέ ς’ ἱκάνω φεύγων ἐκ πόντοιο Ποσειδάωνος ἐνιπάς. αἰδοῖος μέν τ’ ἐστὶ καὶ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσιν ἀνδρῶν ὅς τις ἵκηται ἀλώμενος, ὡς καὶ ἐγὼ νῦν σόν τε ῥόον σά τε γούναθ’ ἱκάνω πολλὰ μογήσας. ἀλλ’ ἐλέαιρε, ἄναξ· ἱκέτης δέ τοι εὔχομαι εἶναι. ‘Hear me, my lord, whoever you are. I come in great need / to you who are saught with prayers, a fugitive from the sea and the curse of Poseidon; / even for immortal gods that man has a claim on their mercy / who comes to them as a wandering man, in the way that I now come to your current and to your knees after much suffering. Pity me then, my lod. I call myself your suppliant.’

In Thera, between the last building of the Agora of the Gods (the Ephebes’ Gymnasium) and the edge of the promontory of present–day Mesa Vouno, it was found a series of rupestrian dedications to Zeus dated mostly to archaic age (7th–5th c. BC), nowadays they are damnaged, maybe lost. The graffiti were edited by Hiller von Gärtringen in IG XII 3 399–407a, with the recent new edition of Inglese (2008): 399 Ζευc | [C]ταcικλευc (undated) – eastern “dark blue” alphabet – Aegean Ionic MN’s genitive

6 Cf. the undevelopped, right intuition of Cassella D’Amore (2005, 122). 7 For a commentary to the passage, cf. Giordano (1999, 205 ff.) and Hainsworth (2002, 186).

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¯ 400 Ζευc | Cοcι– (4th c. BC?, Hiller von Gärtringen) – eastern “dark blue” alphabet ¯ 401 [Ζ]ευc Τ. υ. χ. ονοc (5th c. BC, cf. LGPN 1.450) – central “dark” or “light blue” alphabet – Ionic MN’s attestation 402 [h]ικεcιοc ΟΥΝΟ – – (6th c. BC, cf. Inglese 2008:199) – southern “green” alphabet ¯ 403 hικε ⟨cιοc⟩ Cοτελ ⟨ε⟩οc (6th c. BC, cf. Inglese 2008:204) – southern “green” alphabet – central Aegean MN, hapax in archaic Thera th

404a hικε[cιοc] (6 c. BC) – southern “green” alphabet 405 [–]εοc Γλαυϙο¯ (7th–6th c. BC, cf. LGPN 1.108) – southern “green” alphabet – central Aegean MN, hapax in archaic Thera 173 406 [Ζ]ευc τα[δε] | Μηλιχι[οc] (not archaic, cf. Inglese 2008:200 ) – eastern “dark blue” alphabet 407a ⟨h⟩αλιο[c] (6th c. BC?)⁸ – eastern “dark blue” alphabet.

Most of those rupestrian inscriptions present a common schema: a) the recipient (theonym or epithet) is in the nominative case, e.g. Ζευc, hικεcιοc, Μηλιχιοc, hαλιοc; ¯ This testifies b) the dedicatee is in the genitive case, e.g. Cταcικλευc, Τυχ¯ο νοc, Γλαυϙο. the eldest form of dedication in Thera as an improve of individuality in the relationship between the dedicatee and the god (Inglese 2008:88). The series of Zeus dedications are all in the latest part of the promontory, out of town, perched on the cliff; downstairs there is the beach and the old portual site of Kamari, while beside there is the Gymnasium of the Ephebes, the last building of the Agora of the Gods. The archaeological context describes probably an extra–urban area, where the dedications of Zeus (and Hikesios) were placed after the foreigners were accepted into the Theran community. Other parallels in the Greek world can be surprisingly found only in Epidaurus (Argolis, 5th c. BC, cf. Lambrinoudakis 1990) and in Metapontus (Magna Graecia, end 4th – begin 3rd c. BC, cf. Alessandrì 1995, IGDGG 106); however, the semantic passage Gr. ἱκέτης ‘foreigner → suppliant’ was in classical and post–classical/hellenistic times already completed, so Zeus Hikesios was already the ‘protector of suppliants’. Whereas in archaic Thera by the oldest epigraphic attestations of the epithet hικεcιοc in its archeological context it could be hypothesised that there was a situation of foreignness extremely close to what it is described in the Odyssey, especially in chant 13, where Odysseus comes to Ithaca (cf. § 3). 8 Hiller von Gärtringen edited IG XII 3 407a ⟨ΑΛΙΟ⟩ as ῾Αλίο(υ), however during all the archaic age Theran inscriptions generally noted initial aspiration (Inglese 2008, 55; Thumb – Kickers 1932, 174; Bechtel 1923, 520), so that I propose the conjecture of ⟨h⟩– erroneously omitted by the lapicide. Since ⟨ΑΛΙΟ⟩ seems the Doric form of the epithet Helios, I thus propose to integrate –[c] (nominative), because in the context all the epithets or theonyms are in nominative case.

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Actually, it seems also important the presence of a dedication to Zeus Melikhios (IG XII 3 406, the latest in the series) between Theran rupestrian inscriptions. Some suggestions given by the lexicographers could also connect the epithet Μηλίχιος with arrivals and foreigners, so that whole context of the dedications leads to think to a holy area to Zeus on the edge of the promontory of Thera⁹. From an epigraphical point of view the rupestrian dedications to Zeus in Thera show different alphabets, which coexisted in Thera since early age: the epichoric “green” alphabet, the “dark” and the “light blue” ones. This is a spy to consider those dedications made by outsiders of Theran community. Furthermore, the names of the dedicatees are not peculiar of Thera during the archaic age (until the 5th c. BC). The MN [C]ταcικλευc (“dark blue”, undated) = Στ¯α σικλεῦς is the genitive of Στασικλῆς or Στησικλῆς (hapax, Crete, 3rd c. BC). It maintains the etymological /aː/ instead of the usual Ionic passage to /εː/ and the diphthongisation of εˈο > ευ, which is typical in Ionic and one case in Corinthian (6th c. BC) since the archaic age, then in Theran, Rhodian, Megarian and Delphic since the Hellenistic age (Bechtel 1923, 2.527; Thumb – Kieckers 1932, 173 and 187; Buck 1955, 40). The MN Στασικλῆς/Στησικλῆς is distributed in Troizen (Argolis, 4th c. BC), Crete (3rd c. BC), Soloi–Pompeioupolis (Cilicia, mid 3rd c. BC), Karpathos (2nd c. BC) and Thera (2nd–1st c. BC). It could be hypothesised that the man called Stasikles came from the Ionic Aegean, probably Thasos or Amorgos, where in composition the genitive PGr. *°kleu–es–os > Cycl.Ion. °κλεοc / °κλευς is largely ̑ attested (Knitl 1938, 27). ¯ The MN Τ. υ. χ. ονοc (“dark/light blue”, 5th c. BC) = Τύχωνος genitive from Τύχων, during the archaic age (since 5th c. BC), except Thera, is attested at the 6th c. BC in Himera (colony of Zankle and Mylai, which were Ionic colonies of the Chalcidians), in Miletus and its colonies Pontic Olbia (6th c. BC, Ionic) and Sinope (5th c. BC, Ionic), Chios (6th c. BC, Ionic), Adria, colony of Aegina (Italy, end 5th c. BC, Argolic), and Athens (end 5th c. BC). The MN Τύχων is mostly attested in Ionic culture (an exception for the Aeginetic Adria in Italy, cf. Colonna 1974, 9) during the archaic age of the Aegean. So it could be supposed that the dedicatee Tykhon in Thera came from an Ionic area. ¯ The MNs Cοτελ ⟨ε⟩οc (“green”, 6th c. BC) = Σωτέλεος/ους genitive from Σωτέλης (Kurzform of Σωσι–τέλης) and Γλαυϙο¯ (“green”, 7th–6th c. BC) = Γλαύκου genitive from Γλαῦκος are hapax legomena in Thera during all the archaic age (until the 5th c. BC), although then they are widely attested and mostly in Attica, Ionic insular Aegean and Micro–Asian Ionia. It could be thought that the Theran dedicatees Soteles and Glaukos came from a central Aegean area and used the epichoric Theran alphabet (probably the best known one in the isle during the 7th–6th c. BC) to mark their integration into the Theran community.

9 At the moment this is the main topic of my unpublished doctoral dissertation, cf. Muscianisi (2017).

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5 Conclusions: the cult of Zeus ‘of the Foreigners’ The Homeric discussion shows that the Odyssey still maintains a very old feature of Zeus between hospitality and supplication, testified by the mixing of competences for the epithets Xe(i)nios and Hiketesios. From a new analysis of Odyssiac passage 9 it seems that the epithet ἱκετήσιος (ν 213, hapax) is internally explained as ‘protector of foreigners’, in continuity of the etymological feature that ἱκετήσιος ← ἱκέτης ‘one who comes, i.e. foreigner’ ← IE *seik– ‘arrive, reach’ (cf. Lat. adu˘ena ‘foreigner, stranger, ̑ immigrant’ (Plaut.+) ← adu˘enio ‘come (to), arrive (at), reach’). This would remained an isolated, literaly aspect of the Odyssey: in fact, the commentaries preferred a traditional interpretation based especially on later sources, where the epithet Hike(te)sios was undoubtely explained as ‘protector of suppliants’ (cf. § 3). However, Theran inscriptions IG XII 3 399–407 (7th–5th c. BC) through the combination of archaeological context, linguistics and prosopographic onomastics seem to show that the epithet hικεcιοc is better connected with hospitality (not supplication), 2 following the lexeme (cf. LIV 523, ALEW 2.909). Thus, Theran hικεcιοc–inscriptions can testify the unique archaic attestation of the cult of Zeus Hikesios as ’protector of foreigners’, as it is foreshadowed in the Odyssey. So Thera seems to continue a very ancient cult even during archaic age (until 5th c. BC).

Abbreviations Arm. = Armenian Av. = Avestan (Cl.)(P)Gr. = (Classical) (Proto–)Greek (Cycl.)Ion. = (Cycladic) Ionic Cypr. = Cyprian Goth. = Gothic Hom. = Homeric IE = Indo–European Lat. = Latin MN = man’s name Myc. = Mycenaean OCS = Old Church Slavonic OIr. = Old Irish PGmc. = Proto–Germanic P(I)Ir. = Proto–(Indo–)Iranian Pind. = Pindaric Sogd. = Sogdian

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Ther. = Theran TochAB = Tocharian A / B Ved. = Vedic

Bibliography Alessandrì, S. 1995: Dedica inedita a Hikesios da Metaponto, «StudAnt», 8/2, 77–94. ALEW = Hock, W. 2015: Altlitauisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, I–II, Berlin. Ameis, K. F., Hentze, C. & Cauer, P. 1911–19202 : Homers Odyssee für den Schulgebrauch erklärt, I.1– II.2, Leipzig. Bechtel, F. 1923: Die griechischen Dialekte. Die westgriechischen Dialekte, II, Berlin. Buck, C. D. 1949: A Dictionary of Selected Synonyms in the Principal Indo–European Languages. A Contribution to the History of Ideas, Chicago. Buck, C. D. 1955: The Greek Dialects. Grammar, Selected Inscriptions, Glossary, Chicago. Burkert, W. 20112 : Griechische Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche, Stuttgart. Cassella D’Amore, P. 2005: La denominazione di Zeus ῾Ικέσιος con particolare riferimento alla tragedia, in Nommer les dieux. Théonymes, épithètes, épiclèses dans l’Antiquité, eds. N. Belayche, P. Brulé, G. Freyburger, Y. Lehmann, L. Pernot & F. Prost, Tournhout – Rennes, 121–128. Colonna, G. 1974: I Greci di Adria, «RSA», 4, 1–22. ΕΜ = Gaisford, Th. 1848: Etymologicon Magnum, Oxford. Ercolani, A. 1999: L’ottavo libro dell’Odissea ovvero il contrastato rapporto di Odisseo con i Feaci, «Sileno», 25, 51–78. EWAia = Mayrhofer, M. 1992–20012 : Etymologisches Wörterbuch des Altindoarischen, I–III, Heidelberg. Giordano, M. 1999: La supplica. Rituale, istituzione sociale e tema epico in Omero, Napoli. Hainsworth, J. B. 20029 : Omero, Odissea, Libri V–VIII (traduzione di G. A. Privitera), II, Milano. Hoekstra, A. 20047 : Omero, Odissea, Libri XIII–XVI (traduzione di G. A. Privitera, appendice di M. Cantilena), IV, Milano. IGDGG = Dubois, L. 2002: Inscriptions grecques dialctales de Grande Grèce. Colonies achéennes, II, Genève. Inglese, A. 2008: Thera arcaica. Le iscrizioni rupestri dell’agora degli dei, Tivoli. Knitl, E. 1938: Die Sprache der ionischen Kykladen nach den inschriftlichen Quellen, Speyer am Rhein. Lambrinoudakis V. 1990: Un Réfugié argien à Épidaure au Ve siècle avant J.–C., «CRAI», 134, 174–185. Lattimore, R. A. 1961: The Iliad of Homer. Intorduction and Translation, Chicago. Lattimore, R. A. 1967: The Odyssey of Homer. Introduction and Translation, Chicago. ¯ und –as. ¯ Untersuchungen zu ihrer Herkunft Leukart, A. 1994: Die frühgriechische Nomina auf –tas und Ausbreitung (unter Vergleich mit den Nomina auf –eús), Wien. LCSI = Hintze, A. 1993: A Lexicon to the Cyprian Syllabic Inscriptions, Hamburg. Leumann, M. 19775 : Lateinische Laut– und Formenlehre, München. LfgrE = Snell, B. & Meier Brügger, M. (eds.) 1979–2010: Lexikon des frühgriechischen Epos, Göttingen. LGPN = Fraser, P. M. & Matthew, E. (eds.) 1987–2010: A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, I–V, Oxford. LIV 2 = Kümmel, M. & Rix, H. 20012 : Lexikon der indogermanischen Verben. Die Würzeln und ihre Primärstammbildungen, Wiesbaden. LSJ = Liddell, H. G., Scott, R. & Jones, H. S. 19409 : A Greek–English Lexicon, Oxford. Meiser, G. 20062 : Historische Laut– und Formenlehre der lateinischen Sprache, Darmstadt.

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Muscianisi, D. G. (2017): Gli epiteti degli dèi nelle fonti epigrafiche delle Cicladi / Die Götterepitheta der Kykladen in den inschriftlichen Quellen, unpublished, PhD Dissertation, Università degli Studi di Macerata / Universität zu Köln, defended in Macerata on March 13, 2017. Nilsson, M. P. 19673 : Geschichte der griechischen Religion, I–II, München. Reece, S. T. 1993: The Stranger’s Welcome. Oral Theory and the Aesthetics of the Aesthetics of the Homeric Hospitality Scene, Ann Arbor. Risch, E. 19742 : Wortbildung der homerischen Sprache, Berlin – New York. van Thiel, H. 19912 : Homeri Odyssea, Hildesheim – Zürich – New York. van Thiel, H. 20102 : Homeri Ilias, Hildesheim – Zürich – New York. Thumb, A. & Kieckers, E. 19322 : Handbuch der griechischen Dialekte, I, Heidelberg. de Vaan, M. 2008: Etymological Dictionary of Latin and the Other Italic Languages, Leiden –Boston. Weiss, M. 2009: Outline of the Historical and Comparative Grammar of Latin, Ann Arbor – New York. Zeus = Cook, A.B. 1914–1940: Zeus. A Study in Ancient Religion, I–III.2, Cambridge.

| Part VII: Greek and other languages

Paola Dardano

Homeric and Hittite phraseology compared: introducing the soliloquy in the Homeric and Near Eastern epic Abstract: Accordi lessicali e fraseologici tra le lingue anatoliche e il greco omerico hanno attirato l’attenzione degli studiosi sin dall’epoca della decifrazione dell’ittito. Nel presente saggio, dopo alcune riflessioni sui metodi atti a identificare similitudini banali, eredità indoeuropee e prodotti del contatto tra l’Anatolia e la tradizione esametrica greca, si esamina l’espressione omerica riferita al soliloquio πρὸς ὃν (μεγαλήτορα) θυμόν εἰπεῖν ‘parlare al proprio cuore’ e si suggerisce un confronto con le locuzioni ittite karti=šmi peran mema– ‘parlare di fronte al proprio cuore’ e –za . . . ZI–ni EGIR–pa mema– ‘dire di nuovo a sé stesso (lett. all’animo)’. Il fine dell’indagine è verificare se le similitudini riscontrate tra queste locuzioni possano essere il risultato di un contatto areale.

1 Introduction 1.1 The decipherment of Hittite texts Nearly a hundred years ago the mystery surrounding the texts found in the capital of the Hittite empire was solved and the Hittite language was deciphered¹. From 1917 on, deciphered Hittite material became available: a glance at publications over the following ten years illustrates the great interest and enthusiasm in the newly discovered texts. In 1924 Emil Forrer published Vorhomerische Griechen in den Keilschrifttexen von Boghazkoi², Die Griechen in den Boghazköi–Texten³, and six years later, La découverte de la Grèce mycénienne dans les textes cunéiformes de l’empire hittite⁴; he also showed an interest in Hittite mythology in his papers Eine Geschichte des Götterkönigtums aus

Note: This research has been carried on in the context of the “Dinamiche del mutamento linguistico nel Mediterraneo antico” project funded by the Università per Stranieri di Siena. 1 In 1917 Bedřich (Friedrich) Hrozný published Die Sprache der Hethiter, a description of the Hittite language showing that it belonged to the Indo–European family. 2 Forrer (1924a). 3 Forrer (1924b). 4 Forrer (1930).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-803

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dem Hatti–Reiche⁵ and Apollon, Vulcanus und die Kyklopen in den Boghazköi–Texten⁶. Georges Poisson’s Tantale, roi des Hittites⁷ was published in 1925, the same year as Archibald Henry Sayce’s Perseus and the Achaeans in the Hittite tablets⁸. Classical philology also welcomed these discoveries wholeheartedly: Walter Porzig, the author of an article entitled Illujankas und Typhon⁹, was one of the first to recognize the impact of the Near East on classical Greece which the decipherment of Hittite mythological texts had revealed. An important factor of acceptance was that with the Hittites, an “Indo–European” people had emerged to represent the “Orient”. However, in the wake of Hittite epic and myth, similar texts in Sumerian and Akkadian came to the attention of classical scholars. The general parallelism between character pairs such as Achilles–Patroclus and Gilgamesh–Enkidu could confirm indirectly the possibility of an “eastern” influence on Homer. Emil Forrer (1936, 712) compared the Hittite story of Gurparanzah with the Odyssey, in particular with the suitors’ plot and the revenge using the bow. Thus with the decipherment of the Hittite language, ancient Asia Minor was found to be of particular importance as an area where Indo–Europeans were soon to appear. Since then, the Homeric epic can no longer be viewed as having existed in a vacuum: it should be seen against a background of comparable eastern literary forms. Almost a century ago, however, Indo–European etymology was the principal tool with regards Hittite; while Anatolian linguistics is still a very uncertain area of investigation, at that time it was little more than mere guesswork. In the articles Alakšanduš, König von Viluša¹⁰ and Zur Frage der griechischen Namen in den hethitischen Texten¹¹ Paul Kretschmer explored the onomastic material in Greek and Hittite myths. In 1925 A. H. Sayce suggested identifying Perseus with Attaršiya: «The 100 ships of Attarsiayas are curiously like the 100 ships of the Asianic Perseus, and I am inclined to think the two names are the same»¹². In the same year G. Poisson wrote: «L’identification de Dudhalias et de Tantalos est donc admissible au point de vue phonétique; elle satisfait également aux données de la légende et de l’histoire»¹³. Only the Hittitologist Johannes Friedrich was sceptical with regard to many of these comparisons in his article Werden in den hethitischen Keilschrifttexten die Griechen erwähnt?¹⁴.

5 Forrer (1936). 6 Forrer (1931). 7 Poisson (1925). 8 Sayce (1925). 9 Porzig (1930). On the spread of this myth from Anatolia to Greece, see Watkins (1995, 448–459). 10 Kretschmer (1924). 11 Kretschmer (1930). 12 Sayce (1925, 162). For Attaršiya, now see West (2001). 13 Poisson (1925, 80). 14 Friedrich (1930).

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Moreover, the question as to whether or not ‘Ahhiyawa’ in Hittite texts is the same as the Greek Achaea has been the source of an ongoing debate since the 1920s¹⁵. A discussion regarding the role of Ahhiyawa in the Hittite world was sparked by Swiss Hittitologist Emil Forrer’s famous 1924 paper, Vorhomerische Griechen in den Keilschrifttexten von Boghazköy. Here he not only identifies the Hittite Ahhiyawa as the Greek Achaea, but also proposes that Alakšanduš is the Hittite rendering of the Greek name (Paris) Alexandros. Moreover, Forrer identifies a certain Attaršiya, who appears in a Hittite text from the reign of Arnuwanda I (ca. 1400 BCE), as the Greek Atreus; his identifications of Ahhiyawa, however, were received with scepticism in scholarly circles. Amongst the critical responses, Ferdinand Sommer’s book, Die Ahhijava–Urkunden, stands out in particular¹⁶. Although most scholars nowadays accept that Ahhiyawa should probably be equated with ’Αχαία, many uncertainties (particularly linguistic uncertainties) remain. While the Ahhiyawa–problem, which has also been the subject of much scholarly attention in recent decades, is not discussed in detail¹⁷, it complements the issues under consideration here, especially in view of the clear link between Greeks and Hittites. Overall, the picture that emerges from the Hittite texts is that, between ca. 1400 and 1200 BCE, the Hittite state had several encounters with Ahhiyawa on Anatolian soil – sometimes in an apparently peaceful context, but more frequently in a bellicose setting. The west coast of Anatolia appears to have been the stage for these encounters, and it thus seems reasonable to assume that Ahhiyawa was situated close to this region. The identification of the Hittite Taruiša with Troy, and that of Hittite Wiluša with (W)Ilion, has also been the subject of much discussion¹⁸.

1.2 The impact of Near Eastern poetry on Greek epic In recent years, in their important studies of the Mediterranean cultural koiné, Walter Burkert and Martin L. West have focused on proving that the Greeks borrowed literary and religious motifs from the Near East¹⁹. Now that it has been accepted that borrowing did occur, we can turn our attention to the impact of “eastern” poetry on the Greek epic, and to the evolution of motifs and how the different milieus modified texts over time. However, despite the manifest influence of Near Eastern religion and literature on Greek culture, especially on the Greek epic elucidated in the pioneering works of

15 See Heinhold Krahmer (2007). 16 See Sommer (1932). 17 For a reconsideration of the “Ahhiyawa–question”, see Fischer (2010). 18 See Heinhold Krahmer (2004). 19 See Burkert (1984); Burkert (1991); Burkert (2004); Burkert (2005); West (1997). Some recent publications serve as an illustration of this: Bryce (2008); Hajnal (2014); Morris (1997); Rollinger (1996); Rollinger (2014); Rollinger (2015); van Dongen (2008).

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these scholars, the mechanism by which literature from the Near East reached Greece has not been studied in depth. Thus, the transmission of cultural practices – even if they originated in Mesopotamia – via Anatolia during the Mycenaean period, when there is good evidence for contact between Greek–speakers and Anatolians, should be given serious consideration. My intent here, however, is not a systematic exploration of the likelihood of an east–west interface in Anatolia in the second millennium which had a formative influence on Greek literature, although some of my examples speak clearly in favour of such a possibility. Rather, I will examine close phraseological correspondences and how these provide valid indirect evidence of the contact between different traditions through which such phrasing crossed languages. Furthermore, some specific examples reveal that when these expressions were imported and adapted to new uses, texts may have been translated and modified as necessary, or at least in some cases. I am concerned in particular with all accordances, etymological or otherwise, wherever they might entail contextual values beyond formal or semantic aspects, so as to elucidate not merely the Greek and Hittite lexica, but also to shed light on the cultures and literatures which the languages sustain. Interestingly, specific lexical and phraseological accordances between Greek and Hittite have long been noticed. As Martin West observes: «We shall find that Homeric and other Greek poetic diction is characterized by many turns of phrase that do not correspond to normal Greek idiom as we know it from Classical prose, but do correspond to oriental idiom. It will emerge that ‘Semiticisms’ are not something that first appear in Greek in the Septuaginta: there are Semiticisms in Homer» (West 1997, 220–221).

Also in recent years the literature on lexical and phraseological accordances between Greek and Hittite has attracted growing attention, with a particular focus on the Greek epic tradition. The calquing of Anatolian phrases and metaphors into the Homeric repertoire must have occurred quite early in the process, as discussed by J. Puhvel (1991; 1992; 1993), C. Watkins (1998; 2002; 2008), and J. L. García Ramón (2011). Starting with the examples attested in the epic tradition, this paper aims at elucidating the “areal” connections between the Greek hexametric tradition and several different narratives found at Hattuša, taking into account the typology of Homeric and Hittite lexical and phraseological accordances and the degree of the adaptation phenomena²⁰. The specific topic of the paper is the expression πρὸς ὃν (μεγαλήτορα) θυμόν εἰπεῖν ‘to speak to his own (great–hearted) spirit’, which means ‘to make a soliloquy, to reflect’ and introduces direct speech. This issue has been chosen in the hope that it provokes some consideration that the parallels observed are not based on superficial similarities, but demonstrate a deeper, structural affinity.

20 We certainly cannot assume that Homer read the Near Eastern epic in the original cuneiform texts, even if we grant that there was actually a person called Homer who composed the Iliad and Odyssey (and there are also several problems regarding this assumption).

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2 Phraseological correspondences 2.1 Some methodological problems To begin with, some preliminary considerations about making comparisons between Homeric and Hittite epic are in order. Past scholarship presented correspondences between Near Eastern and Greek literatures that make it possible to assume that there are connections, and even the direct literary influence, of high eastern civilizations on the final phase of the Homeric epic, that is, the beginning of Greek literacy when writing took over from the oral tradition. Ever since the mythological texts from Hattuša have attracted the attention of classicists, parallels from Hesiod and Homer regarding motifs and narrative techniques have been noted, also touching occasionally on Mesopotamian materials. However, comparisons alone do not provide definite indicators for either an earlier or a later borrowing, or indeed for any borrowing at all, in contrast to the possibility of there being parallel development. Let us say that some of the points made in past scholarship about the phraseological correspondences are impressive, but the results that can be obtained with any degree of certainty remain limited. On the other hand we nowadays have the unique opportunity to compare contemporaneous texts from both Greek and Near Eastern sources. Nevertheless, how is it possible to compare Homeric and Hittite phrasemes with any degree of precision? How can we find a coherent thematic structure that is still discernible in Homeric formulae? What is an appropriately rigorous way of comparing Hittite and Homeric phraseology? I freely admit that there are some important methodological problems here. When we find correspondences between Homeric and Hittite phraseology, there are three possibilities to be taken into account²¹. Under the heading of Homeric Greek and Hittite similarities we may thus distinguish three different categories: i) an obvious similarity, i.e., parallel development; ii) an Indo–European heritage common to both Greek and Hittite; iii) language contact. First of all, we should not ignore the strong possibility that many of the similarities that we see in the Hittite material and in the later Greek epic tradition derive from a common pool of concepts. Secondly, both Greek and Hittite could have a common Indo– European heritage. However, we are fortunate enough to have second–millennium sources for early epic traditions and legends from Hattuša in Hittite, Hurrian, and Akkadian, and so it is possible to use them to trace the development of a coherent thematic structure that is still discernible in formulaic structures. Because of the obvious “areal” connections between the Greek hexametric tradition and several different narratives found at Hattuša, a comparison on the basis of the texts does more than elucidate the Greek epic tradition through ethnographic comparanda; it offers important insights into the prehistory of Homeric poetry. It should also be clear, however, that both possi-

21 These ideas are expounded in more detail in my paper, Dardano (2013).

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bilities, a common heritage and language contact, are not mutually exclusive; although clear–cut distinctions cannot be discerned, this does not refute the hypothesis that borrowing might have occurred. Calvert Watkins raised the intriguing possibility of areal diffusion from Anatolian to Greek. Western and South–Western Anatolian languages of the middle and second half of the first millennium BCE are not documented after the second century or so: all of these languages were sooner or later replaced by Greek and many Greek speakers were residents of Anatolia: «It is Greek and Anatolian, which were in geographical contact in Western Anatolia during the second millennium and perhaps – though this is controversial – even on the mainland and islands in the late third and early second millennia» (Watkins 2001, 56–57). «Whatever model we adopt, the linguistically somewhat distant Greek and Anatolian end up geographically contiguous: across the well–travelled Aegean sea. Mycenaean Greek colonies dot the southern half of the western coast of Anatolia, and North Greek, Aeolic expansion on the northern half is doubtless very old. These regions were partly Luvian–speaking, but Hittite political hegemony was established in the fifteenth century, weakened and later reinforced. There was ample opportunity for intense local language and cultural contact» (Watkins 2001, 57–58).

2.2 Homeric and Hittite similarities We can now choose our examples following the three criteria indicated above. To this end I propose to discuss several phrasemes from the Homeric Greek material, since they are significant as regards both Indo–European lexical inheritance and ancient Near Eastern cultural contacts. Obvious similarities have been pointed out by many scholars. One particular figure, “to eat/to devour the house”, has been discussed from different angles by both linguists and Orientalists. George Dunkel (1987) compared the Homeric phrasing of the description of suitors’ behaviour in the Odyssey οἶκον ἔδω / κατέδω ‘to eat the house’²² (and synonyms βίοτον ἔδω / κατέδω ‘to eat up, to devour the substance’²³, κτήματα ἔδω ‘to eat up the possessions’²⁴ and ζωὴν καταφαγεῖν / κατὰ ζωὴν φαγεῖν ‘to eat up the substances’²⁵) with the Hittite phrasing per karap– ‘to devour the house’, i.e. ‘to waste a patrimony, a heritage’, which is attested in an old Hittite text, the Proclamation of Telipinu. Here, a catalogue of murders and usurpations identifies the usurpers in the household who are not in the direct line of descent²⁶. Like

22 23 24 25

See Od. 16.431–432, Od. 2.235–238; Od. 4.318; Od. 21.332–333. See Od. 11.115–117; Od. 13.418–419; Od. 14.377; Od. 17.378. See Od. 23.7–9; Od. 16.389. See Od. 16.428–430; Od. 3.313–316. MEŠ

¯ ¯ they 26 ‘But when later the servants of the princes became corrupt, nu É –ŠUNU karipuwan dair began to devour their (i.e. the princes’) estates, they began to conspire against their lords and they began to shed their (text: “our”) blood’ (KBo 3.1++ Ro I 21–23).

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the suitors in the Odyssey, the servants begin to intrigue in order to seize royal property and even royal power. All these expressions describe an attempt at the usurpation of an inheritance by non–kinsmen who ignore a legitimate heir’s right to his property, and thus plot to kill him. According to G. Dunkel, evidence that these expressions, as a feature of the Dichtersprache are Indo–European inherited metaphors, is provided by parallels in Vedic texts. Greek, Hittite and Vedic texts thus employ the expression “eating” or “devouring” property in order to refer to the usurpation of a household by those who are not legitimate kinsmen. However, it has now been shown by Volkert Haas (2010) that in many languages metaphors like “to eat, to devour” must obviously be considered similar, i.e., a parallel development that occurs in various languages and cultures. In Akkadian itself there are a number of examples of such a metaphor (CAD A1 253–255; AHw 26b–27b). Also in the Akkadian omina found in Hattuša (KUB 30.9 9´–12´; KUB 4.63 Ro II 31´–33´) and in their Hittite translations (KUB 8.28 Ro 14´– ¯ 16´) the Akkadian verb akalum ‘to eat’ and the Hittite translation karap– ‘to devour, to consume’ mean ‘to waste a patrimony, a heritage’. Such similarities are hard to justify except perhaps by the fact that there is a clear parallel. Whatever the degree of universality involved, it seems likely that such correspondences reveal that there was a common idiom which figuratively referred to usurpers and that the Hittite and Homeric usages are simply universal similarities. They can merely be interpreted as parallel innovations, which is of little use for comparative or areal reconstruction. Let us now consider an example of an Indo–European heritage common to both Greek and Hittite. In Homer the verb χέω ‘to pour’ referring to ‘voice, words, tale’ denotes ‘to speak, to sing’. When Penelope mentions the myth about the daughter of Pandareus, the nightingale, says: ὡς δ᾿ ὅτε Πανδαρέου κούρη, χλωρηῒς ἀηδών, καλὸν ἀείδῃσιν ἔαρος νέον ἱσταμένοιο, δενδρέων ἐν πετάλοισι καθεζομένη πυκινοῖσιν, ἥ τε θαμὰ τρωπῶσα χέει πολυηχέα φωνήν, παῖδ᾿ ὀλοφυρομένη ῎Ιτυλον φίλον, ὅν ποτε χαλκῷ κτεῖνε δι᾿ ἀφραδίας, κοῦρον Ζήθοιο ἄνακτος· ‘Even as when the daughter of Pandareus, the nightingale of the greenwood, sings sweetly, when spring is newly come, as she sits perched amid the thick leafage of the trees, and with many trilling notes pours forth her rich voice in wailing for her child, dear Itylus, whom she had one day slain with the sword unwittingly, Itylus, the son of king Zethus’ (Od. 19.518–523)²⁷.

The following passage is most illuminating, in which Nestors’ oratorical skill is described: τοισι δὲ Νέστωρ / ἡδυεπὴς ἀνόρουσε, λιγὺς Πυλίων ἀγορητής, / του καὶ ἀπὸ γλώσσης μέλιτος γλυκίων ῥέεν αὐδή· ‘Then among them rose up Nestor, sweet of speech, the clear-voiced orator of the men of Pylos, he from whose tongue speech flowed sweeter than honey’ (Il. 1.247-249). In a dream sent to Agamemnon a divine

27 Translation of all the Homeric texts is based on Murray (1980; 1995; 1999) (Loeb Classical Library).

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voice is also heard, which is ‘poured/shed around’; the verb is ἀμφιχέω: ἔγρετο δ΄ ἐξ ὕπνου, θείη δέ μιν ἀμφέχυτ΄ ὀμφή· / ἕζετο δ΄ ὀρθωθείς, μαλακὸν δ΄ ἔνδυνε χιτῶνα, / καλὸν νηγάτεον, περὶ δὲ μέγα βάλλετο φᾶρος· ‘Then he awoke from sleep, and the divine voice was ringing in his ears. He sat up and put on his soft tunic, fair and bright, and threw his great cloak about him’ (Il. 2.41-43). These sequences closely match the Hittite phrase uttar šunna- ‘to pour forth words’, that is attested twice in a prayer of m

Muwatalli: a[mme]l=ma ŠA NIR.GÁL ARAD–KA A[W]ATE

MEŠ

ŠA EME-YA (37) [d]a¯

MEŠ

[n=]at=kan ANA PANI DINGIR šunni (KUB 6.45+ III 36-37- CTH 381) ‘Take the words of my tongue, that of Muwatalli, your servant, and transmit them before the gods!’ (Singer 2002, 91); nu=za ANA DINGIR

MEŠ

kuit arkuwar iyami nu=kan AWATE

MEŠ

ANA

MEŠ

DINGIR anda šunni n[u=m]u ištamaššandu (ibid. III 42-43) ‘The plea which I make to the gods, transmit its words to the gods, and let them listen to me!’ (Singer 2002, 92). The comparison of Homeric Greek and Hittite is relatively convincing if it is also considered in relation to the Latin fundere preces: Quid obseratis auribus fundis preces? ‘Why do you pour forth prayers to ears which have been barred?’ (Horace, Epod. 17.53); funditque preces rex pectore ab imo¯ ‘And the king pours forth prayers from the depth of his heart’ (Vergil, Aen. 6.55). On the other hand, this metaphor is also shared by Old ¯ túbhyam kám ¯ Indian: Ágne mánmani ‘Agni, I pour out thoughts . ghrtám ná juhva asáni ˚ to you like ghee in [your] mouth’ (RV 8.39.3)²⁸. The cumulative evidence of Latin, Greek, Vedic and Hittite does not lead us to question the obvious supposition of an Indo– European heritage, although there is some evidence of independent development in Hittite with the innovatory (and etymologically unrelated) verb šunna–, šunniya– ‘to fill’²⁹. Despite the Hittite variation (the phraseological agreement is only semantic, not formal), the shared elements of all these languages and the underlying metaphor suggest that we can establish a common core of Indo–European phraseology. This phraseological agreement is semantically so specific that it cannot be ascribable to chance or to parallel innovation; it is an inherited archaism. The third category includes phrasemes which cannot be explained as universals or of Indo–European heritage. The use of ornamental epithets is a feature of the Akkadian, Ugaritic and Hurro–Hittite poetic traditions. This is not to the same extent as in Greek hexameter verse, but it is used to similar effect. There are in fact several noun–epithet formulae which parallel those that are characteristic of Homer. Sometimes they are very distinctive and might not have come into being independently in any tradition that embraced the noun–epithet formula. In the Homeric texts the expression κυανέῃσιν ἐπ’ ῀ καὶ κυανέῃσιν ἐπ’ ὀφρύσι ‘with his dark brow’ appears in a formula describing Zeus: ᾿Η ὀφρύσι νεῦσε Κρονίων ‘The son of Cronos spoke, and bowed his dark brow in assent’

28 The image of some form of liquid for speech or song is discussed by Kurke (1989) from the perspective of Indo–European poetics. h

2

29 The Greek, Latin and Vedic forms derive from the root *ˆg eu– (see LIV , 179 ‘gießen’); Hitt. šunna– ̑ derives from the root *seuh2 – ‘to be full’ (see HED S, 1170–1171). ̑

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(Il. 1.528 = Il. 17.209). The form κυάνεος, –α, –ον ‘dark’ is of Anatolian origin, but what concept might underpin this particular expression? Something comparable surfaces NA4 in Hitt. ku(wa)nna(n)– ‘copper’, but of much greater significance is the Cuneiform Luvian kuwannani– ‘eyebrow’ (HED K, 308–311). That the Gr. κύανος and the Myc. Gr. NA4

ku–wa–no equal the Hitt. ku(wa)nna(n)–, is proved by the semantic shift from ‘copper’ → ‘dark’ → ‘eyebrow’: there is little doubt that κυάνεος as depicted in Homer is an Anatolian loanword and we can conclude that the formulaic use of κυανέῃσιν ἐπ΄ ὀφρύσι indicates Anatolian origin. This is thus clearly a product of language contact which owes its survival to the Homeric formula. Yet more interesting for our purposes is the expression γαῖα μέλαινα ‘dark earth’: it is not an isolated ornamental epithet (of the noun + adjective type), but is part of Homer’s formulaic language. When we turn to the Hittite materials, the evidence for a correlation is striking: Hittite dankui tekan ‘dark earth’ is a frequent formula in the Hurro–Hittite literary tradition which generally defines the underworld, but sometimes also the earth’s surface. Norbert Oettinger (1989–1990) argues persuasively that the phrase is of Hurrian origin and that the Greeks borrowed it from Anatolia, probably in connection with the myth of the Former Gods who were consigned to the underworld. Even if “dark earth” is Hurrian, the formula reached Greece through Anatolian mediation. It is thus conceivable that we are dealing with the product of language contact.

3 A case study 3.1 The Homeric evidence What has been discussed so far is largely common knowledge. Now I wish to go a little further in the belief that the Homeric texts may also contain specific phraseological accordance between Greek and Hittite in what might be called a product of areal contact. The expression πρὸς ὃν (μεγαλήτορα) θυμόν εἰπεῖν ‘to speak to his own (great–hearted) spirit’ means ‘to make a soliloquy’. All the occurrences of this Homeric usage are in the formulaic line ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν ‘Then in agitation he spoke to his proud heart’, which is immediately followed by direct speech. Often this expression is reelaborated in the speech which follows in the formula ἀλλὰ τί ᾿ῆ μοι ταῦτα φίλος διελέξατο θυμός; ‘But why does my heart debate these things with me?’. At this point, a thorough examination of all Homeric attestations of this sequence with the two formulae is clearly needed. The person speaking is almost always a hero on the battlefield, and the action is often introduced by means of a soliloquy. Here are the soliloquies of Odysseus, Menelaus and Agenor:

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Il. 11.401–407 Oἰώθη δ᾿ ᾿Οδυσεὺς δουρικλυτός, οὐδέ τις αὐτῷ ᾿Αργείων παρέμεινεν, ἐπεὶ φόβος ἔλλαβε πάντας. ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν· “ὤ μοι ἐγώ, τί πάθω; μέγα μὲν κακὸν αἴ κε φέβωμαι πληθὺν ταρβήσας: τὸ δὲ ῥίγιον αἴ κεν ἁλώω μοῦνος· τοὺς δ᾿ ἄλλους Δαναοὺς ἐφόβησε Κρονίων. ἀλλὰ τί ᾿ῆ μοι ταῦτα φίλος διελέξατο θυμός; ‘Now Odysseus, famed for his spear, was left alone, nor did anyone of the Argives remain with him, since fear had laid hold of them all. Then in agitation he spoke to his proud heart: “Ah me; what will become of me? Great evil if I flee seized with fear of the mass of men; but a worse thing if I am taken all alone, for the rest of the Danaans has the son of Cronos scattered in flight. But why does my heart debate these things with me?’ Il. 17.89–97 οὐδ᾿ υἱὸν λάθεν ᾿Ατρέος ὀξὺ βοήσας· ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν· “ὤ μοι ἐγὼν, εἰ μέν κε λίπω κάτα τεύχεα καλὰ Πάτροκλόν θ᾿, ὃς κεῖται ἐμῆς ἕνεκ᾿ ἐνθάδε τιμῆς, μή τίς μοι Δαναῶν νεμεσήσεται ὅς κεν ἴδηται· εἰ δέ κεν ῞Εκτορι μοῦνος ἐὼν καὶ Τρωσὶ μάχωμαι αἰδεσθείς, μή πώς με περιστήωσ᾿ ἕνα πολλοί· Τρῶας δ᾿ ἐνθάδε πάντας ἄγει κορυθαίολος ῞Εκτωρ. ἀλλὰ τί ᾿ῆ μοι ταῦτα φίλος διελέξατο θυμός; ‘Nor did the son of Atreus fail to hear his shrill cry, but in agitation he spoke to his proud heart: “Ah, woe is me! If I leave the fair armor behind, and Patroclus, who lies low here having attempted to get recompense for me, I fear that many a Danaan may find fault with me, whoever sees it. But if from a sense of shame I do battle alone with Hector and the Trojans, I fear that perhaps they may surround me, many against one; all the Trojans is Hector of the flashing helmet leading here. But why does my heart debate these things with me?’ Il. 21.550–562 αὐτὰρ ὅ γ᾿ ὡς ἐνόησεν ᾿Αχιλλῆα πτολίπορθον, ἔστη, πολλὰ δέ οἱ κραδίη πόρφυρε μένοντι· ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν· “῎Ω μοι ἐγών· εἰ μέν κεν ὑπὸ κρατεροῦ ᾿Αχιλῆος φεύγω, τῇ περ οἱ ἄλλοι ἀτυζόμενοι κλονέονται, αἱρήσει με καὶ ὧς, καὶ ἀνάλκιδα δειροτομήσει. εἰ δ᾿ ἂν ἐγὼ τούτους μὲν ὑποκλονέεσθαι ἐάσω Πηλεΐδῃ ᾿Αχιλῆι, ποσὶν δ᾿ ἀπὸ τείχεος ἄλλῃ φεύγω πρὸς πεδίον ᾿Ιλήιον, ὄφρ᾿ ἂν ἵκωμαι ῎Iδης τε κνημοὺς κατά τε ῥωπήια δύω· ἑσπέριος δ᾿ ἂν ἔπειτα λοεσσάμενος ποταμοῖο ἱδρῶ ἀποψυχθεὶς προτὶ ῎Ιλιον ἀπονεοίμην· ἀλλὰ τί ᾿ η μοι ταῦτα φίλος διελέξατο θυμός; ‘So when Agenor caught sight of Achilles, sacker of cities, he halted, and many things did his heart darkly ponder as he waited; and in agitation he spoke to his own proud heart: “Ah, woe is me; if I flee before mighty Achilles, there where the rest are being driven in rout, even so will he overtake and butcher me in my cowardice. But what if I leave these men to be driven before Achilles, son of

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Peleus, and with my feet flee from the wall elsewhere, toward the Ilean plain, until I come to the glens and the spurs of Ida, and hide in the thickets? Then in the evening, when I have bathed the sweat from me in the river and cooled off, I would get back to Ilios. But why does my heart debate these things with me?’.

In the Iliad the two formulaic lines sometimes occur independently. Nevertheless they are always found in a monologue and they introduce direct speech: Il. 21.53–54 ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν· “ὢ πόποι, ἦ μέγα θαῦμα τόδ᾿ ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ὁρῶμαι” ; ‘Then, in great agitation, Achilles spoke to his own proud heart: “Well, now! Surely a great marvel is this that my eyes look on!” . . . ’ Il. 22.119–125 Τρωσὶν δ᾿ αὖ μετόπισθε γερούσιον ὅρκον ἕλωμαι μή τι κατακρύψειν, ἀλλ᾿ ἄνδιχα πάντα δάσασθαι κτῆσιν ὅσην πτολίεθρον ἐπήρατον ἐντὸς ἐέργει· ἀλλὰ τί ἦ μοι ταῦτα φίλος διελέξατο θυμός; μή μιν ἐγὼ μὲν ἵκωμαι ἰών, ὁ δέ μ᾿ οὐκ ἐλεήσει οὐδέ τί μ᾿ αἰδέσεται, κτενέει δέ με γυμνὸν ἐόντα αὔτως ὥς τε γυναῖκα, ἐπεί κ᾿ ἀπὸ τεύχεα δύω ‘and that then I take from the Trojans an oath sworn by the elders that they will hide nothing, but will divide in two all the treasure that the lovely city holds inside. But why does my heart debate these things with me? Let it not be that I approach him as a suppliant, and he not pity me nor have respect for me, but slay me out of hand unarmed, as if I were a woman, when I have taken off my armour’³⁰.

Even more interesting for our purposes are the other Homeric instances of this formula, which occur in the Odyssey. Three times Odysseus is alone on stage and he speaks his thoughts: Od. 5.294–302 ὀρώρει δ᾿ οὐρανόθεν νύξ. σὺν δ᾿ Εὖρός τε Νότος τ᾿ ἔπεσον Ζέφυρός τε δυσαὴς καὶ Βορέης αἰθρηγενέτης, μέγα κῦμα κυλίνδων. καὶ τότ᾿ ᾿Οδυσσῆος λύτο γούνατα καὶ φίλον ἦτορ, ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν· “ὤ μοι ἐγὼ δειλός, τί νύ μοι μήκιστα γένηται; δείδω μὴ δὴ πάντα θεὰ νημερτέα εἶπεν, ἥ μ᾿ ἔφατ᾿ ἐν πόντῳ, πρὶν πατρίδα γαῖαν ἱκέσθαι, ἄλγε᾿ ἀναπλήσειν· τὰ δὲ δὴ νῦν πάντα τελεῖται. ‘and down from heaven night came rushing. Together the East Wind and the South Wind dashed, and the fierce–blowing West Wind and the North Wind, born in the bright heaven, rolling before him a great wave. Then were the knees of Odysseus loosened, and the heart within him melted,

30 See also Il. 22.98; Il. 22.385.

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and deeply shaken he spoke to his own great–hearted spirit: “Ah me, wretch that I am! What in the end will befall me? I fear that all that the goddess said was true, when she declared that on the sea, before I came to my native land, I should fill up my measure of woes; now all this is being brought to pass’. Od. 5.354–359 αὐτὰρ ὁ μερμήριξε πολύτλας δῖος ᾿Οδυσσεύς, ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν· “ὤ μοι ἐγώ, μή τίς μοι ὑφαίνῃσιν δόλον αὖτε ἀθανάτων, ὅ τέ με σχεδίης ἀποβῆναι ἀνώγει. ἀλλὰ μάλ᾿ οὔ πω πείσομ᾿, ἐπεὶ ἑκὰς ὀφθαλμοῖσιν γαῖαν ἐγὼν ἰδόμην, ὅθι μοι φάτο φύξιμον εἶναι. ‘Then the much–enduring, noble Odysseus pondered, and deeply shaken he spoke to his own great–hearted spirit: “Woe is me! Let it not be that some one of the immortals is again weaving a snare for me, that she bids me leave my raft. I shall not in any case obey her yet, for far off was the land my eyes beheld, where she said I was to escape.”’ Od. 5.462–469 ὁ δ᾿ ἐκ ποταμοῖο λιασθεὶς σχοίνῳ ὑπεκλίνθη, κύσε δὲ ζείδωρον ἄρουραν. ὀχθήσας δ᾿ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν· “ὤ μοι ἐγώ, τί πάθω; τί νύ μοι μήκιστα γένηται; εἰ μέν κ᾿ ἐν ποταμῷ δυσκηδέα νύκτα φυλάσσω, μή μ᾿ ἄμυδις στίβη τε κακὴ καὶ θῆλυς ἐέρση ἐξ ὀλιγηπελίης δαμάσῃ κεκαφηότα θυμόν· αὔρη δ᾿ ἐκ ποταμοῦ ψυχρὴ πνέει ἠῶθι πρό. ‘Odysseus, going back from the river, sank down in the reeds and kissed the earth, the giver of grain; and deeply shaken he spoke to his own great–hearted spirit: “Ah me, what will become of me? What in the end will befall me? If here in the river bed I keep watch throughout the weary night, I fear that together the bitter frost and the fresh dew may overcome in my feebleness my gasping spirit; and the breeze from the river blows cold in the early morning’.

3.2 The Anatolian evidence We now come to the Anatolian phrasemes. In Hittite there is no verb for ‘to reflect (upon sth.), to ponder, to consider’, but what is well attested is the expression –za karti=ši/šmi peran mema– ‘to speak before one’s own heart’³¹. The crucial passage occurs in the Zalpa Text and reads as follows: KBo 22.2 Ro 13–14 «Our queen of Kaneš bore 30 daughters at one time yet the sons have disappeared nu=zza MEŠ

DUMU.NITA

karti=šmi (14) peran m¯emir kuin=wa šanhiškiueni UMMA=NI(=)š=an uemiyauen

31 HED M 126: ‘to commune with one’s heart/soul, to say to oneself, to mull over, to bring to mind’. See also Archi (1995).

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Now the boys spoke to themselves (lit. spoke before their heart): Whom are we seeking? Our mother! We have found her!» (Holland – Zorman 2007, 39)

Here the thirty sons of the queen of Kaneš are speaking. Stereotypical as the formula obviously is, its importance for our argument is patent. For the Hittites the heart was the place of meditation and deliberation. The formula introduces direct speech, as is proved by the particle –wa(r) (l. 14) in the passage quoted, in which the sons of the queen are asking themselves whom are they seeking. The figurative sense of this expression survives in late Hittite, where kard– ‘heart’ is replaced by ištanza(na)– ‘soul, mind’: –za PANI ZI–ŠU mema– ‘to speak before his own mind’ and also –za . . . ZI–ni EGIR–pa mema– ‘to speak from the bottom of (his own) mind, to reflect’³². The fact that a soliloquy was perceived by the Hittites as a talk ‘before his own soul/mind’ or ‘from the bottom of his own soul/mind’ is testified in many mythological texts. In the Ullikummi myth the stereotypical formula –za PANI ZI– ŠU mema– introduces a soliloquy, and the verb mema–, which is immediately followed by direct speech, always appears in the construction with the auxiliary verb dai– ‘to put’ plus supine: CTH 345.I.1 III 15’–19’ d ¯ Z[I–ŠU memi]škiuwan daiš ¯ 15’ kumarbiš=za PANI ? 16’ kwit =wa=šši=kan ŠUM–an [tehhi ] d HI.A 17’ [ ]gulšuš=wa=mu DINGIR.MAH –uš kwin DUMU–an SUM–er 18’ nu=war[=aš=kan] NÍ.TE–az arha d

GIŠ

¯ watkut šiyatal man

19’ paidd[u=wa=šša]n ullikummi ŠUM–an e¯ šdu ‘Kumarbi began to say to himself: “What name [shall I put on] the child whom the Fate Goddesses and Mother Goddesses have given to me? He sprang forth from the body like a shaft. Henceforth let Ullikummi be his name’ (Hoffner 1998, 58). CTH 345.I.1 III 27’–31’ d MEŠ !? ¯ kumarbiš INIM –ar men[iyauwanz]i zi[nn]et 27’ man ¯ ZI–ŠU memiškiuwan [daiš] ¯ 28’ nu=za PANI 29’ [kwed]ani=wa[r]=an pehhi aši DUMU–an ¯ 30’ kwiš=war=an=z=ša[n dai] 31’ [nu=war=a]n uppiyaššar DÙ–zi ‘When Kumarbi had finished saying these words, he said to himself: “To whom shall I give this child? Who will [take] him and treat him like a gift?”’ (Hoffner 1998, 58). CTH 345.I.1 IV 13’–16’ d ¯ Z[I–Š]U memiškiuwan daiš ¯ 13’ nu=za elliluš PANI 14’ kwiš=war=aš aši DUMU–aš d MEŠ 15’ kw[in] namma šallanu¯er gulšuš DINGIR.MAH –uš MEŠ

16’ kwiš=war=aš [namma] uškezzi šallayaš DINGIR

32 See Francia (2010).

¯ –aš daššaw¯eš zahhau[š]

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‘Then Enlil began to say to himself: “What child is this whom the Fate Goddesses and Mother Goddesses have raised again? Who can [any longer] bear the intense struggles of the great gods?”’(Hoffner 1998, 59). CTH 345.I.1 IV 34’–36’ d ¯ ZI]–ŠU memiškiuwa[n daiš] ¯ 34’ nu=za UTU–uš [PANI 35’ kwiš=war=kan DINGIR–LUM [ . . . ] nutarriyaš aruni anda [artari] MEŠ

?

MEŠ

36’ nu=wa=šši NÍ.TE h[u–. . . –t]a DINGIR –aš UL takki ‘The Sun God began to say to himself: “What quickly growing deity [stands] there in the sea? His body is unlike that of all the other gods”’. (Hoffner 1998, 59).

¯ An example of the expression (–za) . . . ZI–ni appa mema– ‘to speak from the bottom of (his own) soul/mind’ is found in the following text: CTH 345.I.2 40–44 d 40 nu=za IŠTAR–iš ZI–ni EGIR–pa memiškezzi MEŠ

41 kuwapi=war=at andan piddaiškanzi 2 LÚ ¯ ¯ 42 [nu=war=aš p]aimi uhhi

¯ ATHUTIM

d

43 n=aš=kan w[alliw]alliyaš tiyat IŠTAR–iš MEŠ

44 nu ANA 2 ŠEŠ –ŠU peran šara¯ tiyat ‘Šauška said to herself, “Where are my two brothers running to? I’ll go and see”. Bo1d1y(?) Šauška approached. She came up to her brothers’ (Hoffner 1998, 60).

This expression is attested not only in mythological texts, but also in different text types. In a Muršili plague prayer the king says: [nu=za a]mmukka ZI–ni EGIR–pa kiššan [AQBI] ‘Thus I have said to myself’ and this is then followed by direct speech (CTH 378.4 Vo IV 22–27). Also in Muršili’s Annals, after a long monologue of the king, comes ¯ memian ZI–ni EGIR–pa kiššan AQBI ‘And when I the expression nu=za mahhan kun ˘˘ had recalled this word (the hypothetical speech of his enemies in lines 44–48) thus to myself’ (KBo 4.4 II 49; see CHD L–N 260b). Turning to semantics, the chain of meanings ‘to speak’ + ‘mind, soul’ is also attested in a prayer, where we have the formula memian ANA ZI–YA ešša– ‘to speak (lit. to make the word) to his mind’, which refers to a soliloquy and introduces direct speech: KUB 31.66(+) III 12´–23´ – CTH 387.1 ¯ (14´) kuitki e¯ šta am¯ ABU=YA ANA MUNUS.LUG[AL] (13´) IŠTU DINI šarazi[š ¯ (12´) nu man UL] f mug=m[an=an] (15´) ANA Tanuhepa MUNUS.LUGAL IŠTU D[INI] (16´) katterrahhieškinun (17´) ¯ memian ANA ZI=YA (18´) šer e¯ ššahhun (19´) l¯e=man=wa=mu kuitki [H]UL–uešzi (20´) iyakun ¯ (23´) [kui]tki nun=ma=at=kan dam¯edaz (21´) IŠTU EME pa[r]a¯ (22´) [a]mmug=ma=za=k[an Z]I–za UL da[hhun] ‘And if my father had in no way been superior to the que[en] during the lawsuit, would I then have been obliged to make him succumb to Tanuhepa, the queen, through the lawsuit? These words ˘ arose within my soul: (lit. I raised these words within my soul) ‘I wish that no evil whatsoever would befall me!’. But I did it at someone else’s behest (lit. (pressed) by another tongue), but I didn’t pu[t (?) any]thing out of my own free [will]’ (Cammarosano 2009, 183).

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3.3 A loan translation from Hittite How can Hittite and Homeric phrasemes which refer to a soliloquy be compared systematically? How can we explain the likenesses between the Hittite and the Homeric expressions? The possibility of loan translation between languages is intriguing, but it needs to be substantiated. On the other hand it is clear that the similarities are quite striking, while any parallel innovation in both languages is highly unlikely. Although the surface expression may differ, the functions of the phrases are specific enough to suggest a common origin. While the two phrasemes are etymologically unrelated (there is no precise etymological match), the semantic overlap cannot be denied. It seems plausible that a loan translation is involved and that the Homeric expression is modelled on the Hittite one. Support for the hypothesis of a Near Eastern influence is found in the Akkadian texts, where a similar formulation appears: a verb for ‘to think, to reflect’ is not attested in Akkadian either, but there are many expressions with the meaning ‘to speak to his ¯ (a) ‘to ponder, think’ own heart’. To indicate a soliloquy, the expression itti libbi dababu ¯ 7) is very common, but (b) ‘to mutter to oneself’ (c) ‘to worry’ (see CAD D 11 dababu ¯ zakaru ¯ ‘to speak a word to (his/her own) heart’ and itti libbišu ana libbišu/ša amata qabû ‘to speak with (his) heart’ also contain the same motif³³. On the contrary in Homeric Greek there are many verbs conveying the meaning ‘to reflect, to think deeply about sth., to ponder’, i.e. μερμηρίζω ‘to be thoughtful’, ὁρμαίνω ‘to turn over anxiously in the mind’, μητιάω ‘to meditate, deliberate’ (see Bertolín Cebrián 1996), which indicate a soliloquy and which are single lexemes, not phrasemes. Although the Akkadian and the Homeric phrasemes require separate consideration, these verbs should be considered in conjunction with the phraseme ‘to speak before his own heart’. We may draw some summary conclusions from the examples discussed above: 1. In Akkadian there are a number of formulae expressing the soliloquy. There is little doubt that the expression “to speak before his own heart/soul” is of Near Eastern origin considering the role of Akkadian in the second millennium BCE. 2. When we turn to Homer, it seems that the expression is based on a Hittite model, but we might ask how this development occurred. This construction involves the whole semantic system, where the marked member is the phraseme, while the unmarked members are the single lexemes expressing the same meaning i.e., in Homeric Greek the phraseme “to speak before his own heart/soul” signals the marked part of a binary pair of opposites. The evidence for a loan translation is thus further strengthened. 3. In contrast there is no opposition of forms constituted by a single lexeme in Hittite, and the distribution is unlike that in Greek. 33 See Edzard (1990).

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If there is some doubt about the function, there is none regarding the origin of the expression πρὸς ὃν (μεγαλήτορα) θυμόν εἰπεῖν ‘to speak to his own (great–hearted) spirit’. It is conceivable that we are dealing with language contact. The conclusion that can be drawn is that the Homeric Greek expression is a loan translation from Hittite. The comparison between the Gr. πρὸς ὃν (μεγαλήτορα) θυμόν εἰπεῖν and Hitt. –za PANI ZI–ŠU mema– becomes even more clear–cut with reference to the Akkadian expressions above: we could say that Hittite was the medium for a petrified expression which spread through the ancient Near East.

4 Conclusions The aim of this paper has been to underline the precarious nature of many of the lexical and phraseological accordances between Homeric Greek and Hittite. By examining a specific case I hope to have highlighted the complexity of the problem and to have made some suggestions which might lead to a more detailed examination of possible solutions based on the materials available. Indeed, one has the choice of either working with cumulative data and amassing etymological detail, or concentrating on a select group of truly persuasive data. It is the latter method that has been adopted in the present investigation. I have analysed how the Homeric epic reworks a particular phrase “to speak to one’s mind/heart” taken from the Mesopotamian narrative tradition that is also found in the Hittite literature. As I have attempted to show, Hittitologists have long aimed at understanding the relationships between Anatolia and Homer. While early research tended to focus on each of these domains separately, much progress has been made of late in integrating them. Much remains to be understood, but I would argue that one of the most promising directions for future research is the lexical and phraseological accordances between Homeric Greek and Hittite. As Anatolian philology continues to mature, Hittite no longer stands alone, or almost alone, as a language. Cuneiform and Hieroglyphic Luwian, Lycian, and Lydian can be referred to with considerable confidence. At the same time, work on these languages promises to contribute much to the field of Homeric linguistics. Future work on Anatolian and Homeric phraseology will concern both synchronic and diachronic aspects as well as further pursuit of other language–contact phenomena. This paper might also direct the attention of classicists to areas which have been paid too little attention, and render these fields of study more accessible even to the non–specialist. It may also encourage Orientalists to maintain or renew their interest in neighbouring fields. If in some cases the materials themselves do not provide incontrovertible evidence of cultural transfer, the establishment of similarities is still of value as it serves to free both Greek and Near Eastern phenomena from isolation and to create a range of possible comparisons. In this perspective, the question of Greek–Hittite contact

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acquires a twofold dimension: not just “Greeks in Hittite texts” (as in the scholarship of one hundred year ago), but Hittite–influenced linguistic conventions in Greek epic dialect.

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Archi, A. 1995: “Pensavano” gli Ittiti?, «Studi epigrafici e linguistici», 12, 13–19. Bertolín Cebrián, R. 1996: Die Verben des Denkens bei Homer, Innsbruck. Bryce, T. R. 2008: Homer at the interface, in Anatolian Interfaces. Hittites, Greeks and their Neighbours, eds. B. J. Collins, M. R. Bachvarova & I. C. Rutherford, Oxford, 85–91. Burkert, W. 1984: Die orientalisierende Epoche in der griechischen Religion und Literatur, Heidelberg. Burkert, W. 1991: Homerstudien und Orient, in Zweihundert Jahre Homer–Forschung. Rückblick und Ausblick, ed. J. Latacz, Stuttgart – Leipzig, 155–181. Burkert, W. 20042 : Die Griechen und der Orient. Von Homer bis zu den Magiern, München. Burkert, W. 2005: Ancient Greek Epic: Near Eastern Connections in A Companion to Ancient Epic, ed. J. M. Foley, Chichester – Malden, 291–301. Cammarosano, M. 2009: A Coregency for Muršili III?, «Altorientalische Forschungen», 36, 171–202. Dardano, P. 2013: Lingua omerica e fraseologia anatolica: vecchie questioni e nuove prospettive, in Le lingue del Mediterraneo antico. Culture, mutamenti, contatti, eds. M. Mancini & L. Lorenzetti, Roma, 125–150. Dunkel, G. 1987: heres, χηρωσταί: indogermanische Richtersprache, in Festschrift for Henry Hoenigswald. On the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, eds. G. Cardona & N. H. Zide, Tübingen, 91–98. Edzard, D. O. 1990: Selbstgespräch und Monolog in der akkadischen Literatur; in Lingering over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of W. L. Moran, eds. T. Abusch, J. Huehnergard & P. Steinkeller, Atlanta, 149–162. Fischer, R. 2010: Die Ahhijawa–Frage. Mit einer kommentierten Bibliographie, Wiesbaden. ˘˘ Forrer, E. 1924a: Vorhomerische Griechen in den Keilschrifttexen von Boghazkoi, «Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient–Gesellschaft zu Berlin», 63, 1–22. Forrer, E. 1924b: Die Griechen in den Boghazköi–Texten, «Orientalische Literaturzeitung», 27, 113– 118. Forrer, E. 1930: La découverte de la Grèce mycénienne dans les textes cunéiformes de l’empire hittite, «Revue des études grecques», 43, 279–294. Forrer, E. 1931: Apollon, Vulcanus und die Kyklopen in den Boghazköi–Texten, «Revue Hittite et Asianique», 1/5, 141–163.

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Forrer, E. 1936: Eine Geschichte des Götterkönigtums aus dem Hatti–Reiche, in Mélanges Franz Cumont, Bruxelles, 687–713. ¯ Francia, R. 2010: Ittita appa “(via) da”, «Incontri Linguistici», 33, 161–166. Friedrich, J. 1930: Werden in den hethitischen Keilschrifttexten die Griechen erwähnt?, «Kleinasiatische Forschungen», I, 87–107. García Ramón, J. L. 2011: Idiome in hethitischer Literatur und in griechischer Dichtung. Anatolische bzw. akkadische Lehnübersetzungen oder indogermanische Phraseologie?, in Hethitische Literatur. Überlieferungsprozesse, Textstrukturen, Ausdrucksforme und Nachwirken. Akten des Symposiums vom 18. bis 20. Februar 2010 in Bonn, eds. M. Hutter & S. Hutter Braunsar, Münster, 83–97. Haas, V. 2010: Bemerkungen zu der hethitischen Phrase “und sie begannen ihre Häuser zu fressen”, in ipamati kistamati pari tumatimis Luwian and Hittite Studies Presented to J. David Hawkins on the Occasion of His 70th Birthday, ed. I. Singer, Tel Aviv, 102–105. Hajnal, I. 2014: Die griechisch–anatolischen Sprachkontakte zur Bronzezeit – Sprachbund oder loser Sprachkontakt?, «Linguarum Varietas», 3, 105–116. Heinhold Krahmer, S. 2004: Ist die Identität von Ilios mit Wiluša endgültig erwiesen?, «SMEA», 46, 29–57. Heinhold Krahmer, S. 2007: Albrecht Goetze und die Ahhiyawa–Frage, «SMEA», 49, 363–376. ˘˘ Hoffner, H. A. Jr. 19982 : Hittite Myths, Atlanta. Holland, G. B. & Zorman, M. 2007: The Tale of Zalpa: Myth, Morality, and Coherence in a Hittite Narrative, Pavia. Kretschmer, P. 1924: Alakšanduš, König von Viluša, «Glotta», 13, 205–213. Kretschmer, P. 1930: Zur Frage der griechischen Namen in den hethitischen Texten, «Glotta», 18, 161– 170. Kurke, L. 1989: Pouring prayers: a formula of IE sacral poetry?, «JIES», 17, 113–125. Morris, S. 1997: Homer and the Near East, in A new companion to Homer, eds. I. Morris & B. Powell, Leiden, 599–623. Oettinger, N. 1989–1990: Die ‘dunkle Erde’ im Hethitischen und Griechischen, «Die Welt des Orients», 20–21, 83–98. Poisson, G. 1925: Tantale, roi des Hittites, «Revue Archéologique», 22, 75–94. Porzig, W. 1930: Illujankas and Typhon, «Kleinasiatische Forschungen», I, 379–386. Puhvel, J. 1991: Homer and Hittite, Innsbruck. Puhvel, J. 1992: Shaft–shedding Artemis and mind–voiding Ate: Hittite determinants of Greek etyma, «Historische Sprachforschung», 105, 4–8. Puhvel, J. 1993: A Hittite Calque in the Iliad, «Historische Sprachforschung», 106, 36–38. Rollinger, R. 1996: Altorientalische Motivik in der frühgriechischen Literatur am Beispiel der homerischen Epen. Elemente des Kampfes in der Ilias und in der altorientalischen Literatur in Wege zur Genese griechischer Identität. Die Bedeutung der früharchaischen Zeit, ed. Chr. Ulf, Berlin, 156–210. Rollinger, R. 2014: Homer and the Ancient Near East. Some Considerations on Intercultural Affairs, eds. I. Lindstead et al., Case Studies in Transmission, Münster, 131–142. Rollinger, R. 2015: Old Battles, New Horizons: The Ancient Near East and the Homeric Epics, in Mesopotamia in the Ancient World. Impact, Continuities, Parallels, eds. R. Rollinger & E. van Dongen, Münster, 5–32. Sayce, A. H. 1925: Perseus and the Achaeans in the Hittite tablets, «The Journal of Hellenic Studies», 45, 161–163. Singer, I. 2002: Hittite Prayers, Atlanta. Sommer, F. 1932: Die Ahhijava–Urkunden, München.

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van Dongen, E. 2008: The Study of Near Eastern Influences on Greece: Towards the Point, «Kaskal», 5, 233–250. Watkins, C. 1995: How to kill a dragon in Indo–European, Oxford. Watkins, C. 1998: Homer and Hittite Revisited, in Style and Tradition: Studies in Honor of Wendell Clausen, eds. P. Knox & C. Foss, Stuttgart — Leipzig, 201–211. Watkins, C. 2001: An Indo–European Linguistic Area and its Characteristics: Ancient Anatolia. Areal Diffusion as a Challenge to the Comparative Method?, in Areal Diffusion and Genetic Inheritance. Problems in Comparative Linguistics, eds. A. Y. Aikhenvald & R. M. W. Dixon, Oxford, 44–63. Watkins, C. 2002: Homer and Hittite Revisited II, in Recent Developments in Hittite Archaeology and History: Papers in Memory of Hans G. Güterbock, eds. K. A. Yener & H. A. Hoffner, Jr., Winona Lake, Indiana, 167–176. Watkins, C. 2008: ‘Hermit crabs’, or new wine in old bottles: Anatolian and Hellenic Connections from Homer and before to Antiochus I of Commagene and after, in Anatolian Interfaces. Hittites, Greeks and their Neighbours, eds. B. J. Collins, M. R. Bachvarova & I. C. Rutherford, Oxford, 135–141. West, M. L. 1997: The East Face of Helicon. West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth, Oxford. West, M. L. 2001: Atreus and Attarissiyas, «Glotta», 77, 262–266.

Chiara Frigione

Ipotesi su gr. Μαρσύας e gr. μάρσι/ύπ(π)ος Abstract: Nel presente lavoro saranno avanzate le seguenti ipotesi: ¯ ‘pancia’ sarebbe entrato in greco come prestito dando luogo ad 1. l’av. rec. maršu– una base lessicale μαρσυ–; 2. da tale base si sarebbero sviluppati il nome personale Μαρσύας ‘Marsia’ ed il nome comune μάρσιπος ‘sacco, borsa’. Alla luce delle mie conoscenze, rappresentano ipotesi originali (i) la connessione etimologica tra il gr. Μαρσύας e il gr. μάρσιπος e (ii) la connessione etimologica tra l’av. ¯ ed il gr. Μαρσύας e la conseguente analisi morfologica di quest’ultimo (iii) rec. maršu– l’analisi di μάρσιπος come composto nominale. Viceversa, l’idea di rinvernire nell’av. ¯ la fonte del gr. μάρσιπος si trova già esposta in Buck (1909). rec. maršu– Sul piano semantico le correlazioni tra gli elementi presi in esame saranno illustrate a partire dalla vicenda mitica di Marsia così come attestata in alcune delle principali fonti documentarie, ed analizzando le caratteristiche materiali del μάρσιπος ed il loro rapporto con gli altri elementi implicati nella disamina generale. Verranno illustrate alcune ragioni che inducono a formulare l’ipotesi del prestito, che elimina la difficoltà di identificare formalmente le forme greche con quella iranica. Il nome Μαρσύας sarà interpretato come struttura suffissata in –α¯ sul modello di numerosi antroponimi maschili di prima declinazione, o come forma epitetica promossa a nome personale; μάρσιπος sarà invece analizzato come composto nominale del tipo [N N]N con un primo componente μαρσυ– ed un secondo componente –ιπος, corrispondente alla forma piena ἶποϛ ‘peso’.

1 Introduzione Esistono in greco antico due sostantivi di etimologia incerta che la tradizione degli studi non connette tra loro e che invece, a mio avviso, potrebbero avere una matrice comune. Si tratta del nome personale Μαρσύας ‘Marsia’ e del nome comune μάρσιπος¹ ‘sacco, borsa’. L’ipotesi che vorrei qui avanzare è che entrambe queste forme dipendano ¯ ‘pancia, trippa’, che sarebbe penetrato in greco come prestito, da un av. rec. maršu– dando luogo ad una base lessicale μαρσυ–.

1 Per comodità grafica, non segnalo nel testo le forme alternative di μάρσι/ύπ(π)ος ed adotto qui ed oltre la forma μάρσιπος, rimandando al §4.3. il commento sulle possibili varianti.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-823

812 | Chiara Frigione

¯ si trova L’idea di una possibile connessione etimologica tra μάρσιπος e maršu– già espressa in Buck (1909, 257), contro ipotesi precedenti per le quali la forma greca sarebbe stata un prestito semitico²: secondo l’autore non solo la mancata individuazione di un etimo soddisfacente, ma anche le sedi letterarie in cui la parola ricorre, ¯ viene poi sembrerebbero suggerire piuttosto un’origine orientale³. Quanto a maršu–, sottolineato come la natura di hápax legómenon non impedisca di assegnare alla parola un valore semantico chiaro – ‘pancia’, appunto – che la lettura del passo in cui ricorre (Yasna 11,1) fornisce inequivocabilmente. Buck chiude asserendo che ‘pancia’ non può che essere un uso specializzato del valore ‘sacco, borsa’, proprio come in ing. belly accanto a bellows, bag, ted. Balg (cfr. § 3.2.). Manca, tuttavia, un’analisi morfologica della forma μάρσιπος, in cui la presenza di un componente –ιπος rimane così del tutto inspiegata. Fornire un’ipotesi che giustifichi la struttura interna della forma μάρσιπος è tra gli obiettivi del presente lavoro. Quanto alla forma Μαρσύας, nome del noto satiro di Asia Minore, non mi constano proposte etimologiche né ipotesi di connessione con il gr. μάρσιπος. Mi propongo, dunque, di illustrare gli argomenti formali e semantici sulla base dei quali ipotizzo ¯ una connessione etimologica tra i due sostantivi greci a partire dall’av. rec. maršu– ‘pancia’.

2 Alcuni dati preliminari ¯ dal signifiÈ attestata in avestico recente una forma del sostantivo femminile maršu–⁴ cato ‘pancia, trippa’ (AW)⁵. Stando all’EWA (II 334), il sostantivo in questione è etimologicamente connesso con una forma aggettivale antico–indiana malhá– ‘dotato di escrescenze sul collo [detto di capra]’⁶, riportata anche in Turner (2008) con il significato di ‘dotato di giogaia’⁷. ¯ e ai. malhá–, unitamente Secondo Mayrhofer (id.), inoltre, le forme av. rec. maršu–⁸

2 Tra coloro che hanno attribuito al gr. μάρσιπος origine semitica si ricordino Schrader (1886, 149), Lewy (1895, 92), Thumb (1901, 108) e, sulla base di questi, anche Mayser (1906, 42). 3 In particolare si fa riferimento a Senofonte, Ippocrate, Alessandro di Tralle, Apollodoro di Caristo, la Septuaginta e papiri egizi. ¯ aˉ˚ , normalmente ricondotta a maršu–; ¯ in Massetti 4 La forma attestata in Yasna 11,1 è il gen. sg. maršuui (2017, 121–22) alcune considerazioni morfologiche e la proposta di far risalire la forma al PIE *merˆg– ‘dividere, tagliare’. ¯ che propone Bartholomae sono ‘Bauch, Wants’. Il ted. 5 Le traduzioni tedesche del sostantivo maršu– Wants è di uso colloquiale con connotazione dispregiativa ‘trippa’ nel senso deteriore di pancia; in senso figurato vale anche come ‘trippone’, ‘pancione’. 6 Ted. ‘mit Auswüchsen am Hals versehen [vor der Ziege]’. 7 Ing. ‘dewlapped’. 8 Viene citata la forma del gen. sg. (cfr. nota 4).

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¯ ad un loro corradicale av. rec. mərəzana– ‘pancia’, avrebbero una comune matrice in una forma indo–iranica indicante escrescenze e rigonfiamenti, a sua volta esito di un h

PIE *melˆg – ‘ingrossarsi’; l’indicazione è coerente con quanto riportato in IEW dove h

la radice *melˆg – è indicata quale base delle forme indiane e iraniche appena citate ˜ nonché dei seguenti altri continuatori: arm. małj ‘cistifellea’, lit. milžinas ‘gigante’, lett. ˜ ˜ ˜ milzis ‘id’; lett. melzu, milz ‘gonfiarsi, ingrossarsi’. Quest’ultima forma, che è la sola di h

natura verbale indicata da Pokorny, non compare invece in LIV, dove la radice *melˆg – non è presente. Non dovendo stabilire in questa sede la base PIE delle forme in questione, si procede a partire dalle forme attestate e dai loro valori, seguendo le indicazioni etimologiche dell’EWA e dell’IEW, ove compaiono le forme nominali indo–iraniche implicate nelle argomentazioni che seguono.

3 Affinità semantiche tra le forme prese in esame ¯ Come si è detto in apertura, si vuole qui avanzare l’ipotesi che la forma av. rec. maršu– sia entrata in greco come prestito, costituendo la base lessicale dei due nomi Μαρσύας ‘Marsia’ e μάρσιπος ‘sacco, borsa’. Rimandando al §4.1. le ragioni che consentono di ipotizzare il prestito, si procede ad illustrare la rete di correlazioni semantiche che sembra possa ravvisarsi tra la forma iranica ed il suo corradicale indiano e le forme greche che, a partire dalla prima, si sarebbero formate. Viene premessa l’analisi semantica a quella formale poiché, nell’ipotesi che la forma μαρσυ– non sia genuinamente greca, e dunque soggetta alle leggi fonetiche proprie del greco, la corrispondenza tra av. rec. ¯ e gr. μαρσυ– non costituisce una difficoltà come, invece, altrimenti sarebbe maršu– per la non identificabilità tra av. /ʃ/ e gr. /s/. Si osservino i principali valori semantici associati alle forme indo–iraniche: (α) ‘dotato di giogaia’, veicolato dall’aggettivo ai. malhá–, e (β) ‘pancia’, veicolato dal ¯ trattandosi in entrambi i casi di zone rigonfie del corpo, sostantivo av. rec. maršu–; non sorprende che le due forme possano poi ricondursi ad un’idea più generale di ‘gonfiore’, così come in EWA (II 334) e IEW (723). Per l’interpretazione che si vuole qui fornire sarà utile osservare che, tanto nel primo quanto nel secondo caso, si tratta di rigonfiamenti che interessano la pelle; si tenga a mente in particolare che la giogaia è «la pelle pendente⁹ del collo de’ buoi [e ruminanti in generale]¹⁰ sotto la quale passa la stringa del giogo» (VELI) e che, dunque,

9 Grassetto mio. 10 Cfr. DEI.

814 | Chiara Frigione

l’ai. malhá– sarebbe da connettersi all’idea di pelle che pende¹¹, ed è a tale valore che d’ora innanzi ci si riferir๲. Si tratta ora di valutare in quale misura sia possibile individuare affinità dei valori (α) e (β) con il nome personale (1) Μαρσύας ‘Marsia’ ed il nome comune (2) μάρσιπος ‘sacco, borsa’ e di questi ultimi tra loro. Si deve cioè chiarire in che relazione possano trovarsi i seguenti elementi in gioco:

α. β. 1. 2.

VALORE SEMANTICO

LINGUA

FORMA

pelle appesa (e rigonfia) pancia Marsia sacco/borsa

ai. av. rec. gr. gr.

malhá– ¯ maršu– Μαρσύας μάρσιποϛ

3.1 Connessioni semantiche dei punti α–1: ‘pelle appesa (e rigonfia)’↔‘Marsia’; α–2: ‘pelle appesa e (rigonfia)’↔‘sacco/borsa’ e 1–2: ‘Marsia’ ↔ ‘sacco/borsa’ Per valutare la natura delle correlazioni in questione è senz’altro necessario soffermarsi sulla vicenda mitica di Marsia così da estrarne gli elementi particolari che possano giustificare sul piano semantico una connessione con le forme indo–iraniche ed eventualmente con il gr. μάρσιπος ‘sacco, borsa’. Dalla voce Marsyas in Hornblower–Spawforth (1996) si ricavano le seguenti informazioni essenziali: «[. . . ] a silenus or satyr. He invented the aulos or found it, cast aside by Athena because playing it distorted her face (Apollod. 1.4.2), and challenged Apollo on his kithara to a competition. He lost and, suspended from a tree, was flayed alive by Apollo, suffering the proverbial (Solon fr. 33.7 West, IE) punishment of being ‘flayed for (wine)skin’ (askos). [. . . ] The story was given a setting at Celaenae in southern Phrygia, where a local tributary of the Maeander was named the ‘Marsyas’ (cf. Hdt. 5. 118, 7.26.3; Paus. 10.30.9) and askos* of Marsyas was displayed in the cave from which the river springs (Xen. An. 1.1.8).»

Secondo il mito, dunque, Marsia fu scuoiato e di lui non rimase che pelle appesa; si osservi a riguardo la seguente testimonianza di Senofonte:

¯ ‘pelle flaccida sul collo di un bue’ (ing. ‘loose skin on a bullock’s 11 Cfr. in Turner (2008, 570) N. mal neck’). 12 Si ammette con ciò il passaggio ‘dotato di giogaia’ > ‘dotato di pelle pendente’ > ‘pelle pendente’ che, naturalmente vale solo ad indicare una associazione con l’idea della pelle appesa e non un passaggio dalla categoria aggettivale a quella nominale.

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[. . . ] ἐνταῦθα λέγεται ᾿Απόλλων ἐκδεῖραι Μαρσύαν νικήσας ἐρίζοντά οἱ περὶ σοφίας, καὶ τὸ δέρμα κρεμάσαι¹³ ἐν τῷ ἄντρῳ ὅθεν αἱ πηγαί: διὰ δὲ τοῦτο ὁ ποταμὸς καλεῖται Μαρσύας. (Xen. An. 1.2.8.) ‘Là, si narra, Apollo scorticò Marsia, dopo averlo vinto in una gara di abilità e ne appese la pelle nella grotta da cui scaturiscono le sorgenti del fiume: per questo motivo il fiume si chiama Marsia’¹⁴.

Nella narrazione di Nonno di Panopoli compare poi il dettaglio secondo il quale la pelle di Marsia, dopo essere stata appesa ad un albero, veniva gonfiata dal vento: ἐξότε Μαρσύαο θεημάχον αὐλὸν ἐλέγξας δέρμα παρῃώρησε φυτῷ κολπούμενον αὔραις, γυμνώσαϛ ὅλα γυῖα λιπορρίνοιο νομῆοϛ (Nonn. 1.42–44) ‘dal tempo in cui vinse Marsia e il suo flauto rivale degli dei: dopo aver scorticato tutte le membra del pastore, appese ad un albero la sua pelle, che si gonfia al vento’¹⁵.

Della vicenda di Marsia è, inoltre, ben documentato uno sviluppo ulteriore per il quale della pelle del satiro fu fatto un sacco o otre, anch’esso appeso: ἐν τῇ καὶ ὁ τοῦ Σιληνοῦ Μαρσύεω ἀσκὸς ἀνακρέμαται, τὸν ὑπὸ Φρυγῶν λόγος ἔχει ὑπὸ ᾿Απόλλωνος ἐκδαρέντα ἀνακρεμασθῆναι. (Hdt. 7.26.3) ‘Là sta appeso l’otre fatto con la pelle del Sileno Marsia: costui, a quanto narrano i Frigi, fu scorticato da Apollo e la sua pelle fu da lui appesa in quel luogo’¹⁶. καὶ ὁ Κτήσιππος, ἐγὼ μέν, ἔφη, καὶ αὐτός, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἕτοιμός εἰμι παρέχειν ἐμαυτὸν τοῖς ξένοις, καὶ ἐὰν βούλωνται δέρειν ἔτι μᾶλλον ἢ νῦν δέρουσιν, εἴ μοι ἡ δορὰ μὴ εἰς ἀσκὸν τελευτήσει, ὥσπερ ἡ τοῦ Μαρσύου, ἀλλ᾿ εἰς ἀρετήν. (Plat., Eut. 285) ‘E Ctesippo: “Anch’io, Socrate, disse, sono pronto ad affidarmi a questi due forestieri, anche se vogliono scorticarmi ancor più di quanto fanno adesso, purché la mia pelle non finisca in otre, come quella di Marsia, ma in virtù”’¹⁷.

Le evidenze testuali documentano, dunque, una connessione tra la figura di Marsia e l’idea di pelle appesa (Xen. An. 1.2.8., Nonn. 1.42–43, Hdt. 7.26.3) e rigonfia (Nonn. 1.42–43), che giustifica la correlazione semantica α–1: ‘pelle rigonfia/appesa’↔‘Marsia’. Si vede, inoltre, come la figura del satiro sia poi direttamente associata all’idea del sacco o otre, che rappresenta la forma finale che egli assumerà mediante il passaggio intermedio della scuoiatura (Hdt. 7.26.3, Plat., Eut. 285); si trovano così giustificati i collegamenti α–2: ‘pelle rigonfia/appesa’↔‘sacco/borsa’ e 1–2: ‘Marsia’↔‘sacco/borsa’. Va detto che, nonostante le traduzioni qui adottate scelgano ‘otre’ per il gr. ἀσκόϛ, il sostantivo è piuttosto polisemico ed il contesto non è sufficiente a disambiguarlo: ad esempio, per Μαρσύεω ἀσκὸς (Hdt. 7.26.3), LSJ (cfr. ἀσκός) propone «bag made from

13 14 15 16 17

Qui e nei successivi passi citati il grassetto è mio. Traduzione di Bevilacqua (2002, 269). Traduzione di Gigli Piccardi (2003, 127). Traduzione di Bevilacqua in Colonna e Bevilacqua (1996, 299). Traduzione di Cambiano (1978, 620).

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the skin of Marsyas» e fornisce come valore generale quello di «skin made into a bag»; ancora, in una nota relativa al passo dell’Eut. citato, Lamb (1977, 426) spiega: «This satyr [. . . ] was flayed alive by the god for his presumption, and his skin was hung up like a bag or bottle in a cave; cf. Herod. Vii 26». Non sembrano, dunque, esserci ragioni forti per preferire ‘otre’ a ‘sacco’. Nel procedere, si tenga a mente sin da ora che, ancora sulla base di Hdt. 7.26.3, la sacca fatta con la pelle di Marsia (ὁ τοῦ Σιληνοῦ Μαρσύεω ἀσκὸς) si trova nello stato di pendere (ἀνακρέμαται).

3.1.1 Sulla semantica specifica di μάρσιπος e ancora sulla connessione 1–2: ‘Marsia’ ↔ ‘sacco/borsa’. Si è vista nel paragrafo precedente la ragione per la quale il mito di Marsia connette il satiro con l’oggetto sacco (o otre) che, nei testi, viene espresso dal gr. ἀσκός. Si osservi ora più dettagliatamente la semantica di μάρσιπος e come suoi tratti particolari giustifichino, più ancora del generico concetto di ‘sacco’, un collegamento con gli altri valori qui presi in esame. Sotto marsupium¹⁸ in Daremberg–Saglio–Pottier (1904) si legge: «Chez le Greques, μάρσιποϛ et les substantifs de même racine (μάρσιπποϛ, μαρσίπιον, μάρσυποϛ, μαρσύπιον) ne désignaient pas autre chose qu’un sac, par exemple un sac à provision, ou encore celui dans lequel on enfermait ses vêtements quand on se déshabillait [. . . ] Ils semblent avoir été d’un usage assez rare. Pour désigner une bourse on se servait plus communément des mots βαλάντιον, βαλαντίδιον. Au reste, chez le Grecs aussi bien que chez les Romains, la bourse était en effet un petit sac, d’ordinaire en cuir, que l’on serrait en haut (συστέλλειν Plut. De cupiditate divitiarum 7) par un cordon ou un patte (πούϛ) passés dans une coulisse. [. . . ] On tenait la bourse par le col lorsqu’on était sur le point de s’en servir; sinon, on la portait enfermée dans sa ceinture, ou bien on l’y suspendait, ce qui donnait beau jeu aux “coupeurs de bourses”» .

E ancora, in Cancik – Schneider (1996), sotto la voce Geldbeutel compare μαρσίππιον: «[. . . ] Die G. waren kleine Säckchen, die man, da die Kleider keine Taschen hatten, an einem Riemen um den Hals, am Gürtel, um den Unterarm trug oder in der Hand hielt. [. . . ] Als Material nennt Iuv. 14,282 aluta, feines mit Alaun gegerbtes Leder, doch dürften G. ebenso aus Leinen gewesen sein [. . . ]»

Il μάρσιπος è dunque una sacca di pelle tenuta per un cordone che si appendeva al collo, alla vita, all’avambraccio o alternativamente si teneva in mano. Per tanto, si tratta non solo di un sacco di pelle ma, più in particolare, di un sacco di pelle pendente (senz’altro rigonfio quando pieno): ‘sacco di pelle che pende’ corrisponde esattamente

18 È appena necessario ricordare che il lat. marsupium è prestito dal gr. μάρσιπος (DELL).

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alla descrizione del μάρσιπος (2), da una parte, ed alla forma finale assunta da Marsia (1), dall’altra: i due sostantivi condividono così una importante area di intersezione semantica nel tratto definitorio appena indicato.

3.2 Connessioni semantiche dei punti β–2: ‘pancia’↔‘sacco/borsa’ e β–1: ‘pancia’↔‘Marsia’ ¯ ‘pancia’ Si tratta a questo punto di chiarire in che modo la semantica dell’av. rec. maršu– possa partecipare coerentemente a tale rete di significati. Si analizzi, in primo luogo, la possibilità di connettere ‘pancia’ e ‘borsa’ (β–2). Dal punto di vista semantico, la prossimità tra i due valori, oltre ad essere alquanto intuitiva, è tipologicamente molto attestata: sono, infatti, numerosi i casi di paralleli semantici in cui una stessa forma veicola entrambi i significati (airl. bolg ‘sacco, mantice, pancia’) o in cui forme corradicali li veicolano separatamente (cimr. bol ‘stomaco’, gall. bulga ‘sacca in cuoio’). Si dà poi una forma, particolarmente utile per le connessioni che si vogliono qui illustrare, alla quale, oltre ai valori di ‘pancia e sacco’, si associa anche quello di ‘pelle di animale scuoiato’: si tratta dell’anord. belgr che vale, appunto, ‘pelle di animale scuoiato, sacca, pancia’ (Mallory – Adams 1997, 45) e che, dunque, veicola ad un tempo tutti i valori che si sta qui cercando di connettere. Ora, è del massimo interesse il fatto che un’analoga polisemia è propria dello stesso gr. ἀσκός che, accanto ai valori di ‘pelle’ e ‘sacco in pelle’ ha anche quello di ‘pancia, pancione’ (Archil. 72)¹⁹. Del resto lo stesso ἀσκός è indicato da Buck (1949, 253) come parallelo semantico esatto del got. Balgs, che è un corradicale di forme che indicano la pancia (cfr. supra). Accanto alla semantica di ἀσκός, dato molto forte non solo perché interno al greco ma anche perché fornito proprio dal sostantivo che compare nei passi documentari pertinenti, si osservino alcuni dati dall’italiano che sembrano avvalorare l’ipotesi di una buona compatibilità dei valori ‘sacco, borsa’ e ‘pancia’. Si consideri, infatti, l’it. marsupio che, oltre a designare una sacchetta che si lega sull’addome, indica una protuberanza del corpo di alcuni esemplari femminili di mammiferi – detti appunto marsupiali – che consente di trasportare i piccoli della specie sull’addome. Si pensi, inoltre, alle forme di it. dial. burza (piem.) ‘pancia’, buzza (lomb. e tosc.) ‘id.’, burzoni ‘ciccione, pancione’ (pugl.)²⁰. Ancora dall’italiano dialettale uno spunto interessante: il bellunese e ladino–veneto borséi ‘borsello’ sarebbe il continuatore di una forma celtica *bruscia ‘escrescenza’ (Cortelazzo – Marcato 1998, 86): se la ricostruzione fosse corretta, ciò rappresenterebbe una piccola testimonianza di slittamento semantico a ‘borsa’ a partire da ‘escrescenza, rigonfiamento’, che è, appunto, il principale valore ¯ ‘pancia’. Che un rigonfiamento di parti ricostruito per la base PIE dell’av. rec. maršu–

19 Sch. Eur. Med. 679 (Edmonds 1979, 135). 20 Da informatori dialettofoni.

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del corpo prenda il nome di borsa, non è poi solo della pancia ma anche, ad esempio, delle cosiddette borse sotto gli occhi. Se, dunque, è tipologicamente così fortemente attestato il parallelismo semantico ‘sacco/borsa’↔‘pancia’ si potrebbe assumere che tale doppiezza semantica caratte¯ avesse rizzasse già il nome della pancia in av. rec. e che, dunque, lo stesso maršu– accanto al significato di ‘pancia’ anche quello di ‘sacco in pelle’, cosa che di fatto la pancia è e che è certamente la ragione alla base di parallelismi tanto diffusi. L’ipotesi, per l’appunto, è formulata dallo stesso Buck (1949, 254) che per la forma av. rec. dice «‘belly’, perh. ‘bag’ (cf. Ir. Bolg, etc. [. . . ]), and the source, or from the same source as, Grk. μάρσιποϛ ‘bag, pounch’». A questo punto si danno due diverse possibilità per giustificare la connessione β–1, cioè l’affinità semantica tra ‘pancia’ e ‘Marsia’. La prima è quella di individuare un’intersezione dei valori semantici: la pancia è pelle rigonfia ed eventualmente pendente, come lo è Marsia in seguito alla pena subita. Una seconda possibilità è quella di ammettere che l’oscillazione tra la semantica di pancia e borsa, così estesamente ¯ così che la base maršu– ¯ testimoniata a livello tipologico, valesse già per l’av. rec. maršu– sarebbe stata a fondamento del nome del satiro nel suo valore specifico di ‘sacco’. In effetti, la differenza tra le due ipotesi è minima poiché, in ogni caso, se l’ambivalenza semantica in questione è tipologicamente così diffusa è proprio perché, come si è detto, la pancia è un sacco di pelle e, dunque, dato l’esito finale della vicenda di Marsia, l’associazione delle due idee non crea di fatto difficoltà. In sostanza, il nome del satiro potrebbe ben essere un tipico nome parlante che contiene in sé stesso il destino del soggetto cui è attribuito.

4 Tratti formali dei due sostantivi 4.1 Elementi in favore dell’ipotesi del prestito Come è noto, per supportare un’ipotesi di connessione etimologica è necessario superare il vaglio delle corrispondenze fonologiche prima ancora di quello sulle affinità semantiche. Sul piano fonologico si vede immediatamente come alla fricativa palato– ¯ regolare esito di velare palatale, non possa alveolare della forma av. rec. maršu–, corrispondere la fricativa alveolare del greco, per il quale ci aspetteremmo il mantenimento della velare. L’ipotesi che l’elemento sia entrato in greco come prestito elimina di per sé la difficoltà formale, tuttavia, perché non si generi un ragionamento circolare, essa deve essere supportata da elementi altri che non la difficoltà fonologica in sé. Per quanto riguarda il nome Μαρσύας, si deve tenere presente che tutte le fonti concordano nell’attribuire a tale figura mitica una provenienza dalla Frigia o, più in generale, dall’Asia Minore: benché la connotazione geografica non costituisca certamente elemento probante di per sé, ipotizzare un nome di matrice orientale per una

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figura strettamente connessa con tale area non sembra del tutto peregrino. Si consideri, inoltre, che Marsia è legato ad una zona dell’Asia Minore per via molto forte, poiché, tra l’altro, alla sua vicenda mitica si associa un idronimo, ovvero un elemento tradizionalmente connesso al territorio. Come si è visto, infatti, Senofonte (An. 1.2.8.)²¹ narra che dalla grotta in cui fu appesa la pelle di Marsia iniziò a sgorgare un fiume che dal satiro prese il nome. È interessante notare, a tal proposito, che l’idronimo, evidentemente legato ad una tradizione locale, sarà coinciso con il nome del satiro e sarà stato probabilmente per giustificare tale circostanza che il particolare del fiume fu integrato nel mito, conferendogli così carattere eziologico. Costituiscono, poi, elemento di maggior peso le indicazioni che su μάρσιπος vengono fornite dai principali dizionari etimologici: secondo Chantraine (DELG) la parola ha origine ancora ignota ma certamente straniera, forse proveniente dall’Asia Minore, cita a proposito il contributo di Buck (1909) che dichiara abbandonato come quello di Lewy (1895) senza però darne ragione. In favore del prestito si espone anche Frisk (GEW).

4.2 Μαρσύας A partire dall’ipotesi che i due sostantivi si siano formati da una base μαρσυ–, si osservi in primo luogo il nome personale Μαρσύας. Dal punto di vista morfologico la forma può trovare due possibili spiegazioni che non necessariamente si escludono. Una prima ipotesi è che il nome rappresenterebbe la morfologizzazione in –ας della base μαρσυ–, con suffisso –α¯ tipico di numerosi antroponimi greci, nella fattispecie nomi maschili di prima declinazione; Μαρσύας sarebbe dunque stato associato alla morfologia comune e produttiva di un folto gruppo di nomi personali. Si osservi, poi, che il suffisso in questione è anche tipico di epiteti di divinità, epiteti in generale e figure mitiche, nonché di alcuni termini tecnici (Chantraine 1979, 26–31): βαρυόπας ‘dalla voce terribile’, καρτεροβρόντας ‘dal fulmine potente’ (epiteti di Zeus in Pi.P.6.24. e P.Fr.155.), εὐφαρέτρας ‘dalla bella faretra’ (epiteto di Apollo in S.Tr.208), καλλιβόας ‘dalla bella voce’ (detto del flauto in S.Tr.640 Ar.Av.682), αἰγιπόδης ‘dal piede caprino’ (APl.I.15). È vero che queste formazioni sono morfologicamente in parte diverse dal nome che si sta analizzando, poiché per queste si tratta di composti, tuttavia, si può anche pensare che la forma Μαρσύας sia stata modellata su simili strutture, sia nella forma sia nella la funzione, di epiteto o elemento connotativo in generale. Μαρσύας potrebbe dunque essere nato come μαρσύας, passando da epiteto a nome proprio, secondo il meccanismo del nome parlante cui si accennava al §3.2.: Marsia sarebbe, cioè, colui che è caratterizzato per l’elemento μαρσυ–, che ne indicherebbe, nello specifico, la forma finale, il destino, come in un tipico caso di nomen omen. Non 21 Ad un fiume affluente del Meandro, che i critici concordano nell’identificare con quello chiamato da Senofonte Μαρσύας (An. 1.2.8), si riferisce anche Erodoto (7.26.3) con il nome di Καρρήκτης.

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mancano, tra l’altro, esempi di forme epitetiche del tipo appena illustrato effettivamente attestate come nomi propri delle figure cui sono attribuite, così nel caso di ᾿Εννοσίδας ‘che smuove la terra’ nome di Poseidone (Pi, P.4.33, Pae.4.41) e Γοργολόφας ‘dal cimiero di Gorgone’ nome di eroe (Ar. Arch. 567). A favore di tale interpretazione potrebbero deporre i rapporti illustrati di seguito e costruiti a partire da un epiteto di Apollo morfologicamente analogo alle forme indicate sopra e semanticamente pertinente per i fatti presi in esame. Apollo, noto per le capacità di ottimo suonatore – motivo questo centrale nel mito di Marsia – è detto εὐλύρας ‘dalla bella lira’ (E.Alc.570 (lyr.), Ar.Th.969), per cui avremmo: Apollo: εὐλύρας = satiro: μαρσύας.

Un simile parallelismo potrebbe ben essersi generato in un contesto di narrazione mitica che vede la divinità dalla bella lira (cioè musicalmente abile e quindi anche dal bel flauto) contrapposta ad un satiro che, per l’inferiorità tecnica e per la propria ὕβρις, viene scuoiato e ridotto in sacco: quest’ultima, dunque, potrebbe essere la marca epitetica del satiro che sfidò Apollo, per cui μαρσύας rappresenterebbe una sorta di “antiepiteto” per contrapposizione all’εὐλύρας attribuito al dio vincitore.

4.3 μάρσιπος Più complessa è l’analisi di μάρσιπος. Esiste in greco un sostantivo femminile (Pi. l.c.) o neutro (Eust. 844.39) ἶποϛ che vale ‘peso che cade’ (Ar. Pl. 815?) o ‘peso che pressa’ (Pi.O.4.8), ma in generale ‘ogni tipo di peso’ (LSJ); da ἶποϛ un denominale ἰπόω ‘premo, gravo’. Anche in questo caso il nome non ha etimologia nota, inoltre esso uscì dall’uso e non se ne hanno attestazioni recenti (DELG). In una delle sue ricorrenze ἶποϛ designa il pezzo di legno che, in una trappola per topi, cade e cattura l’animale (Ar.Pl. 815?). Tale pezzo di legno, prima di cadere sollecitato dai movimenti dell’animale, si trovava appeso sopra di esso. Si è visto come una delle caratteristiche definitorie del μάρσιπος sia quella di trovarsi appeso; del resto, anche senza questo specifico valore, è chiaro che qualcosa che designa un ‘peso’ (ἶποϛ) è del tutto compatibile con un oggetto quale il μάρσιπος che ha la caratteristica di pendere, appunto, e certamente di pendere come un peso, in quanto sacco evidentemente preposto a contenere degli oggetti. La forma μάρσιπος potrebbe dunque essere un composto del tipo [N N]N , ovvero un sostantivo frutto della composizione di due elementi che corrispondono a basi nominali o a forme nominali piene. Considerando che «Greek compounds typically involve a FC [first component] that does not correspond to a full ‘word’ but to a stem, and a SC [second component] which may consist of either a stem or an independently attested word, but which usually displays special derivational suffixes when used in compounding» (Tribulato 2015, 18), in questo caso si avrebbe come primo membro il nostro μαρσυ– e come secondo la forma –ιποϛ, che corrisponderebbe ad ἶποϛ, parola

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attestata indipendentemente. Come si vede, il confine dei due componenti genera uno iato risolto con l’elisione della prima delle due vocali in contatto, secondo un meccanismo regolarmente attestato in molti composti (così ad es. *φιλο–ανθρωποϛ > φιλάνθρωποϛ, così *μαρσυ–ιποϛ > μάρσιπος)²². Non crea difficoltà la posizione dell’accento perché, benché il secondo componente del composto corrisponda ad una parola attestata con accento sulla prima sillaba, il composto è regolarmente trattato come entità unitaria soggetta alle normali leggi dell’accentazione greca²³. Prima di procedere con una analisi della sintassi interna del composto, è doveroso un accenno alle diverse varianti della parola che, sostanzialmente, dipendono dall’alternanza di υ e ι e di π e ππ con tutte le possibili combinazioni dei quattro tratti. Si tratta in realtà di oscillazioni per nulla problematiche tanto più se si accetta l’ipotesi che si tratti di parola composta con un prestito che avrà dunque determinato vari fenomeni di adattamento: mi limiterò, dunque, a trattare questo aspetto solo brevemente. Per quanto riguarda l’oscillazione π/ππ, sulla base dell’analisi del composto proposta, ritengo che la forma originaria presentasse la scempia²⁴. Ora, non solo sono ben documentate a forme come ἐππί in luogo di ἐπί (Par. 5,1,15 (114 ) cfr. Mayser 1906, 219) o ἀππίδας per ἀπίδας (cfr. Fanciullo 1996, 34), spesso riconducibili a fenomeni di ipercorrettismo contro una tendenza allo scempiamento delle geminate, ma va considerato che simili fenomeni sono spesso attribuibili a spostamenti dell’accento, come nel caso di Θρασύλαος > Θράσυλλος, per cui, analogamente, si potrebbe aver avuto μαρσ(υ)–ίποϛ > μάρσιπποϛ. Per quanto concerne, invece, l’opposizione υ/ι si potrebbe pensare che il processo di composizione abbia determinato l’eliminazione ora dell’una ora dell’altra vocale, ma, anche senza questo, occorre tener presente che a partire almeno dal IV sec. i segni grafici υ e ι videro una tendenza all’omofonia per il noto fenomeno dello iotacismo. In questo senso, la preferenza di forme con υ anche in attestazioni tarde potrebbe essere la spia del fatto che si manteneva una qualche memoria della forma μαρσυ–.

4.3.1 Ipotesi per una sintassi del composto μάρσ–ιπος Non è facile, o forse non è possibile, stabilire con certezza quale potesse essere la reciproca relazione sintattica tra primo e secondo componente, ovvero individuare una sintassi interna al composto. Tale difficoltà discende anche dall’impossibilità di

22 In altri casi lo iato viene mantenuto (cfr. ad es. ἄ–ωρος ‘prematuro, precoce’ in cui il prefisso negativo ἀ– e la vocale iniziale del derivato di ὥρα sono entrambi conservati). Per altre modalità di eliminazione dello iato in contesti analoghi cfr. Tribulato (2015, 25). 23 Non mancano le eccezioni: cfr. ad esempio il parossitono κουροτρόφοϛ in cui, però, l’accentazione risulta elemento distintivo delle forme di diatesi attiva Tribulato (2015, 27). 24 Nei codici di Senofonte compaiono sia la forma μάρσιππος che la forma μάρσιπος ma è quest’ultima quella indicata dai grammatici antichi (Sturz 1964, III, 82).

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individuare con chiarezza la semantica di μαρσυ– tra il valore attestato della forma ¯ ‘pancia’, da cui essa deriverebbe, ed un valore ipotizzato ‘sacco, borsa’, che maršu– si è detto essere tipologicamente molto diffuso e, secondo Buck (1949, 254), già attribuibile alla forma avestica. Si apre quindi la possibilità di leggere il composto come la composizione dei valori ‘pancia’–‘peso’ o ‘sacco, borsa’–‘peso’. Volendo assegnare a μαρσυ– il valore ‘pancia’, il composto ‘pancia’–‘peso’ può essere interpretato come endocentrico, ovvero come dotato di una testa, con determinante a sinistra e determinatum a destra, caso questo che ricadrebbe nella tipologia più frequentemente attestata tra i composti greci. Secondo questa interpretazione il μάρσιπος sarebbe un peso con caratteristiche proprie della pancia: il composto andrebbe ricondotto ad un sottotipo di una particolare categoria adottata in Scalise – Bisetto (2009) denominata ATAP (Attributive–Appositive compounds) in cui l’elemento non– testa modifica l’altro come un attributo o come una apposizione (cfr. rispettivamente l’ing. swordfish e l’ing. apeman). La ragione che spinge gli autori a separare questa categoria di composti da altri in cui si dà subordinazione tra un componente e l’altro risiede nel fatto che in questo sottotipo il determinante possiede un qualche valore metaforico (Tribulato 2015, 52): l’ing. swordfish non designa un tipo di pesce dotato di una spada ma un tipo di un pesce caratterizzato da una mascella sviluppata secondo una forma che richiama una spada. Qui ‘pancia’ avrebbe, dunque, il particolare valore di ‘in forma di pancia’ o ‘come una pancia’. Alternativamente, si consideri che non sono infrequenti in greco composti del tipo [N N]N in cui il secondo componente è un sostantivo da cui deriva un verbo denominale per cui la semantica del composto nominale è in parte sovrapponibile ad un eventuale equivalente verbale, da cui la possibilità di leggere μάρσιπος come ‘peso che grava sulla pancia/che preme la pancia’, in forza del già citato denominale ἰπόω ‘premo, gravo’. Si può poi pensare che il composto manchi di una testa e sia, per tanto, esocentrico: in questo caso tanto ‘pancia’ quanto ‘peso’ sarebbero i modificatori di un’idea non interna al composto, che potrebbe essere quella di ‘sacco’, ‘contenitore’, connotata dal fatto di essere legato alla pancia, o essere come una pancia, e dal fatto di costituire un peso e pendere, secondo le modificazioni apportate dai due determinanti. ¯ (e quindi μαρσυ–) avesse Infine, accogliendo l’ipotesi di Buck, che cioè maršu– anche il valore di ‘sacco, borsa’, è possibile individuare in –ιποϛ la testa del composto, che sarebbe di tipo endocentrico con determinante a sinistra e varrebbe allora ‘peso in forma di sacco’, oppure, viceversa, attribuire a μαρσυ– la funzione di testa così che la ‘borsa’–‘peso’ sarebbe una borsa con la caratteristica sì di costituire un peso (cosa che, come si è detto, è quasi tautologica) ma soprattutto di trovarsi nelle stato di pendere.

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5 Conclusioni Alla luce di quanto fin qui descritto, sembrerebbe che tanto il nome proprio Μαρσύας ‘Marsia’ quanto il nome comune μάρσιπος ‘sacco, borsa’ possano essere ricondotti all’av. ¯ ‘pancia’. L’ipotesi è stata supportata sul piano semantico da una fitta rete di rec. maršu– correlazioni tra gli elementi presi in esame: dirimenti in tal senso sono stati, per il caso di Marsia, l’analisi della vicenda mitica così come attestata in alcune delle principali fonti documentarie, e, per μάρσιπος, la valutazione delle caratteristiche materiali dell’oggetto in relazione con i valori semantici implicati nella disamina generale. Sul piano fonologico, si è visto come il principale ostacolo all’ipotesi di un legame etimologico ¯ ovvero la non identificabilità della fricativa tra i due sostantivi greci e l’av. rec. maršu–, iranica con quella greca, venga superata dall’ipotesi di una penetrazione come prestito in greco del sostantivo orientale; tale ipotesi è stata supportata da elementi contestuali legati alla tradizione mitologica relativa alla figura di Marsia, e si trova, inoltre, ripetuta nei dizionari etimologici consultati. Si è infine illustrato come l’ipotesi proposta sia sostenuta dal fatto che i sostantivi presi in esame sono formalmente giustificabili come morfo–strutture obbedienti alle leggi della derivazione e della composizione nominale del greco antico. Il nome Μαρσύας è stato interpretato come struttura suffissata in –α¯ sul modello di numerosi antroponimi maschili di prima declinazione, o come forma epitetica promossa a nome personale secondo un meccanismo anche altrove attestato ed eventualmente giustificabile, in questo caso, come forma di “antiepiteto” contrapposto ad un epiteto apollineo; μάρσιπος è stato analizzato come composto nominale del tipo [N N]N con un primo componente μαρσυ– ed un secondo componente –ιπος, corrispondente alla forma piena ἶποϛ ‘peso’. Lo stato della ricerca non consente, invece, di stabilire se, oltre ad una comune matrice etimologica, il nome di Marsia ed il nome del μάρσιπος possano essere connessi da relazioni di dipendenza l’uno dall’altro o se, al contrario, corrispondano a formazioni del tutto autonome. Nuovi approfondimenti potranno eventualmente chiarire la bontà delle ipotesi qui avanzate e supportare loro ulteriori sviluppi.

Bibliografia AW= Bartholomae, C. 1904: Altiranisches Wörterbuch, Straßburg. Bechtel, F. 1982: Die historischen Personennamen des Griechischen bis zur Kaiserzeit, Hildescheim – Zürich – New York. Bevilacqua, F. (ed.) 2002: Anabasi di Senofonte, Torino. Buck, C. D. 1909: Greek Notes, «Indogermanische Forschungen», 25, 257. Buck, C. D. 1949: A Dictionary of Selected Synonyms in the Principal Indo–european Languages, Chicago. Buck, C. D. & Petersen, W. 1970: A Reverse Index of Greek Nouns and Adjectives, Hildesheim, Zürich, New York.

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Cambiano, G. (ed.) 1978: Dialoghi filosofici di Platone, Torino. Cancik, H. & Schneider, H. (eds.) 1996: Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike, Weimar. Chantraine, P. 1979: La formation des noms en grec ancien, Paris. Colonna, A. & Bevilacqua, F. (eds.) 1996: Le Storie di Erodoto, Torino. Cortelazzo, M. & Marcato, C. 1998: I dialetti italiani: dizionario etimologico, Torino. Daremberg, Ch., Saglio, E. & Pottier, E. (eds.) 1904: Dictionnaire des antiquités grecques et romaines, Paris. DELG = Chantraine, P. 1968: Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque, Paris. DELL = Ernout, A. & Meillet, A. 2014: Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue latine, Paris. EDG = Beekes, R. 2010: Etymological Dictionary of Greek. Leiden – Boston. Edmonds, J. M. 1979: Greek elegy and Iambus II with Anancrontea, London. EWA = Mayrhofer M. 1986–2001: Etymologisches Wörterbuch des Altindoarischen, Heidelberg. Fanciullo, F. 1996: Fra Oriente e Occidente. Per una storia linguistica dell’Italia meridionale, Pisa. Fraser, P. M. & Matthews, E. 1987–2013: A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names (I–V). Oxford. GEW = Frisk, H. 1960: Griechisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, Heidelberg. Gigli Piccardi, D. (ed.) 2003: Nonno di Panopoli. Le Dionisiache (canti i–XII), Milano. Hornblower, S. & Spawforth, A. (eds.) 1996: The Oxford Classical Dictionary, Oxford. IEW = Pokorny, J. 1959: Indogermanisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch, Bern – München. Lamb, W. R. M. 1977: Plato II. Laches, Protagoras, Meno, Euthydemus, London. Lejeune, M. 1955: Traité de phonetique greque, Paris. LEW = Walde, A. & Hofmann, J. B. 1938: Lateinisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch, Heidelberg. Lewy, H. 1895: Die semitischen Fremdwörter im Griechischen, Berlin. LiEW = Fraenkel, E. 1955: Litauisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, Heidelberg. LIV = Rix, H. 2001: Lexikon der Indogermanischen Verben, Wiesbaden. Locker, E. 1932: Die Bildung der griechischen Kurz– und Kosenamen, «Glotta», 21, 136–152. Mallory, J. P. & Adams, D. Q. (a cura di) 1997: Indo–European Culture, London – Chicago. Massetti, L. 2017: The Belly of an Indo–European: Some Greek and Iranian Cognates of PIE mergˆ – ‘to divide, cut’, in Proceedings of the 27th Annual UCLA Indo–European Conference October 23rd and 24th, 2015, eds. D. M. Goldstein et al., Bremen, 115–129. Mayser, E. 1906: Grammatik der griechischen Papyri aus der Ptolemäerzeit: Laut–und Wortlehre, Leipzig. Masson, O. 2000: Onomastica Graeca selecta, Paris. Scalise, S. & Bisetto, A. 2009: The Classification of Compounds, in The Oxford Handbook of Compounding, eds. R. Lieber & P. Štekauer, Oxford, 34–53. Schrader, O. 1886: Forschungen zur Handelsgeschichte und Warenkunde, Jena. Schwyzer, E. 1953: Griechische Grammatik: auf der Grundlage von Karl Brugmanns Griechischer Grammatik, München. Sturz, F. W. 1964: Lexicon Xenophonteum, Hildesheim. Thumb, A. 1901: Die griechische Sprache im Zeitalter des Hellenismus, Straßburg. Turner, R. L. 2008: A Comparative Dictionary of the Indo–Aryan Languages, Oxford – New York. Tribulato, O. 2015: Ancient Greek Verb–Initial Compounds. The Diachronic Development Within the Greek Compund System, München. VELI = Pianigiani, O. 1936: Vocabolario etimologico della lingua italiana di Ottorino Pianigiani, Milano.

Theodor Georgescu

Le grec en latin: des mots grecs attestés seulement en latin Étude de cas: De re coquinaria d’Apicius Abstract: The aim of the present research is to analyze the Greek words, disguised in a Latin form, which are not attested in the Greek texts. The most important testimony is the culinary treatise of Apicius (De re coquinaria) and the Excerpta, dated between the 5th and 6th centuries. There are three cases: 1. Greek words which are preserved in Latin and which by accident have not been transmitted also in the Greek texts. 2. The Greek word is attested in the Greek texts with a similar but not identical form. 3. Words which, being well attested in Greek in the same form, show a different meaning in Latin.

1 Introduction Tel comme les langues européennes ont forgé leur vocabulaire scientifique et littéraire à l’aide d’une grande quantité d’emprunts au latin, en passant pour une longue période de relatinisation, le latin s’est modelé à travers d’un procès significatif d’hellénisation. La différence consiste uniquement en le contexte où se sont développés les deux procès: si les langues européennes expérimentent la nécessité d’emprunter des mots à une langue pas contemporaine avec eux, le latin a sa source vive dans la proximité immédiate. Il y a deux niveaux dans l’hellénisation du latin, deux routes de pénétration des vocables grecques. La première route serait celle populaire, orale, qui conduit à la diffusion des termes grecs dans la basilecte, et la seconde est la route culte, écrite, spécifique de l’acrolecte. Le vocabulaire technique s’est forgé à travers de toutes les deux routes de pénétration: à partir des plus anciens textes latins on peut rencontrer les deux types d’emprunts. La terminologie culinaire contient non seulement des emprunts populaires, mais aussi cultes, pas transparents pour les gens communs, tel comme le témoigne la manière erronée de transmission en certains cas (on en verra des exemples plus bas). Et, dans le cas particulier du lexique technique culinaire, il y a une troisième catégorie des grécismes: les mots élaborés “à la grecque”, comme conséquence de la mode et de la coutume enraciné dans ce domaine de la vie. À partir de l’époque impériale, cuisiner de manière élaborée impliquait des méthodes de plus en plus exotiques, ce qui se réfléchissait dans la langue utilisée: le vocabulaire d’une recette fiable devait être farci de mots d’origine grecque ou forgés pour qu’ils semblassent grecs.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-837

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2 Le témoignage de De re coquinaria Le témoignage le plus important est offert par le traité culinaire d’Apicius (De re coquinaria) et les Excerpta, datés entre Ve et VIe siècles ap. J.–C., mais contenant des recettes qui proviennent de différentes époques: en effet, elles représentent une collection d’informations rédigées par des personnes différents, d’une culture inégale, et appartenant à des époques distinctes. De ce point de vue, le livre représente un outil irremplaçable pour détecter des particularités historiques et sociolinguistiques. L’hellénisation en masse du vocabulaire culinaire latin devient évidente à la simple lecture des titres de livres du traité apicien. Il s’agit soit des translittérations des mots grecs, soit des formations “à la grecque”, en attestant des remaniements subis par le livre à travers de l’influence de la cuisine grecque. (André 1987, XV). Dans le premier cas il y a des substantifs choisis pour annoncer le contenu de chaque livre: – alieus translittération de gr. ἁλιεύς ‘pécheur’ (dérivé de ἅλς ‘sel, mer’), livre X qui offre une présentation des sauces pour l’assaisonnement du poisson. – cepuros < gr. κηπουρός (de κῆπος et οὖρος) ‘le gardien d’un jardin’ ou ‘le jardinier’, livre III, qui contient des recettes pour la préparation des légumes. – ospreon < gr. ὄσπρεον, forme tardive¹ pour ὄσπριον ‘graine légumineuse’, d’où ‘légume’; (ce qui, selon J. André (1975, 175), signifierait que les titres grecs donnés par les manuscrits seraient postérieurs à l’édition originelle) thalassa < gr. θάλασσα ‘mer’, livre IX qui contient des recettes des sauces pour la préparation du poisson. On remarque aussi l’utilisation des adjectifs pertinents pour suggérer les recettes. Le livre I, qui porte en principal sur les trucs utilisés par le cuisinier pour conserver des produits, s’appelle Epimeles – de gr. ἐπιμελής ‘qui prend soin de’ (André: 1987, le traduit en français ‘le cuisinier diligent’); le livre qui parle de la préparation de la viande (livre VII), un produit de luxe pour la plupart des romains, est nommé Politeles – venant du gr. πολυτελής ‘qui fait de grandes dépenses’; une liste placée dans le livre VIII contenant des recettes des sauces pour le gibier porte le nom Tetrapus – de gr. τετράπους ‘à quatre pieds’. Les mots d’origine grecque ne se trouvent pas seulement dans les titres des livres du traité d’Apicius, ils sont répandus partout. Les noms des compositions culinaires sont aussi des grécismes, cette fois–ci des vrais emprunts, des mots qui accompagnaient l’objet, c’est à dire les produits culinaires qui venait vraiment de la Grèce et qui n’avaient pas un équivalent en latin. Bien que beaucoup de fois le calque fonctionne, les latins

1 Attestée depuis Athénée et Orion (Ath. cf. 3.K19.22, Orion 122.22; Herod. 3.1.42; Cyrill. Vita Sabae 135). Cf. EM s.u. ῎Οσπριον> δεῖ λέγειν, καὶ οὐκ ὄσπρεον.

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n’ont pas même essayé de leur forger un équivalent, parce qu’ils en préféraient la résonance étrangère: le nom grec donnait la garantie du raffinement du produit. Parmi les emprunts, il y en a beaucoup qui sont des simples translittérations adaptées au system grammatical latin: – (§ 58²) apothermum < gr. ἀπόθερμον, < ἀπὸ θερμοῦ ‘sans chaleur’, préparation culinaire froide, une bouillie de semoule mélangée au vin de liqueur (cf. Hp. Mul.1.44, 2.207; Gal. 6.519.). – (§ 49) hydrogarum < gr. ὑδρόγαρον ‘garum délayé dans l’eau’. – (§ 38) (h)ypotrimma < gr. ὑπότριμμα, espèce de sauce épaisse avec du fromage, préparée par trituration (< gr. ὑποτρίβω ‘frotter en dessous’) d’une substance solide dans un liquide; en grec avec le sens ‘jus d’herbes pilées d’une saveur âcre’. – (§ 110) oxyporium ou oxyporum < gr. ὀξυπόριον / ὀξυπόρον sc. φάρμακον ‘remède pour activer la digestion’. La prédilection pour des mots grecs est générale: pour qu’une recette ou un livre de recettes soit plus fiable, attractif ou qu’il semble plus raffiné, il faisait introduire quelque nom de résonance élégante, tel comme, par exemple, serait dans l’époque moderne pour la cuisine roumaine l’introduction dans le menu des mots à résonance française, seulement pour impressionner le client.

3 L’objective de la recherche L’objective de la recherche est celui d’analyser les mots grecs, déguisées sous une forme latine, qui ne se trouvent pas attestés dans les textes grecs. L’étude de cas que nous proposons parte du traité culinaire d’Apicius De re coquinaria et les Excerpta, datés entre Ve et VIe siècles, mais, comme nous avons déjà dit, contenant des recettes qui proviennent de différentes époques. Pour analyser tous ces mots nous proposons une analyse étymologique en partant des contextes. L’étude de ces mots pourrait, d’un part, jeter une nouvelle lumière sur la formation des mots grecs en dehors de la Grèce et, d’une autre part, se pose la question si ces formations ne devraient pas être inclus dans les dictionnaires actuels du grec ancien. Il y aurait donc trois catégories: A. Des mots grecs qui se conservent en latin et qui par accident n’ont pas été transmis aussi dans les textes grecs. Il est vrai que certains d’entre eux peuvent être des créations lexicales apparues en terrain latin, comme un effet du bilinguisme; celles–ci seraient donc des formations “à la grecque”.

2 Nombre de paragraphe de l’édition d’Apicius.

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B. Il y a aussi le cas où le mot grec est attesté dans les textes grecs avec une forme similaire, mais pas identique. C. Des mots qui, en étant bien attestés en grec dans la même forme, témoignent d’un sens différent en latin.

4 Des mots grecs attestes seulement en latin Premièrement, on va analyser les mots évidemment grecs, mais qui apparaissent seulement dans un texte latin; donc, on peut considérer ou bien que c’est seulement par accident qu’ils n’ont pas été transmis aussi dans les textes grecs, ou bien que ce sont des créations apparues sur le terrain latin bilingue pour compléter un vocabulaire technique en train de perfectionnement; dans ce cas–là, il s’agirait des formations “à la grecque”, probablement forgées à Rome par des cuisiniers romains ou grecs en répondant ainsi au gout du public qui identifiait la cuisine raffinée avec la langue grecque. Les plus nombreux sont les composés dont les éléments sont facilement déductibles:

4.1 *λευκό–ζωμος ‘sauce blanche’ Dans le traité d’Apicius on trouve de nombreux noms de sauces qui accompagnent les différents plats. Ces dénominations sont généralement forgées comme des syntagmes contenant le substantif ius et un adjectif spécificatif: e.g. (§228) ius viride ‘sauce verte’, (§439) ius alexandrinum ‘sauce alexandrine’, (§227) ius candidum ‘sauce blanche’ ou (nommé aussi) (§387) ius album. À part de ius candidum on trouve aussi la formule (§251) pullus leucozomus ‘poulet en sauce blanche’. C’est évidemment une translitération d’un composé qui n’est pas attesté en grec: *λευκό–ζωμος, de λευκός ‘blanche’ et ζωμός ‘sauce’. Les éditeurs ont été étonnés de ne pas trouver dans la recette un sauce de couleur blanche et ont essayé plusieurs conjectures, mais, tel comme a signalé J. André dans l’édition CUF (André 1987, 187), sur la base d’un texte de Galien repris par Oribase, le sauce blanche était fait d’huile et d’eau. La formule présente dans le texte d’Oribase est tout à fait formée d’un substantif ζωμός et un adj. λευκός (διὰ τοῦ λευκοῦ ζωμοῦ³), tandis que chez Apicius les deux nomes forment un composé adjectival. En grec les composés avec l’adj. λευκός sont nombreux, voir λευκόκαρπος ‘aux fruits blancs’, λευκόλιθος ‘en pierre blanche’, cf. λευκόζωτος Hsch. 732.1), mais *λευκόζωμος n’est pas attesté (par hasard, probablement).

3 Orib. Collectiones medicae, 2.51.6.

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4.2 ὀξύ–ζωμος ‘sauce au vinaigre’ C’est aussi le cas d’un autre composé pas attesté en grec, *ὀξύ–ζωμος, mais présent en latin dans la formule (§239) pullum oxizomum ‘poulet à la sauce piquante’. Il faut donc supposer une formation adjectivale, *ὀξύ–ζωμος ‘sauce au vinaigre’ (sauce piquante, de ὀξύς ‘piquant, aigre’ et ζωμός ‘sauce’) qui serait translittérée en latin (§239) oxizomus. On trouve aussi en latin les composés oxygala⁴, oxygarum⁵, mais qui sont en effet attestés en grec: ὀξύγαλα⁶ et ὀξύγαρον⁷; cela pourrait témoigner du fait que l’absence d’attestations pour *ὀξύζωμος est seulement due au hasard.

4.3 μελίζωμος ‘sauce au miel’ Un autre composé à base de ζωμός, attesté seulement en latin, est melizomum, adjectif pour conditum (Apic. §2): ‘vin miellé’, de μέλι ‘miel’ et ζωμός ‘sauce’. Pour le modèle, voir le composé attesté πεπερόζωμος ‘bouillon au poivre’⁸.

4.4 ζωμοτήγανον ‘poêlée en sauce’ Le même élément zomos, comme première élément (cf. ζωμοτάριχος ‘poisson salé’⁹), fait partie du composé (§154) zomoteganon ‘poêlée en sauce’, résulté de ζωμός ‘sauce’ et τήγανον ‘poêle à frire’, mais sans attestation en grec.

4.5 οἰνοτήγανον ‘poêlée au vin’ La recette antérieure est presque identique à celle pour le plat nommé (§ 11 & 13) pisces inoteganon ‘poissons en friture au vin’ < *οἰνοτήγανον (composé de οἶνος ‘vin’ et τήγανον ‘poêle à frire’, donc un ‘poêlée au vin’.

4.6 σαρκ–όπτης ‘qui coupe la viande’ / ‘qui rôtit la viande’ Le nom du deuxième livre dédié aux plats à la viande, sarcoptes, est sans doute un composé de deux mots grecs. Quand même, on pourrait l’interpréter de deux manières

4 5 6 7 8 9

Columelle, RR. 12.8.1. Apic. §39. Str. Geog. 7.4.6. Ath. 76.25. Cyranides 4.20 (ap. Kaimakis). Alex. 42.

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distinctes: soit par haplologie de *σαρκο–κόπτης (σάρξ et κόπτω) ‘qui coupe / hache la viande’, soit de *σαρκ–όπτης (σάρξ et ὀπτάω) ‘qui rôtit la viande, le rôtisseur’; André (1987, 13) le traduit par ‘les hachis’. De toute façon, ce mot n’est pas attesté en grec. Les composés contenant le nom σάρξ sont attestés en période tardive: σαρκο–ποιός ‘qui forme de la chair’¹⁰, σαρκοποιεῖν ‘changer en chair’¹¹, σαρκοποιία ‘formation de chair’¹².

4.7 παν–δέκτηρ ‘Encyclopédie culinaire’ Pandecter, nom du quatrième livre dédié aux plats divers, vient de gr. *πανδέκτηρ (–ῆρος, ὁ), composé de πᾶν ‘tout’ et δέχομαι ‘recevoir’, proprement ‘celui qui reçoit du tout’ (et traduit par J. André (1987, 30) ‘plats divers’). Le singulier πανδέκτης est attesté dans la période tardive avec le sens ‘qui comprend tout’¹³; le pl. πανδέκται (οἱ) έtait usité comme titre signifiant ‘Dictionnaire universel’ ou ‘Encyclopédie’¹⁴. L’adjectif masculin *πανδέκτηρ pourrait donc désigner une “Encyclopédie culinaire”.

4.8 κοπάδιον ‘la escalope’ Le nom (§ 278) copadia ‘les escalopes’, avec une évidente résonnance grecque, en rapport direct avec le verbe gr. κόπτω ‘couper’ (voir κοπάς ‘coupée’), reste aussi uniquement attesté en latin. Il faudrait donc supposer un grec *κοπάδιον, ou possiblement une création “à la grecque”.

4.9 διαβότανον ‘(sauce) aux herbes’ Diabotanon, attesté dans la formule (§434) ius diabotanon ‘sauce aux herbes’ διὰ βοτάνων ‘par des herbes’ peut être l’indication d’un adjective non attesté *διαβότανον (–ος, –ον) et non seulement d’une graphie qui comprime deux mots grecs.

4.10 τροφέτης ‘spécialiste de la volaille’ Pour le sixième livre de De re coquinaria, le titre conservé dans les manuscrits est Tropetes, forme incompréhensible sans conjecture. Étant donné qu’il s’agit d’un livre sur 10 Plu. M. 771b, Dsc. de Materia Medica 5.6.12. 11 Plu. M. 1096e 12 Porph, Antr. 14. 13 Clem.Al. Strom. 1.21.133, Hsch. 8281.1. 14 M. Psellos, Poemata 8.14.

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la préparation des volailles, ils ont été proposés les corrections suivantes: a) aeropetes (gr. ἀεροπέτης ‘volant dans l’air’) (corrigé par Humelberg 1542); b) *τροπέτης comme équivalent de ἐρέτης ‘rameur (< ἐρέσσω ‘ramer’) qui flotte ses ailes, oiseau’ (Marsili 1957, 168); c) ou mieux *τροφέτης (comme τροφεῖον) ‘basse cour’ ou ‘cage pour la volaille’ (André 1970, 180). Les premières conjectures se basent sur la supposition que la deuxième partie du composé –petes vient de gr. πέτομαι ‘voler’, selon le contenu du livre; si pour tropetes vaut cette interprétation, il reste inexplicable la première partie du supposé composé tro–; la troisième conjecture parte d’un mot qui désigne le lieu où sont gardées les volatiles, donc ce livre serait nommé à l’aide d’une métaphore similaire à celle du “jardin” pour la collection de recettes aux légumes. S’il s’agit d’un emprunt véritable, l’absence de l’aspirée témoignerait d’une période très ancienne d’intégration au latin, ou bien d’une adaptation artificielle pour qu’il semblât y avoir pénétré depuis bonne heure. Dans toutes ces situations on ne pourrait pas nier la possibilité d’une création lexicale sur terrain latin à partir d’éléments grecs.

5 Des mots grecs attestés en latin avec une forme différente Il y a aussi le cas où le mot grec est attesté dans les textes grecs dans une forme similaire, mais pas identique:

5.1 Thermospodium (§131) Thermospodium ‘cloche à cuire’ doit provenir de *θερμοσπόδιον, mais attesté en grec seulement comme féminin θερμοσποδιά ‘cendre chaude’. Il pourrait témoigner, en effet, d’une fausse analyse sur terrain latin, du féminin interprété comme neutre pluriel et refait comme singulier thermospodion / –um.

5.2 Titotarica (§144) Titotarica, attesté seulement avec la forme τυροτάριχος ‘plat de fromage et de poisson salé’ dans un lettre de Ciceron¹⁵ (donc, un texte latin), dans des plaisanteries dont le sens échappe¹⁶. La variante latine serait donc le résultat d’une assimilation de

15 Att. 4.8.1 16 Cf. André: 1987, 167.

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tyrota– en tytota–, et possiblement aussi d’une étymologie populaire – par contamination, par exemple, avec le nom latin Titus. Nous pouvons invoquer un autre cas où l’emprunt au grec porte la marque de l’oralité: (§246) (olivis) columbaribus ‘olives confites’ est une déformation populaire de columbadibus (gr. pl. κολυμβάδες ἔλααι ‘olives conservées dans la saumure’¹⁷, (de κολυμβᾶν ‘plonger’) par attraction paronymique de columba ‘colombe’. Dans les dernières deux exemples il ne faut pas supposer une forme grecque différente non attestée, parce que les changements sont produits en latin.

6 Des sens différents des mots grecs attestés en latin Une catégorie à part est représentée par les mots qui, en étant bien attestés en grec dans la même forme, témoignent d’un sens différent en latin. Par exemple gr. παράδοξος ‘contraire à l’attente, extraordinaire > merveilleux (par son effet)’ apparait en latin dans la formule (§1) (conditum) paradoxum ‘vin merveilleux aux épices’; en grec il n’est pas attesté dans le sens culinaire. Un autre exemple est (§141) diplois ‘abaisse de pate épaisse’ dans une recette de pâté en croute cuit dans un moule. Le grec διπλοίς est attesté soit avec le sens ‘manteau qu’on met en double¹⁸’, soit, dans le vocabulaire médical, ‘substance poreuse dans les os du crâne’¹⁹, mais pas avec le sens culinaire. Dans ces cas on se pose la question si les dictionnaires du grec ne devraient noter aussi les sens attestés seulement en latin.

7 Conclusion Toutes ces formations grecques ou avec l’air d’être grecques témoignent, d’une part, du langage technique de la cuisine dans l’époque impériale tardive et, d’autre part, la tendance de créer à Rome des mots grecs dans un domaine de la civilisation dans laquelle, paradoxalement, les romans ont dépassé les grecs. On constate aussi la formation des hybrides gréco–latins, pour un public habitué avec la résonance orientale des noms culinaires: (§377) oenococtus ‘sauce au vin’ < gr. οἶνος ‘vin’ + lat. coctus (de coquere ‘cuire’), (§302) tiropatina < gr. τυρός ‘fromage’ + lat. patina ‘plat de légumes ou de fruits ou de poissons’, (§181) tractogalatus < lat. tracta/tractum ‘pâte’ + gr. γάλα ‘lait’

17 Ath. 4.K.10. 18 LXX Ps.108.29, Ios. AJ6.333.5. 19 Hp. Morb.2.23, Hippiatr.17.1.

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La question que l’on se pose dans presque tous ces cas est si nous devons considérer ces mots comme vraiment grecs, attestés indirectement par le latin, ou comme des formations “à la grecque”, innovations des cuisiniers romans pour répondre au gout de l’époque. Si ces mots sont vraiment des emprunts au grec, alors le latin devient un témoigne précieux de la langue grecque parlée ou technique–culinaire et pas consignée (ou bien pas conservée). S’il s’agit seulement de formation en latin sur le modèle grec et en utilisant des éléments grecs, alors ça témoignerait d’une forte influence, assimilation et force générative du grec en latin.

Bibliographie André, J. 1987: Apicius, De re coquinaria / L’art culinaire, Paris. Beekes, R. 2010: Etymological Dictionary of Greek, Leiden – Boston. DEG = Chantraine, P. 1968: Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque, Histoire des mots, Paris. DELL = Ernout, A. & Meillet, A. 19594 [19321 ]: Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue latine. Histoire des mots, Paris. De Vaan, M. 2008: Etymological Dictionary of Latin and the other Italic Languages, Leiden –Boston. Georgescu, Th. 2007: Vocabularul culinar în greaca veche şi latină. I. Produse de patiserie, Bucureşti. Humelberg, G. 1542: De opsoniis et condimentis, sive arte coquinaria, Zurich. Kaimakis, D. 1976: Die Kyraniden, Meisenheim. LEW = Walde, A. & Hofmann, J. B. 1930–1956: Lateinisches etymologisches Wörterbuch, Heidelberg. LSJ = Liddell, H. G. & Scott, R. 1940: A Greek–English Lexicon, revised and augmented throughout by Sir Henry Stuart Jones, with the assistance of Roderick McKenzie, Oxford. Marsili, A. 1957: De re coquinaria, Pisa. OLD = Glare, P. G. W. 1984: Oxford Latin Dictionary, Oxford. TLL = Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, Leipzig, 1900–.

Edoardo Middei

Antroponimia sabellica nelle iscrizioni greche Abstract: L’oggetto di questo contributo è esaminare le modalità di accoglimento e di integrazione di un gruppo di antroponimi italici nel greco del particolare contesto dell’isola di Delo, analizzando in che modo il rapporto tra la resa grafica e l’effettiva corrispondenza fonetica sia influenzabile da dinamiche extralinguistiche di ordine socio–culturale. La problematica dell’onomastica italica presente sull’isola di Delo, da ormai più di un secolo¹, è stata trattata più volte e da angolazioni ogni volta diverse. Si affronta qui la resa di un particolare elemento morfologico, il suffisso *–eio–, che è ̑ presente nella morfologia di alcuni gentilizi, in concorrenza col ben più diffuso *–(i)io–, ̑ ̑ e che è rappresentato da varie grafie. Si intende, così, approfondire il dibattito lungo e controverso della resa grafica delle vocali anteriori nel greco, dalle varietà classiche alla koiné, sia dal punto di vista timbrico sia quantitativo, ipotizzando il contributo di tradizioni linguistiche anelleniche, in questo caso dell’osco. A questo fine si intende velocemente descrivere il funzionamento del suffisso e i cambiamenti registrati nel sistema onomastico greco; descrivere la particolare situazione dell’isola di Delo a cavallo tra II e I secolo a.C.; creare un corpus di antroponimi raggruppati distinguendo le diverse grafie che interessano il suffisso e mettendo in rilievo la presenza o l’assenza della forma specifica nella necropoli di Renea; confrontare i dati raccolti con il greco di altri contesti linguistici del Mediterraneo antico e trarre le dovute conclusioni.

1 La formula onomastica greca e gli usi onomastici italici a Delo Nelle lingue indoeuropee il sistema di identificazione delle persone era caratterizzato dall’espressione di un idionimo (nome individuale) e di un patronimico (nome individuale paterno), esemplificato dal tipo Αἴας Τελαμώνιος. A partire da questo nucleo primario, in maniera diversa nelle varie lingue, si aggiunsero progressivamente ulteriori marche identificative, in linea con la necessità di individuare in maniera migliore le persone in società sempre più complesse. Se, da una parte, la formula onomastica greca non si discostò dal modello indoeuropeo, registrando l’aggiunta di nuovi elementi che indicavano la provenienza geografica o quella etnica, dall’altra, quella latina e sabellica conobbero la diffusione di una nuova formula onomastica bimembre. Questa si imperniava nell’abbandono dell’identificazione individuale, privilegiando una più vasta identificazione familiare.

1 Pietra miliare degli studi di onomastica delia resta Hatzfeld (1912).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-847

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Fu creata, infatti, la nuova categoria del nomen gentilicium che identificava la gens, la famiglia aristocratica di appartenenza, che seguiva un prenome (nome individuale): es. Marcus Tullius. Dal punto di vista della morfologia il gentilizio, spesso, appare come un derivato del nome individuale (prenome), secondo il rapporto esemplificato dal latino: Marcus: Marcius (Leumann 1977, 289). Sembra chiaro il reimpiego come gentilizio del suffisso *–(i)io–, tipico dell’aggettivo patronimico. Tale suffisso è diffuso nella quasi totalità ̑ ̑ dei gentilizi e nella metà dei prenomi. Tornando, ora, al funzionamento della formula onomastica greca, questa conservò il nucleo idionimo–patronimico, arricchendolo di ulteriori indicazioni etniche, geografiche o relative alla tribù o alla fratria di appartenenza. Solo a partire dal II sec. a.C. si registrò la tendenza di accompagnare al nome individuale un secondo nome, non un gentilizio, bensì un soprannome, caratterizzato dai suffissi –ων e –ας: Xρηματίζων; Xρηματίσας. Alla luce di queste considerazioni il modello onomastico greco sembra seguire un percorso autonomo rispetto a quelli italici. Per osservare l’ingresso del sistema bimembre (prenome–gentilizio), assai tardivo in greco, bisogna spingersi alla Costitutio Antoniniana del 212 d.C., che avendo esteso la cittadinanza a tutti i cittadini dell’impero, previde la preposizione di un prenome di origine romana seguita dal gentilizio Aurelius, quasi sempre abbreviato (Αὐρ) (Masson 2000, introduzione). Se dal punto di vista strutturale il modello greco non subì grandi pressioni, un’influenza maggiore dal mondo italico si riscontra nella modalità di creazione degli antroponimi. Infatti, il sistema onomastico greco rispecchiava il modello indoeuropeo, comune alla maggior parte degli ambienti linguistici, che basava la formazione degli antroponimi sul meccanismo della composizione di più basi onomastiche facilmente riconducibili a basi lessicali². Questo modello subì le pressioni del sistema italico (latino e sabellico), che impiegava antroponimi formati da una base onomastica difficilmente riconducibile a basi lessicali di immediato riconoscimento, a cui si aggiungevano suffissi specifici. Al meccanismo della composizione era così preferito un procedimento morfologico di derivazione per mezzo di suffissi. Le evoluzioni e i successivi assestamenti della formula greca non sono oggetto di questa indagine; questa premessa serve solo a rimarcare che i gentilizi testimoniati nelle formule delle iscrizioni greche di Delo attestati tra il II e il I secolo a.C. non si allineano a un genuino uso greco ma, aderiscono in misura maggiore alle norme di identificazione personale vigenti in Italia.

2 Con questo principio l’antroponimo traeva origine da basi lessicali che mantenevano una buona trasparenza semantica nei confronti del lessico, utilizzando il procedimento morfologico della composizione. Sono significativi i seguenti esempi: gr. Eὐρυκλέης ‘che ha grande fama’, riflessa dalla forma ¯ germanica latinizzata di affine significato Mero–gaisus; scr. Daśaśva– (*daśa–aśva–) ‘che possiede ¯ dieci cavalli’ e Bradh–aśva – ‘grande cavallo’, av. Daraiiat.raθa– ‘che blocca il carro (dell’avversario)’, germ. Hadu–frid˚ ‘lotta e pace’ (Schmitt 1995, 617–621).

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2 Il suffisso aggettivale *–eio–: funzioni, grafie e ˆ impieghi nel lessico e nell’onomastica Un suffisso isofunzionale di *–(i)io– è il suffisso aggettivale *–eio–, che può avere ̑ ̑ ̑ molteplici origini: a) si può rintracciare a partire da formazioni in sibilante del tipo *–esio–, attestato dalle grafie alternanti –ειος/–εος come ad esempio nell’aggettivo ̑ τέλειος/τέλεος ‘perfetto’; b) negli aggettivi di materia come ἀργύρειος ‘argenteo’, presente soprattutto in attico e alternante con ἀργύρεος di altri dialetti e diffuso in altre lingue indoeuropee: lat. aureus; scr. hiranyayah. ‘dorato’ (Chantraine 1979, 44–46); c) ˙ come sviluppo secondario –ειος, proprio dell’attico, a partire dalla forma trisillabica –ηιος di altri dialetti (ionico) che trae origine da sostantivi in –ηυ– (es. βασιλήυς ‘sovrano’) con l’aggiunta di –ιος (Chantraine 1979, 52–53). Una situazione di grande caoticità si riscontra nel greco attico che in virtù della resa di –ηι– come /ει/ già a partire dal IV secolo a.C. (Threatte 1980, 368) rese produttiva la grafia in –ειος anche per le forme che originariamente prevedevano –ηιος, come nel caso di att. οἰκεῖος ‘di casa’ rispetto allo ionico οἰκήιος. A partire da questa situazione iniziale, il greco conobbe in maniera generalizzata la diffusione di questo suffisso aggettivale, a prescindere dalle categorie summenzionate, e anche una bipartizione grafica tra –ειος impiegato nell’attico e –ηιος nei dialetti ionici (Chantraine 1979, 53). L’impiego maggioritario era quello di espediente grafico per scrivere il suffisso trisillabico, rispetto ad ormai usato per le scritture monottongate. Queste differenze di usi grafici sono i riflessi delle antiche alternanze interne ai suffissi descritte dalla legge di Sievers relative al valore vocalico o consonantico dell’approssimante che contemplava in greco l’alternanza tra *–ios e *–iios e quindi al peso sillabico (Barber 2013, 148). ̑ ̑ Tali alternanze sono anche rispecchiate dai suffissi oschi tipici dei gentilizi, espressi dalle grafie . In questa sede è però impossibile entrare nel merito di tali questioni di fonetica storica indoeuropea. Per questo, si continua qui a considerare le grafie testimoniate dai gentilizi delii, mantenendo un taglio di analisi grafica e fonetica sincronico. Un ulteriore impiego di *–eio–, presente in larga misura in latino e nelle lingue ̑ sabelliche e marginalmente nel greco, almeno anteriormente all’introduzione di materiali onomastici italici è quello riscontrato nelle formazioni onomastiche aggettivali come suffisso omofunzionale di *–(i)io–. Come già si è accennato, *–(i)io– è utilizzato ̑ ̑ ̑ ̑ nelle forme aggettivali dei patronimici, sancendo l’appartenenza paterna. Questo impiego come patronimico si riscontra in latino e nelle lingue sabelliche, anteriormente alla diffusione della formula bimembre gentilizia che rifunzionalizzerà il suffisso³. In

3 In questo contesto non si possono delineare le evoluzioni avvenute in seno alla formula onomastica italica, che superò il modello indoeuropeo generalizzando la formula bimembre prenome/gentilizio. Per approfondimenti si rimanda a Rix (1972).

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greco il suffisso –ιος, maggiormente presente nei dialetti eolico, beotico ed euboico, alternava col ben più diffuso –ίδης/–ίδας anche con impiego nell’epica, come epiteto eroico (Masson 2000, introduzione)⁴. Alla luce della quasi totalità delle attestazioni, ignorando in questa sede alcuni rari ed interessanti indizi che lascerebbero pensare ad un’originaria differenziazione funzionale di *–eio– rispetto a *–(i)io–⁵, si considera ̑ ̑ quest’alternanza come una mera variante grafica. Se, come si è visto, in greco il suffisso *–eio– è reso dalle grafie –ειος ed –ηιος, ̑ nelle lingue sabelliche è reso dalla grafia , nelle varietà con alla base gli alfabeti nazionali (umbro o osco) o latino e da in latino. Più varia era la resa grafica di *–(i)io–, che nelle lingue era attestato dalle grafie , mentre in latino da ̑ ̑ (Lejeune 1976, 3–5). Più complessa è la situazione della resa grafica del suffisso nelle iscrizioni osche meridionali con alla base l’alfabeto greco di origine ionico–ellenistica (Mc Donald 2015), la resa grafica del gruppo /–ei–/, infatti, non presenta abitudini ̑ grafiche fisse, poiché appare come –ηι– in 29 iscrizioni mentre come –ει– in 8 (Zair 2016, 30–39). Il dato è comunque significativo poiché è in linea con le abitudini grafiche del greco di matrice ionica.

3 L’interessante situazione delle iscrizioni di Delo Un utile caso di studio, per approfondire la questione delle diverse rese grafiche greche è rappresentato dal ricco patrimonio di antroponimi presenti nelle iscrizioni dell’isola di Delo. Una breve digressione sulla specificità dell’isola di Delo è necessaria per la creazione di un corpus di nomi personali caratterizzati dal suffisso *–eio– e da ̑ alternanze. L’isola egea, a cavallo tra il II e il I secolo a.C., fu interessata da una fortissima immigrazione di genti provenienti dall’Italia, maggiormente commercianti e funzionari ma anche liberi, liberti e schiavi che assunsero i nomi dei loro padroni. Questi negotiatores commerciavano olio, grano e vino e importavano schiavi, che venivano portati a Roma. Si tratta di figure che detenevano un grande potere economico espresso anche per mezzo della monumentalità delle opere che realizzavano (templi, agorà) (Coarelli 1982) ed erano divise in tre principali collegia: Hermaiastai, Apolloniastai e Poseidoniastai (Rovai 2015, 165). La grande quantità di iscrizioni attestate sull’isola, dediche di coloro che erigevano questi monumenti ed epitaffi, riporta una grandissima 4 Interessante appare il dato del miceneo che presenta la variante *–eio– nell’espressione di al̑ cuni patronimici come areketuruwo etewokereweijo (PYAn 654, 8–9) equivalente di un ᾿Αλεκτρύϝων ᾿Ετεϝοκλεϝέϊος (Masson 2000, introduzione). 5 Sulla base della formula onomastica umbra Vuvçis Titis Teteies (TI Ib 45) che va interpretata come Prenome–Patronimico–Gentilizio (tutti nominativi singolari), si nota una variazione formale del tipo *–(i)io–/*–eio–, che potrebbe rispecchiare un’originaria distinzione tra l’aggettivo patronimico Titis ̑ ̑ ̑ (:*–(i)io–) differenziato dal gentilizio Teteies (:*–eio–) (Rix 1971). ̑ ̑ ̑

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quantità di antroponimi latini e sabellici, che rientrano nello schema della formula bimembre italica. Proprio l’impiego di questa formula è considerato come un carattere di uniformità di questo gruppo di Italiens⁶ rispetto ai grecofoni (Poccetti 2015). Il gran numero di iscrizioni presenti sull’isola permette di redigere un preciso repertorio prosopografico, fatto che non trova paralleli nell’epigrafia latina repubblicana se non a Preneste (Poccetti 1984, 646). Proprio a Preneste, per di più, sono attestati alcuni di questi rari gentilizi delii come nei casi di Samiarius, di Orceius e Saufeius, fatto che accresce l’importanza dei Prenestini nella gestione dei commerci delii (Salomies 1982, 113). Sebbene si riesca a ricostruire la prosopografia di questi italici, non si riesce bene a rintracciare la provenienza da una specifica regione dell’Italia poiché i gentilizi attestati sull’isola sono presenti dall’Umbria all’Italia meridionale. Si riscontrano, però, alcuni indizi linguistici che portano gli antroponimi più verso l’area osca o verso quella latina. Uno studio interessante, che offre utili indizi sull’identificazione dell’area di provenienza è quello di Poccetti (1984), che nell’analisi delle iscrizioni analizza la ricorsività di alcuni fenomeni linguistici propri dell’osco, tra cui la sincope desinenziale e l’anaptissi. Anche lo studio specifico delle grafie di questo suffisso, qualora si riesca alla luce delle considerazioni avanzate in questo lavoro a dimostrarne la provenienza osca, potrebbe essere una spia di una marca d’origine dall’Italia meridionale⁷. La questione della provenienza geografica non è agevolata dalle indicazioni etnonimiche presenti nelle iscrizioni greche e latine poiché si riscontra una doppia abitudine di identificazione etnica che sembra unire sotto un unico concetto di italici coloro che provenivano dall’Italia, a prescindere che si trattasse di popoli di lingua latina o sabellica, distinti dai Greci come Ρωμαῖοι. Anche per l’altro appellativo con valore etnico ᾿Ιταλικοί si percepisce lo stesso disinteresse rivolto alla precisa identificazione geografica, bensì all’individuazione di un gruppo di non Greci uniti da comuni interessi economici e commerciali (Poccetti 2015, 16–17). Nelle parti latine delle bilingui Italicei rifletteva lo stesso uso per le genti che in generale venivano dall’Italia (Solin 1982: 116–117). Un’ulteriore riflessione relativa all’identificazione di questi Italiens, emerge dalle bilingui greco–latine, in cui emerge una differenziazione nell’espressione dell’origine in base alla lingua utilizzata. Infatti, nel caso della parte greca non era necessaria la specificazione dell’esatta provenienza geografica, presente in quella latina, ma bastava

6 Traendo spunto dall’etichetta Italiens, attribuita dalla scuola archeologica francese, che per prima si occupò di studiare in maniera approfondita la situazione dell’isola. 7 Quella della provenienza geografica dei negotiatores e, in parallelo, dell’attribuzione di una preponderanza nei commerci degli Italici o dei Latini è un problema che Hatzfeld (1912) risolveva agevolmente attribuendo un’origine dall’Italia meridionale quindi osca. Questa posizione, ripresa da numerosi predecessori, è stata messa in dubbio per mancanza di studi più approfonditi e certi da Solin (1982, 111–112), che riconosce come la chiave di volta per giungere a conclusioni più solide lo studio approfondito dei gentilizi italici.

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quella di romanus: Q.Avili.G.f. Lanuvine salve Κοΐντε ᾿Αΰλλιε Γαΐου υἱὲ ῾Ρωμάῖε χαῖρε (EAD XXX, n° 495) (Adams 2003, 642–650). L’onomastica dell’epigrafia delia appare, inoltre, complessa oltre che per l’eterogeneità degli individui che riflette, anche perché emergono interessanti differenziazioni sociolinguistiche tra l’epigrafia delle iscrizioni pubbliche e quella della necropoli di Renea⁸. Questo aspetto non verrà tralasciato e potrebbe contribuire a fornire spiegazioni relative alle divergenze nelle grafie delle iscrizioni.

4 Gli antroponimi con il morfo *–eio–: proposta di ̑ un corpus Si deve, a questo punto, creare un corpus di nomi personali che condividono lo stesso elemento morfologico *–eio–, considerando alcuni parametri specifici. Anzitutto vanno ̑ distinti gli antroponimi che presentano la grafia , da quelli che hanno . In entrambi i casi, se possibile, si evidenzia se il suffisso, condiviso dalla stessa base onomastica, mostra anche la grafia . Sorge spontanea la riflessione se, in questi casi, si tratti dello stesso antroponimo reso da grafie diverse nell’elemento morfologico o di due antroponimi diversi. Di grande utilità, sono a questo proposito, le iscrizioni bilingui, che mostrano il presunto equivalente latino del gentilizio espresso nella parte greca dell’iscrizione. Un altro parametro qui considerato è quello di distinguere le iscrizioni in base alla provenienza. Si raggruppano, separatamente, le forme attestate nelle iscrizioni della necropoli di Renea (epitafi), isola sacra prospiciente Delo in cui venivano effettuate le sepolture, da quelle provenienti da Delo, principalmente le dediche dei gruppi di negotiatores. I repertori utilizzati per questo catalogo sono: quello di Hatzfeld, (1912): Les Italiens résidant à Délos mentionnés dans les inscriptions de l’île e il più recentemente aggiornato Ferrary, J.–L., Hasenohr Cl., Le Dinahet M.–Th., Boussac M.–Fr. (2002): Liste des Italiens de Délos.

8 Uno studio completo della tematica è stato affrontato da Poccetti (2015), a cui si rimanda per ulteriori approfondimenti e a cui si allineano le conclusioni di questo lavoro.

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4.1 ᾿Αλικήιος Tabella 1 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Γά[ιος] ᾿Αλικήιος (2618, b, II, 18)⁹ Γάιος [᾿Αλ]ικήιος Ποπλίου (2618, b, II, 34).

Fine II sec. a.C.

Greco

Fine II sec. a.C.

Greco

Catalogo sottoscrittori (Serapeion C) Catalogo sottoscrittori (Serapeion C)

Cfr. ῾Αλικέα, ῾Αλικέυς (LGPN, IIIa¹⁰) lat. Alicius (CIL V 5167; XI 4864)

Γραικηίος Tabella 2 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Στέφανος Λυ[. . . ] Κοίντου Γραικηίος (1760, 10–11)

Fine II sec. a.C.

Greco

Dedica dei Competaliasti

῾Ητο[ρ]ηία Tabella 3 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

SI

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Μυρσίνη ῾Ητο[ρ]ηία Δέκμου ῾Ρωμαία (EAD XXX 187)

?

Greco

Epitafio

9 I riferimenti bibliografici dell’iscrizione sono tratti da Ferrary et al. 2002, che segue nel caso delle iscrizioni funerarie Couilloud (1974)= EAD XXX. 10 Con tale sigla: Fraser, P.M., Matthews, E. 1987–2013, A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, vol. I–V.

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Κρεπερήιος Tabella 4 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

᾿Αντίοχος Κρεπερήιος Τίτου (1760,13) T. Crepereiu[s Τίτος [– (1735, 1–2.)

Tra II e I a.C.

Greco

Dedica dei Competaliasti

Tra II e I a.C

Bilingue?

Dedica degli Hermaiastai

Λυκκήιος Tabella 5 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Νικηφόρος Λυκκήιος Λευκίου (1763,11)

Inizio I a.C.

Greco

Dedica dei Competaliasti

Οὐενουλήιος Tabella 6 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

C. Venoleius C. f. Γάιος Οὐενουλήιος Γαίου (1750, 4) P. Venoleius C. l. Πόπλιος Οὐενουλήιος Γαίου (1750, 1)

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Bilingue

Dedica a Maia

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Bilingue

Dedica a Maia

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Οὐηουηίος Tabella 7 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Γάιος Οὐηουηίου (1763, 5–6)

Tra II e I a.C.

Greco

Dedica dei Competaliasti

Cfr. lat. Viveius, (iscr. Siriaca: Ephigraphic Database Heidelberg: hd025930).

Οὐιζήιος Tabella 8 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

L. Viseius C. l. Λεύκιος Οὐιζήιος Γαίου (1763, 5–6)

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Bilingue

Catalogo dei sottoscrittori

Οὐλοσήιος Tabella 9 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Γάιος [Ο]ὐλοσήιος Ποπλίο[υ] (1738) Γάιος ᾿Ολοσσ[‘ηι]ος Ποπλίου ῾Ρωμαῖ(ος) (2248, 20–21)

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C. Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Dedica di un collegio di magistri

Greco

Cfr. Οὐολόσιος (EAD XXX 276) (epitafio presente nella necropoli di Renea) e Vol(usius) (1738) (dedica di magistrati).

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Πακτομήιος Tabella 10 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

῀ ᾿Αυλος Πακτομήιος Μαάρκου ῾Ρωμαῖ(ος) (2269, 1–2) Μαάρκος Πακτομήιος (2619, b, I, 6) M. Pactumeios M. f. Μαάρκος Πακτομήιος Μαάρκου (1733, 1, 8)

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Dedica nel santuario siriaco

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Bilingue

Catalogo dei sottoscrittori (Serapeion C) Dedica degli Hermaiastai

Σαυφήιος Tabella 11 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

2: NO; 1: SI

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Γάιος Σαυφήιος ᾿Αύλου Ζηνόδωρος (1755, 8–9) Q. Saufeius P. f. Treb., Κόιντος Σαυφήιος Ποπλίου υἱός Τρεβιανός (1754, 2, 10) Calli[cl]es Saufeius Καλλικλῆς Σωφήιος ᾿Αύλου (EAD XXX 243)

Fine del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Fine del II sec. a.C.

Bilingue

Dedica degli Hermaiastai, Apolloniastai e Poseidoniastai Dedica degli Hermaiastai, Apolloniastai e Poseidoniastai

Fine del II sec. a.C.

Bilingue

Epitafio

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Σταλκήιος Tabella 12 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

NO

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Γάιος Σταλκήιος ΠΙΙΕΡΦΙ (2634, 10) Τέρτια Στλακκή[ια]¹¹ (2619, b, I, 16)

Fine del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Fine del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Catalogo dei sottoscrittori Catalogo dei sottoscrittori (Serapeion C)

Cfr. il ben più diffuso tipo Στλάκκιος (2622, a, II, 15) o Σταλακία (EAD XXX 184) (quest’ultimo presente nella necropoli di Renea).

4.2 Γάειος Tabella 13 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

SI

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Γάειος Καστρίκιος (EAD XXX 492)

Tra II e I sec. a.C.

Greco

Epitafio

Cfr. Γάιος attestato abbondantemente sia nelle dediche (es. 2619, b, III, 35) sia negli epitafi (EAD XXX 52) della necropoli.

11 Si segue la lettura di Hatzfeld (1912) rispetto a quella di Ferrary et al. (2002).

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Νόννεις Tabella 14 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

SI

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

Κόιντος Νόννεις (EAD XXX 318)

Fine del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Epitafio

Cfr. Νώνιο[ς (2616, III, 56) (catalogo dei sottoscrittori) e Nonius (bilingue) dedica degli Hermaiastai (1735, 1–2). In un epitafio della necropoli è attestato anche il tipo Νῶνια (EAD XXX 52).

Φλούειος Tabella 15 Presenza nella necropoli di Renea

SI

Iscrizione

Data

Lingua

Tipologia

῀ ᾿Αυλος Φλούειος Δέκμου ῾Ρωμαῖ(ος) (EAD XXX 186)

Seconda metà del II sec. a.C.

Greco

Epitafio

Cfr. Φολούιος attestato sia nelle dediche (1730, 3, 10) 196) sia negli epitafi (EAD XXX 359) della necropoli. Dai dati che emergono qui, soprattutto a seguito dell’esame delle bilingui, si nota una correlazione tra il suffisso latino –eius e il greco –ηιος, mentre una più stretta corrispondenza vige nel caso di –ειος rispetto agli antroponimi che presentano il suffisso –ius, che mostrano anche un grande numero di forme che attestano la grafia –ιος– alternante con –ειος. Si nota, altresì, che le grafie in –ηιος, presenti in 21 iscrizioni, sono preponderanti nelle dediche provenienti dall’agorà mentre appaiono nella necropoli solo in due casi. Più variegata è, invece, la distribuzione di –ειος, che non alterna mai con –ηιος, e che appare sia nelle iscrizioni della necropoli sia nelle dediche. Valutando i dati che emergono dall’analisi delle grafie in –ηιος, ciò che appare dalle iscrizioni è una situazione che vede una sostanziale convergenza dei tipi gr. –ηιος: lat. –eius. Si rilevano, però, forme che conoscono questa grafia unicamente in questo

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contesto epigrafico, non avendo forti paragoni onomastici in altri contesti né greci né latini. Gli antroponimi Λυκκήιος e ᾿Αλικήιος sono attestati senza il corrispettivo latino. Osservando la documentazione latina, l’atteso *Lucceius è attestato raramente dalle grafie Luuceius (CIL III 713) e Luceius (CIL VI 21538), che comunque non consentono una piena sovrapponibilità delle forme. Nel caso di un presunto latino **Aliceius, la forma delia sarebbe addirittura l’unica attestazione, poiché in latino la base onomastica *Alic– trova espressione unicamente nell’antroponimo Alicius (CIL VI 11456, V 5167). Un’altra forma problematica è ῾Ετορηία, da un epitafio di una donna. Il nome è stato oggetto di valutazioni diverse. Se Hatzfeld preferiva considerarlo come una variante (altrimenti ignota in latino) di Hetereius, non attestato a Delo in questa grafia, Solin e Salomies preferiscono considerare autonomamente il dato, ritenendolo un hapax (Poccetti 2015, 10). Nei casi di Οὐλόσιος e Οὐλοσήιος e anche di Σταλκήιος/Στλάκκιος, sembra esservi traccia di un’equivalenza –ηιος: ius, riflessa, come visto sopra, dai casi delle mancate equivalenze tra il nome delio e quello latino (vedi il caso di Alicius). Infatti, le forme Οὐλόσιος e Οὐλοσήιος non possono essere ricondotte con sicurezza ad un unico antroponimo latino, poiché, in questa lingua, l’antroponimo Volusius¹² non è attestato nelle iscrizioni se non nella forma Volussius (CIL VI 1036) mentre **Voluseius non trova mai attestazione. Osservando, invece, i casi delle forme che presentano la grafia –ειος, ci si accorge che questa entra unicamente in rapporto col suffisso *–(i)io– e mai con *–eio–. ̑ ̑ ̑ Le occorrenze mostrano altresì una situazione di alternanza con –ιος in (Φλούειος/[Φ]ολούιος(x6)/Folvius). Nel caso di queste forme, che presentano molte varianti nelle grafie, bisogna riflettere se queste siano espressioni diverse di un unico antroponimo oppure se rappresentino nomi personali diversi. Le opinioni sono varie: secondo Hatzfeld questi gentilizi fanno capo alla gens dei Fulvii che sono ben rappresentati nella vita pubblica a Delo, ma figurano quasi sempre nella grafia Φολούειος (in latino Folvius in una bilingue). Va notata la presenza dell’anaptissi della –o–, che si colloca come un’influenza grafica osca per genti di presumibile provenienza dall’Italia meridionale (Poccetti 1984). Un’altra possibilità è quella di individuare un nuovo gentilizio Flu(v)eius o Flu(v)ius (Poccetti 2015, 10), non attestato altrove in latino. Anche il caso di Νόννεις, con sincope vocalica della desinenza: abitudine delle lingue sabelliche ma che si registra anche in greco (Rovai 2015, 180)/Νώνιος/Nonius, si allinea alla tendenza di far corrispondere ad –ειος il latino –ius, che può alternare con –ιος e mai con –ηιος. Non è, quindi, necessario, sulla base di questi usi grafici, ricondurre Νόννεις a Noneius (CIL VI 20393) sebbene anche in questo caso resti indubbia la sovrapponibilità con Nonius (Salomies 1972, 164).

12 La forma trova la sua attestazione in Catullo (36. 95) e in Giovenale (15, 1) (Schulze 1904, 104).

848 | Edoardo Middei

Infine, un’ulteriore casistica è quella rappresentata dalla resa –ιος di forme molto probabilmente in –eius. Questa dinamica si riscontra nel greco ῎Αλλιος (1771, 3, 10), che vede una ricca serie di corrispondenti in –eius: lat. Alleius (CIL VI 1969); Aleius (CIL X 6607). Il fatto che l’antroponimo Allius sia molto diffuso in latino e nelle lingue sabelliche (s.p. Alies (ST ¹³Sp TE 2) marr. Alies (ST MV 4) ben più di Alleius, va però incrociato con il dato prosopografico che vede un’influente gens Alleia, originaria della Campania, con grandi interessi commerciali nel Mediterraneo e nello specifico a Delo. Per di più, a Pompei, il gentilizio Allius non gode di attestazioni (Castren 1975, 133). La singolarità di quest’ultimo dato non contraddice i ragionamenti finora svolti. Al contrario, rappresenta un ulteriore spunto per delineare in maniera più completa la tematica in questione che, come visto, può contemplare le alternanze grafiche –ηιος, –ιος, –ius, sebbene in questo caso l’antroponimo con suffisso –ηιος non sia attestato a Delo.

5 Evoluzioni fonetiche e tendenze grafiche del greco di koiné nella resa delle vocali anteriori Alla luce di questi dati si passa ora a riflettere sulla possibilità di collocare queste tendenze grafiche relative alle vocali anteriori dei gentilizi delii in rapporto alle evoluzioni interne al greco di koiné. La resa timbrica delle vocali anteriori greche si presta a molteplici interpretazioni, soprattutto nel caso del greco di koiné, in cui era in atto un processo di livellamento timbrico delle vocali, che provocava l’abbandono dell’opposizione vocalica quantitativa, riflesso dall’abitudine grafica greca di alternare i grafi per la resa di /¯ı/. Questo fenomeno prende il nome di iotacismo. Esaminando, infatti la storia del i

dittongo greco /–ei–/, sembra che la resa fonetica di questo fosse [e ] reso graficamente ̑ con , mentre con sarebbe stata rappresentata la vocale anteriore medio bassa i

lunga seguita da una vocale ultrabreve di timbro /i/ [¯ε ]. Il digrafo , già dal 450 a.C., andò incontro a monottongazioni che probabilmente convergevano verso una vocale i /¯e/, che avrebbe successivamente subito un innalzamento verso la /¯ı/ (ει: [e ]>[¯e]>[¯ı]). Maggiori incertezze si riscontrano per l’identificazione del valore di che poteva i

i

essere impiegata anche per le forme con vocale breve (ηι: [¯ε ] o [e ]?). C’è, inoltre, da considerare che una grande incertezza sul modo di scrivere i dittonghi anche per le vocali brevi si registra già nelle prime iscrizioni attiche (Threatte 1980, 368). L’interesse degli antroponimi delii, in realtà, risiede nel fatto che questa alternanza grafica, pende a favore del tipo , soprattutto per quanto riguarda quegli antroponimi per i quali può essere rintracciata un’origine non greca. L’analisi delle bilinqui

13 ST= Sabellische Texte, 2002.

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conferma la tendenza che vede impiegato per la rappresentazione di una vocale di timbro /¯ı/ mentre il digrafo per il dittongo /–ei–/, nella maggioranza dei casi ̑ equivalente al suffisso latino –eius. Bisogna dire che i nomi latini in –eius, in attico, vengono frequentemente trascritti col suffisso –ηιος. Va aggiunto, e questo non appare negli antroponimi delii, che –ηιος poteva anche alternare con –ηος, che però già aveva il valore di [–ios], come infatti ci si aspetta dalle grafie greche di koiné in cui vigeva lo iotacismo, quindi il convoglio di diverse grafie, che anteriormente rappresentavano diverse vocali o dittonghi, verso il timbro /i/ (Rovai 2015, 168–169). Inoltre, in molti casi, sullo iota si registra una dieresi, ad indicare che non si trattava di una reale esigenza fonetica distintiva della quantità sillabica del suffisso. Alla luce quindi di queste considerazioni, questa sovrabbondanza di grafie con –ηιος presente a Delo non può essere spiegata con fatti interni al greco ma dall’ingresso di materiali anellenici e anche di abitudini grafiche non greche, con buona probabilità osche, in cui era molto presente la grafia . Per verificare questa ipotesi, un’ulteriore esame da effettuare è analizzare il funzionamento degli alfabeti oschi meridionali, che si basano sul modello greco, per cercare di capire se e come ci siano state influenze dal mondo sabellico anche sul piano morfologico e grafico.

6 Gli usi grafici oschi per la resa di *–eio– ̑ Nelle lingue italiche *–ios alterna con *–iios: generalmente *–ios per i prenomi; –iios ̑ ̑ ̑ ̑ per i gentilizi. Nelle lingue sabelliche grafie come possono riferirsi a /–ii–/ o a /–˘ı–/, con variazioni anche nello stesso antroponimo. Infatti, gli antroponimi in –eius non sono molto diffusi in queste lingue: umbro: Tupleia (ST Um 30); Tuplei (ST Um 27); possono dare luogo ad alternanze persino nello stesso antroponimo, nei nomi attestati in alfabeto latino: osco: Heriis/Hereiis (ST Cm 14), cfr. Lat. Herius; così come in quelli attestati in alfabeto latino e in alfabeto greco: osco Avdiis (ST Po 8), AFδειες (ST Lu 8). Esempi come Kοττειηις x2(ST Lu 3–4), Kοττι(ηις) (ST Lu 5), Τουρειεις (ST tLu 7), Μαραειν (ST Lu 46), in realtà, non sono attestazioni sicure del suffisso *–eio– in ̑ quanto, anche in queste grafie, può rappresentare una [i]. L’alfabeto osco usato in Italia meridionale è un adattamento di un alfabeto ionico ellenistico, penetrato nella prima metà del IV a.C. rispetto a quello euboico mediato dall’etrusco che è stato adottato per le varietà osche centrali. Il modello teorizzato da Lejeune (1970), nella resa grafica delle vocali anteriori prevedeva il seguente sistema: :/e/ ed /ε/; : /ει/, dal 300 a.C. in poi fu preso in prestito dallo ionico, dove indicava una /¯e/ e usato per /e/, lasciando :/ε/ rendendo necessario l’impiego di a rendere /ει/: hηιρενς (ST Lu 5), sebbene ci sia stato un periodo di transizione col mantenimento dei vecchi usi grafici: πακϝηις (/ειs/) (ST Lu 40) insieme a ϝαλε (/e/)

850 | Edoardo Middei

invece dell’atteso , così come anche αfακειτ (/e/) (ST Lu 13) insieme a πεhεδ (/e/) col vecchio sistema. Inoltre, il numero di iscrizioni prese in esame dallo studioso è comunque inferiore di quelle conosciute oggi che mostrano esempi di compresenza di queste presunte evoluzioni. Il sistema così presentato da Lejeune (criticato aspramente da Zair 2016, 34–39) può essere modificato in quanto il numero di iscrizioni ora conosciute è superiore e, in queste, si registrano numerose evidenze di impieghi grafici non considerati da Lejeune, come quello di per /e/. Inoltre, fino al 200 a.C., momento in cui il periodo di transizione ipotizzato avrebbe dovuto essere al termine, molte iscrizioni continuano a presentare : /e/ e : /ει/. In conclusione, il processo evolutivo interno agli usi grafici degli alfabeti oschi meridionali di matrice greca vede una preponderanza di (29 iscrizioni) rispetto a (8 iscrizioni). Molto difficile è stabilire l’esatta distribuzione tra IV e II secolo a.C.; sembra comunque presente la tendenza di di uscire dall’uso nelle iscrizioni più recenti e di essere soppiantato da in ogni contesto (Zair 2016, 39). Si nota, in sostanza, che negli usi grafici oschi, statisticamente, il digrafo è più presente di che, tanto in greco quanto in osco, era impiegato per la resa di una vocale monottongata anteriore (a prescindere da quale ne sia l’altezza) e che , a sua volta, era impiegato per i dittonghi, così come anche riscontrato nei corrispondenti latini.

7 Distribuzione di (da *–eios) negli ̑ antroponimi degli ambienti grecofoni del Mediterraneo antico Una conferma dell’influenza delle grafie osche nell’onomastica delia può essere rintracciata nella grande rarità di questa negli antroponimi greci di altri ambinti grecofoni del Mediterraneo antico¹⁴: 1. I (Isole egee,Cipro, Cirenaica): ᾿Αληξιδήιος (Chios? VI a.C.); Εὐδήιος (Samo, II a.C.); Θρασυδήιος x2 (Samo, III/II a.C.); Νεμονήιος x5 (Creta dal III a I a.C.); Εὔκληια (Chio I a.C.); ᾿Αποληία(Mitilene, imp.). 2. II (Attica) Θουκλήιος (Atene I d.C.); Πομπήιος x3 (Atene dal I a.C.al II d.C.); 3. III a (M Grecia, Peloponneso, Grecia Occidentale) Κοκκήιος (Napoli, I a.C./I d.C.) b (Megaride e Tessaglia) Λυκηία (Tessaglia, I d.C.); Πομπηία (Locri, II a.C.) 4. IV (Macedoni, Tracia, Mar Nero) Κοκκήιος (Tracia, II/III d.C.); Πομπήιος x2 (Macedonia, I d.C.; Scizia, II d.C.), Λυκκηία (Macedonia I d.C.)

14 Ci si riferisce alle zone geografiche espresse dai volumi del LGPN.

Antroponimia sabellica nelle iscrizioni greche | 851

Seguendo tale distribuzione geografica emerge una situazione di sostanziale marginalità nell’impiego della grafia –ηιος nella resa degli antroponimi greci. Si nota, per di più, una sostanziale assenza anche in Magna Grecia, che come si nota¹⁵ tende a generalizzare anche nei casi in cui è ovunque diffusa , che ha sicure corrispondenze nel latino come nel caso di lat. Pompeius. Usi antichi di questa grafia si riscontrano in ᾿Αληξιδήιος (Chios? VI a.C.) e nei più recenti Εὐδήιος (Samo, II a.C.), Θρασυδήιος x2 (Samo, III/II a.C.) e Νεμονήιος x5 (Creta dal III a I a.C.). Il resto degli antroponimi che mostrano questa grafia sono invece attestati in età imperiale e testimoniano una grande povertà nella varietà delle basi onomastiche. I tipi principali, come si è visto, sono Κοκκήιος, Πομπήιος e Λυκκηία, di possibile ascendenza italica.

8 Conclusioni Alla luce di questo quadro, Delo rappresenta un unicum all’interno del panorama grecofono antico: le iscrizioni dell’isola, infatti, testimoniano una grande varietà di basi onomastiche che presentano la grafia –ηιος nella morfologia di alcuni antroponimi, superiore alla somma di tutte quelle delle altre iscrizioni greche conosciute. Oltre a questo dato di carattere generale, si deve riflettere sulle differenti distribuzioni delle grafie internamente all’epigrafia delia: se da una parte le iscrizioni dell’agorà attestano con forza una preponderante presenza della grafia –ηιος, dall’altra, nelle iscrizioni della necropoli di Renea, la grafia –ειος è quella più diffusa, in linea con il resto del mondo greco. C’è solo un modo per spiegare questa dicotomia, uscendo dal campo strettamente linguistico, cioè quello di ipotizzare la presenza di differenti scuole di lapicidi tra la necropoli e l’Agorà. Se, da una parte, infatti, a Renea, isola sacra in cui erano proibiti i commerci, le grafie sono in linea con le abitudini epigrafiche greche, dall’altra, unicamente nell’agorà c’è questa enorme distribuzione di . Questa può essere una prova del fatto che, in quel contesto specifico, strettamente controllato dagli italici (parlanti osco), che conoscevano le norme grafiche degli alfabeti oschi meridionali, avessero influenzato i lapicidi imponendo un uso privilegiato di . Il dato sociolinguistico, così, sommato a quello linguistico riflesso dall’epigrafia, si pone come ulteriore indizio di una presenza preponderante a Delo di gente di lingua osca (come anche emerge dalle numerose anaptissi e sincopi) che, per di più riproponeva le norme grafiche degli alfabeti oschi meridionali, di comune impiego in Italia.

15 Due esempi presi a campione delle attestazioni di –ηιος/–ειος nella Magna Grecia: Sicilia: ῾Ηράκλειος, Μενέκλειος, ῾Ιστιεῖος; Μαμμαρεῖος, Πυκελεῖος (Dubois 2008); Napoli: Πλουτογένεια, Βόλκειος, Κοκκήιος, Πακέα (Πακία, Πάκκιος), Πομπεία, Ποντεία, Φοντεῖος (Miranda1995)

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Bibliografia Adams, J. N. 2003: Bilingualism and the Latin language, Cambridge. Barber, P. J. 2013: Sievers’ Law and the History of Semivowel Syllabicity in Indo–European and Ancient Greek, Oxford. Castren P. 1975: Ordo populusque pompeianus, Roma. Chantraine, P. 1979: La formation des noms en grec ancien, Paris. Coarelli, F. 1982: L’agorà des Italiens a Delo: il mercato degli schiavi? in Delo e l’Italia, eds. F. Coarelli F., Musti D.& Solin, H. Opuscula Instituti Romani Finlandiae, II, Roma, 1982, 119–145. Couilloud, M. Th., 1974: Les monuments funéraires de Rhénée, Paris. Dubois, L. 2008: Inscriptions Grecques dialectales de Sicile, II, Genève. Hatzfeld, J. 1912: Les Italiens résidant à Délos mentionnés dans les inscriptions de l’île, «B.C.H», 36, 5–218. Ferrary, J. L., Hasenohr, Cl., & Le Dinahet, M. Th. 2002: Liste des Italiens de Délos, «B.C.H.», supplement 41, 183–239. Lejeune, M. 1970: Phonologie osque et graphie grecque, «Revue des Études Anciennes», 72, 271– 315. Lejeune, M. 1976: L’Anthroponymie Osque, Paris. Leumann, M. 1977: Lateinische Laut– und Formenlehre, München. LGPN= Fraser, P. M. & Matthews, E. 1987–2013: A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, vol. I–V, Oxford. Masson, O. 2000: Onomastica Graeca selecta, 1, Paris. McDonald, K. 2015: Oscan in Southern Italy and Sicily, Cambridge. Miranda, E. 1995: Iscrizioni greche d’Italia, Napoli, Roma. Poccetti, P. 1984: Romani e italici a Delo. Spunti linguistici da una pubblicazione recente, «Athenaeum», 62, 646–656. Poccetti, P. 2015: Morire lontano dall’ Italia: differenze e interazioni attraverso l’epigrafia ellenistica della necropoli dell’isola di Renea (Delo), Roma. Rix, H. 1971: Umbrisch titis: die grammatische Form der Filiationsangabe im Umbrischen, in Donum Indogermanicum, Festschrift Scherer, Heidelberg, 177–181. Rix, H. 1972: Zum Ursprung des römisch–mittelitalischen Gentilnamensystems, in Auftieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt, II vol., ed. H. Temporini, Berlin – New York, 700–758. Rovai, F. 2015: Notes on the inscriptions of Delos: the Greek transliteration of Latin names, «S.S.L.», 52/2,163–169. Schmitt, R. 1995: Entwicklung der Namen in älteren indogermanischen Sprachen, in Namenforschung, eds. E. Eichler et al., Berlin – New York, 616–636. Schulze, W. 1904: Zur Geschichte lateinischer Eigennamen, Darmstadt. Solin, H. 1982: Appunti sull’onomastica romana a Delo, in Delo e l’Italia, eds. F. Coarelli, D. Musti & H. Solin, Roma, (Opuscula Instituti Romani Finlandiae, 2), 101–117. ST = Rix, H. 2002: Sabellische Texte, Heidelberg. Threatte, L. 1980: The Grammar of Attic Inscriptions, 1, Berlin – New York. Zair, N. 2016: Oscan in the Greek Alphabet, Cambridge.

Analytical Indices Topics Abbreviations in Greek writings 58 ff. Abstract objects 553 Abstract possession 508–509, 512–517, 520–521 Accent – accent pitch 11–14 – accent stress 11–14 Accusative 666 Activation of the reference/character (status) 403–406 Actual vs. non actual predications 530–532 Adjuncts 146–148 Adverbs 243–244, 248–249, 254–255 – additive adverbs 139–141, 181–183, 188 – scalar additive adverbs 140–141, 151 – adverbial phrases 243–244, 246–248 – approximative adverbs 243–244, 250, 254–255 – approximator 584–585, 587, 589–592 – defective approximative adverbs 243, 248, 250, 254 – excessive approximative adverbs 248 – neutral approximative adverbs 248 – conjunctive adverbs 585–586, 590–591 – focus adverbs 122–124, 129, 133–152, 181–185, 187, 189–190, 243, 248, 254–55 – partial restriction (adverbs of) 141–145, 148–152 – total restriction (adverbs of) 144–145, 148–152 – manner adverbs 590–591 – modality adverbs 590–595 – phase adverbs 119–121, 122–130 – predicate adjunct (adverb) 586, 590–591 – temporal adverbs 119–130, 181 Agreement 408 Aktionsart 277, 279, 328–332, 335, 338–343 Allophonic spellings 29, 33–34 Alternative 136–137, 182–190

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-865

Anagnorisis 448 ff. And–Phrase (&P) 600–604 Anthroponyms 741 Anticipation 303 Aorist 625 ff. – sigmatic aorists 8–11 Apollo – ῎Αναξ 572 – archer 654–658 – destroyer, wound–maker 645, 649 – physician 645–646 – prophet 646, 648–650 – strong 646-647 Apposition 477 ff. – appositive complementation 569 – appositive coordination 574 – appositive identification 571 – appositive qualification 566 – class membership apposition 571 – divine name apposition 573 – noun apposition 565 – restrictive and non–restrictive apposition 576 Appositives 84 ff. (Aphrodite) ῞Ηρα 574 ἄρα–utterances 430 Argument construction 546–548 Argumentative (cause) 609 Articulatory weakening 23–34 Aspect (verbal) 329–332, 334–335, 339, 342, 767 ff. Aspirated stop 47–48 (Athena) Νίκη 567 (Athena) Παρθένος 572 Attic futures 385, 387–388, 393 Attic tragedy (focus markers) 447–456 Augment 9–10, 625 ff. Botanical lexicon 735 Cause – argumentative 609 – logical 609 – material 609

854 | Analytical Indices

Centrifugal/centripetal motion 278, 281–282, 287–291 Classical Greek 385, 388–395 Clause – argument clauses 551 – participial clause 551 – result clause 609 – small clause (SC) 600–606 – temporal clause 211, 213–214, 224 Coherence 193–194, 199–201, 204, 208 Commitment 259–273 – commitment/non– commitment 367–372, 375–377 Common ground 268 Compensatory lengthening 3 ff. Completive sentence 313–315, 317–319, 322–323 Complementary distribution 715 Complex consonantal groups 20 ff. Conduciveness of assent 439 Connectives 157 Connector 198–200, 205–206 Construction Grammar 515 Contact (languages in) 784 ff. Coordination 193, 195, 199 – connectives 157 – connector 198–200, 205–206 – coordinating conjuntions 181, 189 hyperconnection 193, 197–198, 205–206, 208 Copular construction 516 Correlative 609 Cypriot (syllabic scripts) 20–31 Dative 695, 698 – ethic dative 424 De dicto 193, 199, 208 Dedication schemata 783 Deixis – deictic presentation 426 – deictically–neutral 277–278, 288, 290 Denial–of–expectation contrast 269–273 Deontic modality 348–354, 373–374 Diachrony 103–117 Dialogue 411, 475 Diathesis of the object 666 Diphthongalization 309 – Ionic diphthongisation 784 Disambiguation 407 Discontinuity 6

Discourse – discourse markers 119–130, 157, 227–240 – discourse structure 103–117 – discourse topic 163–168 *–eio– 837, 850 ̑ –ειος 837, 846–847 –ηιος 837, 840–846, 851 Emphasisers 175, 179 Empty category (e) 603 Endophoric presentation 423 Enunciation vs. statement 531 Epichoric alphabets 21–22 Epistemic modality 348–354, 372–375 Etnolinguistics 743 Events 557, 561 Evidentiality 126–130, 313, 322–324, 362–372 – evidential markers 126–130 Exchange 722 Existential construction 508, 511, 514–518, 520 Experiencer 509–512, 515, 517, 521 Experiential construction 492, 498–512, 521 Expertum 510, 512, 517, 521 Extra–clausal constituent 485 Facts 559, 561 Factuality 303 – factuality/non–factuality 347, 367–368 – would–be factuality 303 Figure/Ground 277–278, 281–287, 289–290 Focus 182, 189–190, 243–246, 253–254, 401, 407, 457–461, 464–466, 472–473 – broad focus 458–461, 464–465, 472–473 – contrastive focus 137–139 – focalisation 182, 185, 193–194, 204–207 – focus adverbs 122–124, 129, 133–152, 181–185, 187, 189–190, 243, 248, 254–55 – focus markers 447–456 – focus sensitivity 581–582, 588, 593 – narrow focus 458–459, 464–465 Foreigners and guests 780 ff. Fragmentary text 227–240 Frame 457–458, 461–463, 473 Functional Grammar 478–479 Future 303 – desiderative (future) 305 – futures affixed with –η– and –θη– 384–405 – media tantum future 388– 392

Analytical Indices | 855

– sigmatic futures 11 – synthetic future 383–387, 392–393 Goal 282–283, 287, 290 – directional/goal and locative 278–280, 284 Gradation 193–194, 204–208 Grammaticalization 103–117, 492, 502 Graphic variation 21 ff. Greek – abbreviations in Greek writings 58 ff. – Classical Greek 385, 388–395 – Hellenistic Greek 383, 387– 389, 390–391, 393–395 – Homeric Greek 79, 81–82, 88–89 Habituality 326–327, 335–338, 341–343 Have–verbs 491 ff. Head 598–600, 603–605 Hellenistic Greek 383, 387– 389, 390–391, 393–395 Hexameter 79–84, 89 ff. Holistic interpretation of the direct object 670 Homer 119–130, 625 ff. – Homeric Greek 79, 81–82, 88–89 – Homeric οὖν 211, 214–225 – Homeric perfect(s) 325–330, 332, 339–343 – Homeric phraseology 791 ff. Illocutionary parentheticals 432, 443–444 Imperfect 625 ff. Imperfectivity 325, 335–337, 339–343 Incision 80–88, 89–95 Indirect speech 265 Inference 313, 315, 321–324 Infinitive 293–302 Information structure 157, 159–160, 167, 485–486 Intensification (indicators of) 227–240 Intensive perfect(s) 325–326, 330–335, 342–343 Interjection 413 Intersubjectivity 267 Intransitivity 334, 337, 343–344, 350 Intransitivization 686 Invited Inferencing Theory of Semantic Change 182 Ionic diphthongisation 806. Iterativity 326, 328–329, 332, 335–343 Kinship terms 493 ff. Knowledge predicates 555, 557 Koiné 849 Labile verbs 666

Languages in contact 784 ff. Left Periphery (LP) 457–458, 461, 601, 604–606, 634 ff. Lexical–syntactic interface 546–549 Lexical aspect 745 ff. Liquids (syllabic) 5 Logical (cause) 609 Low Periphery 457–458, 460, 465 Manner – manner adverbs 590–591 – manner verbs 684 Μαρσύας (Marsia) 811–823 Markers – attenuative markers 433, 437 – discourse markers 119–130, 157, 227–240 – evidential markers 126–130 – focus markers (Attic tragedy) 447–456 Material (cause) 609 Media tantum future 388– 392 Metonymy 178 Mood 609 – modal change 320 – modal use of tenses 347–357 – modality adverbs 590–595 – modality 307 – modalizers 432 Morphophonemic alternation 43–44 Motion 689 – motion constructions 689 – motion verbs 277, 280, 282–285, 287–291, 681 Mycenaean (Syllabic scripts) 27–28 Narrative 626 ff. – narrative presentation 420 Negation 609 Negotiatores 838 Nomina sacra 64–65 Normativity 53 Noun – appositive noun 565 ¯ – ta–noun 781–782 Null subject (pro) 601–606 Numeral system – alphabetic numeral system 71–74 – Greek acrophonic numerals 69–72 Objects (abstract) 533 Occlusive plus sibilant: [ks], [ps] 19 Olympiodorus 431 Onomastics 784 ff.

856 | Analytical Indices

Optative 293–295, 299, 301 – oblique optative 313–323 Order (word) 401–404, 412, 581–582, 584, 586–592, 595 Orthography 37 Oscan graphical use 849 Paraphrase 475 Parentheticals (illocutionary) 432, 443–444 Particles 103–117, 155, 211–224 – additive focus particles 171, 175–177 – attitudinal particles 259–273 – discourse organizing particles 269–273 – identificational focus particles 177 – POP function/particle 211 ff. Particularizer 585, 587, 590 Path 277–278, 281–284, 286, 289–291 – path verbs 682 Perception predicates 211, 214–215, 217–219, 224, 554, 557 Perfect – Homeric perfect(s) 325–330, 332, 339–343 – intensive perfect(s) 325–326, 330–335, 342–343 Performative 714–715, 723–724 Periphery – left periphery (LP) 457–458, 461, 601, 604–606, 634 ff. – low periphery 457–458, 460, 465 Phonetic variation 26 ff. Phraseology – Hittite phraseology 791 ff. – Homeric phraseology 791 ff. Plato 259–273 Pluractionality 325–329, 334, 337 – pluractional meanings 325–329, 334 Plural – inclusive plural 525 – exclusive (i.e. non–inclusive) plural 525–527 – plural of majesty vs. modesty 529-530 Polarity 120–122, 126–130 – polarity focus 179 Polyphony 361 ff. Polysemy 103–117 (Poseidon) Ταῦρος 568 Possession (abstract) 508–509, 512–517, 520–521 Possessive construction 491, 508, 513, 515, 516–518, 520–521 Possibility/certainty 345 ff.

Pragmaticalization 103–111 Predicate adjunct (adverb) 586, 590–591 Presentation 411 Presentative construction 407 Presentatives 411 Presupposition 293, 297–301 Preverb 78–80, 85–95, 729–731 Pronoun (relative) 468–469 Propositions 558, 561 – propositional attitude 553 – propositional value 148–151 Reduplication 325–329, 332, 334–335, 341–342 Referent tracking 405–408 Reformulation 475 Relative Pronoun 468–469 Repair 484 Reported speech 266 Response formulae 432, 438 Resultative 325, 342 Rhematic 193, 206–207 Role of speaker 343 ff. Sá figé 467–468 Satellites 690 Scope 581–583, 589–592 – scope increase 103–117 – variable scope 134–152 Scriptio continua 78 Scripts (Greek) – abbreviations in Greek writings 58 ff. – Cypriot (syllabic scripts) 20–30 – Epichoric alphabets 21–22 – graphic variation 21 ff. – Mycenaean (syllabic scripts) 28–29 – orthography 37 – scriptio continua 78 Semantic game 728–729 Semantic maps 327, 329, 334–337, 340 Sentence – sentence adjunct 585, 588, 590 – sentence adverbs or disjuncts 179 – sentence level 609 – sentence topic 160–168 Septuagint 383, 384, 387, 388, 390, 391, 392, 393, 394, 395 Setting 161–168 Sibilants 48 Sociative – sociative (constituent) 695

Analytical Indices | 857

– sociative (alternation) 696–697, 707, 708 – sociative (participant) 697–702 – sociative adjunct 707, 708 – sociative prefix 695, 697 Source of information 313–314, 322–323 Speaker role 345, 362–364 Specificer 599–600, 606 Spiritus asper 44, 48 Split–CP (Split Complementizer Phrase) 457–458, 600– 602, 604 Spray paint cases 663 Stativity 327–329, 342–343 Stimulus 510–512, 514–515, 518, 521 Stops – aspirated stops 47 – stops plus sibilant: [ks], [ps] 19 – voiced stops 47 Subject–Agreement Phrase (AgrSP) 599, 605 Subjectification/intersubjectification 113–117 Subjectivity 361–363, 373–375 Success (Austinian notion) 730 Supplication scene(s) 779–780 ff. Syllabic scripts – Cypriot 20–30 – Mycenaean 28–29 Syntagmatic association 718–719 Tag questions 439–444, 363 Telicity 277–279, 281–287, 289–290 Temporal clauses 211, 213–214, 224 Theonyms 741 Topic 403, 405, 408, 409, 457–467, 471–472 – discourse topic 163–168 – sentence topic 160–168

Trace (t) 600– 604 Transcription (Greek > Gothic) 39 Variation 314, 320–321 Verbs – absolute use of verb 668 – applicative verbs 668 – have–verbs 491 ff. – manner verbs 684 – modal use of tenses 347–357 – motion verbs 277, 280, 282–285, 287–291, 681 – sociative verbs 705–708 – verbal alternation 536–549 – verbal aspect 328–331, 337, 339, 342, 343, 745 ff. – verbs of perception 211, 214–215, 217–219, 224, 554, 557 Verification 313, 317–324 Verner’s law 13 Violation 80–95 Voice (alternation) 695–696, 698, 708 Voiced stop 47 Vowel contraction (quality of) 307 Wackernagel elements 634 Weakening (articulatory) 23–33 Word boundary 78–82, 84, 89–90, 95–96 Word order 402–403, 404, 581–582, 584, 586–592, 594 (Zeus) ῎Αρης 574 (Zeus) Λίθος 570 (Zeus) Κεραυνός 575 Zoonyms 737

Lexical items Akkadian

Greek

apellu 649 ¯ apilum 648, 649 aplûm 648, 649

ἄγω 545 αἰτέω 545 ἀκούω 554 ἄλλοι ἄνθρωποι 779 ff. ἀλλ΄ οὖν (γε) 373–375 ἀμέλει 375–377 ἄν 347, 352, 354, 361 ἀποδείκνυμι 555 ἄρα 373–375

Avestan ¯ maršu– 811–814, 817–818, 821–823

858 | Analytical Indices

ἀσκόϛ 815 ἀτάρ 159–163, 165–167 ἀτειρής 7 ἀτεχνῶς 143–145, 152 αὖ 164 αὐτάρ 163–168 βαίνω 277–285, 286, 287–290, 538 βάλλω 540, 542, 673 βάπτω 537 βῆ δ΄ἰέναι 277–280, 283–290 γαία 799 γε 141–144, 149–152 γιγνώσκω 747 ff. γνώομεν 305 δέ 160–163, 269, 272, 585–587, 590–591, 460–466 δείκνυμι/δεικνύω 545 δηλαδή 229–230 δῆλον 555 διαβότανον 830 διαφέρω 541 δοκέω 368–372 δυνατὸν ἦν 357–358 δώομεν 305 ἐγώ 527–532 ἔγωγε 373–375 ἔδομαι 305 εἶ γὰρ καὶ 452 εἶμι 277–285, 287–288, 290–291 εἶναι 491, 495 εἰπεῖν 799 φφ. –ειος 837, 846–847 εἰπέ μοι et sim 432, 434 εἰρήν 7 εἰσβάλλω 667 ἐνῆν 349–350 ἐνίημι 664 ἐξῆν 357–358 ἐπεί οὖν 211–224 ἐπινάττω 670 ἐπὶ τούτῳ/τῷδε 618 ἐπονομάζω 539, 540 ἕρση 7 ἔρσην 7 ἐρώτημα 430, 430 ν.2, 431 ἔσομαι 305 ἔτι 119–124, 129, 181–192, 450 εὐτυχῶς 373–375 ἐφ᾿ᾧ(τε) 611

ἔχειν 491 ff. ἔχω + infinitive 383, 384 ἦ 451, 453, 454 ἦ γάρ 440–442 ἤδη 119–128 ἥδομαι 556 –ηιος 837, 840–846, 851 ἥκιστα 142–143, 152 ἥκω 539 ἡμεῖς 525–532 ἤν 411 θείομεν 305 θέλω + infinitive 383, 384 θηριόρριζος 740 θυμός 799 φφ. ἴδε/ἰδέ 411 ἰδού 411, 432, 434 ἰδού σοι 424 ἱκάνω/ἵκω 776, 779–782 ἱκέσιος 775 ff., 781 ff. ἱκέτης 775–778, 781 ff. ἱκετήσιος 775, 779–785 ἵκω/ἱκάνω 776, 779–782 ἶποϛ 820–823 ἴσως 373–375, 436, 581, 590–594 ᾿Ιχθύς (acr.) 66 καί 116–117, 133–152, 171–179, 181–190, 193–208, 587, 593 καὶ δή 142–144 κἀγώγε 452, 454 καθάπερ 361–363 καίτοι 109 καλέω 545 καλῶς 373–375 κείρω 8 κελεύεις 235–236 κελεύω 539 κε(ν) 347, 352, 353, 361 κινδυνεύειν 367–368 κὀπτω 544 κόρση 7 κουρά 7 κυάνεος 799 κυνόγλωσσον 739 λέγω 378–379, 481 λιθάζω 676 λιθοβολέω 676 μάλιστα 454, 581, 584–586, 587–588 μᾶλλον 454

Analytical Indices | 859

μανθάνω 555 μάρσιπος 811–814, 816–817, 819, 820–823 μέλει 375–377 μέλλω + infinitive 383, 384 μέν 162, 265, 259–260, 269–270, 585, 590–591, 460–463, 465 μέν νυν 110–115 μέντοι 109–110 μή 454 μήν 259–272 μικροῦ 243, 246–247, 249–250, 253 μικροῦ (δεῖν) 243, 244, 246, 250–251, 253–254 μιμνήσκομαι 745 ff. μόγις 247 μόλις 247 μόνον 144–146 μόνον οὐ 243–244, 245, 248, 250–255 νάττω 670 ναυμάχομαι 543 νηέω 664 νήπιος 375 νοέω 211–212, 214, 216, 745 ff. νῦν/νυν 110–116 ξεῖνος 776–778, 780 ff. ὁ 458, 465, 469 ὅ, ἥ, τό 401–408 ὅδε 411 οἶδα 555, 745 ff. οἰκέω 538 οἴομαι 370–371, 745 ff. οἷόν τ’ ἦν 348–350 οἷος 599 οἴω 370–371, 745 ff. ὀλίγου 243, 246–248, 249–250, 253 ὀλίγου (δεῖν) 243, 245, 246, 249–250, 253–254, 367–368 ὄρρος 7 ὅς, ἥ, ὅ 470 ὅς/ὅστις 617 ὅσος 617 ὅστις 617 ὅτι 552, 555, 558, 561 οὐδέ 138–141, 146, 152, 179 οὖν 211–224 οὐρά 7 οὐρέω 7 οὗτος 420 οὕτω(ς) 610

παίω 540, 542, 544 πακτόω 672 παρῆν 348–350 πίομαι 305 που 104, 112, 116, 435, 436 πρὸς ταύτας 237, 238 πρῶτον μέν 450 πυνθάνομαι 555 συμβαίνω 706 συμφέρω 695 σύνειμι 705, 706 συνέρχομαι 705, 706 συνθέω 705 συνμίσγω 541 συντρέχω 706 σχεδόν 243–246, 248–252, 254–255 ταυρόφθαλμον 741 τάχα 592–593 τείνω 537 τί δέ 228 τοι 108–110, 112, 115–116 τοίνυν 109, 115 τοιοῦτος/τοιόσδε 619 τοσοῦτος/τοσόσδε 619 τουτέστι 483 τρέχω 543 τύπτω 544 τῷδε/ἐπὶ τούτῳ 618–619 φαίνομαι 369–372 φέρω (φέρομαι) 695, 707 φημί 378–379 χέω 305, 797 ὡς οὖν 211–224 ὡς 361–363 ὥσπερ 361–363 ὥς/ὥστε 610

Hebrew hinne¯ h

411

Hittite karap– 796–797 ¯ ¯ kaša/k ašma 411 mema– 802 ff. šunna– 798

860 | Analytical Indices

Hurrian ar– 650 tem(m)i 650

–do–so–si 304 e–we–pe–se–so–me–na 305

Proto–Indo–European Latin advena/advenio 780 ff. ecce/eccum 411 em 413–414 fundo 797–798 iniectare 665 pacare 669

*h2el–io–/*h2el–tero– 780 ff. ̑ *io– 469–470 ̑ *kui/kuo– 469–470 ̑ ̑ ˆ *melgh– 813 *so– 468 *so–/to– 469

Urartian Lydian Qldãn

lutu 650 648

Vedic Mycenean a–se–so–si 304 de–me–o–te 305 do–se 304

sá 467 sa–/ta– 467, 471 ya– 470, 471 malhá– 812–814

Proper Names Greek (Athena) Νίκη 567 (Athena) Παρθένος 572 ᾿Αλικήιος 841, 848 (Apollo) ῎Αναξ 572 (Aphrodite) ῞Ηρα 574 Γάειος 845 Γραικηίος 841 (Zeus) ῎Αρης 574 (Zeus) Κεραυνός 575 (Zeus) Λίθος 570 ῾Ητο[ρ]ηία 841, 848 Κρεπερ ήιος 842 Λυκκήιος 842, 848 Μαρσύας (Marsia) 811–823 Νόννεις 846, 847 Οὐενουλήιος 842 Οὐηου ηίος 843 Οὐλοσήιος 843, 848 Πακτομήιος 844 (Poseidon) Ταῦρος 568 Σαυφήιος 844

Σταλκήιος 845 Φλούειος 846, 847 Χριστός 65, 66

Hittite Appaliuna– 647, 650

Latin Apollo 643–658 Apothermum 827 Artemis 655, 656 Cepuros 826 Hydrogarum 827 Inoteganon 829 Leto 654, 657 Melizomum 829 Oxizomum 829 Pandecter 830 Sarcoptes 829 Zomoteganon 829

List of Contributors Rutger J. Allan Vrije Universiteit / Universiteit van Amsterdam, [email protected] Annamaria Bartolotta Università di Palermo, [email protected] Roberto Batisti Università di Bologna, [email protected] Marina Benedetti Università per stranieri di Siena, [email protected] Maria Carmela Benvenuto Università di Roma ‘La Sapienza’, [email protected] Nicolas Bertrand Université Lille 3, [email protected] Ronald Blankenborg Radboud University Nijmegen, [email protected] Václav Blažek Masaryk University, Brno, [email protected] Carla Bruno Università per stranieri di Siena, [email protected] Luz Conti Universidad Autónoma de Madrid , [email protected] Emilio Crespo Universidad Autónoma de Madrid , [email protected] Paola Dardano Università per stranieri di Siena, [email protected] Gunnar De Boel Ghent University, [email protected] Noemi De Pasquale Università di Salerno, [email protected] Mercedes Díaz De Cerio Díez University of Santiago de Compostela, [email protected] Richard Faure Univ. Nice Sophia Antipolis, CNRS, BCL, UMR 7320, [email protected] Chiara Frigione Università per stranieri di Siena, [email protected] María José García Soler Universidad del País Vasco, [email protected]

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110551754-873

862 | List of Contributors

Theodor Georgescu Université de Bucarest, [email protected] Violeta Gomis García Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, [email protected] Guglielmo Inglese Università di Pavia/Università di Bergamo, [email protected] José Miguel Jiménez Delgado Universidad de Sevilla, [email protected] Marie-Ange Julia Centre Alfred Ernout, Paris, [email protected] Frédéric Lambert Université Bordeaux Montaigne, [email protected] Ville Leppänen Ludwig–Maximilians–Universität München, [email protected] Françoise Létoublon Université Grenoble Alpes, [email protected] Ilaria Liberati Università di Macerata, [email protected] Antonio Lillo University of Murcia, [email protected] Felicia Logozzo Università per Stranieri di Siena, [email protected] Silvia Luraghi Università di Pavia, [email protected] José Marcos Macedo Universidade de São Paulo , [email protected] Elisabetta Magni Università di Bologna, [email protected] Rafael Martínez University of Seville, [email protected] Lucio Melazzo Università di Palermo, [email protected] Edoardo Middei Università degli Studi di Macerata / Universität zu Köln, [email protected] Dagmar Muchnová Charles University of Prague, [email protected] Domenico Giuseppe Muscianisi Università degli Studi di Macerata / Universität zu Köln, [email protected]

List of Contributors |

Anna Novokhatko Albert–Ludwigs–Universität, Freiburg i. Breisgau, [email protected] Anna Orlandini Université de Toulouse Le Mirail, [email protected] Paolo Poccetti Università di Roma ‘Tor Vergata’, [email protected] Flavia Pompeo Università di Roma ‘La Sapienza’, [email protected] Elena Redondo Moyano University of the Basque Country, [email protected] Antonio R. Revuelta Puigdollers Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, [email protected] Sira Rodeghiero Università di Padova, [email protected] Emilia Ruiz Yamuza University of Seville, [email protected] Eleonora Sausa Università di Pavia, [email protected] Donna Shalev Hebrew University, Jerusalem, [email protected] Marina Solís De Ovando Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, [email protected] Araceli Striano Corrochano Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, [email protected] Kees Thijs Radboud University Nijmegen, [email protected] Liana Tronci Università per stranieri di Siena, [email protected] Massimo Vai Università di Milano, [email protected] Rodrigo Verano Universidad de Sevilla, Spain, [email protected] Chiara Zanchi Università di Pavia / Università di Bergamo, [email protected]

863